#COUNT THE HEADLIGHTS ON THE HIGHWAY

[here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can]

WHEN I SAY SOFTLYYY SLOWWWLYYYYY

[wbbobsesserr]

ᯓ sweet spot — chapter eight

pairing: paige bueckers & azzi fudd

notes: this chapter made me feel like paige lol my heart was bursting in my chest. please please lemme know how y’all like it! progress is happening (it only took eight chapters)! unsure how long i’ll make this series, i guess until i run out of ideas. but lowkey i might start something new soon, too. happy reading my lovelies! love you.

my masterlist

wc: 3.1k

the bus ride to the away game was loud and chaotic— nika and lou were yelling about snacks, caroline had her headphones in but kept aggressively singing along to something, and azzi was curled up by the window, hood over her head, eyes fluttering open and shut with each bump in the road. paige was sitting beside her, quiet, legs sprawled into the aisle, trying not to look at her too much. 

(it was impossible not to.)

azzi’s shoulder kept brushing hers, and she didn’t move. paige's fingers twitched in her lap every time it happened. her heart had been playing jump rope in her chest since they got on the bus, and azzi, of course, was completely unaware. her head lolled toward paige, lashes soft against her cheeks, one of her earbuds dangling halfway out.

paige stared out the window, then back at azzi. and again. and again.

eventually, azzi murmured something sleepily under her breath and rested her head fully on paige’s shoulder, just like it was the most normal thing in the world.

paige stopped breathing.

the bus kept rattling down the highway, all noise and movement and restless energy, but all paige could feel was azzi.

her head was on paige’s shoulder now. her actual head. resting there like it belonged. like it was nothing.

it was everything.

paige’s brain short-circuited for a full thirty seconds. she didn’t move, didn’t breathe, barely blinked. just stared straight ahead like a deer caught in the world’s softest, sweetest headlights. azzi shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent again, and her fingers grazed paige’s arm in the process.

that was when it happened.

azzi exhaled this quiet, content little sigh, and the tip of her nose brushed paige’s collarbone.

paige nearly died on the spot.

“jesus,” she muttered to herself, so low no one heard. her pulse was in her ears. her hand, resting on her thigh, was clenching the hem of her sweatshirt so tightly it was starting to wrinkle.

she should have moved. or said something. or, like, done literally anything other than sit there with her heart doing backflips and her face probably a shade of red that didn’t even have a name yet.

but she didn’t.

she let azzi stay there.

of course she did.

twenty minutes later, the chaos in the bus had mellowed slightly. nika was half-asleep with her mouth open, and caroline had started a whispered debate with lou about whether sour patch kids counted as a legitimate pre-game fuel source. the sky outside the windows was bleeding pink into grey— sunrise dragging itself slowly across the horizon— and most of the team had settled into a lazy, quiet sort of lull.

azzi hadn’t moved.

paige hadn’t either. she didn’t dare to.

her neck was starting to cramp, but she didn’t care. azzi’s breathing had evened out, warm and slow against the side of her throat. her hair smelled like something soft and vanilla-sweet, and paige— who had dated casually, flirted recklessly, and kissed girls in locker room hallways without thinking twice— felt like she was fifteen again. awkward. electric. ruined.

azzi stirred after a while, blinking herself awake like a cat, slow and lazy and looking straight up at paige with those goddamn eyes.

“hi,” she said, voice thick with sleep.

paige swallowed. “hey.”

azzi shifted upright a little, but didn’t fully sit back. she rubbed one eye and yawned, then blinked again like she was trying to remember where she was. “was i out long?”

paige shrugged, hoping her voice wouldn’t betray her. “a little.”

azzi made a soft noise in response and leaned back again— but this time not on her shoulder. instead, her hand rested lightly on paige’s forearm, fingers trailing down without meaning to. “you’re warm,” she murmured, eyes still half-lidded.

paige was very much not warm. she was overheating. her breath caught.

“you, um—” she cleared her throat. “you looked tired.”

azzi smiled at that. it was small and sleepy, a little crooked, barely there but real.

“you didn’t move,” she said quietly, thumb brushing paige’s sleeve. “thought you’d wake me up.”

paige looked down at their hands. “didn’t want to.”

azzi’s eyes flicked up to her, soft and searching.

“thank you,” she whispered.

and paige— awkward, nervous, heart hammering paige— just nodded, too afraid anything else might come out too honest.

the hotel check-in had taken forever. everyone was buzzing with excitement and fake complaints— too many bags, room keys getting mixed up, someone already yelling about pizza. when the coach said, “bueckers and fudd, you’re in 413,” paige went still. she didn’t correct him. azzi didn’t either.

they took the elevator together. silent, but warm. shoulders brushing. azzi leaned her head against the wall for a moment, eyes fluttering shut. paige watched her in the reflection of the elevator doors.

once they reached the room, it was the usual mess of tossed bags and tired limbs. the room had two beds, identical and untouched. azzi kicked off her sneakers immediately and flopped down on one of them, sprawled out like she owned the whole thing. her hoodie rode up slightly, and paige forced herself not to look too long.

paige lingered near the door for a second, duffel still in hand. she scanned the room like there might be something important she was missing.

“you okay?” azzi asked, her voice muffled by the comforter.

paige blinked. “what? yeah.” she cleared her throat and dropped her bag by the other bed. “just tired.”

azzi rolled onto her side, head pillowed by her arm. “same. today felt like five days in one.”

paige let out a soft laugh and sat on the edge of her bed to untie her shoes. “you say that like you weren’t asleep the whole bus ride.”

“i wasn’t asleep the whole time,” azzi protested, pushing herself up on one elbow. “i was in and out.”

“mhm. sure.” paige stood and stretched, arms above her head, shirt rising slightly above her waistband.

azzi’s eyes flicked up. lingered for a beat. then she looked away just as quickly. “shut up.”

paige raised an eyebrow. “i didn’t say anything.”

azzi grabbed a pillow and chucked it at her.

it hit paige in the chest. she grinned.

they settled into a quiet kind of peace after that. the shuffle of zippers, bathroom doors clicking open and shut. paige changed into sweats and sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling on her phone, pretending not to glance up every time azzi moved. azzi hummed softly to herself as she dug through her bag, muttering about forgetting her toothbrush (she hadn’t).

a little while later, azzi crawled back onto her bed, tugging her hair out of its messy bun. her curls spilled over her shoulders in soft, sleep-heavy waves.

“hey,” azzi murmured suddenly. “come here.”

paige turned, cautious. “what?”

azzi peeked out from under her arm. “just for a sec.”

“…why?”

“because,” azzi said, sitting up slowly, “i’m bored. i wanna braid your hair. is that okay?”

paige’s stomach flipped. “you want to braid my hair?”

“yeah?” azzi said it like it was obvious. “yours is easier than mine. and my hands need something to do.”

paige hesitated. only for a moment. then she was climbing onto the bed, sitting stiffly between azzi’s legs, back straight like she was bracing for impact.

“you good?” azzi asked, amused.

“fine,” paige lied, heart racing.

azzi gently gathered a section of her hair, and paige almost jumped. she felt everything— every fingertip, every slow, easy tug. azzi hummed under her breath as she worked, half-focused, half-distracted. it was casual, probably thoughtless.

but not to paige.

paige’s eyes fluttered shut for a second. she swallowed, hard.

“you sure you’re okay?” azzi asked again, quieter this time. closer.

“y-yeah,” paige said, and winced at how her voice cracked. “i’m fine.”

azzi’s fingers stilled for a second, then resumed, even slower now. “you’re like, tense.”

“no i’m not.”

“you’re literally sitting like we’re in a dentist’s office.”

paige exhaled through her nose. “well maybe if you didn’t touch me like—”

she cut herself off.

azzi stilled again.

“…like what?”

silence.

paige stared hard at the floor. “nevermind.”

she felt azzi’s breath at her neck before she heard her voice. “you’re really jumpy tonight.”

“i’m not,” she said again, sharper than she meant to. “just— just do the braid.”

azzi was quiet for a second. and then, gently, almost too gently: “okay.”

the next few moments stretched long. azzi kept braiding, slower now, more careful. her fingers grazed paige’s neck, her shoulders, the edge of her jaw when she brushed a loose strand behind her ear. paige didn’t breathe. not properly.

“you’ve got really pretty hair,” azzi said eventually, almost like it was an afterthought.

paige closed her eyes.

“and,” azzi added, “you always smell like that one vanilla lotion.”

“you notice that?”

“yeah.” azzi paused. “i notice a lot.”

paige turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at her over her shoulder. “like what?”

azzi blinked at her. her fingers were still in paige’s hair, still toying with the blonde ends, like she’d forgotten to let go.

“…like how you always pretend you don’t look at me. all the time.”

the air shifted.

“i have no idea what you’re talking about,” paige said, sure.

azzi let out a weak laugh. “right, okay.”

“serious.”

“whatever you say.”

“seriously, you’re delusional.”

“keep talking. please.”

“i will.”

“y’know, defending yourself like this just makes you even more guilty,” azzi replied, her eyebrows quirked up.

paige opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

azzi just smiled. small. secret.

“you’re done,” she said, letting the braid fall down paige’s back. “pretty sure it’s crooked.”

paige swallowed. “it’s fine.”

azzi’s eyes flicked to her lips. “you’re blushing.”

“no i’m not.”

“sure.”

paige turned around fully, still sitting on the bed, still too close. azzi’s knees were brushing hers now.

she reached back, fingers running over the braid. “it’s not bad.”

“wow,” azzi deadpanned. “highest praise i’ve ever received.”

“i’m serious,” paige said, softer now. “thank you.”

azzi shrugged. her eyes didn’t leave paige’s face.

paige suddenly felt like she was balancing on a tightrope. like if she moved too quickly, it would all fall.

but azzi didn’t look away.

not yet.

the hotel room had cooled off a little since they first got in— lights dimmed, music low from azzi’s phone on the nightstand. the braiding was over, azzi’s fingers now tucked under the hem of her hoodie sleeves, and paige hadn’t stopped thinking about how warm they had felt against the back of her neck.

“bathroom first?” azzi asked, already grabbing her sleep clothes from her bag.

“go for it,” paige said, her voice a little too casual. she sat back on her bed and folded her legs up, trying to focus on anything other than the warm hum still echoing from where azzi had touched her.

the door clicked shut behind her, and paige exhaled slowly. she stared at the ceiling for a second, then at the bathroom door, then back at the ceiling. five minutes went by. seven. she heard running water, a toothbrush clink against the sink. soft humming.

when azzi came back out, her hair was tied up messily on top of her head, and she was wearing a pair of navy shorts and an old oversized t-shirt with the sleeves rolled. her legs were bare. she looked soft and sleepy, like she belonged in someone’s dreams, and paige had to physically stop herself from reacting.

“your turn,” azzi said, like nothing was off at all, like she wasn’t actively making paige forget how to breathe.

paige grabbed her own bag and ducked into the bathroom without a word. she changed fast— sweats and a uconn tee— and brushed her teeth, avoiding her own eyes in the mirror. they’d give her away. she rinsed, dried her hands, then opened the door.

she expected azzi to be under the covers or at least sitting in bed. instead, she walked in just as azzi was tugging her shirt up to change it out— revealing smooth, bare skin and the sharp line of her waist as she lifted her arms overhead. and her nude bra. fuck.

paige froze in the doorway like her soul had just left her body. “shit— sorry,” she blurted, turning around so fast she nearly dropped her toothbrush. “i didn’t— i thought you’d be—”

azzi laughed. not embarrassed, just sleepy and amused. “you’re fine.”

paige stared at the wall. “i swear i wasn’t trying to—”

��paige,” azzi said gently, voice closer now. “it’s fine. i don’t mind.”

she peeked over her shoulder and saw azzi slipping her new shirt down, the hem falling loosely around her hips. she was still smiling, dimples in full effect, not fazed at all. paige wanted to die. or kiss her. or both.

“okay,” she muttered, turning all the way around, still clutching her toothbrush like it might protect her. “just— just warning next time, please.”

“wasn’t planning on giving you a show,” azzi said, teasing, as she climbed into bed.

paige fumbled with the edge of her comforter, crawling into her own bed, trying not to combust. “i didn’t see anything.”

“sure.”

“i didn’t!”

azzi grinned over at her from across the small space between their beds, cheek pressed to her pillow, one hand tucked under it. “whatever helps you sleep tonight, bueckers.”

paige groaned and hid her face in her pillow. she wasn’t sure if she’d survive the night.

and azzi was already drifting off, humming again, like her blood wasn’t currently turning someone else inside out.

they fell asleep in separate beds. they always did.

or at least, they tried to.

paige lay there for a long time after lights out, staring up at the ceiling with her hands folded over her stomach, trying to count how many feet of floor separated her from azzi. trying not to think about how badly she wished that space didn’t exist. trying not to listen too closely to the sound of azzi’s breathing— gentle, rhythmic, just across the room.

sometimes it stuttered. sometimes it caught. sometimes it was the only thing that calmed her down.

they weren’t supposed to sleep in the same bed. it was unspoken. just something they’d danced around since that first night on a different away trip, back when things were still new and sharp and kind of terrifying. it had been safer then. safer to keep the distance. to pretend.

but now? now it felt like a lie.

and somewhere in the middle of the night— well past one, maybe two— the silence broke.

azzi woke up with a jolt.

no noise, no scream. just a sudden shift in air, a sharp inhale that sucked the room dry of oxygen, a blanket thrown back too quickly. she sat up fast, hand twisted hard into the edge of the comforter, her shoulders rigid, her chest rising and falling like she was drowning.

the room was dim, lit only by the crack of light bleeding through the gap under the hotel door. it cast her in soft gold, shadowed and still and small.

it took her a moment to realize where she was.

to remember: she wasn’t there. not anymore.

that she was safe.

but her heart hadn’t gotten the message. it pounded like it was trying to escape her ribs.

her fingers curled tighter into the bedding. and then— before she could even move, even think about what to do— there was a rustle across the room. a breath. and suddenly, paige was there.

awake, already climbing out of her own bed like she had been waiting for this. like she had felt it happen.

“hey,” she whispered, soft and immediate, crouching at azzi’s side. “hey, hey. you okay?”

azzi nodded, but it was the kind of nod that betrayed itself. stiff. automatic. her eyes were glassy in the dark.

paige didn’t push.

she didn’t ask again, didn’t pull her up, didn’t make her explain.

she just moved gently, climbing into the narrow bed like it was the only place she was supposed to be.

and it was.

paige slipped in behind her, pressed herself close— her right side to azzi’s left— and wrapped both arms around her middle with all the care in the world. like holding her too tight might shatter her. like not holding her tight enough might let her slip away.

her chin found azzi’s shoulder. her lips hovered close to her ear.

“you’re alright,” paige whispered, so quietly it was almost a secret. “you’re good. you’re with me.”

azzi let out a breath. slow. shaky. broken. paige felt it. felt the tremble in her chest, the tension in her shoulders, the way she was holding herself like something might snap.

she pulled her in tighter. her hand moved across azzi’s stomach, the other reaching up to rub slow, steady circles between her shoulder blades.

“you’re okay,” paige murmured. “i’ve got you.”

and then, even softer, she leaned in to kiss her cheek. once. again. and again. small, barely-there touches. so soft azzi might have thought she imagined them, if her whole body wasn’t reacting like it had been waiting for this exact comfort forever.

“was it bad?” paige asked after a while, lips still close.

azzi didn’t speak. she just nodded, a tiny motion, hair brushing paige’s face as she did.

paige tucked her even closer. closed the last few inches between them.

her hand was still at azzi’s back, smoothing over tense muscles, tracing slow lines of comfort.

“you’re safe,” she said again. “just breathe. i’m here. i’ve got you.”

azzi didn’t respond right away, but her body started to soften. her fingers unclenched from the blanket. one of them found paige’s and wrapped around it, delicate and shaking.

paige laced their hands together like it was nothing. like it was the easiest thing she’d ever done.

“do you want to talk about it?” she asked, gentle.

azzi exhaled, long and quiet. her voice was barely a sound. “not yet.”

paige nodded against her shoulder. “okay.”

and that was it. no more questions. no more pressure. just quiet again, the kind that felt full of something real.

paige kept whispering— little things, nothing things, soft strings of words meant only to soothe.

“you’re safe. you’re good. you’re doing so good.”

she peppered azzi’s cheek with kisses. again. then the side of her head, the edge of her jaw.

azzi’s breathing slowed. steadied.

and still, paige didn’t let go.

her fingers drew lazy patterns into azzi’s skin, her nose buried behind her ear now. the heat between them hummed like something sacred. something secret.

azzi’s body sank fully into her, finally letting go.

and when she fell back asleep— quiet, deep, curled up in paige’s arms like she belonged there— paige stayed awake a little longer. just to watch. just to make sure.

she held her like a promise.

and she didn’t let go. not once.

© wbbobsesserr

[tinytownn]

road rage – pt. i

joel miller x f!reader

word count: 5.4k

summary: on a drive home after a late night shift, a tailgating truck hits you, sending you off the road. the driver—his looks catching you by surprise—offers you a ride home.

content: enemies(?? for like two pages) to lovers??, age gap, minor car crash??, subtle flirting, a lotttt of joel using sweetheart, joel trying not to be a creep lol, temptationnn, no use of y/n, pretty slow first chapter ngl

a/n: hello!! this is my first post on this account and on tumblr in general. i'm still getting used to everything, but i've just recently gotten back into writing after a few years so i'm just excited to be doing this again!! i am planning to make this a short series with maybe 3-5 parts?? this first chapter is pretty slow with just a little flirting, but things will definitely pick up as the story progresses. (also i pictured in game joel in this fic but obv it doesn't matter)

pt. ii pt. iii pt. iv pt. v

—

The cool air blowing through the vents did little to keep you awake, so you reached down to turn up the music. The seat gently vibrated in sync with the bass, almost lulling you to sleep instead of keeping you alert.

You shook your head. Only twenty more minutes.

Trees blurred in your peripheral vision, and the oncoming headlights cut through the thick night fog, almost blinding you. Silently cursing, you squinted as the combination of bright lights and loud music gave you a headache. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but as the people-pleaser you were, you had agreed to cover a shift for a friend. Which normally wouldn’t be too bad if it weren’t the worst shift possible– 3 PM to 11 PM.

Spending the entire day under the harsh fluorescent lights of the office had been miserable, but at least you avoided rush-hour traffic. Now, the highway was deserted, the pavement stretching endlessly ahead, and you took full advantage. The speedometer ticked upward—eighty, ninety—until it settled on a bold 100 mph. You straightened your back, gripping the wheel tighter.

This was the only good part of your night.

You, the open road, and the music moving in sync. Your foot pressed the gas pedal to the beat, the car swaying slightly as you danced along to the rhythm. For a brief moment, freedom rushed through your veins.

Then, your joy was cut short.

Blinding LED headlights filled your rearview mirror.

Despite your already reckless speed, the approaching truck was closing the distance fast, its lights growing brighter by the second. With a frustrated sigh, you flipped the switch on your mirror to dim the glare, but the relief was minimal. You pressed the gas just enough to hold a steady 90 mph, hoping the driver would back off.

They didn’t.

The truck inched closer, practically kissing your bumper. Your patience thinned.

"Where do you have to be right now?" you yelled, throwing your hands in the air before slamming them back onto the wheel.

You refused to speed up any further. You were already pushing legal limits, and there was an entirely open lane to your right. Why isn’t he just going around me? A quick glance in the mirror confirmed your suspicions—a middle-aged man, his expression unreadable.

"Go around me if you're that impatient, grandpa!"

But he didn’t. He just stayed there.

Your jaw tightened as the truck loomed behind you, headlights flooding the interior of your car. And then—just when you thought his lights couldn’t get any more obnoxious—they flickered.

Your irritation flared. Is he seriously flashing his brights at me?

Normally, you avoided road rage. You knew better than to test angry strangers in metal death machines. But today had been a day.

Burning coffee spilled on your chest that morning. The dreadful realization that you had to work this godforsaken shift. The mind-numbing hours spent under soul-sucking office lights. And now, this asshole riding your bumper.

Your nerves snapped.

On the third flicker of his brights, your foot slammed on the brake.

The jolt wasn’t enough to stop the car entirely, just a warning. A signal.

But the truck didn’t back off.

Instead, his brights stayed on—permanently.

Your car felt like the inside of a lightbulb, and the overwhelming glare made it hard to see the road. Your speed dropped slightly as you struggled to focus.

You have got to be kidding me…

This time, your foot hesitated over the brake. You weren’t sure how close he really was. The last thing you needed was an accident.

But fate had other plans.

A deafening horn blast rattled through the night.

The sudden noise startled you, and before you could stop yourself, your foot slammed down—

—on the brake.

Everything happened in an instant.

Your forehead hit the steering wheel, only to be snapped backward by the force of the deploying airbag. The nylon burned against your skin, suffocating and blinding you. Your tires screamed against the pavement as the car spun out of control. Your body strained against the seatbelt as you felt the car dip into the median. A sharp pain shot through your neck as your head slammed against the headrest.

"Fuck..." you groaned.

It was a minor crash, all things considered. But your car? Completely totaled.

The front bumper was crushed into the median railing. The back was crumpled—rammed in by the truck.

The truck.

Adrenaline masked the pain as you forced yourself to move. The car was a mess—your tote bag had spilled across the seats, its contents scattered. You fumbled with your seatbelt, fingers shaking, until—

Click.

You were free.

You sprang into action, anger seizing complete control. The car door slammed behind you as you stomped toward the man’s driver-side door.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You could have killed us!”

You didn’t care that his door was closed—he was going to hear you.

To your surprise, the man opened the door, unbuckling his seatbelt as if nothing had happened. His truck sat parked on the shoulder, barely touched. A few scratches on the front bumper. No airbags deployed.

Meanwhile, your car was wrecked.

The stark contrast sent a fresh wave of rage through you. Your fist slammed against the hood of his truck—not even a dent.

“You could have just moved over.” 

His voice was calm. Unbothered.

The indifference made you freeze.

Eyes wide, you finally looked at him—really looked at him. He was older—dark hair streaked with gray, hands calloused and worn. His lips pressed into a firm line, tired eyes set deep beneath a hardened expression. He had an air of intimidation about him, the kind that came with experience rather than effort. And despite everything—despite the wreck, the rage still simmering in your chest—he was handsome. If you weren’t so pissed off, the way his unwavering gaze dragged over you might’ve made you falter—hell, maybe even blush.

You scoffed at his southern drawl, unimpressed. His voice carried the charm of a gentleman, but his actions were anything but.

“I was there first. You should have moved over.”

He huffed a laugh. “It’s called the fast lane, sweetheart. And I was the faster one.”

You clenched your jaw. “I was going twenty over. Is that not fast enough for you, old man?”

His expression hardened. His eyes dragged over you, then flicked to your totaled car.

“What, you just get your license a month ago? A little speed too much for ya?”

“I’ve been driving for over ten years, and I’ve never met anyone as obnoxious as you.”

“Double that and get back to me, sweetheart.”

The nickname made your eye twitch. The condescension, the complete lack of remorse—it was infuriating. The minutes ticked by, the night stretching darker as the two of you bickered on the side of the empty highway.

