#Right Sedan Service

[gretavangroupie]

Drift

Word count: 7.2k+

Pairing: Josh x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fluff.

 “Two percent?!” you screech.

Looking down at the cellphone in your lap as you follow the winding directions you see the red battery icon and your anxiety starts to bloom. Your signal has been spotty at best and the constant in and out of service has drained your battery quicker than anticipated. With another hour to go you are starting to panic. Of course your phone would die while you are somewhere in the mountains. 

It started snowing last night, and unfortunately has stuck around. So when the snow didn’t stop this morning you knew you would be in for an eventful drive home. Six inches turned into ten very quickly, and the roads were becoming slick. Your little sedan was not equipped for this type of weather, something you were pretty sure you wouldn't experience in Nashville but boy were you wrong.  

The two lane road you found yourself upon currently was slightly off the beaten path, on the side of a mountain. Houses sprinkled in here and there, with their long winding driveways, painted white in a wintery scene. In different circumstances you would think it was quite beautiful, but right now, your white knuckle grip on the steering wheel has made you feel differently. Your windshield wipers are going full blast, further obscuring your view of the winding back road. You glance down to your phone to check the directions.

Four miles until you turn right.

As you read the directions out, you're met with a loud thump as your car moves 60 miles per hour over a perfectly placed pot hole, jostling you, your car and its contents.

“Shit!” you cry out as your head bounced back on the headrest.

Reaching down to pick your phone up off the floor, you type in your password and unlock it. But that was all it took. That measly 1% was gone in an instant. Panic swept over you, all you knew was that you had 4, maybe 3 miles now until you turn right. But what about the rest of the directions?

Okay, next shopping center I see, I will stop and grab a car charger. 

The snow is falling quickly, and the sun is setting, leaving you to only rely on the light from your hi beams. You swallow thickly as you squint to see the lines on the road. You haven’t seen a car pass you in what feels like forever. 

I knew it was a bad idea to get off the interstate.

You saw it, but it was too late. You couldn't react in time. If you slammed on your breaks your car would go sliding into the ravine. So you hit it. Whatever it was. It looked like a crow bar or some type of bent metal. That's what it sounded like too. As your car met with the object you heard a loud popping and you knew your night just got ten times worse. Your car began to limp further down the road with a metallic clatter against the wet asphalt.

You see a driveway in the distance and decide to push forward to pull into it, against your better judgment. As you pull off into the entry of the long driveway you put your car in park and immediately get out and see that your front left tire is completely blown out. The combination of the pothole earlier, and whatever that metal thing was, has left you stranded in the drift of someone's driveway. 

You get back into your car and grab your phone, realizing that it died 15 minutes ago. As you sit back into the seat you rub your hands over your face and wonder what you did to deserve this. You turn on your hazard lights and pray that someone drives by and stops. But you know the likelihood of that happening is slim. Anyone with half a brain knows better than to drive in conditions like this. 

As you wrack your brain for what to do, it occurs to you. 

Maybe, there is someone in the house at the end of this driveway…

You know that this area that you are in is home to most peoples vacation homes, tucked deep into the side of the mountain. The chances of someone being here are small, but not zero. You grab your coat out of the backseat and put it on. From the looks of it, this driveway is fairly long and the snow is piled high and growing by the minute.

Turning off your car, you grab your dead cell phone, and your keys and get out. Now that the sun had set it was dark, and the wind was cutting like a thousand knives. You lock your useless car and shove your keys into your coat pocket. You pull your hood over your head and thank yourself for choosing a pair of sensible boots this morning. 

As you walk the long snowy, gravel lined driveway you think to yourself that it must be a mile long, and uphill at that. Just as you think it could stretch on for another mile, you see a soft yellow light ahead of you. A light is on in the house. 

Oh my god, someone is here.

Knowing that the house more than likely is warm, has your feet picking up their pace and landing you at the edge of the trees, opening up to the clearing where the occupied house sits. There is one car parked outside of the house and you can hear the soft vibrations of noise from inside. The house is large, old, and wooden. You can see that there are two stories and the ivy growing on the side of the house gives it a certain type of rustic charm you don't see too often anymore. There is smoke filling the air, coming from a chimney, and huge glass windows adorn the entire front of the house.  

As you step up to the porch you brush the snow off of your coat and hood, pulling your frozen hand out of your pocket and nervously knocking on the black wooden front door.  

The large glass window set into the door has you holding your breath as you see a figure approaching from across the house. Pulling a hoodie over their torso, they peer through the glass to see you standing there and run their hand over their face, as the door opens.

“How did you get this address?” he says. 

You nervously stare back at him, “I– I didn’t…my car –I hit something. My phone is dead– I…” you stammer.

“You hit something?!” he asks, shocked.

“Yeah, it was dark, and the snow – I couldn't see. I think it was a crowbar or something.” you reply anxiously.

“Are you okay?” he asks, looking concerned.  

“Yeah, I am okay. I am so sorry to bother you. My front tire blew out and my phone is dead so I can’t call Triple A…Do you think I could borrow your phone or, could you call, or…” you stammer.

“Yes, absolutely, come in. It’s freezing.” he says, opening the door. You can feel the warmth radiating from inside and graciously step into the house.

“Do you have your phone? I can plug it in?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah!” you say fumbling into your coat pocket and handing him the freezing device. 

“My god, your hands are freezing! Here, come sit here by the fire.” he says, leading you from the front door, and into the open, spacious living room. He points to the couch next to the fireplace and says he will be right back. He runs up the wooden staircase and you can hear some banging around upstairs before you see him quickly flying back down the stairs, waving a phone charger in his hand. 

You look around the house, and are intrigued by the charm of the renovated old home. The cobblestone fireplace, the wooden beams adorning nearly every inch of the walls and ceiling. It’s a split level home but it has an open floor plan, granting you visual access to almost every part of the house. Small sets of stairs lead to various rooms and loft areas. It’s a very uniquely designed floor plan, and you are interested in the history of the home. Admiring its charming old quality, your eyes flit around but stop when you see the massive windows. You are instantly taken with the wall of windows providing a picturesque view of the snowy scene outside. It’s very charming and you find yourself relaxing into the cozy couch by the fireplace, staring into the snowy sight. 

“Better?” he asks, walking down the steps into the living room, before sitting in a chair across from you. 

Realizing how you must look, you shoot straight up and fix your posture. “Oh, yeah. Yes. Thank you. This is a really cool home.” you say nervously fidgeting with your coat. 

“Oh, thank you, I moved in about two years ago now. Still fixing things up here and there. Trying to bring it up to date without losing its rustic qualities.” he smiles. “I’m Josh by the way.”

“Oh, god, how rude I didn't even ask your name before I made myself at home on your couch.” you laugh. You introduce yourself and shake his hand, which is much warmer than yours and oddly soft. The room is dimly lit by the floor lamp in the corner and the small fixtures illuminating the bookcase in the upstairs loft. The fireplace is glowing brightly behind you. You can see the flames dancing along rhythmically in his eyes. Honey brown and glossy, he must have been drinking before you interrupted his night. 

“When my phone turns on, I will call Triple A and I’ll be out of your hair in no time.” you say biting your lip.

“What in the world are you doing driving in this weather?” he asks.

“I was driving back home. I went to visit my parents for the week. The traffic on 40 was so bad, I decided to take a back road thinking it would be faster, but then I got lost and my phone was dying, then this happened... It was not a good choice in hindsight.” you laugh. 

“You’re brave. I’m from Michigan and even I wouldn’t be driving right now.” he smiles, his cheeks scrunching tightly beneath his eyes.

He is sort of…cute. Maybe in different circumstances…

“I know, it’s not too much farther…I think? I feel really bad that I interrupted your night.” you say pointing to the movie that is paused on the TV screen.

“Ahh, don’t worry about it. I’ve seen it a thousand times.” he says, waving his hand in the air.

You focus on it, and recognize the character on the screen. “Is– Is it A Clockwork Orange?” you ask, suspiciously.

He seems taken aback as he replies, “Yeah. Yeah it is…” a twinkle of intrigue in his eyes.

“Cool, that's a great film.” you say, politely.

A small smile forms at the side of his mouth, “Yeah, it really is...” he looks like he wants to say more, but stops himself.

Why do I feel like I am supposed to be here?

“Well, I should go see if my phone is turned on. I have bothered you long enough.” you say standing up, and walking up the small set of stairs into the kitchen. 

“It’s on the kitchen counter by the fridge.” he calls out to you.