Finally, you yanked your phone from your back pocket, the glow illuminating your face as you scrolled to contacts. Turning the screen to him, you snapped, “Put your number in here. I’m getting my insurance card.”

With a grunt, the man took the phone, holding it at an absurd distance from his face. He extended a middle finger, jabbing the screen at a snail’s pace.

You crossed your arms. “Christ, you’re old…”

With the last of your patience slipping away, you turned to your car, lips pressing into a thin line as you took in the damage—worse than you remembered. You yanked open the glove box, rummaging through the mess before pulling out a small booklet of insurance papers.

The crash, the argument, the adrenaline—it had all faded, leaving behind a dull ache stretching from your neck to the back of your head. Each step back to the truck felt heavier than the last.

Joel handed your phone back without a word. He sat in the driver’s seat now, feet propped on the step bar, door wide open. Peering past him, you took in the state of his truck—well-worn, maybe just as old as him. The glove box hung open, spilling out crumpled papers, loose receipts, and junk strewn across the seats. Dirt encrusted the floors, stains lined the fabric, and the entire cab smelled faintly of sweat and sawdust. A typical work truck.

Glancing at your phone screen, you found his name entered stiffly, all caps, on the first line only.

JOEL MILLER.

A small grin tugged at your lips as you fixed the spacing before saving the contact. You sent him a message—just your name—and watched as his phone lit up in confirmation. 

Joel cleared his throat. “D’ya got anybody to get you home?”

Your eyes met his. The frustration still simmered, but his question forced you to acknowledge what you’d been avoiding.

His gaze flicked to your wrecked car. “That thing ain’t gettin’ you nowhere, and it’s not safe for a girl like you to be out here this late.”

You huffed. “A girl like me?”

You knew what he meant. You had already run through the worst-case scenarios in your head—alone, stranded, barely past midnight. Every woman’s worst nightmare.

But you weren’t about to let him have the satisfaction of thinking he was doing you a favor.

“Yeah,” Joel said, a playful tone lacing his words, “ones that like to start problems.”

You glanced past him into the truck once again—exactly the kind of scene you were warned to avoid. Cluttered, worn, the kind of place that set off alarms in the back of your mind. But your options were limited—this or the highway.

When you looked back at his face, the sharp edge of his anger had dulled. He no longer looked like the man who had run you off the road, but someone weighed down by exhaustion, just trying to get home—same as you. The toll of a long workweek clung to you both.

He exhaled sharply. “You got a ride or not?”

Your hesitation must’ve been obvious because he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Look,” he muttered, flipping the screen toward you.

A blonde girl beamed back, clutching a trophy and soccer ball. 

Joel’s expression softened, a quiet, tired smile pulling at his lips.

“I got a daughter,” he said, voice quieter now. “I wouldn’t want her out here like this.”

Something in your chest eased. This was the first time you had seen him smile all night.

“Thank you.” You nodded. “Yeah- uh no, I don’t have a ride.”

Joel motioned toward your car. “I’ll clear a spot. Grab your stuff.”

With a grateful nod, you turned back to the wreck. You reached inside, sifting through the mess until you found the essentials—wallet, keys, and headphones. Tossing them into your bag, you made your way back to the truck.

Joel stood by the open passenger door, waiting.

You climbed in with a small nod of thanks. The cool air inside was a relief from the heavy night air. The seat hugged your body, and you wasted no time clicking the seatbelt into place—already well aware of Joel’s driving.

The truck dipped under his weight as he dropped into the driver’s seat, door slamming shut behind him.

“Where am I headed, kiddo?”

The engine rumbled to life, country music blasting through the speakers. Joel grimaced, quickly turning the volume down.

“Uh—just outside downtown, by the school- the highschool. Not the college. Just take exit fourteen and it’s pretty much straight until the river.”

Joel gave a short nod, seemingly satisfied with your poor, over-explained directions.

Silence settled between you, the earlier hostility replaced by something quieter. The shift was jarring. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the realization that this wreck wasn’t about reckless driving—it was about two overworked, pissed-off people taking their frustrations out on the wrong things.

Joel wasn’t the kind of man who let emotions get the best of him—he couldn’t afford to be. Not as a father. Most days, life’s inconveniences were just that. As long as Sarah was happy, everything else was just noise.

But today had pushed him too far.

Three months of work—scrapped in a single meeting. No discussion. No warning.  The new plans were a mess, the compromises were nonexistent, and the client was an insufferable pain in the ass. Joel had spent the entire day fighting for compromises that never came, his patience thinning with every rejection. Agreeing on the original plans had been difficult enough, and now this high-paying client was proving to be more trouble than he was worth.

The rest of Joel’s day was spent reviewing these so-called new plans, searching for compromises that might salvage at least some of the work already completed. But every suggestion he made was quickly rejected. The client wanted things done his way—no exceptions.

By the end of the day, frustration had Joel gripping the arms of his chair, clinging to the hope that at least one compromise might be accepted. But it wasn’t until eight o’clock—long past the time he should have been home—that the final rejection came. Even then, he persevered, spending the next few hours adjusting measurements and sketching out a rough plan to present the following morning. He just wanted this project to be over.

By the time he eventually left the office, his patience was gone.

The open road was supposed to be his escape. Just him, his truck, and the empty highway.

Then you got in his way.

He could’ve merged. Could’ve passed you and been done with it.

But the sight of your car in his lane, unaware, unbothered—it was the final straw.

He’d done this a hundred times before.

A little bumper-to-bumper game.

A little misplaced frustration.

He never meant for it to go this far.

But here you were, in his passenger seat. And your crumpled car was proof of just how wrong the night had gone.

And now, he had to get you home.

The low rumble of the engine and the faint hum of country music filled the quiet space between you. Joel drove at a far more reasonable pace now, nothing like the reckless tailgating from earlier. The road stretched ahead, lined by dense forest on either side, the scenery offering a welcome distraction as you gazed out the window.

"I'm sorry about your car."

The sudden break in silence made you jolt slightly in your seat. Your lips parted, but no words came out at first.

Sure, he was giving you a ride home, but that didn’t erase the mess he’d made of your night—or your car. You still had to deal with insurance, miss work, and somehow navigate the nightmare that was the current car market. The frustration bubbled up again, only to be met with the nagging reminder that your own childish stunt had played a part in this too.

The thought sent heat creeping up your neck. You huffed, crossing your arms. "Deserved. Partially– I think you gave me fucking whiplash."

His eyes met yours briefly, a flicker of compassion breaking through his stoic exterior.

As his gaze fell on the lock screen of his beloved daughter, guilt settled deep in his chest. If she had come home telling him a man had run her off the road—wrecking her car in the process—he knew the rage he would feel. He had been raised to be a gentleman, to respect women, and fatherhood had only reinforced those values. Your original outburst had been justified; after all, he had watched you crawl from the wreckage of your car, shaken but alive. Yet, his pride had held firm.

Now, faced with your unexpected kindness despite his wrongdoing, the weight of his indifference bore down even harder.

“My bones aren’t as brittle as yours, old man.” A smile spread across your face, the relief of a genuine conversation lifting the tension that had been weighing on you all day. “I think I’ll live.”

Joel rolled his eyes at the nickname.

“Speaking of,” you added, a playful gleam in your eyes, “what’s an old guy like you doing out so late?”

Your attempt at making small talk and a joke fell flat as Joel’s expression soured. The events of his shift replayed in his mind, only adding to the pit of worry in his stomach.

“Work,” he said simply.

“Me too,” you sighed. “It never gets better, does it?”

“Don’t think so.”

The conversation ended there, the soft melody of a country song filling the car as you bobbed your head to the beat. The thought of the day behind you brought a wave of exhaustion to both of you, the prospect of how you were going to get home creeping back into your mind.

You could take the bus?

Maybe call up a coworker or a friend?

Neither option was particularly appealing. With a sigh, you turned your attention back to the man next to you. In the short half hour you’d known him, your initial thoughts had changed drastically from his less-than-ideal first impression.

While the memory of your wrecked car still lingered, so did the reminder of your own fault in this situation. It was something best left to the insurance companies to handle, the previous anger dissipated.  The coming weeks of ridesharing and public transportation wouldn’t be ideal, but at least you had a ride home tonight.

Your eyes lingered on the graying man next to you. His eyes were fixed on the road, glancing occasionally at his speedometer. The tension in his jaw had faded, his face more relaxed, weighed down by the exhaustion that was evident in both of you. His hair was messy, and you briefly recalled him running a hand through it when he first exited the truck—probably a nervous habit that had turned into a kind of permanent bedhead.

Despite his somewhat rough exterior—soiled, calloused hands, mud-streaked clothes, weathered skin adorned with scars and sun-kissed freckles from years of hard labor—staring at him for too long made a warmth spread to your cheeks.

The attempt to distract yourself from your car had worked a little too well.

You quickly pulled your gaze away from his face—hopefully before he noticed—and turned your attention elsewhere. His short-sleeve, button-up work shirt clung to his arms, biceps flexing as they stretched the fabric. His hands, strong and capable, gripped the wheel with ease, barely needing to look at it as his focus remained ahead. You watched as he took the exit, smoothly navigating the almost circular turn, his gaze not shifting from the road. Without turning his head, he effortlessly merged, the awareness of his surroundings second nature—an instinct gained over decades behind the wheel.

“Fairview or Jackson?” Joel’s voice cut through your thoughts.

Heat crept up your face as you whipped your head to the side, eyes landing on the familiar split in the road. “Fairview—for another eight miles.”

You knew exhaustion was setting in from the way your mind raced. Your unblinking stare drifted back to Joel, taking in details that anger had blurred before. Maybe it was the proximity, the sleep deprivation, the whirlwind of emotions—or all of the above—that sent warmth trailing lower. You shifted uncomfortably, legs brushing against each other.

Anything to distract yourself.

“What do you do for work?” you blurted, wincing at how dumb you sounded.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh. “You sure you’re not concussed, kid? Might need to take you to the hospital.”

You groaned, slouching into the seat. “Just trying to make conversation…”

His amusement lingered as he adjusted his grip on the wheel. “Been in construction pretty much my whole life. Started right after high school. Had other plans, but…” He exhaled through his nose. “Had Sarah young, so I did what I had to. Hard work, but I’d do anything to provide for my girl.”

Your gaze flicked to his hands, catching the glint of a passing streetlamp. No ring. No tan line.

You shook your head. Why did that even matter?

This man had run you off the road. He was just driving you home, and after tonight, you’d never see him again. No reason to get caught up in things that didn’t concern you.

“What about you?” Joel asked. “What do you do for work?”

You blinked, surprised he’d bothered to ask. His eyes left the road for the first time that night, meeting yours expectantly.

“I work at a bank,” you scoffed. “Exciting, I know. Not a teller, just… office stuff. Behind-the-scenes.”

Joel smirked. “Can’t relate. I’m shit at math.”

The warmth in his voice sent your brain short-circuiting for a moment. His smile—subtle but real—stood out in the dim glow of the dashboard. The soft crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the creased lines on his forehead—despite the exhaustion in his face, he looked…warm.

You cleared your throat. “I am too.” You laughed. “I’m honestly shocked I haven’t tanked the place yet. Not that I’ll have much time to—I’ll probably get fired soon.”

Joel chuckled. “Talking like that, I can see why.”

You shot him a playful glare. “I’ll have you know, I’m actually good at my job.”

“You sure?” His eyes flicked to you, amused.

You nodded, lips curling into a smile. “I just don’t see my boss being too happy about me missing a few days until I can find a ride to work.”

Something shifted in Joel’s expression. His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes glazing over as he turned his attention back to the road.

He was thinking.

Then, simply—

“I can take you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” His grip tightened slightly on the wheel. “Unless you really wanna get fired..”

The initial temptation almost had you saying yes before your brain could fully process the offer. It was a kind gesture, but the thought of inconveniencing him—forcing him to carpool you to work every day—made you pause.

Then your eyes met his.

You should’ve known better. Should’ve recognized this for what it was—just a man doing the right thing, easing whatever moral strain the accident had put on him. But his stare held you captive, and for a moment, logic blurred.

Normally, you’d be panicking. Snapping at whoever was behind the wheel to keep their eyes on the road. But with Joel, you didn’t. Confidence radiated from him—not in a cocky or arrogant way, but the kind that came from experience, from years of knowing exactly what he was doing.

There was something in his gaze—something that mirrored what you felt deep in your stomach. A flicker of hesitation, a reluctance to let the night end. A reason to keep seeing each other.

He wanted to see you again too.

No. That was delusional.

The combination of exhaustion and your embarrassing need to get laid had clearly fried your brain. You were sitting here, crushing on a man at least twenty years your senior—someone’s father for god’s sake.

But you did need a ride to work.

You exhaled, glancing up at the moon before muttering, “Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to be a burden. I know it’s hard for someone your age to remember so many things.” The quip slipped out before you could stop yourself, a flimsy attempt to break the tension—at least, the tension you felt.

Joel turned slightly, failing to hide his grin. “Not more than I’ve been.” Then, after a beat, “Unless you keep it up with the jokes. Might find yourself in the same place as your car.” He paused. “Sweetheart.”

Your heart stuttered.

The nickname had driven you crazy earlier in the night—condescending, demeaning. But now?

Now it had you looking away, pressing your legs together in a weak attempt to ignore the heat spreading through you.

And Joel paused.

Why did he pause?

He’d said it so easily before, like it meant nothing. But now, there was something different in the way it left his mouth—like he almost caught it before it slipped out.

You swallowed, shifting in your seat. “The jokes come free with the ‘totaling my car’ deal.”

“Lucky me.” His voice was thick with sarcasm.

You hesitated for a second, then narrowed your eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

Joel raised a brow. “What?”

“I don’t need a pity ride.”

His lips parted slightly before he shook his head, rubbing a hand over his jaw. Whatever ran through his mind, he wasn’t letting it slip.

He smirked, settling instead for, “Maybe I just wanna see if you’re always this annoying.” 

Your breath caught. The way his voice dipped—the way his eyes flicked to your face, searching for the smallest twitch of a smile—it made something coil tight in your stomach.

You didn’t fight the grin tugging at your lips.

“Or,” Joel continued, smirking, “maybe I’m not so convinced you don’t got that concussion.”

“Oh, hush.” You rolled your eyes, giving his arm a playful shove. 

The teasing had shifted, the edge of frustration softening into something lighter. You didn’t know where this boldness was coming from—flirting with a stranger like this—but he wasn’t stopping you. If anything…was he returning it?

You bit your lip, gaze flicking anywhere but him. Then, before you could think better of it— “I get run off the road by a handsome stranger and you expect me to play it cool?” 

Joel cleared his throat—definitely caught off guard.  

“That right?” 

His voice—low, steady, unreadable—sent a ripple of uncertainty through you. You shifted in your seat, suddenly aware of how small the space between you felt. Had you misread the moment? 

The air thickened. His gaze held steady, the weight of it pressing into you, testing you. 

You swallowed. Nodded. 

A beat passed. Then another. 

And finally, a smirk. “Guess you’ve made up your mind then.” 

Joel let the words settle before tilting his head, eyes still locked on you. “This handsome stranger gets to drive you to work ‘til you get a new car.” He threw your words back at you, mocking—but not unkind. You exhaled a laugh, the tension giving way to something else entirely.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, so now you’re deciding for me?”

He shook his head slightly. “Never said that.” He paused. “You just don't sound too opposed to the idea. Choice is all yours, honey.”

His voice had deepened just slightly at the last word, slow and deliberate.

Your pulse thrummed in your ears.

“And if I say no?” You challenged.

Joel chuckled lowly, sending a shiver up your spine. “You said it yourself—you’d be out of a job. And my company.”

You scoffed. “Can’t tell which one I’d be more grateful to miss out on.”

He smirked. “Better for me, sweetheart. You’re too much of a distraction anyway.”

Your breath hitched.

He adjusted his grip on the wheel, the tension thick in the space between you. His gaze flicked to you again, raking you up and down in a way that made your skin prickle with heat.

The truck jolted as he slowed, bringing the conversation to a halt. The school’s looming brick silhouette glowing under the buzzing street lamps, moths greedily swarming the light. The road, littered with potholes, sent a rough shudder through the truck as the tires fought for traction.

“Take this right,” you murmured. Joel turned down the music, his focus shifting, and you swallowed against the lump in your throat.

“It’s the third one on the left.”

He pulled into your driveway, cutting the headlights as the truck settled into park. The night air was thick and quiet, the world outside still.

Neither of you moved.

The truck rolled back slightly, settling into the incline, and for the first time all night, there was no tension, no urgency—just the unspoken weight of exhaustion pressing into the silence between you.

And still, neither of you seemed in a rush to break it.

You barely noticed the way Joel shifted in his seat, full of anticipation. His hands flexed around the wheel, the tension in his knuckles mirroring the unspoken energy hanging between you. Your mind raced through the events of the night, trying to make sense of how this even began—how a collision turned into something so unexpectedly charged.

Not that you were complaining.

You had at least a week of one-on-one time with Joel and that realization sent your heart stuttering against your ribs. This ride had already escalated in ways you hadn’t predicted, and now your thoughts wandered, imagining the possibilities of the next.

Maybe you were reading too much into it.

Maybe you weren’t.

Shaking yourself from the haze, you reached for the door handle. “I should get going.” The lump in your throat made it harder to get the words out, especially with the way Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, steady and unreadable.

You clutched your bag to your side, gripping it like an anchor, grounding yourself in the reality that—somehow—your subtle advances had gone far more successfully than you expected.

The overhead light flooded the car as the door clicked open, the night air brushing against your skin. Your fingers curled around the handle, your balance slightly off-kilter from the nerves running through your veins.

You barely had time to register the movement before warmth encased your wrist.

Joel’s hand.

Firm. Steady. Completely engulfing yours.

Your breath hitched.

“Already forgot about our deal?”

His voice was smooth, tinged with amusement.

Before you could process it, he gave a gentle tug, pulling you back into the seat just enough that your face was level with his again. You kept the door ajar, caught between the instinct to flee and the undeniable pull of his presence.

His eyes searched yours, taking in any flicker of hesitation, any nervous shift of your body. His fingers, still wrapped around your arm, traced the goosebumps rising beneath his touch.

He smirked at his effect on you.

But the amusement didn’t erase the conflict in his mind.

You had just met, and the circumstances weren’t exactly the most flattering on his part. He had hit your car. He–an older man–had insisted on driving you. And now, here you were—breathless, your full attention on him, hanging onto his every word.

It was dangerous.

Tempting.

And guilt-inducing.

He didn’t let go.

Joel swallowed, jaw tightening as he weighed the situation. Maybe this was just harmless flirting on your end. Maybe his immediate attraction to you had made him think otherwise. Maybe it was nothing more than a fleeting moment, a late-night illusion spun by exhaustion and circumstance.

Still, he wasn’t ready to let you go.

Not yet.

His voice came quieter this time, deliberate. “What time do you have work tomorrow?”

“Joel—”

“It’s not up for discussion, sweetheart.” His grip didn’t tighten, but the firmness in his voice left no room for argument. “What time?”

You sighed, knowing there was no use fighting him on this. “Eight.”

Joel clicked his tongue, considering. “I’ll be here at seven-thirty.”

You blinked. “Joel, don’t you have work too?” A bubbling anxiety began to brew endless questions in your mind. “How are you gonna-”

“Don’t worry about it. Just be outside.”

You gave him one last look, searching for any hesitation, any sign that this was some kind of moral obligation rather than something he actually wanted to do. But his gaze was unwavering, he seemed absolute.

Finally, you relented with a soft sigh. “Yeah, okay, whatever. I’ll see you at seven-thirty.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. His lips parted slightly as if he had something else to say—but instead, he just gave a slow nod.

“I’ll be here.”

The truck creaked as you lifted yourself from the seat, your shoes landing against the driveway with a soft thud. You adjusted your bag against your chest, the cool night air nipping at your skin.

Joel watched you, his hands still gripping the wheel, his knuckles still tight, as if holding himself back from saying more.

You hesitated, slowing your steps as you departed.

Say something. Anything. Don’t make this weird.

Before you could, his window rolled down. His tired, gruff voice cut through the silence.

“Get some sleep, kiddo.”

You whipped around, startled by the sudden shift in demeanor. He had spent the whole night teasing you—flustering you—but now, the words were softer. Almost… affectionate.

Your lips curled into a grin. “Don’t hit any more cars, old man!”

His chuckle followed you as you disappeared inside.

—

[moonlightwritingf1]

Breaking Point | LN4

ꕤ* summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N’s Friday night goes from frustrating to electrifying when her car dies in a downpour and she has to swallow her pride and call Lando Norris—the one guy she can’t stand—to come to her rescue. He shows up soaked and irritated, but quickly becomes her savior. Trapped together in the warmth of his car, all their old arguments and jealous glances melt into a raw, unexpected confession of desire. 

ꕤ* pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

ꕤ* word count ━━━━━━━ 6.3k

ꕤ* warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, enemies to lovers, creampie, fingering, rough sex?, aftercare, use of 'baby', multiple orgasms

The rain hammered against Y/N's windshield as her car sputtered to a pathetic stop on the desolate stretch of highway just outside the city. Of course. Of fucking course this would happen tonight.

She slammed her palm against the steering wheel, cursing under her breath as she scrolled through her contacts. Everyone she called went straight to voicemail—probably out enjoying their Friday nights like normal people who didn't have cars that betrayed them at the worst possible moments.

Her thumb hovered over his name. Lando Norris. The last person on earth she wanted to call. The mere thought of his smug face made her blood boil.

But as another car zoomed past, spraying water across her already-fogged windows, she had no choice. She pressed call, each ring feeling like a personal defeat.

"Well, well," his voice drawled through the speaker, already dripping with that infuriating smugness. "Y/N calling me on a Friday night? Did hell freeze over, or are you finally admitting you can't resist me?"

"My car broke down," she bit out through clenched teeth. "I need—" The words physically hurt to say. "I need your help."

The silence on the other end stretched just long enough to make her want to hang up.

"Where are you?" His voice had shifted, losing some of its teasing edge.

"Highway outside the city. Mile marker 47."

"Don't move." The line went dead.

Thirty minutes later, headlights cut through the rain, and his McLaren pulled up behind her car. Y/N watched in the rearview mirror as he emerged, not even bothering with an umbrella. The rain immediately plastered his white shirt to his chest, outlining every muscle as he jogged toward her car.

She rolled down her window a fraction. "Took you long enough."

"You're welcome for coming to rescue your ungrateful ass," he shot back, rain dripping from his dark curls. "Pop the hood."

"I already tried—"

"Just do it, Y/N. Unless you'd prefer to sit here all night arguing in the rain."

She yanked the hood release with more force than necessary. Through the windshield, she watched him work, trying not to notice how his soaked shirt clung to his shoulders, how his jaw clenched in concentration. She hated him. Hated how he always looked so effortlessly good, even drenched and annoyed.

After a few minutes, he appeared at her window again. "Battery's completely dead. You're not going anywhere tonight."

"Fantastic," she muttered.

"Get in my car. I'll drive you home."

"I'd rather walk."

His eyes flashed dangerously. "It's fifteen miles to the city in a downpour. Stop being so fucking stubborn and get in the car, Y/N."

The way he said her name—low and commanding—sent an unwanted shiver down her spine. She grabbed her bag and stepped out into the rain, immediately regretting not taking his earlier offer of waiting in his car.

The rain soaked through her dress in seconds, the thin fabric clinging to every curve. She caught Lando's eyes tracking down her body before he quickly looked away, his jaw tightening. They tumbled into Lando’s car, slamming the door shut against the downpour. Once inside, he glanced over his shoulder, reached back, and pulled a jacket from the back seat.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to her.

“I don’t want—”

“Take the damn jacket before you freeze to death and I have to explain to everyone why I left you hypothermic on the side of the road.”

She snatched it from him, their fingers brushing. The contact sent electricity shooting up her arm, and from the way his breath hitched, he felt it too.

The interior of his car was warm and smelled like his cologne—something expensive and masculine that made her stomach flip traitorously. They drove in tense silence for several minutes, the only sound the rain pelting the windshield and the swoosh of the wipers.

"Why do you hate me so much?" he asked suddenly, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

"I don't hate you," she replied automatically.

He let out a harsh laugh. "Could've fooled me. Every time we're in the same room, you look at me like you want to strangle me."

"That's because you're insufferable," she snapped. "You walk around like you own the world, with that stupid smirk and your stupid perfect hair and—"

"My stupid perfect hair?" He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "That's what bothers you?"

Heat flooded her cheeks. "That's not—you know what I mean."

"No, I really don't." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Explain it to me, Y/N. What is it about me that gets under your skin so badly?"

Everything, she wanted to scream. The way you look at me. The way you make me feel completely out of control. The way I think about you when I shouldn't.

"You really want to do this now?" she deflected.

"Yeah, I do." He suddenly pulled over to the side of the road, throwing the car in park and turning to face her fully. "I'm sick of this dance we do. The fighting, the tension, the way you can barely stand to be in the same room as me."

"Lando—"

"Do you know what it's like?" he interrupted, his eyes blazing. "To want someone who looks at you like you're dirt beneath their shoe? To spend every interaction wondering what you did wrong, why you're not good enough?"

The raw honesty in his voice stole her breath. "That's not—I don't think you're not good enough."

"Then what is it?" He leaned closer, close enough that she could see the rain droplets still clinging to his eyelashes. "Because I'm going insane trying to figure you out."

"Maybe that's the point," she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Maybe I don't want you to figure me out."

"Why?" His hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheek. "What are you so afraid of?"

This. She was afraid of this—the way her body betrayed her the moment he touched her, the way every cell screamed to close the distance between them.

"I'm not afraid," she lied.

His thumb traced her bottom lip, and her breath caught. "Liar."

The air between them crackled with electricity. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and she unconsciously licked her lips.

"Fuck," he breathed, and then his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was nothing like she'd imagined—and she had imagined it, late at night when her defenses were down. It was fierce, almost angry, years of frustration and want poured into the clash of lips and teeth and tongue. His hand tangled in her wet hair, pulling her closer, and she moaned into his mouth.

That small sound seemed to snap something in him. He hauled her over the center console and into his lap, her dress riding up her thighs as she straddled him. His hands were everywhere—her hair, her waist, her hips—like he couldn't decide where to touch first.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled against her mouth, his hands sliding up her bare thighs. "To drive me absolutely fucking insane?"

"Yes," she gasped, grinding down against him and feeling him hard beneath her. "God, yes."

He groaned, capturing her mouth again, his kiss brutal and demanding. She gave as good as she got, biting his bottom lip and swallowing his resulting hiss. His hands found the zipper of her dress, but he paused, pulling back to look at her.

"Tell me to stop," he said, his voice wrecked. "Tell me this is a mistake."

She should. This was Lando—the man who infuriated her more than anyone else on the planet. But he was also the man looking at her like she was everything he'd ever wanted, his hands trembling slightly where they rested on her skin.

"Don't stop," she whispered.

His control shattered. The zipper came down, and he pushed the wet fabric off her shoulders, his mouth following the path of exposed skin. She arched into him, her hands fisting in his hair as he found that spot where her neck met her shoulder that made her see stars.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned against her skin. "Do you know how long I've wanted this? How many times I've thought about you like this?"

"Show me," she challenged, rolling her hips against him.

The windows were completely fogged now, creating their own private world as the storm raged outside. Every touch felt electric, every kiss more desperate than the last. When his hands found the clasp of her bra, she helped him remove it, too far gone to care about anything but the feeling of his hands on her.

"You're perfect," he breathed, his touch reverent even as his eyes burned with hunger. "So fucking perfect it makes me crazy."

She kissed him to shut him up, but also because she needed his mouth on hers like she needed air. Everything about this was intense, overwhelming, like a dam had finally burst after holding back a flood.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, reality started to creep back in. She was half-naked in Lando's lap, in his car, on the side of the road. This was insane.

"We should—" she started.

"Yeah," he agreed, but neither of them moved. His hands stayed on her waist, his thumbs tracing small circles on her skin.

"This doesn't change anything," she said weakly.

He laughed, the sound dark and knowing. "This changes everything, and you know it."

She did know it. There was no going back from this, no pretending the explosive chemistry between them didn't exist.

"Take me home," she whispered.

"Yours or mine?"

The question hung in the air between them, loaded with promise and possibility.

"Yours," she decided, consequences be damned.

His eyes darkened. "You sure?"

Instead of answering, she kissed him again, pouring all her certainty into the contact. When she pulled back, his pupils were blown wide.

"Drive," she commanded, climbing back into her seat and attempting to fix her dress with shaking hands.

He drove faster than was probably safe given the weather, one hand on the wheel and the other tangled with hers across the console. The silence wasn't awkward now—it was charged, full of anticipation.

When they finally pulled into his garage, he was around to her side before she could even unbuckle, pulling her out and pressing her against the car.

"Last chance," he murmured against her lips. "Tell me to take you home. Tell me this was just adrenaline, or the rain, or temporary insanity."

"Lando," she said, framing his face with her hands. "Shut up and take me inside."

He grinned—not his usual smirk, but something genuine and almost boyish. "Yes ma'am."

As he led her inside, her hand in his, Y/N realized the truth she'd been fighting for so long. She didn't hate Lando Norris.

She was completely, utterly, irrevocably falling for him.

And judging by the way he looked at her—like she'd hung the moon and stars—he was falling just as hard.

The storm outside had nothing on the one they'd created between them. And for once, Y/N didn't want to run from it.

She wanted to dance in the rain.

The elevator ride to Lando's apartment stretched like an eternity compressed into seconds. Y/N stood beside him, hyperaware of every breath, every slight movement, the space between them crackling with unspoken promises. Her dress still clung damply to her skin, his jacket draped over her shoulders like armor she no longer needed.

Neither spoke. Words had become obsolete, replaced by something more primal, more honest—a language written in glances and trembling hands, in the way he kept looking at her like she might disappear if he blinked.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime that seemed to echo through her bones. Lando's hand found hers, his touch both question and answer, and she let him lead her down the hallway to his door. His fingers fumbled with the keys, a vulnerability in that simple struggle that made her heart clench.

"I can't get the—" he started, frustration coloring his voice.

She took his face in her hands, turning him to look at her. "Breathe."

He did, his eyes closing for a moment, and when they opened again, the raw need in them stole her breath. The lock clicked open.

The apartment was dark, illuminated only by the city lights streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. The storm continued its assault outside, rain painting abstract patterns on the glass, but inside, a different kind of tempest was building.

"Y/N," he said her name like a prayer, like a question, like an answer to something he'd been asking his whole life.

She stepped into him, her hands sliding up his chest, feeling his heartbeat thundering beneath her palms. "I know," she whispered. "I know."

Their mouths met with the inevitability of tides meeting shore—not gentle, but necessary, fundamental. His hands tangled in her still-damp hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss, and she melted into him, years of resistance crumbling like sandcastles before a wave.

They moved together, a dance neither had choreographed but both knew by heart, until her back met the wall. His hands braced on either side of her head, caging her in, but she'd never felt less trapped. This was where she wanted to be—had always wanted to be, if she was honest.

"Do you know," he murmured against her neck, his breath hot against her skin, "how many times I've imagined this? Imagined you here?"

She arched into him, her nails scraping lightly down his back through his wet shirt. "Tell me."

He pulled back to look at her, his eyes dark with something that went deeper than desire. "Every night. Every time you looked at me with fire in your eyes. Every time you walked away and I wanted to follow."

The confession hung between them, heavy with truth. She saw herself reflected in his eyes—not the careful construction she showed the world, but something raw and real and utterly exposed.

"I hated how much I wanted you," she admitted, the words scraping her throat. "Hated how you could look at me and make me forget why I was supposed to keep my distance."

"Why did you?" His thumb traced her jawline with devastating gentleness. "Keep your distance?"

"Because this," she gestured between them, "this terrifies me. You terrify me."

"Why?"

"Because you see me." The words came out broken, honest. "Really see me. And I don't know what to do with that."

He kissed her again, softer this time, like he was trying to tell her something words couldn't capture. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers.

"I see you," he confirmed. "The real you. The one who's brilliant and stubborn and passionate. The one who fights me because it's easier than admitting we're the same."

"We're not the same," she protested weakly.

"No?" His hand slid down to where her pulse hammered in her throat. "Then why does your heart race when I touch you? Why do you look at me like I'm both your salvation and your damnation?"

She couldn't answer, because he was right. They were two sides of the same coin, two storms destined to collide.

"I'm tired of pretending," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Tired of acting like I don't think about you every moment. Tired of this dance we do."

"Then stop," she challenged, her hands fisting in his shirt. "Stop pretending."

Something shifted in his expression, a wall finally crumbling, and suddenly they were moving again. He lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her deeper into the apartment. She expected him to head for what she assumed was his bedroom, but instead, he stopped at the sofa, setting her down gently.

"I need to see you," he said, his hands framing her face. "In the light. Need to know this is real."

The city lights painted them in silver and shadow, the storm outside providing a percussion to their heavy breathing. She reached for the hem of his soaked shirt, helping him pull it over his head, her hands mapping the planes of his chest like she was trying to memorize him by touch.

"It's real," she assured him, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. "We're real."

He shuddered beneath her touch, his hands tangling in her hair again. "Say it again."

"We're real," she repeated, punctuating each word with a kiss. "This is real. I'm here."

"Finally," he breathed, the word holding years of longing.

He sat down on the sofa and pulled her onto his lap, the cushions creaking beneath their weight as his mouth crashed into hers with a hunger that left her breathless.His lips were soft yet demanding, and she couldn’t help but moan into the kiss, her hands tangling in his messy curls. The kiss was wet, messy, and fucking perfect, their tongues sliding together in a rhythm that felt like they were trying to consume each other. His hands immediately found her waist, gripping her like he couldn’t believe she was real, like he needed to anchor himself to her.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled against her mouth, his voice rough with lust. “You’ve been driving me fucking crazy. You know that, don’t you?” His hands slid up her body, fingers skimming the sides of her breasts before he palmed them through her dress and lace bra, and she arched into his touch with a gasp. Her nipples were already hard, aching for his attention, and he didn’t waste any time. He pinched them through the fabric, making her cry out, her hips bucking up against him.

Lando pulled back just enough to unzip her dress and take it off in one smooth move, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of her tits. They were fucking perfect—full and round, spilling out of her black lace bra like they were begging for his touch. His hands came up to cup them, squeezing gently before his thumbs brushed over her nipples, and she whimpered, her back arching off the sofa.

“These are fucking incredible,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “I’ve been staring at them all this time, all these years, imagining how they’d feel in my hands. And fuck, Y/N, they’re even better than I dreamed.” He leaned down, capturing one nipple in his mouth through the lace, sucking hard as his hands kneaded the soft flesh. She gasped, her hands fisting in his hair as he gave her other nipple the same treatment, his teeth grazing the peak through the fabric. It was almost too much, the sensation so intense it felt like he was sucking directly on her clit.

He pulled the cups of her bra down, and her tits spilled out, her nipples already hard and begging for his mouth. He didn’t disappoint, his lips wrapping around one nipple again while his fingers pinched and rolled the other. She cried out, her hips grinding against his thigh, her hands clutching at his shoulders. He sucked harder, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, and she felt like she was on fire, every nerve in her body alight with need.

“Lando, please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “I need you. I need you inside me.” He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his eyes full of promise.

“Not yet, baby,” he murmured, his hands still kneading her tits. “I’m not done with these yet.” He leaned down again, this time taking both nipples between his fingers and rolling them roughly, making her cry out. His mouth moved to her neck, sucking and biting as he continued to torture her tits, and she could feel her pussy getting wetter with every touch.

“Lando, please,” she whimpered, her hips moving frantically. “I need you to fuck me. I need you to fill me up.” He groaned, his hands moving to her hips as he pulled her closer, his cock hard and pressing against her thigh.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so fucking wet,” he growled, his fingers slipping under the waistband of her panties. He found her clit, rubbing it in fast, tight circles, and she cried out, her hips bucking against his hand. “You want me to fill you up, baby? You want me to give you my fucking cream?” His voice was rough, almost guttural, and it sent shivers down her spine.

“Yes, please, Lando,” she begged, her voice breaking, each word trembling with need. “I need it. I need it so bad.” His response was a low, guttural groan, one that sent shivers down her spine. His fingers slid inside her, slow and deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every inch of her tight, wet heat. When he crooked them against her g-spot, she gasped, her back arching as pleasure shot through her like a live wire. “Oh god, Lando,” she cried out, her hands gripping his shoulders so hard she might’ve left marks. Her pussy clenched around his fingers, the sensation so intense it felt like she was being pulled apart and put back together all at once.

He didn’t stop, didn’t give her a moment to catch her breath. Instead, he fucked her through her climax, his fingers moving in and out of her with a rhythm that had her crying out his name over and over. She could feel herself unraveling, her body trembling with aftershocks as he pushed her higher, driving her toward another peak before she’d even come down from the first. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured against her neck, his voice rough and full of admiration. “Let go for me. Let me feel how much you need this.” His words, so filthy and tender at the same time, made her whimper, her hips bucking against his hand as if begging for more.

Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as she gasped for air, her body completely overwhelmed by the sensations he was wringing from her. His lips found hers, and the kiss was wild, desperate, his tongue sliding against hers as he continued to fuck her with his fingers. He swallowed every sound she made, his free hand gripping her hip so tightly she knew she’d bruise, and the thought of his marks on her skin only made her wetter.

“You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N,” he growled against her mouth, his voice ragged with need. “The way you’re clenching around my fingers—fuck, I can’t wait to feel you around my cock.” His words sent a fresh wave of heat through her, her pussy tightening around his fingers as her orgasm built again, faster this time, more intense. “Please,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as she clung to him. “Please, Lando, don’t stop. Make me come again. I need it. I need you.”

He didn’t disappoint, his fingers moving faster now, harder, his thumb brushing against her clit as he fucked her relentlessly. She could feel her orgasm building, a coiled tension in her belly that threatened to snap. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. “Come for me. Let me see how much you need this.” And then she was there, her body convulsing as she came with a scream, her pussy clenching around his fingers like a vice. He didn’t stop, didn’t let her catch her breath, just kept pushing her higher, until she was gasping for air, her body trembling with the force of her release.

He pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean, his eyes never leaving hers. “You taste so fucking good, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and full of desire. 

“But I’m not done with you yet.” He stood up, pulling her with him, and she felt his cock press against her stomach, hard and thick and ready. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, baby. I’m going to fill you up until you’re dripping with my cum.”

She whimpered, her hands gripping his shoulders as he pushed her panties down and kicked them aside. He spun her around, bending her over the back of the sofa, and she felt his cock press against her entrance, the tip already slick with her wetness.

“Please, Lando,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Please fuck me. I need you so bad.” He groaned, his hands gripping her hips as he pushed inside her, inch by agonizing inch, until he was buried to the hilt. She cried out, her nails digging into the sofa as he bottomed out, the stretch almost too much.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so fucking tight,” he growled, his hands tightening on her hips as he started to move, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. She gasped, her pussy clenching around him as he set a brutal pace, his cock hitting her g-spot with every thrust.

“Oh god, Lando,” she moaned, her head falling forward as he fucked her harder, faster, his cock filling her up so perfectly she thought she might come again just from the feel of him inside her.

“You feel so fucking good. Please don’t stop. Please don’t ever stop.” He groaned, his hands moving to her tits, squeezing and kneading them as he fucked her, his hips slamming against her ass with a force that made her see stars.

“You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “You take my cock so fucking good. I’m going to fill you up, baby. I’m going to give you every fucking drop.” His words sent a thrill through her, her pussy clenching around him as she felt her third orgasm building.

“Please, Lando, I’m so close,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as her hands gripped the back of the sofa, her knuckles turning white. His cock slammed into her relentlessly, hitting that perfect spot inside her with every thrust, making her see stars. Her pussy clenched around him, so tight it was almost unbearable, and she could feel her orgasm building, coiling in her belly like a spring ready to snap.

“I need you to fill me up,” she begged, her voice trembling with desperation. “I need to feel you come inside me.” 

His response was a low growl, his hips driving into her with even more force, his hands gripping her hips so tightly she knew there’d be marks. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice rough and full of need. “You’re so fucking tight. I can feel you milking my cock already, baby. You want my cum that bad?” His words were filthy, so raw they sent shivers down her spine, and she whimpered, her pussy clenching around him as if to answer. 

“Yes, yes, Lando, please,” she gasped, her body trembling as she hovered on the edge of climax.

“I need it. I need you to fill me up. I want to feel you spilling inside me, marking me as yours.” Her words seemed to unleash something in him, because he fucked her even harder, his cock driving in and out of her with a desperation that matched her own. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with their ragged breaths and her broken cries. 

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he growled, his voice guttural, almost primal. “You’re always going to be mine.” His words, so possessive, so full of raw emotion, pushed her over the edge. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing around him as she screamed his name, her pussy clamping down on his cock like a vice. He didn’t stop, didn’t give her a moment to catch her breath, just kept fucking her through her climax.

“That’s it, baby, come for me,” he murmured, his voice rough with admiration.

“Let me feel how much you need this.” His hands moved to her tits, squeezing and kneading them as he continued to thrust into her, his cock hitting her g-spot with unerring precision. She could feel him swelling inside her, his release so close she could almost taste it.

“I’m going to fill you up,” he promised, his voice low and full of intent. “I’m going to give you every fucking drop.” 

“Please, Lando,” she cried, her voice breaking as she clung to the sofa, her body shaking with the force of her pleasure.

“I need it. I need you.” He groaned, his hips slamming into her one last time before he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he came deep inside her. She could feel him spilling into her, hot and thick, and she moaned, her pussy clenching around him as her own orgasm peaked again, drawing every last drop from him. 

Lando stayed buried inside her, his cock still pulsing softly as their bodies remained locked together. The air around them was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, their breaths ragged and mingling in the stillness. Her back was still arched over the sofa, her hands gripping the edge for support, but now his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close, anchoring her to him. He pressed his chest to her back, his lips finding the curve of her neck, and the tenderness of the gesture made her shiver. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice raw and husky, yet so full of affection it made her heart ache. His fingers traced delicate patterns along her hips, and she could feel the way he trembled against her, his own body still catching up with the intensity of what they’d shared.

“You don’t even know, do you? What you do to me?” His words were soft, almost reverent, and they sent a warmth spreading through her chest. 

She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat, replaced by a soft, breathless moan. It was part plea, part prayer, and he seemed to understand, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

“I know,” he whispered against her skin, his lips brushing her shoulder. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

The endearment, tender amidst the raw passion they’d just shared, nearly undid her. This was Lando—her obsession, her undoing—holding her like she was something fragile and sacred, even as his body still pulsed inside hers. His hands moved to her stomach, splaying across her skin like he wanted to memorize every inch of her.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed, his voice rough with admiration. “I could stay like this forever, just... feeling you. Being inside you.”

She turned her head slightly, seeking his gaze, and when their eyes met, she saw herself reflected in his—wild, free, utterly transformed. “Don’t look away,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm.

“I need to see you. Need to know you’re still here with me.” His hand moved to her cheek, brushing away a strand of hair, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes never leaving his. 

“There you are,” he said, his voice so tender it made her chest tighten.

“There’s my girl.” The possessive endearment should have made her bristle, but instead, it settled something in her soul, a piece she hadn’t realized was missing. She felt claimed, yes, but also cherished, like she was his in a way that went beyond the physical. 

“Yours,” she whispered, the word slipping out like a secret, a promise. And it was—a surrender and a claim all at once. 

He kissed her then, his lips soft against hers, and she melted into it, her body still trembling with aftershocks. His hands moved to her hips, gripping her gently, and she could feel him hardening inside her again, his cock stirring as if it couldn’t bear to be separated from her. 

She gasped softly, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of their passion. "That was..." she started, her voice breathless and unsteady, her hands still gripping the edge of the sofa for support as she tried to find the right words. But nothing seemed adequate, nothing could capture the intensity of what they’d just shared.

"Yeah," Lando murmured, his voice low and rough, his chest still pressed to her back, his hands splayed possessively over her hips. His breath was warm against her neck as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her hair. His hips shifted slightly, still buried deep inside her, and she felt a shiver run through her.

"It was, baby." His words were soft, but they carried a weight that made her chest tighten.

Her fingers traced idle patterns across his forearm, marveling at the way his skin felt against hers, at the way he held her like she was something precious. The walls between them had crumbled, and she was still trying to process it—the raw vulnerability, the honesty, the way he had claimed her body and soul.

"What happens now?" she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost lost in the stillness of the room. Her body was still pressed against his, their connection unbroken, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to let go of this moment—of him.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her even closer, as if he could sense her uncertainty. "Now," he said, his voice firm but gentle, "we stop pretending. No more games, no more dancing around this. We stop wasting time." His lips brushed her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin. "Unless," he added, a teasing edge creeping into his voice, "you’re planning to hate me again tomorrow?"

She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. How could she hate him when he held her like this? When his touch made her feel more alive than she’d ever been? When she could still feel him inside her, their bodies utterly entwined? "I never hated you," she admitted softly, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

"I hated how you made me feel. Out of control. Vulnerable." Her voice wavered slightly, and she felt his hands tighten on her hips, grounding her.

"And now?" he asked, his voice smooth and low, his lips trailing up her neck to press a kiss just below her ear.

She hesitated, taking stock of her scattered defenses, the walls she’d spent so long building now lying in ruins around them. "Now," she said, her voice steadier this time, "I think maybe control is overrated."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and she felt it vibrate through her. "There she is," he murmured, his voice full of admiration. "The Y/N I fell for. The one brave enough to admit what she wants."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned her head slightly, trying to catch his gaze. "You fell for me?" Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, and she hated how vulnerable she sounded.

He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes, and the intensity in his gaze made her heart stutter. "Sweetheart," he said, the endearment rolling off his tongue like he’d been saying it for years, "I’ve been falling for you since the day we met. I just got tired of hitting the ground alone."

Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and she blinked them back, but he noticed, his thumb catching one that escaped. "Hey," he said softly, his voice gentle, "what’s this?"

"I wasted so much time," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Fighting this. Fighting you."