As you grab your phone you see it has come back to life, and you quickly dial out the number for Triple A. You lean over onto the counter as the call rings out. You stare out the windows at the snow still continuing to fall and explain to the man on the phone exactly what happened.

“What do you mean…But I don’t…. I can’t get anywhere…. Okay. Alright. Yeah, thank you.” you end the call staring at the screen dumbfounded. 

As you stand there silently trying to figure out your next move you see Josh walk into the kitchen to join you at the counter. He leans his hip onto the countertop, facing you.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, his curly brown hair falling onto his forehead. 

You turn to face him and with a blank face you set your phone back on the counter. “No. Apparently they can’t send any trucks out until the morning after they plow the roads. The snow is too bad on the mountain?” you question.

He shakes his head, “Yeah, I was afraid of that. Listen, I don’t want to sound forward but, you are welcome to stay here until the morning. I have a guest room, and anything you might need.” he says kindly.

“Oh wow, that is so nice of you to offer, but I really feel like I am intruding. I mean, you don’t even know me.” you say. 

“The alternative is what? You sleeping in your freezing cold car? No. I know we don’t know each other, but I am a human being and from one human being to another, please. Stay. You can leave as soon as you’d like in the morning. They should have the roads plowed by 7:00.” he says, scratching the back of his neck. 

You stop for a second to think, but something is pulling you to stay. 

“Are you positive that I am in no way putting you out?” you ask, hesitantly.

“Absolutely not. Glad to lend a helping hand. I mean, you must be alright if you knew I was watching A Clockwork Orange.” he smiles.

You nod your head, agreeing and his face lights up with a smile.

“Should we… finish it?” he asks. You bite your lip and stare at him. You know his brown puppy dog eyes have never been rejected in his life. You can feel it.

“Okay, I guess we could. But can I use the bathroom first?” you ask.

“Oh, of course. If you step through that guest room, it’s in there.” he says pointing across the kitchen. 

“Thank you.” you say nervously.

As you make your way into the bathroom, you quickly relieve yourself and wash your hands, noticing the eclectic artwork hanging on the walls in the bedroom. He has very interesting taste in furniture and decor, but it kind of fits the feel of the house perfectly.  As you make your way back into the living room you step down into the warm space, and see Josh waiting for your return sitting on one side of the couch with his feet crossed on the coffee table. 

“All good?” he asks, he has noticed you have removed your coat and grants you a smile.

“Yeah, thanks. I am sure you didn’t see your night going this way.” you laugh as you sit down on the opposite side of the couch. But you feel it. A magnetism to be closer to him. 

What? You don't even know him…

“You’re right I didn’t but I’m kinda glad it did.” he smirks with sultry eyes.

Maybe he feels it too…

You feel your cheeks blush as he unpauses the movie, and it roars back to life. 

You spend the next hour talking instead of watching the movie, discussing the theories surrounding it and even further discussing Stanley Kubrick. You have a lot of the same opinions on his work and career. Josh is super knowledgeable about film making and even tells you how it was always his dream to be a filmmaker himself. Your heart warms at the fact that he is passionate enough to tell a complete stranger about his dreams.

You talk until the fire in the fireplace dies down and you find yourselves sitting in a dark living room, lit only by the small lamps on the book case. 

He looks over at you and stares for a second, “Let me go grab you some clothes for you to sleep in, I'll be right back.” 

“Oh, that's not necessary, I will be okay, really. I can just sleep in this.” you reply.

“Please, I insist.” he says standing and walking up the stairs, his bare feet padding up the wooden steps. 

You stand awkwardly in the living room, waiting for him to return. You walk over to the windows and stare out at the snow, still falling. You walk back into the living room, and notice the bookcase on the second floor loft. You look around to see if Josh is coming back and when you see that he isn't, you make your way up the stairs and over to the full book shelves. 

Browsing the titles you see a lot of classics. You run your index finger over the spines, stopping on names you recognize. The leather bound books are beautifully displayed and lit with tiny sconces on the front of the shelves. Bending down to look at the next row of books, you are surprised when you notice Josh standing next to you.

“Well, what do you think? Any good ones?” he laughs.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn't mean to pry. Well, actually. Maybe I did.” you smile. “But yeah, all the classics, you are well read.”

“I spend a lot of time traveling, and books are a great way to pass the time. I pull a lot of inspiration from these old books.” he says. He reaches a stack of clothes out to you and your hands brush his. You both recoil and look at each other like you have been zapped by lightning.

Surely he felt that?

You grab the stack from him, and look down. “Thank you.”

He bites his cheek like he wants to say something, but again, doesn’t.

“Come on, I will show you the guest room and get you some blankets.” he says, gesturing for you to follow him.

After a few minutes he has retrieved a few blankets for you and provided you with an extra phone charger, handing them to you with a soft smile. In the dim lighting you can see the dimple that forms in his cheek, perfectly situated above a tiny scar.

“I will turn the heat on a little warmer, sometimes it gets cold because of the windows. If you need me, I’m at the top of the stairs to the left.” he smiles, and shuts the door behind him.

You sit on the bed examining the pile of clothes he has so graciously brought you. A long sleeve white tee shirt and a pair of well loved sweatpants. You peel your clothes off of you, and slide into the much comfier attire. Maybe he was right, this will be warmer.

You plug your phone into the charger and spread the extra blanket over the twin size bed. You flip the switch on the wall and climb into the bed. You lay there hearing the wind whip against the old house. You think about your evening and how it went so completely different than you imagined. You are sleeping in a stranger's bed? The room is quiet except for the sound of the snow falling on the windows. You drift off to sleep and think of the beautiful curly haired man sleeping right above you. 

You wake yourself up shivering. Your eyes open and you're met with total darkness. The light from the alarm clock long gone, the air growing colder by the second. The distant whirr of the refrigerator reduced to nothing. The power must have gone out. Your feet are frozen, hands too. Trying to pull the blankets closer to yourself you realize they are already as close as they could be. Your body shivers under the sheets. If only you had some socks you could make it through until morning. 

You lay there for a few minutes trying to rub your feet together to create some warmth, but nothing was working. Your brain remembers the fire in the living room. It had been a few hours since it had gone out, but surely the hearth was still warm. You grab your phone, and turn on the flashlight, illuminating the floor below you. You quietly twist the door knob on the old door, and tiptoe through the hallway into the kitchen. Looking around, you see that the power is definitely out. Walking quietly down the small set of steps you find a place on the hearth of the fireplace, only to find that it too, has grown cold.

Rubbing your freezing cold hands together you think back to what Josh told you. ‘If you need anything, I’m up the stairs to the left.’ You think about going up there to ask for socks but quickly talk yourself out of it. As you look out the large windows it seems the snow has finally stopped falling, but it has accumulated quite a few inches. More than likely making the power fail. 

You scroll through your phone on the couch, but your service is weak. You can't get anything to load. Tiredness begins to creep in on you as the stinging stiffness in your hands and feel remind you of their temperature. 

Okay, just do it. Just go ask for some socks. Tell him the power is out. He will understand. 

Setting your phone on the coffee table you swallow deeply and quietly make your way up to cold wooden stairs. When you reach the landing you turn to his door, which isn’t a door at all. There is no door, it’s just an open archway. The sight in front of you nearly takes your breath away. He has a fireplace up here, and it is still glowing with embers. Your legs carry you over to it where you place your hands and are greeted with the feeling of warmth. 

Inadvertently you release a sigh as you feel your extremities warming. You hear the bed rustle behind you and you flip around, not even fully realizing that you are standing in this mans bedroom. He leans up on his arm, and you can see his eyes slowly opening as he sees you standing in front of his bed. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks, his voice light and groggy. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I just– the power went out, and I was so cold I was just going to come ask you for some socks…” you stammer. “But then I saw the fireplace from the doorway, and my legs carried me here. I thought maybe if I could just warm my hands and feet I would be okay.”

He peels the blanket off of himself and stands up pushing his hair out of his face. His body clad in only his black boxer briefs, showcases his chiseled torso, glowing in the fireplace embers. You have to peel your eyes off of him as he walks across the room. 

He returns a minute later with a pair of wool camping socks, “For your feet.” he says, handing you the socks. You reach out to grab them and his hand brushes yours sending that same electricity through your system.

“My god, you are freezing!” he says. How long have you been awake and cold?” 

Bending down to pull the socks over your feet you answer, “I’m not sure, maybe twenty minutes?” 