"No," he corrected, his voice firm but tender. He pulled her closer, his hands moving to wrap around her waist, his body still pressed against hers. "We both did what we needed to do. Maybe we weren’t ready before. Maybe we needed the fire to forge us into something stronger."

She shifted slightly, her body still connected to his, and with a soft, almost reluctant push, she eased him out of her. The sensation of his cock sliding free made her breath catch, her pussy feeling suddenly empty, as if it already missed the heat and fullness of him. He groaned softly, his hands gripping her hips as if he didn’t want to let go, but she turned in his arms, settling back against the sofa until his now-softening cock rested lightly on her lower belly, the weight of it a reminder of what they’d just shared. Her hand trailed down his chest, fingers brushing over the damp skin, before she cupped his face and kissed him—slowly, deeply, pouring everything she couldn’t say into the contact. When they broke apart, she felt something settle in her chest, a rightness she’d never experienced before. His breath was warm against her lips, his eyes searching hers, and in that moment, she knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.

When they broke apart, she felt something settle in her chest, a rightness she’d never experienced before.

"I want to try," she said, her voice steady now. "No more games, no more pretending."

"Good," he said, his voice low and full of promise. His hands moved to cup her face, his eyes locked on hers. "Because I’m not letting you go now. You’re stuck with me, Y/N."

"Promises, promises," she teased, but her heart was in her throat.

He smiled, that boyish grin she’d seen glimpses of before, but now it was directed at her with such open affection that it made her chest ache. "I don’t make promises I can’t keep," he said seriously, his thumb brushing her cheek. "And I promise you this—I’m going to spend every day showing you that this was worth the wait. That we were worth the wait."

She believed him. For the first time in her life, she let herself believe in something as dangerous and beautiful as love.

[cherrycranes]

Boy Next Door (Michael McCrea x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Michael McCrea x Fem!Reader Summary: You're in a gross, shady motel with your neighbor and best friend, Michael, during a road trip. There's only one bed and lots of feelings about to be confessed. Word count: 4,144 Contents: (Minors DNI). Unprotected sex, praise, ass & pussy eating, cream pie, eating cream pie. Author's notes: Sorry for taking so long, but finally, here's our underrated scrawny man in another collab with @fuckiingloser. Mandatory "english is not my first language" disclaimer. Stan Michael McCrea.

Serene darkness, cut through by the persistent headlights, enveloped the car as you made your way through the Irish highway. The Cranberries played ever so quietly from the stereo, barely filling the silence between you and Michael. You were halfway through a road trip made unnecessarily long due to roadwork, and evidently, you both were exhausted.

Michael was your friend and next door neighbor back home in the crappy Dublin apartment building, and he was a total sweetheart despite the life he had. The kind of guy who would drop anything he was doing if you needed help or a favor. Always there whenever you needed him.

Naturally, it was no surprise that now he was driving you to the funeral of an old friend of yours in the south. You didn't have a license or a car, and before you could think of other means of transportation, Michael had already jumped at the chance to drive you there himself.

“Gettin’ kinda tired…” He admitted to you, pulling you from your sleepy trance of staring out the window, watching the world go by. 

“And these roads are so dark… foggy... Maybe we should stop and get motel rooms for the night? Leave early tomorrow morning?” He continued, briefly turning to look at you just in time to catch your smile and nod.

“Yeah, I'm pretty beat too, I'd love to sleep in a real bed and not sitting up straight… The service isn’t until 3 pm tomorrow, so we should be good if we leave early…” You answered, much to his delight.

Not 15 minutes passed when a roadside motel appeared in the distance, less than luxurious and completely in the middle of nowhere. You couldn't afford to get picky.

Inside, it was more of a ruin than anything; stained carpet, broken leather on all the chairs that must be older than Michael and you, and an ancient black and white TV playing reruns of the Andy Griffith show. A shock this place forgotten by God was still functional.

Michael, always the gentleman, took the lead, heading up the counter with you trailing behind. The old receptionist finally looked up from behind his newspaper with a creepy, assuming smile, making your stomach turn a bit.

“We’d like 2 rooms please…” Michael was immediately cut off by the old man.

“No can do… only have one queen bedroom available for the night…” The old man croaked, looking at the two of you.

“Let’s just keep driving till we find another place…” You whispered in Michael’s ear, all weirded out and frankly disgusted by this place, when, once again, the old man chimed in before Michael could speak.

“No more lodging for at least 30 kilometers…” He said with his scratchy, creepy voice. “You want the room or not?”  

Defeated and tired, you sighed and looked at Michael, nodding.

“We’ll take it…” And with that, your fate was sealed. Michael paid for the room and helped you bring your bag upstairs. 

The smell of musty mothballs immediately greeted you both the moment he opened the door. Michael made sure to lock and deadbolt the room behind you, doing his best to protect you. 

You stood in there for a second, taking in what was supposed to be your sleeping quarters for the night. Cigarette burns in the carpet, a dingy mattress with a yellowish grandma blanket, and barely furnished.

“Oh my god, there’s not even a TV… What are we supposed to do all night?” You exclaimed with a slight laugh of disbelief, this really had to be your only option for the night.

Michael laughed back, setting down his bag and looking over the miserable room you now had to share. There was not even a couch for one of you to sleep on, just a questionable queen-sized bed that would make you sleep side by side.

“At least there’s a radio…” He walked over to it and turned it on, some pop song starting to play quietly beneath a slight static hum. 

“And… I’ve got a pack of cards and a bottle of vodka…” He added with a sly smile, showing you the bottle from the confines of his bag and making you crack a smile. He always knew how to do it.

“Sounds good to me… You always come prepared.” You laughed. “Let me change into my pjs and then we get to me kicking your ass at cards…” You gave him a playful wink and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him alone with his thoughts and racing heart.

You were clueless about this, but Michael had the biggest crush on you since you became his next-door neighbor almost 2 years ago. Matter of fact, he was whipped for you. And he had been too stupid and shy to say anything. 

Perhaps he didn't feel worthy of you, perhaps he was just waiting for the right moment; either way, he was always there for you. A shoulder for you to cry on after every failed relationship or talking stage with other guys, a helping hand with anything you needed; hell, he was even here because of you. And the closest he had gotten to you? Nearly kissed you once about a year ago. Nearly. 

That time, he was comforting you after an idiot dumped you. He had brought drinks and takeout and held you on your couch as you cried. Your tearful eyes met his, he gently rubbed your back, and you both leaned in, and that's when his phone went off.

After that night, nothing else happened but a few playfully flirty comments every once on a while, and it was killing him slowly.

In his eyes, you were perfect. Sweet, kind, funny, so beautiful… All he ever wanted to do was worship every bit of you, show you how you should be treated… But he couldn't work himself up enough to ever say it. Or do it. 

He couldn’t believe his luck tonight. Sure, you were in a shady, gross motel, but at least you were together. All alone with only one bed. It was too good, too perfect for Michael, as if the stars had aligned and had finally given him that chance. It was up to him to take it.

You pulled him out of his thoughts when you finally came out of the bathroom, a simple pair of cotton sleep shorts and a t-shirt covering you up. It sounded cliché, but Michael truly did love you like this, so natural.

“I was thinking about showering, but that tub is absolutely foul… So sorry if I stink, but I'm not taking my chances there." You announced with a laugh, making him chuckle and shake his head.

“You? Stink? Never… you’re always perfect…” He replied, perhaps getting carried away in between his playful tone, but even then, you could feel the slightest fluttering of butterfly wings in your stomach. 

You set down your things before jumping on top of the bed, sitting across from him as he took off his hoodie.

“Let's crack that thing open and get to it!” You smiled, looking at the bottle in his hands. With a nod, Michael opened and took a big swig right before handing it to you. The bitter plain vodka burned your throat and made you scrunch up your face, much to his amusement.

“Delicious, right?” He teased, his cockiness making you take a second swig.

“The only way I'll be able to sleep in this dump is if I'm a little tipsy, so I'll ignore the taste…” You handed him the bottle bac,k and he took another big sip himself, much more used to the bitter taste than you.

Sip by sip, you took turns with the vodka, completely forgetting about the playing cards in favor of conversation. A half hour passed, and half the bottle was gone too, making you finally tipsy enough to tolerate this seedy place. You both laid back on the bed, staring in silence at the ceiling that had definitely seen better days eons ago. The radio still played despite the slight static and enveloped you in the soft, easily digestible ballad of the moment.

There was no awkwardness to be found between you, only peace. At least from your point of view. In Michael's, it was all a big racing mess. He thought and mentally rehearsed everything he ever wanted to say to you, but never dared to. All the things he wanted to do but never did.

He fought with himself for a few minutes before finally making up his mind. Now or never.

Gently, Michael moved to lie on his side, facing you, his pale blue eyes roaming over your body the way he wished his hands could. From the soft exposed skin of your thighs, to your breasts under your t-shirt that moved up and down with your breathing, and finally, to your beautiful face.

You took notice, turning to look at him with a shy smile

“What are you looking at?” You asked softly, eyes connecting with his pretty blue ones. “Do I have something on my face?” 

Michael laughed and shook his head.

“No, no nothing like that… you’re just beautiful…” He whispered, and your brow furrowed a bit at his words. You knew him well, he was sweet. This should not have come as a surprise to you, but there was something about him tonight. Something different. More intimate.

You smiled, shyness creeping up on you.

“You think?” You whispered in hopes of hearing him say it again. Michael nodded, his calloused hand coming up to touch your cheek so softly.

“I've always thought you were the most beautiful girl… Always thought you deserved better than those losers who treat you like shit… A girl like you deserves to be worshipped…” his voice was soft, devotional, a tone reserved only for the most fervent of prayers. 

For a second, Michael couldn't believe he had said it, nervousness started to bubble up inside his chest when he took in your reaction, your mouth had fallen open a bit, your eyes widened, and, something that he did not see but you felt in its entirety, your pussy fluttered to life inside your shorts.

“Worshipped?” You whispered back, your tipsy brain spinning, trying to understand what he insinuated.

Michael smirked a little, easing up and ultimately getting brave.

“I’ve liked you for a long time… just never had the balls to say till tonight…” He confessed, his hand moving from your cheek down to the little stripe of skin showing on your stomach between your t-shirt and your shorts. He let his fingers dance over the skin lightly, giving you all the chances to reject his touch if you did not want it.

But you did want it. You almost moaned at the light tickle, your panties dampened as you turned to look at the ceiling, trying to process what was happening.

“You know how many times I've jerked off thinking about this perfect body?” Michael leaned in to purr right into your ear, and your breath hitched. The feeling of his stubble nearly tickling the sensitive skin and his fingertips tracing over your stomach right above the waistband of your shorts, making you weak.

“How many?” You whispered, so turned on you could barely think straight. 

“Too many times to count…” Michael answered before placing a few soft kisses on your sensitive neck. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you moaned at the feeling.

“Thought about eating your sweet cunt… and your little ass…” He whispered against your neck. “Making you come over and over…” 

For a moment, your brain had an alcohol-induced short circuit, you got lost inside those perfect blue eyes, and all words failed you. You jumped from his eyes to his pink lips, and as if he could read your mind, he leaned in, your lips locking in a hot, searing kiss that quickly turned into you devouring each other.

Tongues tangled against each other, and his hand buried itself in your hair, holding you close as you rolled around the creaking motel bed together.

His mind was spinning, he couldn't believe his luck. He couldn't believe this was real. All that time pining after you in secret, wishing for you… And now you were here, in his arms. He pulled back, panting, just to look into your eyes and take it all in. 

“God, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for that…” He whispered, coaxing a smile from you. His cute eagerness, his desire, was driving you wild.

“Hopefully, you want to do more than just kiss me…” You purred back, your arousal talking. You played with the hairs at the back of his neck, watching his eyes widen a bit as a smirk crept across his face.

“Oh, I'm just getting started…” He practically purred to you with a husky voice, anticipation biting at you.

Gently, Michael pulled back from you, raising to kneel between your legs and hooking his fingers onto the elastic band of your sleep shorts. Little by little, he pulled them off you until they flung to the ground.

“Wow…” His pale blue eyes widened when he was met with your bare pussy right away. Wet, tempting, and breathtaking.

“No panties under your shorts? Naughty girl…” He pretended to chastise you, and it made you giggle. “It's like you wanted me to eat your pussy…” His tongue came out to wet his lips, already savoring you. He lowered himself to lie between your legs, his head between your soft thighs.

“Mike… I haven't showered…” You whispered, insecurity making its way to you despite how much you wanted this. His blue eyes met yours, and he gave you a big smirk, his fingertips tickling your inner thighs.

“Do you really think that’s gonna turn me off or stop me?” He purred shamelessly and immediately dived in to lick a fat, greedy stripe between your folds and towards your clit.

You moaned loudly at the feeling, all your nerves and insecurities going out the window in an instant. He hummed at your taste, briefly pulling away just to praise you.

“Jesus Christ, you taste like heaven…” He practically moaned before diving back in for more.

Hungrily, his hot tongue explored every inch and crevice of your sweet cunt. You grabbed a handful of his dark hair with gentleness, steadying yourself as he devoured you. When your thighs made the slightest movement to close from how overwhelming this was becoming, Michael pushed them further apart, making more room for him and his talented tongue. He swirled the tip all over your entrance before letting it slip inside you, fucking you so good you nearly saw the face of God.

“Oh fuck- if you keep going i’m gonna come…” You cried out, head swirling with pleasure. A strong orgasm loomed closer and faster than expected, and it made his chest swell up with pride. He hummed in acknowledgement but never once stopped. 

He gave you lick after lick around your folds before pulling away to look up at you, his lips and chin glistening with your slickness.

“I could eat your pussy for hours… but I want you to come on my cock…” He wiped you off his mouth with the back of his hand before sliding off the bed and grabbing his wallet off the side table, opening it, and pulling out a condom.

“Knew this could come in handy someday…”  He said with a rather adorable smile, standing to kick his pants off him, his raging hard cock pressing tightly against his briefs all thanks to you. You bit your lip in anticipation as he crawled onto the bed, kneeling between your parted legs once more.

However, before he could tear up the condom wrapper, he inspected it, finding it worn down and clearly old. His face fell a bit in disappointment.

“What's wrong?” You asked in concern. 

“Fuck, it says it expired a year ago…” Michael looked at you, worried that this whole thing was now ruined. Calmly and endeared by the look in his eyes, you took it out of his hands and inspected the foil package before tossing it to the ground.

“It’s okay, I'm on the pill… we don’t need one…” You assured him with a cheeky smile, nearly taking the air out of his lungs. Nothing, absolutely nothing would ever prevent you from fucking this man.

“Thank fuck…” He breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude, not wasting any more seconds, and scooting closer to you. He pulled his briefs down and let his cock spring free for your eyes to feast on.

You couldn't help but bite your lip, it was bigger than what you assumed, and if how he eats pussy was any indication of how he fucked… You were in for a real treat.

He took his cock in his hand, slowly rubbing his already aching tip up and down your wet folds groaning slightly at the feeling. 

“God, I've wanted you for so long…” he whispered to you, teasing you with the head of his cock, your heart pounding in your chest, anticipation coursing through every vein in your body.

He looked into your eyes, his pupils widening from pure lust.

“Ready?” He whispered, so sweet and caring he was, even during the middle of your drunken, whirlwind revelation of wanting to jump each other's bones right here and now.

His eyes fell from yours back down to his cock between his legs, perfectly lined up at your entrance. You let out a sigh of relief mixed with a moan and he moved his hips forward, pushing the tip inside your warm, wet and perfectly tight pussy that was the only heaven Michael had ever known.

You moaned, your hand reaching up to hold onto his forearm for support, just like he did with your hips. He pushed deeper, slowly however, allowing you to adjust for a second despite what his hard cock urged him to do, he truly did want to fuck you hard and fast like an animal in heat, and it was taking all his willpower to remain gentle.

After a minute, his restraint broke a little, and he started to move, his hips picking up speed. He was well aware that he wouldn't last long, not when he was balls deep inside the girl of his dreams. It would be a miracle if he lasted 10 minutes inside you.

“You feel so fucking good love…” He groaned to you, looking down at the beautiful sight of you with your mouth hanging open and letting out sweet moans. He watched your tits bounce underneath your t-shirt at every thrust, nearly hypnotized.

He leaned back over, chest to chest with you again. His lips found yours once more for a sloppy, hot makeout, his clumsy thrusts filling the dreary motel room with slapping sounds.

You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him closer, making him groan loudly into your mouth. Your nails clawed through his t-shirt, mixing pain with the best pleasure he has ever felt in his life, your tight little pussy.

Michael broke the kiss with a shortness of breath, his hips never stopped despite how sloppily and hard they moved. The tip of his cock hit your g-spot again and again.

“I’m gonna come…” He whimpered, his orgasm building deep inside him faster than he thought it would.

His thumb reached between your moving bodies to rub much needed circles on your clit, hoping to God he’ll make you finish before him. Your pussy fluttered, dangerously trying to milk him for all he's worth.

“Come for me… come inside me…” You begged him with a loud, whiney moan. His eyes widened in a pleasant shock, his brain malfunctioned for a bit. He had never dreamed of being in this position, much less have the girl he loved in secret begging for him to come inside of her. 

“Oh- fuck-really?” He panted in disbelief, praying that his ears hadn't fooled him and that it was what you truly wanted. You nodded repeatedly, moans spilling from your pretty mouth and your eyes squeezing shut. 

Michael fucked you harder, rubbing your clit much faster as your body began to feel that familiar buzz of a pending orgasm inside you.

“Oh my god- i-i can’t hold it…” He whined. “Come with me please…” and as if on command… You did. Hard. Your back arched off the bed against him, your clothed tits pressing against his chest. You moaned much louder than ever, your pussy fluttered around his cock so tightly it was game over for him.

“Jesus Christ- I'm coming…” He moaned almost in disbelief. You felt so good; your orgasm, your face contorted in pleasure, everything about you made his sloppy thrusts slow and his cock twitch as he filled you, looking deeply into your eyes.

‘Passionate’ was not enough to describe it, ‘intense’ wouldn't even come close. It was incredibly unique, too good to share something this intimate for the first time ever. You both laid there for a minute, collecting your breath together, he still nested inside. 

Silence took over for a little while until he finally pulled out, pulling back to his knees to look. His eyes widened a bit and his breath hitched watching his cum leaking slowly out of you.

“How does it look?” You asked softly, noting just how fixated his eyes were on your dripping pussy.

“Perfect… fucking perfect…” He whispered hungrily, you watched his eyes darken a bit before he did something you could have never expected.

His big hands pushed your thighs up against your chest, giving him the perfect view. He quickly leaned in and let his tongue lick a fat stripe over your dripping pussy, catching his own cum mixed with yours on his tongue, moaning loudly against you at the taste. 

“Oh my God… Mike…” You whimpered in disbelief, hand going straight to his soft brown hair again to grab a fistful. His tongue eagerly slid into your entrance, circling it with the pointy tip and making you moan over and over again like a bitch in heat. 

He ate you like a starving man… And in a sense, he was. This had been his dream for a year, being with you in every way possible, and now he wouldn't let any time go to waste.

Michael groaned against you, tasting you both on his eager tongue. He licked lower and lower until he was down at your asshole. He painted a fat stripe of saliva from your ass all the way up to your clit then back down again a few times, bringing heaven down on you. 

“Fuck...” You whimpered breathlessly, still trying to process it all. His tongue circled your asshole, pleasure flooding your brain when he pushed inside. He hummed happily against you, completely satisfied at the little string of moans you let out for him.

He pulled back for a second just to catch his breath then dove right back in, now licking your pussy. His tongue swiped over and between your soft folds, making sure to clean up all the mess you made together.

It was all too good, he had to force himself to pull away for good after a few minutes. He would honestly eat your pussy forever if you let him. 

As he pulled back to his knees, he admired you; so beautiful and perfectly spent. You both panted, trying to concoct the correct words in your brain to describe just how it was.

“Wow… that was just… wow…” You whispered, trailing off a bit with a small grin playing at the corner of your lips.

His hands found their way to your thighs, rubbing them. He smiled, watching you stumble over your words, brain still fuzzy and reeling.

You sat in there, quiet, the dingy motel room mattress supporting you as you looked at each other. Finally, his fingertips glided over the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“Still just friends?” He asked with that little familiar glimmer in his eyes, full of hope that you wanted more just like he did, and that this wasn’t just a one time thing that happened by chance in some shitty motel.

At that moment, it finally clicked… And you just didn't know how you had never seen it before. Michael, your friend who did everything for you. The guy who made you laugh and was always a shoulder to cry on whenever you needed someone. It was always him. Right in front of you the entire time. The boy next door. 

You giggled a little and shook your head no.

“Of course not just friends… just no more creepy motels…deal?” You teased him, and he chuckled in agreement.

“Deal.” 

Pinterest board for envisioning purposes!

[kathaelipwse]

Stuck With You

Masterlist

☘︎ Next chapter>>>

Pairing: CEO!J.Yunho x Secretary!Reader

Trope: Grumpy x Sunshine

Warnings: Smau, Fluff, grumpy yunho, bickering

Word count: 1.1k

Author's note: Hie lovies! I hope y'll are fine! Also! This will be a series of 12 chapters!

Chapter 1: The Long Road

The storm warnings had come in earlier that morning—dark clouds brewing over Seoul, thick enough to make the city feel like it was sinking under the weight of the sky. Rain poured, slamming against windows and turning the streets into rivers. A flight to Ulsan was supposed to be easy—a quick trip. But as the weather worsened, the airline had announced it: all flights canceled.

And so, here y'll are, trapped in a car, traveling the four-hour route to Ulsan. Yunho, the CEO of one of the biggest companies in Korea, had insisted on driving. The decision made no sense to you, his secretary who had to accompany him for an event in Ulsan. As time passed by, Yunho had been… Yunho. Grumpy, moody, irritated that something so trivial as weather had ruined his perfectly planned day.

“Great,” Yunho muttered under his breath, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Four hours. Wasted.”

The traffic on the highway was crawling. The rain didn’t help, and the skies had darkened even further, making the world outside seem claustrophobic. The headlights of other cars smeared through the fog, nothing more than vague shadows in the rain. The hum of the engine and the soft rustling of the wipers were the only sounds filling the car.

You shifted in the passenger seat, glancing over at Yunho, trying to figure out how to break the suffocating silence. They had been quiet for a while now, both of y'll lost in your own thoughts.

“You know,” you started, voice light and casual, “the view looks kind of nice in a weird, stormy way.”

Yunho didn’t even look at you. He just sighed, his eyes locked on the road. “If you think the view is nice, you must be insane.”

You smiled a little, trying not to let his mood drag them down. “You don’t think it’s a little bit peaceful? All this rain? It’s kind of… soothing.”

He didn’t respond, and for a moment, the only sound was the soft buzz of the car's engine.

“You sure you don’t want to stop for a coffee or something? Get a break?” you asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Yunho’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I don’t need a break. We’re already behind schedule as it is.”

You let out a small sigh, knowing this was going nowhere. “We’re stuck in traffic, sir. We’re gonna be late no matter what.”

Yunho shot you a quick glare. “I’m aware of that.” His voice was tight, like every word was squeezed out through clenched teeth.

You turned towards the window. “Well, there’s no point in getting worked up about it.”