“Why didn’t you come up here sooner?” he asks, grabbing your cold hands in his warm ones, rubbing them together to attempt to warm them. 

“Well, you were already nice enough to let me stay here, I didn't want to wake you up too.” you say bashfully. Your eyes travel down his body and back up. “Aren’t you… cold?” you ask.

“No, I’m a warm sleeper.” he answers.

“Ah, that sounds nice.” slips from your mouth before you even can register what you’ve said.

You clamp your hand over your mouth in regret and he smiles, a giggle almost leaving his chest.

“You know, I figured I would lose power. I’m not surprised. How about this… why don’t you stay up here? I will throw another log on, and we can both be warm.” he says, with innocent eyes. 

Your eyes travel to the bed behind him, plush with white fluffy duvets and blankets. 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as he goes to speak again, “It’s a big bed. We won’t even touch. I just won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re down there shivering.”

He bends over and tosses another log onto the embers, poking it with the fire poker until it lights. Feeling the warmth on your back, you look back to him. “Okay, but only because I am freezing.”

“I know. I’ll get you warm, don’t worry.” he smiles. 

He walks over to the other side of his bed, pulling back the blankets and gesturing for you to slide in. He pulls the thick blankets over you and nods his head as he tucks you in.

Wow. 

You can’t even think of a time when someone took care of you like this. It’s kind of sweet.

He walks back to the fireplace and prods the log making sure it won’t roll off, and closes the mesh divider. 

He makes his way back to the bed, returning to the warm spot he left only minutes ago, sighing in relief as warmth washes over him as he pulls the duvet back over his now slightly chilled body. 

He rolls to face you, though you are on your back, eyes cast to the ceiling. You can feel his eyes staring into the side of your head, so you turn your head to look at him. The room is dark, the only light coming from the small flames in front of the bed. The orange hues dance across his cheeks, highlighting his cheekbones, and producing a sparkle in his tired eyes. 

“Do you feel it?” he whispers.

You feel your heart leap in your chest as your breath catches in your throat, “What?” you ask, nervously.

“The fire, do you feel it?” he asks.

God…

“Oh, yeah, I do. Thank you… for letting me stay up here. This is beyond…hospitable.” you reply, turning your body to face him in the bed. 

“Are you warming up?” he asks, the log crackling in the fireplace. 

“Yes, I’m starting to. I think it will take longer for my hands and feet.” you giggle.

“Here,” he says, reaching across, grabbing your hands and clasping them tightly between his. “Mine are plenty warm.”

You feel the electricity traveling through your body, and from the look on his face, he feels it too. A light hum leaves your chest as the warmth of his hands works quickly to heat your own.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, you are positive that he can see the pink blush creeping across your cheeks as you stifle a nervous smile.

“Yeah, it does. You’re lucky you’re so hot.” the words falling from your lips before you can stop them, something that seems to be happening far too often. 

A smirk flashes across his face as you stumble trying to correct yourself. “Warm, I meant warm. Not hot. I’m sorry... But, not that you aren’t hot, you are. Really. But–I meant…I’m not making this better am I...” you sigh.

“No, you know what? I think it’s perfect.” he says, his hand gripping yours, thumbs gently exploring the valleys and peaks of your knuckles.

“You do?” you ask quietly.

“Mhmm…” he hums. The rumble from his chest sends a shiver through your body.

You can feel your body temperature rising, but it isn’t from the fire. Josh’s hand releases yours and your eyes flick down as he pulls them away. He notices your furrowed brow and looks up at you.

“I told you we don’t have to touch.” he smirks, rolling to his back, positioning his hands behind his head. You roll back to your back, mimicking his actions. 

You both lay there in silence for a few minutes. You can hear the wind whipping against the windows, the thought causing you to shiver. You let your eyes travel the length of his body under the sheets and you bite your cheek as you meet his bare chest moving slowly up and down with each breath.

Pursing your lips together, you let your foot wander across the bed until it makes contact with his. You let the tips of your toes trace the curve of his ankle, as you watch a small smile play upon his lips. 

He turns his foot to meet yours, rubbing slowly over the top of yours as he twists his body to face you again. He places his hand next to his face on the pillow, pushing down the fluffy feather filled fabric, “So you do want to touch?”

You turn your body to face him, letting your foot slide up his leg, feeling the soft hairs tickle you. “Maybe a little…” you answer.

“You feel it too, don't you.” he asks. But this time, you know he isn’t talking about the fire. 

“Feel what, Josh…” you say in a playfully sultry tone.

“This.” He grabs your arm and pulls you as close to him as possible, his bare chest pressed directly to yours. 

Your legs intertwine with his as his hand cradles the back of your neck. Yours rests on his warm chest. He really wasn’t kidding about the warm sleeper thing.

Your fingertip traces the line of his collarbone as your eyes flick up to his, “Yes…I feel it too.”

You feel his breath on your forehead and you sink into him, as his body heat warms you quickly.

Feeling bold, you press a barely there kiss to his throat, stretched taut over your head. You feel his Adam's apple bob against your lips as your lips connect with his skin. His legs twitch against yours and you feel a warmth creeping down your center.

A closed mouth groan rumbles through his chest as his grip on you tightens. You have never made the first move, but tonight wasn’t a normal night. He was a stranger. A beautiful, warm stranger and you had already taken the first chance by knocking on his door.

You feel him hardening against your stomach and you smile up at him. His eyes have grown dark with want and you know yours probably look the same. “Josh…” you ask.

“Hmmm…” he hums into the top of your head.

“You know you could have just started a fire downstairs… I could have slept on the couch.” you say.

“You’re right. I could have, but I knew both of us weren’t going to fit on the couch.” he replies, voice soft as velvet.

“So you did want me in your bed…” you tease.

“From the second you asked me if I was watching A Clockwork Orange…” he says.

You crane your neck, lips furiously in search of his. You would be lying if you said you didn't catch yourself staring at his plush pink lips all night as he spoke of his passions. Thought about how they would feel, how they would taste. You thought about kissing the tiny scar you noticed on his cheek in the guest room. But nothing you imagined came close to how he actually felt. How he actually tasted. His tongue slides across your bottom lip as it begs for entry into your mouth. Slightly parting your lips he slides in, his tongue searching for yours.

You twist your fingers into his curly hair and it’s softer than you imagined. His lips pull away from yours and you whine at the loss of the heat of his tongue against yours. His lips connect with your jaw and neck as you scratch your nails against his scalp. You feel him hum against your neck as you pull on his hair, begging him for more. 

“You like that?” he murmurs against your skin. 

“Yes… kee– keep going…” you beg.

“God you’re sweet. I have to know you.” he says, as his kisses travel further down your neck. You feel his warm hand slide underneath the hem of the borrowed white shirt. His hand radiates heat across the sensitive skin of your stomach burning a path as it travels up. 

His eyes look to yours for permission, and he takes your deepend kiss as a yes as his hand connects with your hardened nipple. A moan leaves your mouth and travels into his and he rolls the taut flesh between his thumb and forefinger. 

He releases it as he grabs a handful of your breast, massaging the pliable skin. Sliding your knee upwards between his legs, you feel his full erect length straining through his boxers. You press your pelvis into his causing him to groan and pull you in tighter. 

“I want you to know me Josh, all of me.” you say, reaching down to grasp him in your hand. 

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You detach your lips from his neck as you respond with a nod, “Didn’t you say you would warm me up?”

“I did say that, didn’t I…” he teases, lifting the hem of the shirt to pull it over your head. As you lay there next to him, the orange glow of the fireplace reflects onto your skin.

“Shit, you are…for once I don’t have words.” he smiles.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” you laugh.

“Good. I always have words. My brothers give me shit for it all the time. But you have me speechless…” he says with a smile.

You blush, and you're positive that even in the dark room he can see it. His dimple shows through and you pull his neck down to connect your lips with his once more. 

Your hands travel down his sides, feeling his soft smooth skin beneath your hands. Supporting himself with one hand next to your head, the other hand skims to the top of the black sweatpants, teasing the sensitive skin across your hip bones.

He hooks a finger into the waistband and tugs downward pulling them to rest at your knees. You kick them the rest of the way off, leaving you bare beneath him.

“I can’t believe you got a flat in front of my house. I can’t believe I was actually here.” he says as if thanking God for his good fortune. 

“Why wouldn’t you be here?” you whisper.

“I travel a lot. I’m not here probably six months out of the year.” he answers.

You know you want to dive deeper into that at a later time, because right now, you need him. Like you need air. Lungs burning from not having him. 

You look directly into his beautiful brown eyes as you quickly rid him of his boxers. He kicks them off and your eyes travel down his chest to see the outline of his length glowing in the fire light between you.

He drops down to place wet kisses over your stomach and hips. Stopping and looking up at you as he presses a kiss to the mound between your legs. His tongue slips out and licks a warm path up your center causing you to breath sharply at the contact. Your hips flex backwards as your body silently begs for more friction. He pushes your legs apart slightly as he repeats the same motion, a sigh releasing from your chest. 

His tongue pointedly circles around your clit, you groan becoming more audible. His hand reaches up and grabs yours placing it on the top of his head. He wants your hands in his hair and you willingly oblige. 

Weaving your fingers through the curls you find yourself instinctively pressing down on his head to bring him closer. A growl racks through his chest. 

“Josh… I….” you whine.

His lips detach from you, “I know beautiful, give it to me. I want it.” he demands.

His tongue begins to furiously swipe against you and within seconds you are free falling into your release bucking your hips up into his mouth. The moan from your chest echoing through the silent house. As you float there in the darkness you feel his mouth leave you, and once you’re fully back, you feel him pressing kisses to your thighs. 

“Josh…I want you.” you say, pulling him up to hover over you. 

He presses a soft kiss to your lips, “You can have whatever you want, as long as you keep making pretty sounds like that.”

Gripping his dick in your now much warmer hand, you pull him to you, pressing him against your soaked core. 

You let go as he takes the lead, slowly sliding into you with a whispered ‘fuck.’

You adjust to him quickly, almost as if your body had been waiting for him since the minute he opened the door. His curls hang down his forehead as he sets a steady pace moving back and forth inside of you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you as your lips find his. You can taste yourself, but more, you can taste him. His essence. You can smell his earthy scent, pouring from his skin. Like a mix of damp wood and sweet vanilla. 

He rolls his hips into you eliciting a moan from your mouth. He does it again receiving the same response and a smile crosses his face. His thrusts become harsher, hitting the spot you so desperately need him to hit, and he does. Flawlessly. Your moans fill the air in the room. 

“I have heard so many things in my life, but god damn if this one isn’t my favorite.” he says, punctuating the sentence with the most sinful groan and you tighten around him. 

“Fuck… just like that gorgeous.” he says pressing deeper with each thrust.

“Josh, fuck…” you whine.

“You gonna give me another one baby? I want it…Need to feel you cum on my cock.” he pants. His hips begin to falter, thrusting wildly and inconsistently. You can tell he is close and you’re not far behind him. 

You squeeze around him as your fingernails dig into the soft skin of his back.  “Please, harder.” you beg.

Sweat drips down the side of his neck as he bites his bottom lip, thrusting into you harder than he has been, the smack of skin ringing through the vaulted ceilings. “Fuck, you want it hard baby? God you’re fucking perfect.” his hips snapping into you repeatedly like a rubberband. 

You toss your head back as you feel your stomach tightening. 

“Ahhh… fuck you’re squeezing me so fucking good… I won’t last much longer, I need you to cum for me angel. Let me have it.” he begs.

His words send you spiraling into your second release, tensing around his cock so hard, that he meets his own ending. You feel him pulsing inside of you. Groaning with each spurt your name falling from his lips like a prayer. 

His breathing is erratic as he collapses onto your chest, his messy curls tickling your face. You giggle as you push them away from your nose. He rolls off on you and onto his pillow, turning his head to face you as his breathing evens out. 

He pulls you close to him, your head laying on his chest. You listen to his heart beating and feel the rise and fall of his chest. His fingers run through your hair, occasionally twisting a strand around his finger, feeling the silkiness of it between his digits. His fingertips massage your scalp practically putting you to sleep.

“You live in Nashville, right?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.

You nod your head against his chest. “I do.”

“Good.” he replies.

You kiss his chest and he places a kiss on the top of your hair, letting his arm fall loosely around your back. Sleep overtaking both of you, finally warm.

When your eyes open, you see daylight. It is bright, brighter than usual. The sky is gray and heavy with snow clouds, an ominous reminder of what looks to be another snow storm impending. Sitting up, you find yourself still in the king size bed in Josh’s room. You see now in the light of day, the entirety of the wall of windows that overtakes the back portion of his home. His bedroom opening up to the bright light of the day as soon as the sun would begin to rise. You see that he has gone from next to you, and you bite your lip, wondering if he regrets what happened. 

You pull yourself out of the warmth of the bed and redress yourself in the borrowed clothes flung onto the floor with haste last night. You make his bed, a gentle thank you, for him to find later, before you step out of the doorway and make your way down the shiny wooden steps. 

The power is back on, evident by the smell of the coffee pouring out of the kitchen. You look around the house but you don’t see Josh. Where did he go?

You walk to the coffee pot situated next to the stove, and begin opening the cabinet doors looking for a mug. Settling on a blue mug with the state of Michigan on it, you pour the steaming hot liquid into the mug, breathing in deeply the invigorating scent. 

You carry the hot mug into the guest room, setting it on the bedside table as you change back into your own clothes. A few minutes later as you reemerge with the empty mug, you see Josh standing at the counter. He has on a sweatshirt and pants, and his hands are dirty. His cheeks are flushed pink from the cold outside air.

“I was wondering where you went.”  you say sheepishly, placing your mug on the counter. 

“I woke up and decided, ‘Who needs Triple A’... I can do it. So I went and dug your car out of the snow, and changed your flat. I have to admit, I haven’t had to do anything like that in a while. Probably since I was home in Michigan. It may have taken me longer than it should but … it was kinda nice. But I will admit it was hard to peel myself away from you this morning.” he smiles.

“You didn’t have to do that!” you implore, “Gosh I feel so bad, I already feel like I have imposed so much!”

Peeling his hoodie off, he rushes to you. “You weren’t an imposition. You were the unexpected surprise I needed. The best surprise.” he says, grabbing your hands. “Last night was…perfect and I want to see you again. In fact I don’t even want you to go.” he says shyly.

“Really?” you ask, nervously.

“Yeah, but I understand you probably need to…” he says looking down to the floor. Your heart clenches realizing how nervous he is, and that’s when you decide.

“I actually have nowhere to be… but… I do need a shower and I’ll probably need some clothes.” you smirk.

“You know…I think I can help with that.” he smiles.

You peer out the window behind him, snow flurries just beginning to fall as you ask, “Have you ever seen 2001: A Space Odyssey? I feel like you’d like it…”

He shakes his head in amazement as a smile spreads across his face, making way for his perfect dimple. With his look suddenly turning to a devilish grin, he throws you over his shoulder and carries you up the stairs, laughing the whole way. 

.

.

.

.

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

Big Train managers earn bonuses for greenlighting unsafe cars

Tomorrow (November 16) I'll be in Stratford, Ontario, appearing onstage with Vass Bednar as part of the CBC IDEAS Festival. I'm also doing an afternoon session for middle-schoolers at the Stratford Public Library.

Almost no one knows this, but last June, a 90-car train got away from its crew in Hernando, MS, rolling three miles through two public crossings, a ghost train that included 47 potentially explosive propane cars. The "bomb train" neither crashed nor derailed, which meant that Grenada Railroad/Gulf & Atantic didn't have to report it.

This is just one of many terrifying near-misses that are increasingly common in America's hyper-concentrated, private equity-dominated rail sector, where unsafe practices dominate and whistleblowers face brutal retaliation for coming forward to regulators.

These unsafe practices – and the corporate policies that deliberately gave rise to them – are documented in terrifying, eye-watering detail in a deeply reported Propublica story by Topher Sanders, Jessica Lussenhop,Dan Schwartz, Danelle Morton and Gabriel L Sandoval:

https://www.propublica.org/article/railroad-safety-union-pacific-csx-bnsf-trains-freight

It's a tale of depraved indifference to public safety, backstopped by worker intimidation. The reporting is centered on railyard maintenance inspectors, who are charged with writing up "bad orders" to prevent unsafe railcars from shipping out. As private equity firms consolidated rail into an ever-dwindling number of companies, these workers face supervisors who are increasingly hostile to these bad orders.

It got so alarming that some staffers started carrying hidden digital recorders, so they could capture audio of their bosses illegally ordering them to greenlight railcars that were too unsafe for use. The article features direct – and alarming – quotes, like supervisor Andrew Letcher, boss of the maintenance crews at Union Pacific's Kansas City yard saying, "If I was an inspector on a train I would probably let some of that nitpicky shit go."