Yunho's eyes flicked over to you for a split second, his jaw clenching. “It’s not about the traffic. It’s about the time. Time is money. And I hate wasting it.”

You rolled their eyes, but Yunho wasn’t looking. “You’re really going to keep going on about the time? You do realize we’re not getting to Ulsan any faster by complaining about it, right?”

Yunho’s lips curled into a tight smirk, though there was no humor in it. “It’s cute that you think that.”

You blinked, trying not to let the sarcasm get under their skin. “Look, it’s not my fault your flight got canceled. You’re the one who insisted on driving instead of canceling the plans with a solid excuse of The Storm.”

“Because the event is important for the company Ms. L/n, you are aware of it,” Yunho said, his voice flat.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I think this is a waste of time,” you muttered. “You’re driving, we’re stuck in traffic, and we’re still hours away from Ulsan. And, oh—did I mention we’re already running late?”

Yunho hissed under his breath, clearly annoyed at your remark. “If you’re going to keep complaining, I’ll turn this car around and drive you straight back to Seoul. Or I will leave you here itself. How’s that sound?”

You snapped your head toward him. “That’s not even funny.”

A heavy silence filled the car, thick with the tension of frustration and annoyance. The rain hammered against the roof, and the low growl of the engine was the only sound breaking the quiet.

“Alright,” Yunho said, finally breaking the silence. “I’ll take a shortcut. It’ll save us time.”

You turned your head sharply. “A shortcut? Really? You’ve got to be kidding.”

Yunho’s eyes flicked to the GPS on the dashboard. “The map says it’ll save us at least 20 minutes.”

You squinted at the screen. The route looked different from the one y'll had been following. It led into a narrow road, almost like it wasn’t even part of the main highway.

“Sir, that doesn’t look like a shortcut,” you said, voice laced with doubt. “That road looks like it’s going to take us to the middle of nowhere.”

He shot you a look. “It’s a shortcut. Trust the map.”

“Trust the map? This thing’s barely working,” you argued, raising an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t just want to get lost?”

Yunho’s grip on the wheel tightened. “I’m not getting lost. We’ll get there faster. Just sit back and relax.”

But as y'll veered off onto the new route, the road seemed to narrow, the trees growing thicker, the air heavier. The headlights barely cut through the rain anymore, and the soft hum of the wipers felt like the only thing keeping y'll grounded in reality.

“This is getting weird, Sir,” you said, your voice now a little more tense. “This doesn’t feel like a shortcut. We’re not even on the map anymore.”

Yunho didn’t respond. His eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead. The GPS flickered for a moment, then a “Route recalculating…” message appeared.

“What the hell?” you muttered, glancing over at the screen. “It’s—”

The map froze, then went blank.

“Sir, what the hell is happening? Where are we?” Your voice was starting to edge into panic. “This isn’t on any map.”

Yunho’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “I don’t know. The signal’s gone. This damn road is cutting us off.” His voice was tight, now showing hints of irritation. “We’re going to have to turn back.”

But when you looked back, the road behind y'll was gone. It was as if it had never existed, swallowed by the night shadows, trees blocking the way they came.

“What the hell?” you said again, voice shaky. “There’s nothing back there. We can’t even—”

Yunho slammed his fist on the dashboard in frustration. “Great. Just great.” He gritted his teeth. “We’re stuck.”

You looked out the window, the rain intensifying with every passing second. There was no sign of a road, no lights, no houses, nothing but darkness and the relentless storm.

“Sir,”you said softly, their voice almost drowned out by the downpour, “what do we do now?”

Yunho didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked from the road to the blank GPS screen, then back to the endless dark ahead. His grip tightened even more on the wheel.

“I don’t know.” His voice was low, barely audible over the rain. “We’re lost.”

.....To Be Continued

[kaleldobrev]

Comfortable?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: Falling asleep in Dean's lap while he's driving

Word Count: 516

Warnings: None, honestly just pure fluff

Authors Note: Takes place pre-season one | Would anyone be up for a pre-season series with reader and Dean? Been really in the mood to write a little something | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

You didn't know what it was about Baby that had made you feel so safe and secure, but each and every time you stepped foot inside of her, all anxiety and fear that you once had would quickly wash away. She wasn't a quiet vehicle by any means. The engine roared, and sometimes she would bump a little more prominently on certain roads, the sound of legos would rattle when the AC or heat would be turned on, and Dean would always have some type of cassette playing even if you were attempting to get even a wink of sleep.

The more you thought about it, maybe it wasn't Baby who had made you feel safe and secure, but it was the man that drove her.

As Dean drove along the highway, there were no cars in sight. The only kind of light for miles were the headlights of Baby; not even streetlamps. Metallica was playing softly on the radio, as Dean lowered the volume so the two of you could talk without yelling over the music. But the conversation didn't last long as you felt your eyes starting to grow heavy.

You wanted to try and stay up so you could continue talking to Dean, but the tiredness that you were feeling was starting to take over more and more. Letting out a small yawn, you pressed your back to the passenger side door and crossed your arms, trying to get into a comfortable position. "Gonna sleep on me?" Dean asked, briefly looking at you before looking back at the road again.

"Unfortunately, yes," you confirmed. "I just feel exhausted all of a sudden," you said.

"Want your blanket? It's still laid out from earlier," Dean said winking. You looked at him, not responding to his comment as you were too tired. Usually, you'd give him some kind of sassy remark, or tease him, but instead, you simply just leaned into the back seat, grabbing the blanket Dean had placed neatly before the two of you had sex a few hours prior.

Taking the blanket you wrapped it around yourself, and tried your best to get comfortable, but you found yourself shifting way too much. "Come here," Dean said, gesturing for you to lay down.

"You sure? Won't be distracting?" You asked.

He shook his head. "Not at all," he reassured. "Now come here. I want you to be comfortable. We got a long drive."

"Okay," you said, before shifting positions. You placed your head in Dean's lap, while the soles of your boots pressed up against the passenger side door. When you looked up briefly, your boyfriend was slightly grinning. "Comfortable?" You asked.

"I should be the one asking you that," he said, letting out a small chuckle. "But yes, I am comfortable. Are you?"

"Yeah," you replied. "Wake me up if we stop okay?"

"Sure thing Sweetheart," he said, his free hand that was currently not on the wheel started stroking your hair gently; your eyes starting to flutter closed. "Goodnight Sweetheart."

"Goodnight Dean," you smiled before feeling yourself drifting off to sleep.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons @missy420-0 @jackles010378 @mrsjenniferwinchester @syrma-sensei @k-slla @justletmereadfanfic @deans-daydream @octoberclidan If you'd like to be added to a tag list, let me know!

[catfern]

outback.

in support of palestine ∙ the reality of tlou ∙ resources

pairing: trucker!abby x afab!reader

music: her - unloved

word count: 1.7k

summary: the night shift at a remote petrol station sounded like easy double pay. but nights get lonely. you've gotta find something to keep yourself entertained.

warnings: porn with a smidgen of plot, fingering, some perverted staring, tiny tiny implied age gap, australia. this is rlly just porn

fern says ⎯ THIS ONE IS FOR ALL THE AUSSIES IN THE AUDIENCE MAKE SOME NOISE!!!!!! this truly is self indulgent cause i miss flirting with hot women who call me darl.

you brought this on yourself, really.

the pale blue of the bug zapper fought a contrast with the dying fluorescents, painting half the aisles in an eery, twilight movie shade. the heat of a high december night was creeping, clinging to your shitty polyester uniform as you camp out in front of the only standing fan.

you had begged for a job, pleaded for it really, in the wickedness of this economic climate. you had run, tail between your legs, from your local chain grocery at the sight of the price of an avocado, and thrown yourself at the feet of the next passing employer. like a squire to the knights of old.

you just hadn’t expected it would be this job.

the gatekeeper of one of the last vestiges of civilisation. the night shift at a deserted highway petrol station.

the flickering floodlights by the pumps fighting an uphill battle to keep the creeping night at bay, you can do nothing but stare, eyes adjusting, ‘unadjusting’, readjusting to the dark over and over again. you’d had a total of two customers since you took over from the day shift crew. one just threw a gatorade your way in exchange for the bathroom key.

the high beam headlights of an oncoming truck shake you from your fading thoughts, baking you into the linoleum tile as you squint, blind. asshole.

you’d been warned about truckers, briefly. handsy rednecks, your manager had called them in passing while giving you a tour of the storage room. desperate old fucks who crawl like dogs to anything with a hole.

you watch with an almost bated breath as the peeling yellow cabin of the long-haul truck pulls into park, your eyes following its jaunty movement through the glass of the front windows. you’re starting to think maybe you should have brought an illegal switchblade to work. if you had one.

you avert your gaze quick, grabbing at something from the magazine rack in desperate hopes to appear disinterested, unapproachable. 15 Ways to Homeschool Your Kids. sure, that works.

the bell above the door chimes, you spy the scuffed leather boots crossing the plastic tiling with heavy footfall. 

“y’got a lounge?”

standing at the counter, you have to admit, she’s not what you pictured when you saw the truck. not that what you see is at all worth of complaint.

a thin sheen of sweat clings to her, echoes of the heat of the road. her skin is flushed, the contour of her muscle sitting, almost man-made, in a thin, cotton singlet. her hair is tied tight, her features, sharp, discerning, eyeing you down. you try not to stare, too obviously, at the soft outline of her nipple piercings beneath her shirt.

“hm?” you’re distracted.

“a lounge, darl. trucker lounge?” she repeats slowly with a bite of a smirk, looking at you like you were only a little bit stupid. your stomach drops with the honey of the nickname.

your eyes dart around the small space of the shop. you barely had space for the 3 aisles and the dingy bathroom. you clear your throat, trying to shake the feeling of fascination, “oh — uh, nah.”

she scoffs, a wicked, small laugh, before retreating to browse the snack section.

you watch her, when you think she isn’t looking. small, caught glimpses in your feigned disinterest. she’s been on the road long, a tension in the broadness of her shoulders obvious as she readjusts her posture, eyeing the chips. you try bury whatever rears its head in your stomach when you hear her groan as she squats to better see the canned fruit. a roughness in her voice, lead with age and smoke.

you drop your reading material and smile, tight lipped, polite, as she approaches the counter. a cold meat pie and a ginger beer.

"and uh — pack'a rothmans, thanks, love.”

you nod, turning to wrestle with the rusting cigarette cage behind the counter, when you hear her chuckle, breathy and deep as she talks,

“y’look a little young to have kids.”

spinning back so quick you make yourself dizzy, you swipe the shitty magazine off the counter, discarded and unimportant, “nah, i… i was just bored.”

she rakes her eyes over you, slow, and you can’t help but feel the pull, magnetic, a knot in your stomach as she studies you. you feel caught in a trap, under her gaze. looking up at her, her looming presence is becoming all too real.

you slide the pack of cigarettes over the counter, trapped meeting her eye. a smile, something sly, plays on her lips as she thanks you, moving to catch a breeze of the fan.

an uncomfortable beat of silence passes between you. well, it’s uncomfortable for you. no longer able to hide behind disinterest behind glossy paper, you instead wrestle with yourself to seem at least neutrally interested, not utterly obsessed. you wring your hands behind the shelter of the till.

the woman shakes a cigarette free from the pack, holding it between the skin of her lips. “you smoke?” she’s looking at you, through the corner of her eye.

no, never.

“uh, yeah.”

you follow her out the shop, tied to her artificial shadow in the fluorescents. something is crawling in the night, when you step outside. a cicada silence echoes across the gathering dirt and dust.

she offers you the cig she had been holding, you take it gingerly, holding it in your mouth as she holds her lighter up. she brings her hand to cup the flame, to keep the absent breeze from destroying it. you feel, just slightly, the brush of her calloused palms against the low of your cheek, and you pray that the navy hue of the bug zapper is enough to hide the heat on your skin.

smoke fills your lungs, foreign and quick, an itch inside you that feels impossible. you cough and splutter to the chorus of her raspy laughter.

“you haven’t smoked a day in your life.” she says with a lopsided smile, plucking the cigarette from your hand and bringing it to her lips, taking a long, constrastly confident draw.

you shake your head in between wheezes, “is that what everyone is always going on about?”

“you’ll get used to it, here,” 

she hands it back to you, you feel obliged to take it. to try again, as she so quietly commands. your second go is met with an only slightly irritating tickle in your throat.

“that’s it, good girl,” something that seems so unsure rolls off her like syrup, something you had never known you were so desperate for. her hand finds the small of your back, her fingers dancing circles in something akin to comfort, to praise.

you look up to find her eyes already on you, tracing the contours of your neck in icy blue form.

the smell of artificial pine and day-old dust clings to her, swallows you whole as you fall victim to her touch, light-headed and weak at the knees as her breath fills your lungs.

she’s nothing if not vocal, desperation falling from her lips in tortured moans as she presses herself into the crook below your jaw, drawing your soft skin beneath her teeth, softly licking the littered aftermath, a trail down your chest.

she’s quick to undress you, pulling impatiently at the scratchy fabric of your worn company polo shirt. she’s not phased by any forgotten need for privacy, for decency. she’s only here in passing, after all.

“oh, sweetheart,”

the lace of your bra is a temptation not lost on her, a delight she so happily indulges in after days on the road. in some perverted part of her mind, you wore it for her. maybe, in some cosmic, fated way, you did.

her hands snake down your body, helping themselves to the lux of your curves as her lips press, all-consuming, against yours. her fingers lightly spreading your legs, a mean chuckle souring the kiss.

she’s not at all easy, or kind, the way she pulls you open, watches you fall apart in the brutality of her control. she touches you like she aims to destroy you, her fingers working relentlessly to the pull of your walls, unheard to your pleas to — please, slow down.

“that’s it, darling. come on,” it’s sharp, delirious and oh so pleased to hear you, a whisper tickling the dip of your chest, watching you through the blonde of her eyelashes as you throw your head back, your body rocking to the rhythm she sets.

“p-please, fuck, jesus, fuck!” if she was any meaner, she would have laughed. but god, she’s distracted. driven mad by her own dripping need.

“you wanna come, baby? yeah, yeah?” she’s slowing down, and you chase her question with a desperate, shakey nod. “yeah, you do. come here.”

she takes your hand in hers, delicate, kind, a wicked contrast. under the guidance of her touch, you grip the stiff denim of her jeans, tender, unsure, until she leads you to the heat between her legs and you nearly melt. her hand goes to fiddle with her belt, her eyes finding yours, bleary, in the haze.

“think you can help me out, sweetheart?” she nods along with you, and you’re unsure if she’s copying you, or you are her.

“yeah — i can, please, please,” you whine, your hips still rutting a lazy pace against the now stagnant force inside you. your hand pulls, impatiently, at the waistband of her cotton boxers, pulling them down to sit unceremoniously at her hips.

“fuck, good girl,” she seethes at the languid circles you draw on her clit, gentle and paced, as you chase your own euphoria on her fingers, “come on,” a whisper, hot on your neck, “i’ll go faster if you do, darlin’.”

you pick up in a daze, so compliant to the whim of her demand, so desperate to feel her calloused fingers trace the tide against your centre. rushing that feeling, wretched to have her tear you apart.

her fingers rock against you without care, wrenching every ragged moan from the cut of your throat as her speed picks up, “that’s it, fuck, you feel so good, sweetness. keep — keep going.” hoarse whispers against your chest as she presses sloppy, undone kisses to the ghosts of your ribcage.

you watch, above the broadness of her shoulder, as a peak of the sun paints the horizon a muddy pink, your moans a soundtrack to the emptiness of the desert as you practically bounce on the stranger’s fingers, loud for your own release.

yeah, you lost your job.

⎯ kofi

taglist; @whore4abby @endureher @beemillss @afraidofheightss @sentimentalyellow

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

OMGG hear me out

size kink with namgyu😩 i just KNOW this man’s hands are massive — could be headcanons or a fic babe i don’t mind aha take ur time love ur writing xx

Passenger Princess

Character: Namgyu x Fem!Reader Rating: Explicit (18+) Genre: Smut, Soft Romance, Roadtrip AU Word Count: ~2.1k

Summary: On a late-night roadtrip stop, you and Namgyu get more than just McDonald’s. Wrapped up in blankets, sipping a milkshake, you can’t stop giving him that look — the one that always drives him crazy. A heated backseat encounter reminds you just how tiny you are compared to him... and how good it feels to be taken care of afterward, tucked back into the safety of his big hands.

⚠️ Content Warnings:

Size kink (reader is significantly smaller than Namgyu)

Oral fixation (milkshake sipping, lots of mouth focus)

Car sex / backseat sex

Vaginal penetration (unprotected; established relationship)

Reader struggling to take Namgyu (stretching, minor pain/pleasure mix)

Praise kink (lots of pet names: "baby," "princess")

Hand-holding during sex for comfort

Aftercare-heavy (blanket bundling, milkshake feeding, forehead kisses)

Mild overstimulation

Slight power imbalance (Namgyu being very big/controlling but soft)

No use of explicit reader body descriptors (reader is coded fem but body-neutral

The car rumbled softly down the empty highway, headlights carving a path through the dark.

Namgyu’s hand was big and steady on the wheel, knuckles flexing every now and then as he shifted lanes. You were bundled up in the passenger seat — blankets up to your chin, sipping a McDonald’s milkshake and stealing glances at him from beneath your lashes.

He looked so good like this — calm, focused, one hand lazily tapping the wheel to the music playing low on the radio. His other hand — huge, veined, warm — kept drifting over to squeeze your thigh, thumb rubbing lazy circles through the fabric of your leggings.

He hadn’t even said anything yet.

But you knew that look he kept shooting you.

That slow, heated glance that made your stomach flip.

That tiny smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth every time you shivered under his touch.

You sucked on the straw, pretending not to notice.

Didn’t work.

At the next empty pull-off, he turned the wheel sharply, guiding the car onto a secluded overlook.

The engine idled.

You set your milkshake down, heart already racing.

"You," Namgyu said, voice low and amused, "have been giving me that look for an hour."

You blinked up at him, innocent. "What look?"

He chuckled — deep and rough — and reached across the console, cupping your face in one massive hand.

"This one," he said, thumb brushing your cheek. "All sweet and soft and needy."

Before you could protest, he was tugging the blankets off you, unbuckling your seatbelt, and guiding you into the backseat like it was nothing.

Like you weighed nothing at all.

You climbed into his lap without thinking, straddling his thick thighs, hands braced against his chest.

He kissed you — slow, dirty — tongue sliding into your mouth like he owned it.

When his hands dropped to your hips, pulling you against him, you felt the hard length of him through his jeans.

Big.

So fucking big.

You whimpered into his mouth.

Namgyu grinned, nipping your bottom lip. "You gonna be good for me, princess?"

You nodded, dizzy with want.

You didn’t even notice him pulling your leggings down — not until he was tugging his own pants low enough to free his cock, thick and heavy against his stomach.

You stared.

You always did.

Every single time, you forgot how huge he was.

You shifted nervously, already feeling your body clench tight at the thought.

Namgyu caught your chin between two fingers, tilting your face up to his.

"Don't overthink it," he murmured. "Just hold my hand."

He laced his big fingers with yours — his palm practically swallowing yours — and gave you a reassuring squeeze.

You nodded again, heart thundering.

Slowly, he guided you down onto him.

The stretch burned — deep and raw — and you whimpered, forehead dropping to his shoulder.

"Shh," he soothed, rubbing circles into your back. "You're doing so good, baby. Just breathe."

You gasped, squeezing his hand tighter as you sank lower, his cock filling you more than you thought possible.

You felt so small like this — so tiny around him — like he could break you if he wasn’t careful.

And somehow, that made you even wetter.

He kissed your temple, whispering filth-soft into your hair.

"Look at you," he groaned, voice rough with awe. "So little. Barely fit around me, huh?"

You nodded helplessly, nails digging into his massive hand.

He started moving — slow, deep thrusts that made your whole body rock with the force of it.

Every time he pushed in, you cried out, muffling your sounds against his hoodie, overwhelmed by how much of him there was.

Namgyu was patient — holding you, murmuring praises into your ear, letting you hide your face while he stretched you open and filled you completely.

"You’re perfect," he whispered. "Taking me so good, baby. My pretty little passenger princess."

You sobbed out a soft noise, clinging tighter, letting him use you — slow, possessive, greedy.

Outside, the world was dark and silent.

Inside the car, it was just you and him and the slick sound of skin against skin, the windows fogging up with every gasping breath.

He didn't let go of your hand the whole time.

Not until you finally shattered around him, crying out his name in a high, broken sob — and even then, he kissed you through it, filling you deep, praising you like you were the only thing that mattered in the whole world.

The car was quiet now, except for the sound of your heavy breathing and the low hum of the engine.

Namgyu stroked your hair gently, his big hands moving slowly, soothing you while you curled against his chest — still trembling slightly from how hard you'd come.

"You did so good for me, baby," he whispered against your hairline, voice deep and raspy.

You mumbled something back — half-words, half-whimpers — too blissed out to form a real sentence.

Namgyu just chuckled softly, that low, chest-rumbling sound that made you feel even smaller against him.

"You’re so fucking cute," he murmured.

Carefully, he lifted you off him, hissing softly at the sensitivity.

You whimpered as he set you down on the seat beside him, but he was already grabbing one of the spare blankets from the floor — warm, soft — and wrapping it around your shoulders.

"There we go, princess," he said, tucking you in like you were something fragile and precious. "All cozy."

He kissed your forehead before tucking himself back into his jeans, his movements unhurried and calm.

You stayed slumped against the seat, dazed and boneless, watching through heavy-lidded eyes as Namgyu pulled out a napkin from the McDonald’s bag and gently wiped between your thighs — soft, almost reverent.

"Sorry if it’s a little cold," he murmured, glancing up to make sure you were okay.

You just nodded, cheeks flushed, blinking up at him like he hung the moon.

He smiled — that rare, fond smile he only ever gave you — and tossed the napkin into a bag on the floor.

Then he helped you climb back into the front seat, tucking you back into the nest of blankets like a spoiled little passenger princess.

You didn’t even have to lift a finger.

Namgyu leaned over you, buckling your seatbelt with a soft click, kissing your cheek afterward like it was second nature.

"You okay, baby?" he asked, brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead.

You nodded again, still floating.

He grinned, clearly satisfied, and handed you your half-melted milkshake from the cupholder.

"Drink some," he ordered gently. "You need the sugar."

You sipped obediently, the cold hitting your throat sharply — refreshing and grounding.

Namgyu started driving again, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over to tangle his fingers with yours.

You clung to him like a lifeline, tiny compared to his massive hand wrapped around yours.

The road stretched endlessly ahead — dark and peaceful.

You leaned your head against the window, blankets tucked up under your chin, his hand never letting go of yours.

Every few minutes, he'd squeeze your fingers gently — a silent reminder:

I'm here. You're mine. You're safe.

You sipped your milkshake, heart full and soft and so in love you thought you might burst.

There was nowhere else you’d rather be.

Passenger princess forever.

[millyh23]

Weathering the storm

Alessia Russo x Reader

Word count: 1.5k

_________________________________________________

Y/N thought they could just hold on a little longer until the storm passed. But fate had other plans. The screech of tires echoed in the distance, and before Y/N could react, the world spun out of control. Metal crunched and glass shattered, filling the air with a cacophony of chaos. Y/N braced for impact, but the last thing they remembered was the blinding flash of headlights before everything went dark.

Meanwhile, Alessia was at home, scrolling through her phone when an alert buzzed in her pocket. Her heart sank as she read the news: a massive pile-up on the highway, just a few miles from where Y/N was headed. Panic surged through her veins. She dialed Y/N’s number frantically, but it went straight to voicemail.

“Please be okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling. The thought of anything happening to Y/N was unbearable. Within moments, she was out the door, driving like a whirlwind through the rain-soaked streets.

When Alessia arrived at the scene, the sight was devastating. Emergency lights flashed in a kaleidoscope of colors, and the air was thick with smoke and the cries of sirens. Her heart raced as she scanned the wreckage, each twisted metal frame a haunting reminder of the fragility of life.

“Y/N!” she shouted, her voice cracking as she pushed through the crowd. But there was no response, only the chaos surrounding her. The sight of so many mangled cars sent dread washing over her. The worst scenarios played out in her mind, each one more horrifying than the last.

As she moved closer, the weight of despair settled in her chest. She stumbled upon a paramedic, desperate for information. “Please, have you seen someone? A black BMW with white lines on it?” she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

The paramedic shook his head solemnly. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re still assessing the situation. There are a lot of cars involved.”

Alessia felt her heart drop. She stepped back, the world around her blurring as tears threatened to fall. What if something happened to Y/N? The thought pierced through her like a knife. She felt a wave of nausea as she fought to keep herself together.

Just then, a figure emerged from the haze of smoke and chaos. It was Y/N, covered in soot and drenched from the rain, rushing toward her with a frantic look in their eyes. Alessia’s heart soared, but it was quickly replaced by overwhelming relief mixed with anger.

“Y/N!” Alessia shouted, tears streaming down her cheeks as she ran to them. She enveloped Y/N in a fierce embrace, holding on as if they might disappear again. “Thank God you’re okay! I was so scared!”

Y/N wrapped their arms around Alessia, feeling the tremors of her body against theirs. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” they reassured, though their voice shook. “My car… it’s totaled, but I’m okay.”

Alessia pulled back just enough to look into Y/N’s eyes, searching for any signs of injury. “You promise? You’re really okay?”

Y/N nodded, their expression softening as they brushed a thumb across her cheek, wiping away her tears. “I’m here. I’m safe.”

But Alessia couldn’t shake the panic that had gripped her. The sight of the wreckage, the fear of losing Y/N—it was all too much. “I thought I lost you…” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Y/N gently cupped Alessia’s face, their eyes locking in a moment of understanding. “You’ll never lose me. I promise.”

As they finally made their way home, the weight of the day hung heavy in the air. Alessia couldn’t stop glancing over at Y/N, her heart still racing with the remnants of fear. Once inside, she felt an overwhelming urge to cling to Y/N, as if letting go would mean losing them again.

For the next few days, Alessia stayed glued to Y/N’s side, refusing to let them out of her sight. She followed them from room to room, wrapping her arms around them whenever they were still. “I just need to know you’re okay,” she would whisper, burying her face in their shoulder.

Y/N chuckled softly, though it was tinged with tenderness. “I’m okay, Alessia. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

But Alessia couldn’t shake the image of the crash from her mind. Each time she thought about it, her heart would constrict painfully. So she held on tighter, drawing comfort from Y/N’s presence.

One evening, as they cuddled on the couch, Y/N turned to Alessia, brushing their fingers through her hair. “You know, it’s okay to be scared. What happened was serious.”

“I know,” Alessia replied softly, her voice muffled against Y/N’s chest. “But I can’t help it. You mean everything to me.”

Y/N smiled gently, tilting Alessia’s chin up to meet their gaze. “And you mean everything to me. That will never change.”

With that promise hanging in the air, Alessia felt a warmth spread through her, reminding her that in the face of chaos, love was their anchor. As she nestled closer to Y/N, she knew they would face whatever challenges lay ahead together.

As the week wore on, Alessia’s clinginess began to morph into a newfound appreciation for the small moments they shared. They spent evenings watching movies, cuddling under blankets, and sharing whispered secrets in the dark.

One night, as they lay together, Alessia turned to Y/N, her heart swelling with love. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life. But being with you helps me feel safe again.”

Y/N smiled, brushing a lock of hair behind Alessia's ear. “You’re my home, Alessia. No matter what happens out there, you’ll always be my safe place.”

With those words, a wave of calm washed over her. She felt a sense of peace settle in her chest, knowing that they could weather any storm together.

As the sun began to set on another day, Alessia snuggled closer to Y/N, feeling more at ease than she had in days. “Let’s make a promise,” she said suddenly.

“A promise?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Yes! A promise that no matter what happens, we’ll always talk about our fears, our worries. We’ll share everything, okay? I don’t want to ever go through something like that alone again,” she declared, determination shining in her eyes.

Y/N nodded earnestly. “I promise. We’ll face everything together, and I’ll always be here to listen.”

“Good,” Alessia said, a smile spreading across her face. “Then no more hiding our feelings. We’re a team.”

“Always,” Y/N affirmed, leaning down to press a soft kiss on her forehead.

As they settled into the comfort of one another’s arms, Alessia felt a renewed sense of hope. The world outside could be chaotic and unpredictable, but within their little bubble, they had created a sanctuary filled with love, understanding, and resilience.

Together, they would navigate whatever life threw their way, hand in hand, heart to heart.

Days turned into weeks, and slowly but surely, the memories of the accident began to fade, though they were never completely gone. Instead of feeling like a shadow lurking over them, it transformed into a reminder of their strength and the bond they shared.

Y/N and Alessia found themselves enjoying more adventures together as the weather improved. They took leisurely drives, laughing and singing along to the radio, each journey a testament to their resilience. They visited parks, went on hiking trails, and spent evenings at cozy cafes, cherishing the simple joys of life.

One sunny Saturday afternoon, they decided to take a trip to the beach. The sound of waves crashing against the shore and the salty breeze filled the air as they spread a blanket on the sand. Alessia watched as Y/N dashed toward the water, laughter echoing in the air. It was a sound she had missed during those heavy days following the accident.

“Come on, Alessia! The water’s amazing!” Y/N called, splashing water in her direction.

Alessia laughed, her heart light as she joined Y/N in the surf. They played in the waves, splashing each other and racing back and forth. For the first time in a while, Alessia felt completely free, her worries washed away with each wave.

After their impromptu water fight, they settled back on the blanket, both breathless and grinning. Y/N turned to Alessia, their expression turning serious for a moment. “You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“About what?” Alessia prompted, tilting her head curiously.

“About how we’ve grown through all of this. The accident brought a lot of fear, but it also made me realize how important you are to me. I don’t want to take a single moment for granted anymore,” Y/N said, their voice steady yet filled with emotion.

Alessia felt her heart swell. “I feel the same way. I’ve learned to appreciate the little things, like this…” She gestured around them, taking in the beauty of the beach, the sun setting in the distance, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. “And being with you.”

Y/N smiled, leaning in closer. “What if we made it a point to have more days like this? Just us, exploring, living in the moment?”

“I’d love that,” Alessia replied, her eyes sparkling. “Let’s make it a tradition. A reminder that life is precious and we should enjoy every second together.”

“Deal.” Y/N extended their pinky, and Alessia linked hers with a grin.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky transformed into a canvas of colors, and they sat in comfortable silence, side by side. Alessia leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder, feeling grateful for the love that surrounded them.

“Promise me something?” Alessia said softly.

“Anything,” Y/N replied, their gaze focused on the waves.

“Promise me that you’ll always stay. No matter how hard it gets,” she urged.

“I promise,” Y/N assured, wrapping an arm around her. “We’re in this together, always.”

The warmth of Y/N's embrace wrapped around Alessia like a protective cocoon, and she felt a sense of peace wash over her. They stayed there, watching the last rays of sunlight fade away, knowing that whatever storms might come their way in the future, they would face them together, hand in hand.

As they made their way back home that evening, hearts full and spirits high, Alessia knew that they had weathered the worst and emerged stronger. Love had carried them through the darkest moments, and as long as they had each other, every day would be a new beginning, full of hope and endless possibilities.

_________________________________________________

The End

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Into a Tailspin

Prompt Day 27: Traffic | Word Count: 959 | Rating: E | CW: Sexual Content, Premature Ejaculation | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, First Kiss, Getting Together, Virgin Eddie, Coming in Jeans

Eddie can feel the hum of the road beneath the tires, as they're piled together in the back of the Wheeler station wagon. Far too many of them for the space available, and somehow Steve always ends up in the very back. Now, by association, Eddie is in the back, too.

It's been a long day. A trip to Indy, a day full of Christmas shopping and seeing lights, and now they're all exhausted for the long, long ride home.

Everyone is asleep, or at least pretending to be. Well, except for Nancy and Robin in the front, which is good, since Nancy's driving. They keep changing the music to things Eddie isn't at all fond of, but Eddie can hear Robin's nervous chatter, and he smiles internally, just a little. She's trying. He's not sure if she'll ever get there, but she's definitely working at projecting what she wants out into the universe.

Nancy plays everything closer to the vest, so Eddie's not totally sure if she feels the same way, but he's willing to be she's not exactly uninterested.

Eddie shifts on the floorboard, and his arm bumps into Steve's.

They're so close that he nearly feels Steve's breath on his face. Eddie's pretending to be asleep, and he doesn't know why he's faking it. That's not true. He knows why. It's the only way he feels like he can be this close to Steve. 

Like Robin, he's been throwing it out there, hoping it'll stick. It hasn't, not so far, and that's okay. Eddie gets it.

Eddie's just about to doze off for real, when Steve's hand finds Eddie's hip, and Eddie doesn't even have time to react to that before Steve's mouth is on his. And not only is Steve kissing him, his tongue is already in Eddie's mouth.

Holy shit.

It's his first kiss, and it's a French kiss. 

Eddie isn't really sure what to do with that information.

He kisses him back, hoping that it's not awful. He's also hoping that everyone else around is actually truly asleep, not faking like the two of them were, or peeking over the backseat.

Gravitating towards each other now seems crazy, and Eddie can't even wrap his head around it. He feels like he's been flirting with Steve for months, and now is the moment he realizes it's been working?

There's not much by way of traffic on the highway this late at night, but a car does pass, their headlights filling the interior of the station wagon, and they pull apart, where Eddie is able to see Steve's eyes, just for a moment.

And then it's over, and Eddie just has to lay there and overthink his entire life. 

Back in Hawkins, the car stops, and sleepy kids pile out. Eddie feels pulled taut, on edge. Steve gets out, stretches his arms over his head, showing Eddie a sliver of hairy stomach.

Eddie wants to die. Wants to melt into the pavement and cease to be. Was it nothing? Was it everything? Eddie doesn't know, and he can't ask. There are too many prying ears of little shitheads. Is he really gonna have to go home and just stew about this? He'll go mad. Crazy. Lose his goddamn mi-

"Want a ride home?" Steve asks, interrupting his spiral, like it's any normal night. Like they haven't shifted something fundamentally between them.

But Eddie nods, because he wants to see this through. Wants answers. 

Wants to do it again.

Barely out of the driveway, Steve's hand is on his thigh, and creeping higher. 

Eddie's not opposed. He just isn't experienced, that's all. His dick is already straining against the zipper of his jeans, and he wants to squirm against the leather seat to relieve some of the pressure. Steve's torturing him. Not on purpose, probably. He surely doesn't know that this is new for Eddie, that it's thrown him into a tailspin.

A very horny tailspin.

Steve's driving, watching the road, and when they stop at the traffic light on Main, no other cars around, Steve's fingers brush Eddie's crotch. Fingertips ghosting across denim, a promise in the form of light grazes, but even that's too much. He can't. Eddie presses the back of his head into the headrest, squeezes his eyes shut, and comes.

Just like that, in his jeans. 

Now, he really does wish the ground had swallowed him up in the Wheeler's driveaway. 

"Goddamn," Steve says.

Eddie whines, and presses his fist to his forehead, eyes still squeezed shut.

"No, that's good," Steve says, eyes still on the road, "that's real good. Take the edge off, because I've got plans for you."

And if Eddie could come again already, he's sure he would have from that mental image alone.

Steve's thumb is still rubbing the head of Eddie's cock through the wet spot on his jeans. It's bordering on painful, he's too sensitive, too far gone. Too new at this. But it feels good, too. Like he's on the sharpest knife's edge, trying to decide which way to tumble. Pain or pleasure. He's gripping the console with one hand, his own forehead with the other, trying to stop his chest from heaving.

Eddie finally has to cover Steve's hand with his own. He doesn't pull it away, instead he guides it lower, pressing harder, further down. Changing it up to a good pressure, one that's not so solely focused on the head of his spent cock.

No matter what Steve has in mind, Eddie's down. He's in. Steve can show him the ropes. He can tie him up with the ropes. Anything, everything. 

The light goes green.

Eddie's imagination is overactive with the possibilities, as Steve pulls through the intersection and keeps driving.

If you want to write your own, or go see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🚘

[iansdreamer]

Merry Go || Christian Yu

Pairing: Christian Yu x Fem!Reader ౨ৎ

Genre: Fluff, heartbreak, bittersweet ౨ৎ

Inspo: The song Merry Go, by DPR IAN on his album "MIITO (Moodswings In To Order)" ౨ৎ

Word count: 1.6k

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

The rain was pattering outside his window, soft at first—like fingertips on glass—but gradually building into a restless symphony of storm and sorrow. Each drop slid down the pane like the seconds he was losing, time running through his fingers again.

He was in a rush.

Always in a rush.

But this time, it was different.

This time, it mattered.

He cursed under his breath, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. His car had broken down again—this time in the middle of the highway. The engine had coughed, sputtered, and finally died, and the headlights, long flickering like they had one foot in the grave, gave out entirely.

You always told him to fix it.

Over and over.

But he never listened.

Not about the car. Not about anything.

Now, with the sky barely blushing blue and the streetlights flickering out like tired stars, he sat stranded, helpless, and too far away.

He slammed his fist into the wheel, head falling forward, his forehead resting there in defeat. His breathing was shallow, rapid. Then slower. And then, suddenly, there were tears. At first, he tried to fight them—like always—but this time he couldn’t. They spilled. Heavy, hot, and angry.

He picked up his phone.

5:30 AM.

He was late.

He missed your flight.

His vision blurred, the cold light of the screen glowing in the darkness of the car. Panic twisted through his chest like a knife. But even as the tears fell, he didn’t give up. He couldn’t.

He hailed the first taxi he could find, yelling into his phone, voice cracking as he gave the driver the destination: LAX.

By the time he arrived, the airport was already alive. Bright lights, sterile air, people moving like static through the halls of departure. He ran—ran like his entire soul depended on it. He pushed past faces, past security lines and escalators, past time zones and memories. He searched until his lungs burned.

Then—he saw you.

You were standing near the gate, your suitcase at your side, hair gently tangled from the wind outside. And for a split second, everything froze. You hadn’t boarded yet. You were still there.His chest collapsed with relief, and without hesitation, he broke into a sprint. The moment you turned, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the ground. You gasped, more in disbelief than fear, and when he set you down, his eyes were red, tear-streaked, and wild with emotion.

“Don’t leave me…” he whispered, voice trembling.

You reached up, your thumb brushing a tear from his cheek. You were calm, heartbreakingly calm. “I have to,” you said softly.

He cupped your face in both hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks, trying to memorize everything—the shape of your lips, the small crease between your brows, the way your eyes looked when you were trying not to cry.

“You know I’ll long for the boring nights we used to rock?” he whispered, a faint smile breaking through the grief. “I remembered the last time I was at your spot. These might be unknown dead ends, but we...we were all that.”

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead in a kiss that ached like goodbye.

Then he held you. Just held you.

But before he could say anything else…He woke up.

Cold sweat clung to his skin like static. His chest was heaving, heart galloping like it was still running through that terminal.

Another nightmare.

Not a dream. Never a dream.

It had been months now, but that nightmare haunted him like clockwork.

Because in reality, he never made it in time.

You never waited.

And he never got that goodbye you both had longed for.

He checked his phone again.

5:32 AM.

That hour. That cursed hour. Always lingering like a ghost.

He blinked against the blue light, rubbing his eyes as if doing so would erase the image of you. But it never worked.

He must’ve passed out again last night, midway through reliving your memories. He always did that—ruminated on the past, tried to dissect every what-if like an autopsy. It was a habit now. A ritual of pain.

He remembered that specific moment with perfect clarity—the last time you tried. The rain was pouring then, too. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.

You stood at his door, drenched and trembling, mascara smeared like war paint, eyes swollen from crying. You had begged him to open the door, just like every other time your worlds had started slipping apart.

He opened it.

And maybe… maybe that was his biggest mistake.

Because he let hope in again. He let you in again.

You collapsed into his arms like you belonged there, like home was a person and he was it. He carried you inside as if you were weightless, as if you hadn’t both been dragging invisible baggage behind you for months.

You sat on his lap later that night, both of you cross-legged on the couch in dim lighting, legs tangled, hands framing each other's faces. Your fingers brushed through his hair gently as your gaze locked with his, unwavering.

“What do I do to you?” you asked, quiet and deadly.

The question pierced him.

You never really understood what you did to him—not fully—because he never opened up. But that question…It cracked something wide open.

“You make me feel like I’m on a merry go,” he whispered.

You blinked. “Merry go?”

You knew what he meant. But you needed him to say it.

“I keep spinning,” he said. “Round and round. Same place, different day. Always hoping it'll stop. But it never does.”

His grip on your hips tightened. His eyes shimmered with unshed guilt.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this back and forth… I’m a mess, darling. You know that.”

You said nothing. What could you say? It was all true.

So instead, you rested your head on his chest, while he ran his hands along your back beneath your shirt. His hands were warm. Familiar. Real.

This… this was the comfort you craved. Not the yelling. Not the slammed doors or bitter silences. Just this—him, close, breathing with you.

You’d been there too many times—love, break, repair, repeat.

You both knew how it started and how it always ended.

But that didn’t stop you from missing each other.

Even now, he missed you with everything inside him.

You took pieces of him with you when you left, like shards of a mirror—reflections of who he used to be when he was with you.

The night before you fled, you were lying in bed together. The windows were foggy from the rain. Your head was on his chest, your arm draped across his torso.

You tilted his face toward you, gently.

“Can we be forever?” you asked.

His breath caught.

You felt his heart race. Loud. Erratic.

“What do you mean?” he asked, playing innocent. But you could see through the cracks in his mask.

“Don’t act stupid, baby,” you whispered, voice feather-soft. “Just tell me if this can genuinely work.”

You were brave in that moment. Braver than he’d ever been.

But he couldn’t lie. He couldn’t give you what you wanted.

“I can’t,” he finally said.

And then, even softer, almost inaudible—

“I’m scared.”

You understood.

God, you understood.

You gave up your fear to be with him.

But he couldn’t do the same.

So, while he slept—breathing softly, peacefully, unaware—you booked your flight.

You sent him a message before the sun rose:

|| I’m leaving. If you care… come see me before I go. ||

When he woke up the next morning and saw your message, it felt like drowning. Like waking up underwater.

He sent you a flood of texts.

One read:

|| Haven’t I made it any further? You know I told you I was nervous... I didn’t mean to murder the moments I had with you. ||

But he forgot something.

Something his mind buried so deep in regret it erased it entirely.

That same night, before bed, he had said:

|| I’ve been telling myself I could be better off alone. ||

And he said it casually. Like it meant nothing. Like it was just air.

But it meant everything.

And now… it’s been a while. Time moved on.

But he hasn’t.

He still feels like he’s on that merry-go-round. Only now, you’re not there.

The spinning never stopped.

He went on a world tour after that. Music was all he had left to cope.

Then, one night, his tour brought him to the city you moved to. He never knew where you went—never asked. Maybe he was too ashamed. Maybe he didn’t think he deserved to know.

You, however, knew.

You stayed quietly updated. You knew about the album he released after you. You knew the song he wrote for you.

And despite everything—despite the pain—you bought tickets. Third row. Not close enough to be seen. But close enough to see him.

When the concert started, he walked out into the blinding lights and roaring crowd.

But somehow, someway… he saw you.

You didn’t wave. You didn’t smile.

But he saw you. Instantly.

His breath caught. His fingers tightened around the mic. He kept singing.

But something shifted.

And then… the song. Your song.

The one that bled you onto paper.

As it played, he locked eyes with you. And the world stopped spinning.

His voice cracked, raw with emotion. He cried. You did too.

No one else noticed. But somehow… they felt it. The emotion in his voice. The ghost in the crowd. The pain in every note.

They cried too.

Fighting their own demons.

The song ended.

You left.

Before the encore. Before he could find you. Before anything could start again.

And he didn’t chase you.

Because for the first time…He knew.

It was time to fully let go.

And that…That was the last time you ever saw each other.

But even now, even still—He spins.

Around and around.

On a merry go.

Without you.

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Badge Bunny

Gator Tillman x Fem!Reader

Summary: Getting pulled over by one of Stark County's finest turns into anything but a routine traffic stop.

Word count: 3.3K

18+ MDNI! Go on, get!

Warnings: Porn with a smidge of plot. Allusion to cheating (but not really!). Degradation. Oral (male receiving). Throat fucking. Spitting. Choking. Breeding kink. Size kink. Unprotected P in V (wrap it before you tap it!). Creampie.

Note: Thank you @starksbabie for keeping me motivated and constantly feeding the already rampant Gator thots! This one is for you you bb!

Badge Bunny Masterlist

Making your way down the familiar stretch of highway you weren't paying attention to any of your surroundings, only looking forward to getting home after a long night. 

Headlights cutting through the dark, deserted fields on either side of the small 2 lane road. Nothing went on this time of night. 

You hadn't noticed passing the familiar truck parked a little off the road in the gravel alcove. 

Humming along with the radio lost in your own little world the sudden bright blue lights behind you hit your eyes from the reflection in the rearview. 

“Shit,” you hissed, but wasted no time pulling over on the shoulder, rolling down the window as you came to a stop.

You watched through the side mirror. He slowly exits his truck as if he had all the time in the world. Adjusting his pants and belt before making his way toward you. 

You noted he was missing his vest and usual hat. Black shirt tight across his chest and abdomen. His thigh holster was exactly where it always was, an accessory he was almost never without. 

He sidled up to the window. Leaning down, so he could see your face. 

“Evening, license and registration.” You couldn't roll your eyes any harder. 

“Gator, I really need to get home. What's your problem this time?” 

“Hey now, that's no way to speak to a deputy.” He tapped the badge strapped to his hip. Black gloves still adorn his hands. Pity. He did have nice hands. 

“Sorry officer, where are my manners? What seems to be the problem tonight?” You put on your best innocent sounding voice, biting your lip as you looked up to him.

“Well, looks like you were going over the speed limit. Wanna step out of the vehicle for me?” his hard ass attitude on full display. 

“Gator, seriously?” You deadpanned and rolled your eyes, but he didn't budge staring down his nose at you, maintaining his authoritative demeanor. 

“Come on…out.” Patting the side of the door for emphasis. 