Letcher – and fellow managers for other Tier 1 railroads quoted in the piece – aren't innately hostile to public safety. They are quite frank about why they want inspectors to "let that nitpicky shit go." As Letcher explains, "The first thing that I’m getting questioned about right now, every day, is why we’re over 200 bad orders and what we’re doing to get them down."

In other words, corporate rail owners have ordered their supervisors to reduce the amount of maintenance outages on the rail lines, but have not given them additional preventative maintenance budgets or crew. These supervisors warn their employees that high numbers of bad orders could cost them their jobs, even lead to the shutdown of the car shops where inspectors are prone to pulling dangerous cars out of service.

It's a ruthless form of winnowing. Gresham's Law holds that "bad money drives out good" – in an economy where counterfeit money circulates, people preferentially spend their fake money to get it out of their hands, until all the money in circulation is funny money. This is the rail safety equivalent: simply fire everyone who reports unsafe conditions and all your railcars will be deemed safe, with the worst railcars shipped out first. A market for lemons – except these aren't balky used sedans, they're unsafe railcars full of toxic chemicals or explosive propane.

When cataclysmic rail disasters occur – like this year's East Palestine derailment – the rail industry reassures us that this is an isolated incident, pointing to the system's excellent overall safety record. But that record is a mirage, because the near-misses don't have to be reported. Those near-misses are coming more frequently, as the culture of profit over safety incurs a mounting maintenance debt, filling America's rails with potential "bomb cars."

Rail mergers and other forms of deregulated, anything-goes capitalism are justified by conservative economists who insist that "incentives matter," and that the profit motive provides the incentive to improve efficiency, leading to lower costs and better service. But the incentive to externalize risk, kick the can down the road, and capture regulators rarely concerns the "incentives matter" crowd.

Here's an incentive that matters. Rail managers' bonuses – as much as a fifth of their take home pay – are only paid if the trains they oversee run on time. Inspectors have recorded their managers admitting that they have quotas – a maximum number of bad orders their facility may produce, irrespective of how much unsafe rolling stock passes through the facility.

Inspectors have caught their managers removing repair order tags from cars they've flagged as unsafe. Inspectors will log orders in a database, only to have the record mysteriously deleted, or marked as serviced when no service has occurred. Some inspectors have seen the same cars in their yard with the same problems, and repeatedly flagged them without any maintenance being performed before they're shipped out again.

Former managers from Union Pacific, CSX and Norfolk Southern told Propublica that they operated in an environment where safety reports were discouraged, and that workers who filed these reports were viewed as "complainers." Workers furnished Propublica with recordings of rail managers berating them for reporting persistent unsafe conditions the Federal Railroad Administration. Other workers from BNSF said that they believed that their bosses were told when they called the company's "confidential" work-safety tipline, setting them up for retaliation by bosses who'd falsified safety reports.

Whistleblowers who seek justice at OSHA are stymied by long delays, and while switching their cases to court can win them cash settlements, these do not get recorded on the company's safety record, which allows the company to go on claiming to be a paragon of safety and prudence.

The culture of retaliation is pervasive, which explains how the 47-cars worth of propane on the "bomb train" that rolled unattended over three miles of track never made the news. There is a voluntary Close Call Reporting System (operated by NASA!) where rail companies can report these disasters. Not one of America's Class 1 rail companies participate in it.

After the East Palestine disaster, Transport Secretary Pete Buttigieg pushed the rail companies to join, but a year later, none have. It's part of an overall pattern with Secretary Buttigieg, who has prodigious, far-reaching powers under USC40 Section 41712(a), which allow him to punish companies for "unfair and deceptive" practices or "unfair methods of competition":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

Buttigieg can't simply hand down orders under 41712(a) – to wield this power, he must follow administrative procedures, conducting market studies, seeking comment, and proposing a rule. Other members of the Biden administration with similar powers, like FTC chair Lina Khan, arrived in office with a ranked-priority list of bad corporate conduct and immediately set about teeing up rules to give relief to the American public.

By contrast, Buttigieg's agency has done precious little to establish the evidentiary record to punish the worst American companies under its remit. His most-touted achievement was to fine five airlines for saving money by cancelling their flights and stranding their passengers. But of the five airlines affected by Buttigieg's order, four were not US companies. The sole affected US carrier was Spirit airlines, with 2% of the market. The Big Four US airlines – who have a much worse record than the ones that were fined – were not affected at all:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/ftc-noncompete-airline-flight-cancellation-buttigieg/

Rather than directly regulating the US transportation sector, Buttigieg prefers exacting nonbinding promises from them (like the Tier 1 rail companies' broken promise to sign up to the Close Call Reporting System). Under his leadership, the Federal Railroad Agency has proposed weakening rail safety standards, rescinding an order to improve the braking systems on undermaintained, mile-long trains carrying potentially deadly freight:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/11/dinah-wont-you-blow/#ecp

The US transportation system is accumulating a terrifying safety debt, behind a veil of corporate secrecy. It badly demands direct regulation and close oversight.

If you are interested in rail safety, I strongly recommend this episode of Well There's Your Problem, "a podcast about engineering disasters, with slides" – you will laugh your head off and then never sleep again:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0BMQTdYXaH8

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/15/safety-third/#all-the-livelong-day

[oftenwantedafton]

Night Shift - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 5

Rating - Explicit

Warning for sexual content

Also available on AO3

Steve Raglan’s fingers are laced with yours.

It’s the sweetest kind of surrender; when he finally allows you to touch him and doesn’t resist or withdraw. His hand is so warm, so large against yours. You bring it to rest on your thigh and look at the union and oh, the somersault lurch inside of you hurts so good.

The interstate is empty, the highway yours, all those miles eaten up by the older man’s vintage sedan, bringing you closer to what you want.

Your unoccupied hand is lonely, craving more contact, tucking beneath the end of Steve’s sleeve, the smooth skin changing texture as you explore, idly at first and then with increasing curiosity. It’s not some random scarring; there are distinct shapes etched into his body. You drag the sleeve upwards to the crease of his elbow so you can see a little better, the illumination from the instrument panel confirming what you’d palpated.

“What are these?” Your throat is dry, the words coming out parched, dehydrated from the alcohol, from letting the man drink from your mouth, stealing away whatever moisture you’d had left.

“Work injury,” he says, glancing over at you, his eyes falling to the fingers that are tracing over the patterns so carefully, as if they are deciphering braille.

“From the social services office?” You ask incredulously.

“No. My previous job.”

“Which was…?”

“I owned a business.”

“I don’t suppose you could be any more vague.”

His lips twitch, but he remains silent.

“Did you ever work at Freddy’s?”

The hand in yours subtly tightens. “What?”

“You’re so familiar with the layout. Especially the back rooms that only staff had access to.”

“It’s part of my job to make sure new hires are performing well in their environment. Site visits are a requirement. The turn around for security at the restaurant has always been high. You get to know the place after awhile.”

You sense something’s off with his explanation but you decide to let the matter drop for now.

“Are you married?” The thought has been scratching at the back of your mind, an increasing worry.

“I was, once. Not anymore. She left.”

“Kids?”

“Yes. Also no longer in my life. It’s just me.”

His gaze is so carefully focused on the road. You wish he’d look at you; wonder if you’re being too probing with so many personal questions all at once.

“I’m sorry if I’m asking too many questions. I just don’t know anything about you.” You begin to tug the sleeve back into place but he halts you.

“You can leave it. Unless it bothers you. I should warn you now there are a lot more of those scars.” His eyes find yours.

“No, it doesn’t bother me.” You release your grip of his hand so you can maneuver his arm better, finding your digits warm and damp, nearly cramped from being interwoven for so long. His wrist bends and seats along your lips and you press a kiss there before you resume holding his hand again.

“Is this the infamous dress?” Steve seems to notice what you’re wearing for the first time that evening.

“What? Oh, yes.”

“That is wildly inappropriate to do chores in, your previous assessment was correct. I’d love to see you try, though.” He smirks and you squirm in your seat. The hand clutching yours relaxes and gently pulls free and moves to the slit of the ribbed knit fabric, which stops right above your knee. “Move this for me, so I can touch you.”

There’s an awkward moment of you lifting your hips off the cushioned seat beneath you, gathering the spandex laced fabric in bunches at the sides so it lifts past your legs and hips and gathers around your waist. You hesitate a heartbeat longer, then decide to pull your panties down to make it easier for whatever he’s about to do. You can feel the arousal already dampening the crotch as you tug them free, leaving them on the floor by your feet.

The older man lets you sit like that for a few moments, his eyes still focused on the road, your exposed pussy leaking onto his car seat, and then his right hand hooks neatly around your mound and he slides two fingers inside of your entrance.

Your body reacts instantly, hips already lifting to aid him to drive in deeper, seeking more friction from his palm against your clit. You clutch at the bicep of the arm probing your insides, feeling the muscles shifting beneath the skin. He lets you fuck yourself on his fingers for awhile, controlling the pace at which you grind up and down, feeling more of your fluids leaking past his digits and onto the seat beneath you.

“The seat,” you pant. “I’m getting it wet…”

“Do you think I fucking care? It’s vinyl. Can always lick it off after.”

Fuck.

Your lazy, stuttering pace quickens and the man notices, no longer letting his hand remain stationary, his middle and ring fingers actively punching into you and curling, the wet sounds of that assault interspersed with your gasps for air and moans of pleasure. Your fingers scrabble restlessly against his arm. You need him to look at you when he makes you explode.

“Please.”

The car leaves the road, Steve carefully guiding the passenger side tires over the edge of the asphalt, the change in elevation jostling the hand against you. He spares a second to throw the car in park and then he’s on you, mouth crushing yours, switching hands so smoothly you barely notice the transition.

“Cum for me, honey.” It’s an echo of a command from your first night together and it’s more than enough to make your walls clench and spasm over his fingers as you find release.

His forehead drops and rests against yours. There is the sound of your ragged breath easing as you come down off your high. His own is rapid. You’ve gotten him so worked up.

“Take me home with you,” you whisper, relieved to feel him nod. You’d intended on having him bring you home, had envisioned inviting him inside, and beyond that just disintegrating thoughts of lust. But you need more of him. You’ve gotten scraps of information tonight but it’s not enough. You want to see where he lives, what his home is like. You want to take him apart on his bed in these, the early hours before dawn.

***

Steve Raglan’s house is on the outskirts of town, in an area with a lot of new construction.

His own looks relatively new as well, a manufactured one story building on a wooded corner lot with an immaculate exterior, from what you see briefly in the headlights before he shuts the engine off.

“You haven’t been here long,” you murmur as you enter a living room, finding the interior as tidy as the outside had appeared. It doesn’t surprise you, given how organized his office had been. He flips the switch on the wall and a lamp on a table beside the couch lights. Every furnishing belongs to a family of dark colors - black leather couch and matching wooden tables, black entertainment center, soft gray walls, darker gray laminate floors. There are no pictures or plants, nothing to break up the color palette or give any clues as to the identity of the owner. It could be a hotel or a showroom floor display.

“About a year.”

You wander into the kitchen and he follows, flipping another light switch for you. Granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances, jet maple cabinets. Breakfast bar. Keurig on the counter by the double stainless steel sink. You tug the fridge open and glance inside, finding it’s nearly empty. “Yup, you’re single alright,” you laugh.

“I’m not home often. Don’t really have much need for a lot of things.”

You continue to explore, the older man trailing after you. Small laundry room. Two bathrooms, one with a tub, the other a walk in shower. You glance at the counter. “Purple toothbrush. You like purple.”

“Do I?”

“Mmm-hmm. You have a lot of purple ties, I’ve noticed.”

You find the first smallest bedroom has been converted into an office space. The second is used for storage, some boxes still sitting sealed on the charcoal carpet. And finally the master bedroom. Gray sheets, bed unmade, perhaps the only untidy thing you’d seen thus far, but he had rushed to rescue you, after all. A walk in closet, the door open. You step inside, brushing your fingers over shirt sleeves.

Steve leans against the bedroom doorframe, watching you with a look of bemusement.

You smile, sauntering over to the dresser, noticing a bottle of cologne. You bring the nozzle closer to your nostrils and yes, you detect that scent he always wears.

“So, what do you think? Does it meet your approval?”

“It’s very modern and clean. And empty.” You set the bottle down and walk towards him, letting your hands trail over his chest.

“Not as empty with you here.” You smile, wincing slightly when your head reminds you of the consequences of what you’d consumed so recklessly earlier. “How’s your headache?”

“It’s still there, but I really don’t care.” You struggle to swallow and remember how dehydrated you are. “I wouldn’t mind a glass of water, though.”

“That can certainly be arranged.”

“Have you ever had anyone over here before?”

“Never.”

You exhale a contented sigh.

“How about a bath? And you can borrow something of mine to wear.”

“Okay. After I use the bathroom. The drinks, you know…Do I still smell like booze?”

He smiles gently. “Terribly. And now it’s clashing with…” His eyes flick downward and you blush. “You’ll feel better afterwards, I promise.”

You're given some privacy to relieve yourself and then you open the bathroom door, watching as he gathers a plush looking towel from the linen closet set just inside the master bath, bending over to plug the drain and turning the chrome handles of both faucets. The mirrored medicine cabinet holds a spare toothbrush for you and pain medicine. Steve fills a glass of water and pushes down on the bottle with his palm, removing the cap and shaking a pair of tablets free.

“Open your mouth.”

You comply and he presses the pills against your tongue, then rests the edge of the glass against your bottom lip, gently guiding a stream of water into your mouth and down your throat. You have the oddest sensation that he’s done this before; maybe he’d administered medicine to his children at some point. He refills the glass and lets you finish it before he continues getting things set up for your bath.

He shoves the sleeve that’s still resting against his left wrist up, revealing a twin set of scars to the ones you’d seen earlier as he leans over to test the water temperature.

“Are you getting in with me?” You step out of your shoes and remove your shrug, letting it lay in a crumpled pile on the floor.

A soft smile. “Another time.” His eyes linger on your curves as you pull the dress over your head. “I’ll assist you though, if you’d like. In case you’re still unsteady.”

The alcohol had long ago burned through your system and you think he knows it, but you murmur an acceptance of his offer, turning and allowing him to unhook your bra. Every movement is gentle and unhurried. He’s taking his time with you and you love it.

“It seems we’ve forgotten your panties in the car,” he murmurs against your ear.

“I didn’t forget.”

You feel the smile against your skin as the fabric slides free.

“Alright, that should be full now.” Steve turns the faucets off and offers you a hand to support you as you step over the edge of the tub. You sit down, sinking into the warm water that’s verging just on the edge of scalding and it feels glorious.

“Good?”

“Perfect.” You cup some water between your hands and splash it over your face.

Back to the linen closet and he returns with a washcloth. Kneeling down next to the tub, he submerges the square while you reach for a shampoo bottle tucked into the corner.

“Do you take baths often?”

“Rarely.”

“I can’t remember the last time I did.” You let him pull the bottle from your hands as you shift your body, your face disappearing beneath the water’s surface, soaking your hair.

A dollop of a pink pearlescent substance sits in Steve’s palm, waiting for you when you reappear. It’s cool on your scalp when he smears it against your tresses. His fingers work up a lather, nails lightly scraping and it sends a pleasant tingle through your neck and shoulders. When he’s satisfied with the results he pauses to stand and retrieve the cup from the counter.

“Close your eyes.” You can hear him collecting a glass of bath water to pour over your head to rinse your hair, the process repeated many times, his free hand combing gently through until the suds have dissipated. “Okay you can open them now.”

You wipe at your eyelids, watching as he places a bar of soap in the center of the damp wash cloth, massaging until the cleanser has been worked into the fibers. He starts with your upper back and shoulders, rubbing small circles into your skin. You hum appreciatively, letting your eyes slide closed. It’s so soothing, having him touch you like this.

“You’re good at this.” You feel the motions now at the level of your lower spine pause.

“You think so?” He drags the cloth around to the nearest arm, working on the hollow beneath it.

You smile. “Yes.”

He finishes stroking along your forearm and you move, the now soapy water sloshing as you offer the other arm.

“You’re good at everything.”

He huffs a little at this unexpected bit of praise but you detect a faint smile before he plants a quick kiss on your forehead. The wash cloth caresses your neck and collarbones, dipping between your breasts before lingering perhaps longer than necessary on each, the nipples stiffening beneath his touch. So recently sated and already your pussy is tingling again, wanting more of him.

He works the lather against your abdomen and begins traveling across the top of one bent thigh, which unfolds, hitting the side of the tub gently. The cloth has been abandoned, his own hands now skimming across your skin, along the slope of flesh that leads to the fork of your hungry sex, stopping just shy of it. His eyes are on your face, going so dark. You tremble at the cooler ambient air striking your damp exposed skin.