Quickly realizing it was no use, huffing as he stepped back to make room for you to exit the car.  

He whistles low. Appraising your bare legs in the skirt you wore for work. Waitressing at the local bar has its perks. Nice tips for a little skin.

It didn't help that your tits were pushed up practically spilling out of your top. The only sensible part of your outfit was the converse sneakers to battle any fatigue from running around all night. 

“And where are you off to dressed like that? Your boyfriend let ya’ out of the house like this?” His eyes drifting down and back up. 

Closing the door, and leaning against the side of the car he inches closer as he spoke. Looking up at him from under your lashes growing more unamused by the second. 

“My boyfriend doesn't mind at all, especially when I bring home nice tips. We both know if anyone in this town looks at me wrong he'd kill’m.”

“Is that so pretty girl? Well, he's not here is he?” Making a show to look around at the deserted surroundings, smirking back at you. “Go ahead and turn around for me.” 

You scoff. “Gator, is this absolutely necessary? I may have been going 5 over the limit.” 

“Afraid so. Have t’make sure you don't have any weapons. Hands on the side of the vehicle. Go ahead.” Nodding toward the car.

You huff again but finally relent. Turning around slowly, placing your hands palm down; you'd been through this before, you knew the routine. 

He stalked his way up to you. Anticipation already prickling your skin. Your panties growing damp. 

His chest close enough to your back that you could feel the heat radiating from him even through your shirt. 

His lips ghosted the shell of  your ear when he spoke. 

“If that boyfriend isn't going to put you in your place I guess I'll have to. And the way you've been sassing me, little girl, I've got my hands full t’night.” 

He pulled back, removing his gloves one by one, throwing them in front of you on the top of the hood. 

Placing his hands on your hips, he moved his thigh close behind you as he kicked your feet apart. 

“Gator, come on. I don't have time for this tonight.” 

He didn't say anything, instead lifting his hands higher on your body. Resting on your breasts, squeezing slightly, as your breath hitched. 

He smirked to himself. Slowly dropping his hands down your body. Across your stomach. Down your hips. Traveling the expanse of your thighs to the bottom of your skirt. He paused, pinky grazing the bare skin there that sent goosebumps across your flesh. 

He dropped past your skirt. Drawing a hand up your inner thigh as you shuddered. 

Up, up, up slowly. 

His finger grazed the now sopping fabric. You bit back a moan, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as he pressed slightly into your folds, pushing harder when he reached your clit. 

“Haven't even fuckin’ touched you and you're soaked. Fuck” he hissed as he moved back up to your hips, quickly turning you easily to face him. 

Your hands landing on his chest to keep you steady. He pinched your chin between his thumb and fingers to force you to look up at him. 

“Get on your knees.” he ordered. 

You easily complied. Hands sliding down his body for purchase as you slid. Your knees hit the asphalt. Wincing as its harsh terrain dug into your knees. 

“Good girl.” the words going straight to your core. 

As always a glutton for punishment and adoring any praise he would send your way. 

Your mouth was salivating at the thought of tasting him. Without being told you popped the button on his pants, slowly sliding the zipper down.

“Fuck, look at you. Can't wait to get my cock in your mouth, huh? Been thinking about it all day?” 

He could be a mouthy bastard but God was he right. 

You licked your lips at the already prominent tent in his boxers. Pants falling just below his bulge that you palmed. He hissed, throwing his head back at the sudden contact.

Your fingers grazed the band of his underwear pulling it just a bit, just to let it go as it snapped back into place. His head turned back down to you. Eyes blown full of lust, irises no longer on display. 

“Go on. It's not gonna suck itself.” He nodded, urging you to keep going. 

Your hands pull down his boxers, exposing him fully to you. Cock springing free, teasingly so. The size of him never ceased to amaze you. He easily was the biggest you'd ever had the pleasure of handling and the cocky bastard knows it. 

Long and thick. Tip flushed the prettiest shade of pink with a small bead of precum just beginning to spill from his slit. 

You timidly placed your hand around the base as if you hadn't done it dozens of times before. He was hot and heavy in your palm. 

“Mmmmmm…. Fuck.” He sounded as if he was ready to combust on the spot. 

Wasting no time, you licked a long stripe up the entire underside of his shaft from base to tip as you heard him let out a low moan. He braced himself, placing his hands where yours had been planted moments before on the side of your car. 

You wrapped your lips around his tip, swirling your tongue just the way he liked, eliciting a whine from him. 

“Good fucking girl.” He groaned. “Been thinking about this mouth and throat all fucking day.”

You continued teasing the tip letting your hand pump his neglected shaft. You finally sank down, tip nudging the back of your throat. 

“Mmmmmm… Goddamn.” 

You pulled off of him with a loud pop. 

“Better not let your daddy hear that Gator.” You smirked to yourself. “Taking the Lord's name in vain. Especially while your dick is getting sucked.” You tsked. 

He weaved his fingers through your hair and gripped the back of your head, forcing you back to look at him. You winced at the sudden sting. 

“Still fucking sassing me? My cock not enough to shut you up?” He gave you no time to respond. 

“Open.” 

You obediently obliged, sticking your tongue out and flattening it to accommodate him, letting your eyes fall shut. 

Instead of his cock, spit hits the back of your throat. A look of shock passes your features as you look up at him under hooded eyes before a shy smile adorns your face. 

“Fucking whore. Swallow.” He practically growled. 

You close your lips and obey, a low hum of satisfaction escaping you as you swallow thickly. 

Watching your little display intently, he pumped his length a few times with his free hand, before gripping the base tapping your already swollen lips. 

Your lips part as his tip beaches the heat of your awaiting mouth. He quickly feeds you as much of his cock that you can manage. 

He doesn't give you time to adjust as he plunges deep, hitting the back of your throat. You try to breathe through your nose, letting him use you as he pleases. 

He steadies the hold on your head as he licks his lips. 

“That's it. Good fucking girl. Take it. I know you can.” 

You allow him to fuck your throat. You knew it would be sore in the morning from the relentless punches over and over. 

Your eyes were watering from the abuse, mascara running down your cheeks. You can feel saliva running down your chin.

You knew how you must look but he was looking down at you as if you were the most beautiful site he's ever seen. 

You timidly moved your hand up, reaching the edge of his boxers forcing them down even further. You wrapped your hand around his velvety sack weight heavy in your palm before tugging slightly. 

“Oh fuck.” His hips snapped, bucking into you even further as you gagged around his cock. 

He stopped suddenly, sliding his length from you. String of saliva momentarily connecting from your lips to his tip. 

“Get up and get in the back of the truck.” 

“But…” you were going to argue but the look in his eye told you he was done playing. 

“Now.” 

You quickly shuffled to your feet as he half covered himself to follow behind you. 

He knew this late at night, there wasn't any chance of someone coming by spotting the two of you in such compromising positions but just to be on the safe side he reached into your car to kill the ignition.

He did the same with his. Bright blues fading into darkness. Undoing and removing his holster placing it in the front seat, so it wouldn't get in the way for what he intended to do next. 

You opened the back door and slid yourself up into the cab. Legs dangling in the open doorway awaiting his next instruction. 

He came into view, slowly slotting himself in-between your thighs. Your skirt riding up to expose more of yourself. The way your damp panties were sticking to your folds, suddenly made you grateful for the dim light. 

His hands came to rest on the top of your thighs, squeezing. Thumbs rubbing soothingly in contrast to the way he looked like he wanted to devour you. 

“Lay back and take those panties off f’me.”

You rucked your skirt up higher above your hips putting your clothed core on full display for him. They were his favorite. Pink and lacy with a little white bow on the top, just like a little present all for him. 

He palmed himself, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he sucked in a sharp breath. 

There were no formalities when seeing him like this. It was hot and needy. Quick and dirty. 

You raised your hips, sliding your underwear down your thighs. When you made it past your knees, he slid them the rest of the way. Fingertips grazing your skin on the way down. You didn't miss the way he tucked them away for safekeeping in his pocket. 

You parted your legs as far as they would go with the limited space. 

“Look at you. Who's got you like this huh? Some trash at the bar make you this wet?” 

You shook your head. “No baby, it's you. Always you.” 

You place your fingers through his belt loops, dragging him a little closer.

“Greedy little whore tonight.” He laughs out, grinning at your eagerness. “Pull your shirt up and take those tits out.”

You do as you're told, pulling it up far enough to put your matching bra on display. 

“You wear this hoping someone would see? Huh? Such a fuckin' little whore.”

He can see your already pert nipples through the transparent fabric. He cups both breasts before pulling the fabric down fully exposing you. Not wanting to take the time to properly undress you, latching his mouth to one laving his hot tongue across your bud before taking it between his teeth biting down slightly as you moan and arch into him. 

His hand gave attention to the other, his large palm nearly covering the entirety of you before switching to do the same, so neither were neglected.  

“Fuck, these tits are so perfect. And all mine.” 

He nipped the skin, slowly moving down your sternum with hot opened mouth kisses as he finally sat back up. The cool air hitting the moisture left behind sending a small shiver through you. 

His fingers began to trail the inside of your thigh, inching closer to the spot you yearn for him the most. A whine escapes you as he watches you squirm beneath him. 

He runs his finger up your slit, lips slightly parting as he grazes your bundle of nerves that has your hips bucking on their own accord. 

He slips a finger into your entrance with ease at how soaked you are. 

“Of fuck,” your head lolls to the side. 

“Jesus, this pussy always this needy?” 

You just nodded as he removed his finger, making you whine, bringing it to his parted lips, sucking with an obnoxious slurp. 

“Jesus, you always taste so fucking sweet.”

Growing impatient, you watch as he finally takes his aching cock back out from its confinements. Now an angry shade of red dons the tip, leaking another pearly bead from his slit. He was even harder than before if that was even possible. 

He runs his tip through your folds, catching your clit. That had your back arching, gasping into the sensation. 

“Yeah, that's it.”

He lined himself up with your entrance, breaching slightly. Nothing ever prepared you for the size, always a stretch no matter how many times he had fucked you. 

It was something he relished in each time you were together. Knowing that no one else could fill you up like he could.

He pushed in. Slowly, inch by inch. Your mouth falling open. Toes curling in your shoes. 

Once he reached the hilt, he quickly pulled out and snapped his hips back into yours. Punching the air from your lungs eliciting a moan so loud you were sure someone the next county over could hear. 

“God you're so tight. I missed this pussy.” His face tightened with pleasure, mouth falling slack at the feeling of your walls practically strangling his cock. 

There was no preamble as he sets a near brutal pace, fingers tight around your hips holding you in place sure to leave bruises in their wake. Punching little uh, uh, uhs from you with each upward thrust. 

“That's it. That's fucking it. Who's pussy is this huh?” He growled down at you. 

Too dazed to realize he had asked you a question, already cock drunk, he stopped mid thrust grabbing your jaw forcing you to look up at him, applying so much pressure your lips formed a small pout. 

“I asked you a fucking question. Who's pussy is this?” He loosened his grip so you could answer as he began to piston his hips once more. 

“Yours. It's…mmmm… fuck, all yours Gator.” you managed to squeak out as he placed his thumb on your clit, rubbing lazy circles into the bundle of nerves. 

He moved his other hand, tightening it around your throat, pinning you there as your own hands grasped his wrist and forearm. 

He pounded into your sopping cunt. Eyes trained to where the two of you connected, watching as his fat cock moves in and out. Enamored with the way you took him so well.

His hard length ramming into that spot within you that only he could ever seem to find, over and over, as his assault on your clit never ceased.

He knew that look, your eyes closing in anticipation of tipping over the edge. 

“Yeah? That it sweet thing? You gonna cum all over my dick?” 

“Ahhhh,” is all you could respond. He loosened the grip on your throat slightly. He wanted to hear the noises he could pull from you. 

“Come on, my little badge bunny, cum f’me. I want to feel her grip me.” 

He removed his hand entirely, bending down close to your ear, breath hot on your neck. He braced himself trying not to completely crush you beneath him. 

“Be a good girl and cum. I'll give her what she really wants. Fill her up nice so everyone knows who this pussy belongs to. Make your belly all full and round. Everyone in this fuckin' town’ll know who you belong to. You want that? I know you do.” 

His mouth was good for one thing and the filthy words falling from his lips was all it took. 

Your orgasm hit hard, the sparks behind your eyes were blinding. You didn't have time to warn him as your pussy clamped down pulsing around him, trying to milk him. 

You found purchase gripping his shoulders, screaming his name as you came. Just the way he likes. 

He stopped toying with your clit to chase his own release. He wasn't far behind you, his thrusts becoming erratic. 

He spilled into you with a loud groan and a string of words, coming out so fast you barely understood, “fuck iloveyou ilovethispussy gonnafuckin’knockyouup fuck fuck fuck.” 

He continued a few more thrusts into your already overstimulated pussy before finally stilling. 

He practically collapses on top of you. Face planted in between your neck and shoulder, he stays like for a few moments until he's breathing normally again. 

He raised up, looking for any signs of distress from you. 

“Sorry, you ok?” A sweeter tone to his voice, as he kissed your cheek. 

“M’fine. You okay baby? Roy being a dick today?” You cooed, hand to his cheek, thumb rubbing soothingly there. 

He saved these late night rendezvous for days he had a particularly hard day at work. 

His usually slick backed hair was falling into his face, as he nodded. “Yeah, but I'm better now. Ready to get home?” 

“Ready when you are, big boy.” You smiled deeply at him as his lips met yours.

It was a slow, needy kiss. His slightly chapped, wind bitten lips melted into yours as you pulled him closer. The tenderness a stark contrast to the way he fucked you moments before. 

He pulled back, landing one more peck before raising up and letting himself slip from you. You winced, already missing the way he filled you. 

He helped you into your panties muttering “don't want any of that going anywhere.” As you rolled your eyes. Thank God for birth control. 

He took your hand and helped you from the truck, kissing your temple.  

“See ya’ at home sweet thing.” Smacking your ass as you walked ahead of him to your car. 

Yeah, Gator may have been a lot of things. A jerk, asshole, sometimes misogynist (which he was working on, thanks to you) but he only had eyes for you. His sweet girl. 

And you were right about one thing. If anyone else dared to look at you the wrong way he'd kill’m. God help the poor soul who got on the wrong side of your man on a bad day.

[sissylittlefeather]

If You Talk In Your Sleep

Chapter 7

A/N: Well. I finally finished it. Oof, this one was a STRUGGLE. But I'm really pleased with how it turned out. I hope you enjoy it too! ICYMI this is the one with 1969 Vegas Elvis and the casino boss's wife. This is the dramatic finale!

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, you've got your smut (p in v sex, etc) but also GUN VIOLENCE and several people get beat up.

Word count: ~3.8k

Once you make sure he's as comfortable as he can be, his 6-foot frame shoved into the front seat of a car, you put your foot on the gas and make your way toward the eastbound highway and Vegas.

******

The rain begins about an hour outside of Los Angeles, slow and steady. It beats against the windshield in a constant pattern, making everything outside the window blurry and distorted.

You hate driving in the rain. Not being able to see makes you feel like you could lose control at any moment and that terrifies you. But Elvis is sleeping soundly in your lap and you hate to wake him. So you drive on, the rain coming down in heavy sheets with flashes of lightning in the distance. Thunder rumbles across the sky and you whimper softly. It's barely afternoon, but it's so dark that you'd think night was on its way. For the most part, you're alone on the highway, but every once in a while another pair of headlights comes up behind you or towards you head-on. You adjust your hands on the steering wheel, your knuckles white, and look down at him snuggled against your thighs.

But taking your eyes off the road was a bad choice.

Your tires hit a puddle in just the wrong way and you hydroplane. The car is about to go into a full spinout when you realize Elvis has sat up and taken the wheel. He gets the car back right and then pulls off the road. As soon as you throw it in park, he's wrapped around you, his lips pressed to your temple as you shiver in his arms.

“You're okay, baby. I got you.” He holds you, gently stroking the back of your hair and kissing your forehead between words. But rather than calming either of you down, his kisses move down your face to your lips and the heat between you escalates. Next thing you know it, you're straddling his lap in the front seat, his tongue so deep in your mouth you can hardly breathe. You grind your hips against him frantically and his hands run up your thighs hungrily. Your fingers shake as you move to unbuckle his belt and he rolls his hips forward while you reach in and stroke his quickly-hardening cock. There are no words between you, just passion and need, as you pull him free and he yanks your panties to the side. You push his foreskin back and drag the head of his dick through your folds, both of you moaning with the sensation of closeness. He leans his head back against the seat as you sink down onto him, your pussy squeezing him inch by inch.

“Goddamn, baby. You're so fuckin’ wet.” He groans into your mouth as he fills you fully. You sit for a second and just feel him inside you, stretching you just right.

“Needed you, Elvis.” You whimper and start to roll your hips forward, pushing him deeper with each movement.

“Fuck.” His hips buck to meet yours and his hands grasp your waist as he starts to thrust up into you. “I missed you.”

You lean forward and capture his mouth with yours, moaning as you slip your tongue between his teeth. He holds you in place as he pounds you from underneath and you throw your head back in pleasure. The frantic heat threatens to overwhelm you both as his thumb moves to make circles on your aching clit.

“Oh god. S-so good.” You whimper as he strokes you while fucking you with deep, intentional thrusts.

“You gonna cum for daddy?” He whispers it in your ear and then nibbles on the lobe, moving down to suck on your neck, just over your pulse.

“Yes, fuck, yes!” His thumb flicks faster over your swollen bud as he continues to drive into you. You lean your head back and moan deep and long as your climax courses through you, burning a path from between your legs out to your fingertips and back again. He grunts, the sensation of your walls pulsing on his cock almost too much for him to handle.

He groans deeply and slams into you two more times before losing control entirely, spilling into you with each trembling throb of his dick. Both of your hips slow as he begins to soften inside you, your heart rates coming back to normal as you pant and press your forehead to his. His eyes close and he lets out a low whistle. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too, Elvis.” You whisper against his lips as he kisses you while you both recover.

When you finally do come down from your high, his fingers graze the place on your tummy just below your belly button that has just started to round out. If he didn't know your body like scripture, he might not have even noticed it.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” You look down at him inquisitively.

“For keeping our baby. For trusting me, for loving me enough to say yes.” He pulls back and looks up at you lovingly, pushing your hair behind your ear.

“Thank you for showing up.” You whisper. He smiles and kisses your lips again gently.

“Always, honey.” You sit for another few minutes before lightning strikes somewhere close and the thunder rips through your chest with a crack and rumble. He clicks his tongue. “We need a motel. I'll drive.”

His big hands lift you off of him and rearrange your panties, putting himself away. Then, he scoots over to the steering wheel as you settle on the seat next to him. He lays his hand between your knees and pulls back out onto the highway slowly, looking for somewhere to stop.

About twenty minutes later, you pull into a small town and Elvis eyes the neon sign of a roadside motel. He swings into the parking lot and you get out together, running for the door to the front office. You squeal and he tries unsuccessfully to shield you from the rain. Finally, you make it to the door and tumble inside laughing and soaked to the bone. The man behind the desk rolls his eyes and sighs when he sees you dripping on the carpet.

“Can we get a room, please?” Elvis asks breathlessly, rubbing his hands together. The manager looks him over and thinks to himself that he seems familiar, but he can't place him.

“Sure. Take number 8, Mr. and Mrs…?”

“Carpenter. Dr. John Carpenter.” You giggle again and take Elvis's hand as a mischievous smile spreads across his face. He's told you about the movie coming out soon, but the hotel manager has no idea. He writes the name in the register, takes your cash, and hands Elvis a room key. After a few more pleasantries, you're back out into the rain to get to your room.

At the door, Elvis fumbles with the key as you shiver and hold your arms. The rain is cold and you're beyond ready to be inside. Finally, he gets it open and ushers you into the room, pulling it closed behind him.

The room is dark except for a small lamp on the nightstand that casts the whole room with a kind of warm glow. Elvis fiddles with the heat for a bit and eventually gets it turned on. He turns to you, proud that he was able to do something for you and then notices that your teeth are chattering.

“C’mere baby. You're shakin’.” He coos gently and then opens his arms for you to snuggle against him, but his clothes are just as wet as yours are. “Hm. That ain't gonna work.”

Taking your hand in his, he makes his way to the small motel bathroom and turns the shower on hot. Then, he starts to undress you both until you're naked as the day you were born. You step into the shower and moan softly under the warm water. He gets in with you and wraps himself around you from behind, his hands resting on your tummy, chin on your shoulder.

You stay in the shower together until your fingers look like prunes and the hot water runs out. He hands you a thin hotel towel and you both dry off, but neither of you thought to pack a change of clothes, so you crawl into the bed naked and snuggled together for warmth. After the events of the day, you're both exhausted, but you talk and kiss and laugh until your eyes get heavy and you drift off safe in the comfort of his embrace.

******

“Where is she?!” When you don't show up to the Flamingo that night, Carl nearly beats one of his men to death for not keeping a better eye on you. But you were careful. Now no one knows where you are and Carl is in a burning rage.

He actually leaves his post at the casino to go to the suite you share and look for clues. Clothes are strewn across the floor, mixed with broken vinyl records and pieces of dishes as he ransacks the place in a fury. He rips all of your clothes out of your drawers and searches everywhere he can think of. Finally, when he thinks he's exhausted every option, he drops onto the sheetless bed. And that's when he spots it.

There, tucked neatly into a corner is the hat box your mother gave you. It's the last memento you have from your past, the only thing he let you keep. And now it's taunting him from its place next to your shoes. He had gotten so used to ignoring it that he almost didn't notice it. Without another thought, he stomps into the closet and grabs it, dumping the contents onto the bed unceremoniously.

He digs through the items, annoyed with what he finds. At first it's all silk scarves and photographs from your childhood. He finds a peacock masquerade mask and assumes it must be something from your dancing days. Just when he's about to give up, though, he stumbles upon something white that doesn't seem to belong.

A handkerchief.

And there, in the corner, embroidered in dark blue script: EP.

For a second, he's confused. No one in your family has these initials. He brings it to his nose and inhales. There's an unmistakable scent of man that makes him see red. Then it hits him.

The poker game.

The $100 chip.

The way Elvis had responded to seeing you sitting on his lap.

The fact that Elvis had asked for him at all.

EP.

Elvis Presley.

******

In the morning, you wake up to the sound of Elvis trying to speak softly into the phone.

“Cilla– no– listen. That's what I'm tryin’ to tell you. I'm not comin’ home. Not to California.” You lift your head up and he smiles at you. “Yes. I'll send you papers as soon as– yes, you can have whatever you want.”

Her gestures for you to scoot closer to him and you do as he leans down to kiss your forehead. You can hear a woman's voice on the other end of the line listing out things she'd like to have in the divorce.

“Cil– Cil– Priscilla. You can have whatever you want. I just want Graceland and most of the cars.” He makes a face like he hopes he's not pushing it with that last part and then sighs with relief when she says that's fine. “I know I'm the one that is ending this. And I'm sorry. But you had to know it was comin’.”

He leans forward again and kisses your lips gently this time. You hear her agree and he smiles against your mouth. He presses his forehead to yours and then talks into the phone with a newfound sense of urgency. “Yeah– that's fine. Cilla, I have to go. We can talk about this more later. I just wanted you to know it's over and I did that, so I'm gonna hang up now. Right. Goodbye.”

Without another word from her, he puts down the receiver and climbs on top of you. You giggle as he presses himself against you and whispers in your ear. “I'm free.”

When you make love that morning, there's no desperation, no feverish need. He kisses you like a heavy weight is lifted, his hands gently moving over your body like he can't quite believe you're real. There is only peace, gentle contentment, and the kind of comfortable intimacy that comes with love that lasts.

******

When Carl pulls up to the International hotel looking for Elvis, he's ready to put a bullet in both of your heads. Luckily, you're still at the motel in the middle of nowhere. Less luckily, Jerry answers the door when Carl bribes his way up the elevator.

******

The drive back to Las Vegas is largely uneventful after you check out of the motel. You make it back in the early afternoon and pull into the parking garage of the International ready to put on some dry pajamas and spend the rest of the day in bed with Elvis. You're pretty sure you covered your tracks enough to keep Carl at bay until you can figure out your next move.

At the door to his suite, Elvis picks you up to carry you across the threshold and then kicks the door open. He almost drops you, though, when his eyes land on the scene inside.

Jerry is laying on his side, bleeding onto the carpet and moaning. His face is cut up and bruised and it's obvious that he's been beaten within an inch of his life.

Elvis sets your feet on the ground and walks quickly to his best friend. There's a note safety pinned to his jacket.

Bring her back and maybe I won't kill you.

Your heart jumps up into your throat and stays there and all of a sudden it's like you are underwater. The weight on your chest makes it impossible to breathe and you feel like you might throw up. You stumble backwards and land on the couch, your hand clutching your throat. Elvis calls for some of his guys to get the doctor to make sure Jerry is alright. You get lost in the shuffle, sitting on the couch with your eyes wide and your breath coming in protracted gasps.

As soon as he knows Jerry is going to be okay, Elvis turns and searches the room for you. He finds you tucked into the corner of the couch clutching your knees, tears sliding silently down your cheeks.

“Oh God, baby I'm sorry.” He rushes to sit next to you and you barely let him settle before you climb into his lap and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his neck.

“I knew this would happen! He's gonna kill you! I can't–”

“Honey, stop. It's about time that bastard gets what's been coming to him.” You shake your head frantically.

“No! If you go there, he will kill you and drop you in a hole in the desert!” He sits up and grabs the side of your neck, holding you tightly so that you have to look at him.

“Listen to me. I am Elvis fucking Presley. I don't go down that easily. Besides, if he kills me he'll be dealing with the Feds for years. He doesn't want that.” He kisses your forehead hard and then moves you off of him, standing up to move around the apartment and make arrangements. You watch as he packs as many guns as he can strap to his body and arms his guys just as much. Finally, he's ready.

He pulls you into his lap and you feel all the hard metal under his clothes. “Elvis, I'm scared.”

“I know, baby. Here.” He gestures for one of his guys to bring him the last gun in a particular chest: a pistol with a mother-of-pearl handle. You sigh shakily as he presses it into your palm. “You know how to use this?”

You nod. You're from the south. Your daddy taught you to shoot not long after you could walk.

“Good. If he shows up here, use it. If I'm not back in an hour, call the cops. But baby, whatever you do, do not follow us. I don't need you seeing this.” You roll your eyes and try to protest but he shakes his head and shushes you. “Please, honey. I will handle this.”

You nod again and he kisses you deeply, telling you how much he loves you. Then, he stands up and he and the guys file through the door, leaving you to sit vigil for him from a distance.

******

Elvis walks into the Flamingo with his guys, ready to burn the world for you. What he doesn't expect is to be escorted to a private room and ambushed before he can even pull one of his many weapons. He walks right into Carl’s trap, victim of his own fatal flaw: underestimating the cruelty of his enemy.

******

For twenty minutes, you just sit with Jerry, the gun clutched tightly in your hand. He's too hurt to talk and you don't have the capacity anyway, so you sit in silence. Your brain isn't silent, though. No, it's running through scenario after scenario of what you think might be happening. Unable to settle, you eventually stand up and start to pace back and forth across the living room. This is how you spend the next 20 minutes or so.

Finally, you drop onto the couch and let out a frustrated sound that is half grunt, half moan. Jerry readjusts and groans.

“I know what you're thinkin’ and don't you dare.” You look at him with a fake look of innocence.

“I'm not thinking anything.”

“Yes, you are. He told you to stay here.” You look at Jerry and shake your head.

“I can't. I have a terrible feeling about this. Elvis doesn't know Carl like I do. He needs me.” You stand up off the couch and grab your purse, slipping the pistol into it. “I have to go, Jerry. I told you once that I wouldn't let him die for me. I'm not sure I can let him kill for me either.”

With that, you slip through the door and Jerry sends up a silent prayer.

******

At the Flamingo, you slip in undetected and head straight for the back stairs to the basement. If Elvis is anywhere, he's there. You know that's where Carl likes to handle his dirty business.

You creep down the stairs as quietly as possible, thankful that you're wearing a pair of ballet shoes that are nearly silent as you make your way. At the bottom of the steps, you hide in the shadows to survey the scene.

Elvis and his men are strapped to chairs. When you see his face, you have to cover your mouth to stifle a sob. One eye is swollen shut and blood runs from the side of his perfect mouth. He looks up at Carl defiantly, despite his many injuries and your heart swells with pride. He's yours and he's not backing down, even strapped to a chair.

“Have you learned your lesson about touching things that don't belong to you? Or do I need to make it clear again?” Carl hits him hard across the face again and Elvis grunts. He spits out some blood and then answers, his voice thick and gravelly.

“You hit like a bitch, Carl. Is that ‘cause you're used to beating women?” Carl grabs the front of his jacket and spits in his face.

“You think you're somebody, motherfucker? You think I won't bury your fuckin’ ass in the fuckin’ desert?!”

All of a sudden your feet are moving. You didn't tell them to move, but here you are moving slowly, silently behind Carl. A myriad of thoughts are swirling in your head, but your body moves without your control. Elvis sees you, but doesn't say anything. His eyes beg you to stay away, but you're beyond pleas even from him. You couldn't stop yourself if you wanted to.

Your arms extend, strong, unshaking, certain.

*click*

When the gun cocks, Carl stands and turns to face you slowly. He realizes it's you and lets out a cruel laugh.

“You filthy little bitch.” He's taller than you, so you have to angle the gun up quite a bit to keep it pointed at his head. “You don't have it in y–”

BANG

You don't miss.

Carl hits the ground in a crumpled heap and you go to work freeing Elvis from his restraints.

“Baby! You just… are you okay?” He stands up and pulls you into a deep embrace. The tears and the terror and even a hint of regret will come someday, but right now, you're just overwhelmed with the intense relief of being free.

“I'm fine, Elvis. Are you okay?” You back up and try to gently touch his eye, but he grimaces and whimpers.

“I will be.” He looks around the room to assess whether you'll have to kill anyone else to get out of this basement. But Carl's second in command, Marco, merely walks to the center of the room quietly. He speaks with a raspy voice laced with an accent somewhere between Italy and New York.

“We have no war with you. Carl’s business was his own. It's resolved now. Take your things and go. We have ways of dealing with–” he gestures to Carl’s body, “this.”

You don't have to be told twice.

******

The press has a field day with “Elvis Presley’s secret love child,” but the two of you don't care. He's fired the Colonel and divorce proceedings are underway with Priscilla. You get a stupid amount of money from Carl’s life insurance policy and it feels wrong, so Elvis helps you give most of it away to people who really need it.

There are some repercussions for his career, but in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter too much. Before too long, he's back to Vegas engagements (when he wants them) and touring both nationally and internationally as he sees fit.

Your daughter learns to walk in a hotel in Tokyo and he's happier than any father ever has been. He tells everyone about it at the concert between songs and you sit in the audience beaming.

You don't bother with getting married in the beginning, but after three kids and a decade together, you decide you might as well.

Neither of you ever forgets where you came from and no matter what you fight about, because you do fight, it's never enough to separate you. You were forged in the glitter and grit of Las Vegas in 1969. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy @angelriley222 @iloveelvis2 @ladelinee

[mauswyx]

old ties, new beginnings

Thomas Hewitt x f!reader: ch2 // ch3

TLDR: By chance, Thomas encounters someone from his past and gets to be treated like a normal guy for an afternoon–except he doesn't want the treatment to stop.

WORD COUNT: 2.8K

CW: slight nudity, mention of dead animal [not actively killed], mention of scarring

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The sun heated your face as your body floated at the water’s surface, bearing your naked form to the surrounding wilderness. Cicadas’ buzzing mixed with the sound of leaves rustling in the wind solidified just how alone you were. A flock of birds takes flight seeking sanctuary elsewhere, but you paid them no mind; the lake water lapping at your skin was bringing back memories from when you were young: memories of chasing fireflies in the evening, running around the campfire as mother hummed old songs you have long since forgotten, and swimming in this very lake with other children–making friendships that would only last through the night. Your lip curled as you remembered how the children...screamed? Why were the children screaming...?

You furrowed your eyebrows and tucked your legs beneath you to lightly tread the water. The heat must finally be getting to you. Shaking your head, you look around at your surroundings, hoping to bring back that nostalgic magic. The lake itself is massive, the portion you're in is only an offshoot of a much bigger body of water; the water’s edge is encircled by tall-dry grass, tall enough it had brushed against your elbow on your way down; the oak trees past the grassy-moat encase the path you took to get down here; next to the path sits your pile of clothes that you haphazardly threw off. You eye the small opening between the trees, as if trying to conjure up someone standing there. Only you know no one is coming, up the path sits an empty van waiting for you.

You had been on the road for some time, making your way across Texas was proving to take much longer than you expected. Though you didn’t mind, the long highways were just a means to escape an unsavory situation and to get back to your mother in San Antonio. It was in Lubbock that you decided to make a small detour on your journey, it would add a day but you simply longed to see your hometown. So when your tires popped, having driven over some loose nails, you cursed yourself. Town was a few hours walk away, but you’d surely die walking in this blistering-heat. Not to mention, you had heard about the town’s predicament and were willing to bet you’d have a better chance of finding an open store in the morning rather than the evening. It was settled. You’d just have to sleep in the busted van and get a headstart in the early morning when the weather was still livable. Which meant you had the rest of the afternoon to yourself…and knowing the area, you knew there was a very refreshing lake calling your name.

Another flock of birds cried out as they took flight, fleeing the area. This time you do look, following their shrinking figures against the cloudless-blue sky; you wonder what has startled them. But you don’t have to wonder for very long. The sudden sound of twigs snapping pulls your attention away from the birds. You whirl around and your stomach drops. There, in the middle of the previously deserted path, stands a large hulking man. A choked cry dies in your throat as your fight or flight refuses to kick in–you can only stare at him like a deer in headlights.

The tall grass prevents you from getting a good look at him [and you silently hope that means he can’t see you very clearly either] but from what you can see, you know that to say the man was huge was an understatement. His burly figure couldn’t possibly be hidden by the neighboring trees so you're surprised you hadn’t noticed his approach until now. His wide eyes, let you know he’s just as surprised to see you as you are him. The observation of his face leads you to notice that he seems to be wearing a mask-

A gasp escapes you, as your excitement pushes you slightly above the water. You raise a slicked arm to point at your intruder and he jumps back.

“I know you!” She suddenly exclaimed, eyes wide “Thomas Hewitt!”

Thomas ignored the sound of his name, too busy trying to calm his nerves. He hadn’t been expecting to run into cattle–not out here and not after having just finished a roundup. The last herd members were all accounted for, thrown in the basement by now. So why was this one out here and why was it nude? Usually if one was nude there was another one nearby. Thomas tried to wager where the other one could be hiding but couldn’t think properly as it continued to make noise.

“We went to school together!” it continued at his lack of response. 

What was it talking about? Better yet, why was it trying to talk to him? The screaming should've started by now. He let out a hesitant groan, shifting his eyes to the far bankside and grasping nervously at the side of his pants–it continued to stare at him from the water eagerly. He didn’t like this; this one was acting odd and it was making him uncomfortable.

What had it said? School? He tried to rack his memory of when something like that had once mattered. That era of his life was a long time ago and he had since tried to forget about those years: the most prevalent memories had always been the other children rushing to avoid him or the older teens and townsfolk shoving him around calling him a freak. He spared a glance at the meat in front of him now, he couldn’t imagine someone like that would look excited to see him now.

“Though, I guess you might not remember me—[y/n][l/n], I moved half-way through second grade.” it said with a sigh, seemingly disappointed that he couldn’t place it in his memories.

[y/n]..? The name did sound familiar. [l/n]...oh. Oh. A wave of shame washed over Thomas, he did remember you. 

He slowly nodded his head with a new-found remembrance and stepped out of the shadows of the trees. The sullen look on your face quickly morphed into an enthusiastic grin at the sight of his recognition. The lake rippled as you waded closer to meet him, before remembering your predicament. You quickly sank to the muddy bottom of the lake, being much closer to the shoreline now, the water only seemed to shield an inch or two under your collar bone. Your face heated as you tried to quickly cover yourself by hunching over and folding your arms across your chest. Your embarrassment went unnoticed by Thomas, who was still in disbelief. 

To anyone else’s standards, the two of you had never been friends, no but you were also never cruel to him—and that was as close of a friend as Thomas could get. Your encounters were always brief: you’d smile shyly at him in passing; hand him assignments—unflinching if your hand touched his; and occasionally you’d leave him a portion of your lunch on his desk...when no one was looking. You never truly spoke to him, especially not in the presence of others, though he remembered one occasion where the two of you had been left completely alone together. 

“What are you doing Thomas?”

With a start, Thomas looked over his shoulder at the girl standing a few feet behind him, just barely peeking out behind a tree. He hadn’t expected anyone to follow him into the shrubbery, so the sudden company made him on edge. Her voice had been just above a whisper and her eyes were focused on his hands. At the dead animal that lay torn underneath them.

His body tensed, readying himself for her to start screaming and calling him a monster like the others. But to his surprise, she only drew closer, peering over his shoulder.

Her eyes were transfixed on the neatly arranged bones that glistened under the specks of sunlight that filtered through the leaves overhead. His gaze was set on her though—waiting for her next move.

“. . .my momma says it’s good to honor the dead,” she muttered, turning to look him in the eyes, “I think you’re doin’ that just fine.”

That had been the first and last time you had spoken to him properly. Well, until now.

Thomas had pushed his way through the tall grass and now stood at the edge of the shoreline. You couldn’t help but smile at him despite your discomposure. You truly were pleased to see him, albeit a little surprised to find that such a scrawny kid had grown to be such a heavy man. He looked strong–well fed and taken care of and judging by his worn attire and toned arms you were willing to bet he was taking care of others as well. His eyes had stayed the same over the years, a stormy blue that reminded you of the sea. You had always liked his eyes. 

Having gotten closer, he could confirm it really was you. Your position and his height allowed him to fully take you in. He had never really cared for looks in general–meat was meat after all and a pretty face wouldn’t change that–but he allowed himself to acknowledge that you had grown up to be a rather charming young woman. His eyes trailed from your wet hair that clung to your face, to your crinkled eyes that no longer seemed to meet his own–your bottom lip quivered slightly, it must be cold in the water he thought. He followed a water droplet down to your goosebump-covered shoulders, confirming his suspicion. 

“Ahem. . .” You feign a cough, face having gone completely scarlet as you curl tighter around yourself.

He startled and shuffled backwards. He was so accustomed to looking at people like cattle he had forgotten some societal rules: like how men weren’t supposed to lay eyes on a woman’s nude form. He took another step backwards, ashamed to have disrespected you so openly; Mama would be so disappointed in him and surely you hated him now. His breath hitched as the thought and panic settled in–scrunching his eyes closed and hunching, he dug his fingers into the meat of his biceps with a whine–he didn’t want you of all people to hate him.

“Ah! It’s alright! It’s ok, Thomas!” The panic in your own voice distracted him, he opened his eyes to look at your worried expression.The sight of it released the tension in his fingers, even after all this time you were still being kind to him. He had disrespected you and yet you still worried for him. A sudden tightness overtook his chest.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s my own fault for thinking this was a good idea in the first place.” you continued, letting out a breathy laugh.

“Actually, could you do me a favor, Thomas?” he straightened and nodded, eager to make up for his offense, “could you bring me my clothes, please?” You gestured past his shoulder with a nod of your head and he followed your movement, peering through the swaying blades of grass for the clothes in question. His eyes landed on them sitting on a rock just a little ways in front of the old beaten down path. At the sight of them, he began to feverishly shake his head as if you had just asked him to cloth you himself; on top of the pile sat your undergarments–now that he saw you for what you were, a respectable woman, he couldn’t possibly do such a thing like touch your private garments. The irony of him staring down on you naked escaped him.

“Wh- Thomas!” You were laughing now, seeing his mortified expression “I can’t just keep talkin’ to you like this!” the water splashed around from you rocking around barely being able to keep yourself upright and your sides hurt from laughing; you let out a snort which only made you laugh harder. Getting stranded, naked, in front of your former classmate had definitely been last on your list of possible things to ever occur. 

Thomas couldn’t figure out what you found to be so funny, but he was glad you were enjoying yourself. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had laughed around him so genuinely and not at his dispense…he wasn’t sure it had ever happened before. Giving the pile of clothes another side eye, he snorted out a huff of air through his masked-nose. He was going to do right by you and get you out of that water with as much dignity as possible.

Your laughing fit had died down but you were still gasping for air and wiping a tear from your eye when water splashed up onto your face and the sun disappeared. Thomas stood over you, knee-deep in the lake; he had removed his button down, and was now extending it to you in a crumpled heap.

“Oh! Th-thank you, Thomas!”  You gave him a small smile, extending your arm out to take his offering. Once it was in your grasp, he gave a grunt of acknowledgement and marched away–he kept his attention on the surrounding trees and away from you when he got back to shore.

You watched him for a moment, having removed his outer layer exposed his off-white sweat stained t-shirt that hugged his body. The short sleeves of the shirt exposed old scars that varied in severity. The sight of them made your heart ache. Poor Tommy. You always knew how poorly the others had treated him and you hated yourself for not doing more; no one deserved to be treated that way, especially not Thomas. You sighed, unfolding the crumpled shirt in your hands wrapping it around you and fitting your arms into the baggy sleeves, making to start buttoning up the frayed buttons–your fingers faltered as your eyes shifted back to Thomas. He had crossed his arms in front of him in his wait for you to finish, causing his tense shoulder and back muscles to strain against his shirt. Your eyes raked over the muscles that only years of hard labor could produce. You were certain the flush on your face could be seen from a mile away; grateful he couldn’t see you, you forced your attention back onto the buttons.

The sound of splashing water alerted Thomas that you were now decent. He looked over at you only to find that seeing your clothed form was so much worse than just seeing you nude.

You had chosen to leave the buttons closest to the collar unbuttoned, giving him a clear view of your sternum while the hem of his shirt swayed at the middle of your plush thighs. The damp fabric clung snuggly against your wet skin–leaving little to the imagination. Thomas felt terrible. How could his working shirt feel so improper? It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen scantily clad women before: they showed up a dime a dozen in the sweltering heat and Hoyt kept magazines of women bearing themselves to the world but he had never paid any of them any actual attention. He had a job to do and even if he didn’t, he was certain that none of those women would revel at the thought of being touched by him. He resigned himself to knowing that he would never know the touch of a willing partner and had grown indifferent to the sight of a naked woman, but this felt different–you were different. He must have looked visibly distressed because you gave him a quizzical look before glancing down.

“Oh that’s alright nothing a lil sun won’t fix,” you gently pulled the sticking fabric away from you, “ ‘sides nothing you haven’t seen before right?” you winked at him and let out a giggle when he leaned away from you, his face flushing a deep red at your teasing.

“Come on, your pants are wet too y’know, let’s go dry off over there.” you smiled up at him before making your way to a clearing a few meters down the bank; the grass was flattened from sleeping deer, you presumed, and it looked like a nice place to sit and overlook the lake.

Thomas watched as you waded through the tall grass but his own legs seemed unmoving. Reconnecting with you had been so nice–too nice, it had made Thomas shirk his responsibilities to his family. His heart sank, he knew that sooner or later this was going to have to come to an end and you would no longer look at him with such kind eyes. You had stopped walking and were waving him over, trying to get him to follow. He sighed, turning his attention to the position of the sun in the sky. 

It wasn't time for supper yet, so it couldn’t hurt to keep pretending a little while longer.

[chilling-seavey]

Live Fast, Drive Fast (ln4)

↳ A/N To the anon who requested this song for my 1.5k celebration: thank you for submitting!! I decided to go with 777 since I've never heard it before (and I actually really like it so thanks for the accidental song rec too hehe)

↳ Inspired By: '777' by Joji

↳ Pairings: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 447

↳ Warnings: Driving under the influence, toxic relationship, dark undertones

“Are you out of your mind?”

The rev of the engine echoed through the darkness that surrounded you, orange headlights tunneling the pitch-black road ahead of you. The force of the acceleration pressed your body back against the leather seats, your gaze locked on the vast expanse of night that made up the empty highway you drove down at some ungodly hour. As if desperate for some control, your hand reached across the front seat to grasp onto the sleeve of his jacket, knuckles turning white in the neon glow of the dashboard.

“Lando!” you said loudly to be heard over the rumble of the engine.

He didn’t look at you, narrowed gaze focused straight through the windshield. He held an emotion in his eyes you couldn’t quite place - unfamiliar - shadowed under the fabric of his hood. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, jaw clenching, eyebrows flickering into a momentary frown without tearing his eyes away from the dizzy highway lanes.

The little arrow on the dashboard inched up higher and higher; surpassing each glowing number tick by tick, second by second.

130, 140, 150, 160…

Through the empty lanes, he swerved in meticulous controlled curves as if he sadistically enjoyed the way your hand tightened on his jacket with every abrupt motion. Any other day, you would have trusted his skill and his control. Tonight, your mind lingered on the memory of the drinks he consumed and the angry words you exchanged under the dancing party lights of the club.

“I want to go home!” you insisted, nearly shouting, torn between watching the road or wanting to screw your eyes shut in paralyzing fear.

“So you can leave me?” Lando snapped back, his first sentence since you had left the club. Maliciousness dripped from his tone.

“There’s nothing to leave!” you shouted, “You’re not my boyfriend! You have made that very clear!”

“I told you I don’t do strings.” his words were thick and slurred.

“This isn’t sustainable!” you replied. The force of his swerving threw your shoulder towards the door. Your other hand flew to grab the handle above you, silently pleading for a lifeline. “We are not sustainable like this!”

Instead of an answer, Lando pressed his foot down harder onto the accelerator. The engine growled fiercely through the pitch-black night.

170, 180, 190, 200…

The rear wheels skidded slightly and he had to really pull at the wheel to catch the car before it was sent spinning into the ditch.

Your scream nearly echoed through the car, “You’re going to kill us, Lando!”

He laughed, almost menacingly, his pitchy voice churning your stomach as he purred, “I just wanna go fast, baby.”

"Blame it on me, you can blame it on me, Never turn back when I'm goin' full speed. Live fast, drive fast like two hundred on the dashboard. It’s my way, my way, even if it is a crash course"