Then Steve resumes his washing as if the activity had never been paused, a brief brisk cleaning between your thighs with the cloth in use once more before working down to your knees and calves and feet and then he uses the edge of the tub to push himself upright, wringing out the cloth and draping it over the side.

“Alright we should get you out before you prune up. Feel better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He nods, reaching to unplug the drain and the water begins flowing away as he helps you stand. “You probably want to rinse off. Towel’s right here. The dresser with the cologne has shirts you can borrow. I’ll be in the living room, okay?”

“Okay.”

He cups your cheek and kisses you softly before leaving the room.

***

You stare in your reflection in the mirror as you drag Steve’s hairbrush—it’s some expensive looking one with a wooden handle and fine bristles—through your damp locks. You still can’t believe just a few hours ago you were sitting in a bar drinking to forget, now standing in Raglan’s bathroom desperate to remember every detail, snapshotting the taste of his toothpaste, cinnamon instead of the customary mint; the scent of the laundry detergent he uses embedded in the fibers of the plush towel; that first feel of his clothing on your skin, when you bypass the drawers in favor of one of the button front dress shirts hanging in the walk in.

You are very, very carefully not thinking about Mike. You think Steve is very, very carefully avoiding mentioning him.

You find the homeowner seated on the leather couch, the position more of a drape with his long figure, jean clad thighs eased slightly apart, one arm resting across the back of the couch. You continue walking until you reach his knee and stop.

“Do you mind if I wear this? I just…” you can’t explain it, just know that you like the way the material feels against you, the stretch of buttons dipping between your breasts, the way the hemline flutters loosely over your hips and ass.

“Not at all. It looks a hell of a lot better on you then it does on me.”

“No, it doesn’t. But it’s nice to see you in something other than your work clothes.” You pause. “You look so good.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He reaches out, fingertips grazing yours. “There are so many years between us. I forget that sometimes.”

“How old are you?”

“Fifty three.” Three decades divide you, then. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” you reply. It really doesn’t. If anything it only added to the man’s appeal. You move then, climbing onto his lap, straddling the long thighs he brings together to support you. His rests a hand on your waist, the other seated against one ass cheek, bare beneath the shirt. You supposed you could have borrowed a pair of his boxers, but really, what was the point? You had no intention of putting any more barriers between you.

You stroke his graying hair, so soft beneath your fingertips, disrupting the neatly parted waves. His skin is still so smooth, so untouched by sun from careers spent indoors, just a few creases here by his eyes, those amazing eyes that shift from pale blue to dark ink every time he sees you.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks gently, his voice a soft rasp.

“You’re beautiful.”

He laughs softly, surprised by this declaration, the amusement fading when he sees how solemn you are.

“You really think so?”

“I’m so crazy about you. You don’t even know how much.”

You see him frown slightly, his lips thinning. He doesn’t want to hear this. You can’t stop.

“You don’t have to say anything back. I just…I just need to get this out. Just this once.”

You feel his legs stir beneath you. “There are things in my past…” he begins, then abandons the thought and starts anew. “I was trying to tell you earlier. It would never be a normal relationship. I can’t give you what you want. What you deserve.”

“I don’t care. I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me. Pretend if you have to.”

“I don’t want to pretend with you.” You sense there is something more he’s not saying, the implication that he is in fact pretending in some other regard threaded there, but he continues speaking and the notion evades you. “Sweetheart,” he sighs. “This was never supposed to go this far.” The hand seated on your waist tightens. “You’re going to hate me one day.”

“No. I could never.” You bend to kiss him. “My heart is so full for you.”

You feel the coiled tension in his frame ease as you kiss him again, his tongue now darting against yours. The fingers gripping your ass check dig deeper and the familiar warm ache resurrects inside of you once more. His mouth travels to your throat, the delicious abrasion of his beard made rougher at this late hour painting your skin in red swatches.

“Tell me something about you that no one else knows.” You’re pushing him so far tonight, but you feel as if you may never have this opportunity again, when he’s in this environment alone with you, almost vulnerable.

There is the longest pause, his mouth still, face tucked into the crook of your neck, and you wonder if he’s heard you or he’s refusing to answer or is simply mulling over the answer before he responds.

“My real name isn’t Steve.” The latter, then.

Of all the things he might have said, this was the one you were expecting the least.

You frown, moving back to look at his face. “What is it?”

A clear hesitation this time. “William.”

“Why are you going by Steve?”

He shakes his head. “It’s too complicated to get into. Suffice to say I have good reason to use an alias. I’m trusting you not to tell anyone else.”

“Alright. I won’t.”

“So now you know one of my best kept secrets.”

“Are there many more?”

“Yes, a fair few. But that’s not for discussing tonight, if at all.” His firm tone brooks no argument.

You don’t know how to feel about this. Does it really matter so much if his name isn’t Steve? Plenty of people went by other names. Is it really so strange?

Who are you falling in love with?

“William.” You try the name out and feel a shudder wrack his body, the limbs trembling against you. Oh, he liked that.

“Say it again.”

“William.” The name comes easier this time. You’ll get used to it, surely. You just have to be careful not to say it in front of anyone else.

“Again.” His hands reach for the front of your shirt, pulling down impatiently. You hear the buttons scatter, tiny bits of plastic striking laminate.

“William.” He takes one of your breasts in his mouth, teeth clamping on the nipple and tugging on the flesh. His hands are now braced under your thighs and he stands, holding you, your legs automatically wrapping around him. The strength in this man is incredible. There’s no way a desk job would make him this fit. Maybe he exercises regularly.

The air is pushed out of your lungs when he shoves you up against the wall in the hallway, holding you there, his mouth wild against yours. All of the tenderness and gentleness from earlier has vanished, replaced with this passionate aggression. You can’t decide which you like better.

“You want me to fuck you, honey?” His breath is ragged by your cheek. Your cunt is absolutely throbbing.

“Yes.” It’s not a want but a need at this point.

He carries you into the master bedroom and lays you across the bed. You watch him do that one handed maneuver that only men can do because their shirts are cut differently, grabbing a handful of material from between his shoulder blades and pulling it over his head in one smooth motion.

The scars cover his torso, too. So, so many of them, tattooed across every surface.

You admire the way the muscles beneath the skin move as he unfastens the button on his jeans. He might be middle aged but he’s lean, toned without being overly muscular, just some softness around the abdomen that you find insanely attractive. God, you wish you’d seen him naked sooner than this.

He drags the zipper down, hooks thumbs in the denim waistband and lets them drop naturally, already reaching for the boxer briefs that need more than gravity to ease down. More scars wallpaper his hips and thighs—what kind of accident had he been in?—and then he joins you on the bed, climbing over you. You feel the weight of his hand depressing the coils of the mattress near your head, a knee by your hip doing the same.

His face looms over yours, breath gusting over you in soft pants. “You remember when you came to see me at the office that day?”

You could hardly forget. You’d made a complete ass of yourself. Your cheeks flush and you nod.

“Remember how I told you I wasn’t going to be so lenient with you the next time?”

“Yes. But you always have been.”

“Not tonight. You understand, sweetheart?” He drags a thumb against your bottom lip, such a soft contrast to the violence he’s promising you.

“I’ll do anything you want.”

“Oh honey, I know you will.”

His eyes go black.

[wordsbymae]

Plot: Reader is home sitting for a friend over the weekend, looking forward to a nice relaxing few days to themselves. That all goes to shit when a man breaks in, demanding that they tell him where the cash is stashed. Reader has to come to terms that they don't know their friend as much as they think, and that their ignorance is about to come back to bite them square on the ass.

TW: Degrading talk, reader is threatened at gun point, speaks on topics such as home invasion (which is fucking terrifying), swear words, allusion to coercion and dub/con. Short and probs really bad, cause I've been a bit sick lately sorry.

You gave a bright smile and a wave, as you watched your friend drive off into the distance. The sun bounced off the back window of his sedan into your eyes, causing you to wince and turn your head away. Your arm faltered as you turned, your wave becoming jaded. Your friend continued down the road, not once trying to meet your gaze in the rear-view mirror.

Making sure they were out of sight, you made you way back to the house, up the creaking wooden patio stairs to the heavy oak front door. Pushing your way inside with a grunt, you closed your eyes and released a breath. Finally, a whole weekend alone.

House sitting wasn't exactly how you imagined your weekend going, but if it meant you got away from your roommates for just three nights, you jumped at the chance. Your friend didn't really give an explanation for needing you to house sit, just that they had something important to do a state over. They didn't seem to want to talk about it so you didn't push.

The house was large, old and frankly pretty spooky. Despite the area surrounding it being a popular housing development, the land that this house stood on was isolated and densely packed with forage. You nearly missed the driveway, thinking it something more than a dirt service road. It did frighten you a little to think that you would be sleeping alone in a big house, but it also excited you. No need to wear headphones, no need to worry about any passive aggressive roommates complaining about you cooking, you had no one to answer to. It was perfection.

The sun had long since set as you finished eating dinner and doing the dishes. You pondered your opinions, watch TV, read a book or take a wonderful bath. It had been awhile since you didn't have to worry if someone was waiting on you in the bathroom. You could take your time till the bath water turned cold. You gathered your things, including a book you hoped to catch up while lounging in the water.

The bathroom continued the old, eccentric aesthetic your friend had gathered throughout the house. The tiling on the wall was a dark green, the bath itself was a clawed tub with golden edges. A rounded sunlight overlooked you as you entered into the warm, comforting water. You would have to go for a bath during the day to feel the sun on your skin as you bathed.

You read a few pages of your book before putting it down and relaxing deeper into the warmth. Your mind drifted, eyes floating shut. Muscles relaxed and the only problem with the whole scenario was that you left your phone downstairs and couldn't play music.

Until you were snapped to attention at the sound of glass shattering.

Heavy boots could be heard stepping on the broken glass, causing hairs to stand on the back of your neck. You reached for your phone, cursing at the remembrance of it being downstairs, most likely in reach of the intruder.

You stilled in absolute fright. The footsteps echoed like thunder through the house, they were heavy and slow. The owner of them, almost cautiously making their way as they explored the house.

What the fuck do you do.

You can't call anyone. You phone was down stairs.

You can't scream. There was no way the neighbours could hear and it would only tell the intruder exactly where you are.

You can't run. There was only one way down stairs and you could hear the footsteps on them right now.

The only thing you could do was to jump out of the bath and turn off the lights, quickly engaging the lock as you do. Afterwards you stumbled in the dark putting on your pjs, not wanting to be caught in the nude. The footsteps were getting closer and closer. You quickly found a place to hide, although you knew in the grand scheme of things hiding in a bathroom wasn't the best idea. You kicked yourself for not taking the chance to try and find a weapon. Now, the intruder was too close and would hear any movement you made.

The bedroom door was opened, and the intruder made short time searching it. You grimaced as you heard them rip drawers out and the sound of fabric tearing. You could only hope they found enough stuff to steal for them to finally leave. Your heart was pounding against your ribs, it nearly drowned out the sound of the intruder grunting in frustration.

Whatever he was looking for, he couldn't find it.

You listened intently as he rushed out of the room. He footsteps slowed to a stop in front of the bathroom door. You froze in fear as the door handle was wiggled. The intruder gave a scoff. Silence for a moment. Until it was slaughtered by the intruder slamming his boot against the door. You gave a yelp of fright, scrambling back into a corner. One more kick and the door flew open. You were now face to face with him.

He was tall, dressed in black. A balaclava hid his facial features, but his blue eyes drilled into you. Your eyes flittered down to his hand, where a handgun was griped tightly.

You opened your mouth, about to beg for mercy. When the man lifted the gun up towards you, he grabbed your arm and began dragging you towards the bedroom. You were thrown onto the bed with a yelp. You scrambled backwards, eyes trained onto the gun.

"Where's the money you stole" he demanded, hand steady and eyes narrowed.

"What? I didn't steal anyth-"

"Don't give me that shit, you either tell me where it is or I blow your fucking head off" his hand began to shake.

"I promise I don't know what your talking about. I don't even live here!"

"What" he scoffed

"I'm just housesitting for my friend, they-"

"Let me guess, had a last minute family emergency and had to leave in a hurry" his voice was softer now, yet still harsh.

You just nodded.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" he screamed, gun flying back into his holster, while the owner began wrecking the room.

Drawers were ripped out, a chair flung at the window and a vase thrown onto the ground.

"That no good, fucking bastard! I should have known I was too late, they've problem already used up all the cash" he muttered

"Um, excuse me..." his eyes snapped onto you.

"What do mean by stolen money?"

"Exactly how it sounds idiot. That friend of yours skipped down with my cash, leaving you to the wolves as it were."

"No, they wouldn't do that. Steal money or put me in danger!" you pleaded, still sitting close to the bedframe.

"Whether or not you believe it, it doesn't matter, they did steal money and they did leave you to cop the fallout. Sounds like an amazing friend" he scoffed.

You gritted your teeth in denial but thought it best to keep your thoughts to yourself.

"So...are you gonna leave me alone now" you whispered.

He let out a loud and harsh laugh.

"No can do sweetheart. How do I know your not lying, that you actually did steal my money. And if you are telling the truth, don't you think I deserve some sort of reparation? For all the shit your friend put me through?"

"I don't understand"

"You don't have to understand. I'll show you what I want"

I actually hate this.

[starkraivennemad]

The Beginning Calm

D.I. Greg Lestrade put up with a lot for the services of "World's Only Consulting Detective" Sherlock Holmes. His biting sarcasm, vicious diatribes, and insults to his intelligence. And that was nice compared to what came out of the genius’ mouth when it comes to his team. Not to mention Sherlock’s near childlike glee in flaunting his often barely legal antics with the law. But he and the team, okay mostly just he, tolerated it. Why? Because like it or not - he did, his team did not – at the end of the day, the man got results. Sherlock got the results which got Greg the arrests needed to get criminals off the streets, and the solid convictions that kept them off.

It was not easy dealing with Sherlock Holmes, or his even bigger pain in the arse brother Mycroft but it was worth it. Still, Greg would not lie if he did not wish it could be a bit calmer in the chaos.

Thus, you could have knocked Greg over with a feather once John Watson entered the picture. In less than twenty-four hours of the doctor knowing the genius, Greg had started to note small differences.

Sherlock, when realizing he might have messed up, looked to John for guidance. “Not good?”

John, realizing Sherlock really did not understand, was patient, “Bit not good, yeah.”

Granted, Sherlock was back to his unthinking ways not even a moment later.

Sherlock: “Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you’d been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?”

John” “Please, God, let me live.”

Sherlock: “Oh, use your imagination!”

Greg noted how the doctor, with a mere look and a softly spoken rebuke, “I don’t have to…,” had Sherlock briefly taken aback for his thoughtlessness again. Greg could count on one hand how often that worked between him and Sherlock.

By the end of the night, Greg understood this doctor was only the beginning of something very different for Sherlock.

When a certain black sedan still idled at the curve, he knew what it meant. He walked up minutes later, hearing as the rear window lowered.

“So, have you warehoused him yet?” Greg asked.

“And good evening to you, Detective Inspector Lestrade.” Mycroft retorted drolly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… Can’t prove it, don’t want to, but I know he just shot a man and that saved your brother’s life.”

“Interesting. For that I will answer your question, yes, he was warehouse earlier this evening. ”

“And he hadn’t go running for the hills after?”

“Neither had you, Lestrade.” Mycroft reminded him. “You, Dr. Hooper, Mrs. Hudson are the only ones to do so. ”

“What does not fear you, has what it takes to deal with your brother it seems.” Greg mused. “Watson calms him…”

“Him? John Watson, CALMS, my brother? That’s just not possible!”

“Don’t worry, your capricious little brother will always be a right prat. That’s never changing.” Greg turned to head back to the crime scene. “Goodnight, Mr. Holmes.”  

“I’m not done speaking, Inspector Lestrade.”

“Too bad, I have work to do. I’m done not listening to you.” Greg walked away smugly.

He heard Mycroft’s scoff as the window went up again. “Watson calms Sherlock? The inspector is mad!”

He could not fault the older brother’s disbelief, given they were talking about Sherlock. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction John and Sherlock had walked as if he still saw the long-gone men and chuckled to himself.

“Yeah, he’s a prat, but I think someday, if we’re lucky with John, he just might become less of one.”

---------------------------------

Read / Comment on AO3

@calaisreno @MayPrompts2024

#MayPrompts2024 - Prompt 7: Calm

[le-trash-prince]

I find myself so intrigued by this fancy ass garage that Great is using

This isn't necessarily plot relevant, but is this a shared garage? The text on the LED panel above the door Great is entering reads "2 Welcome to USE Available parking lot SUV 40 SEDAN 4" (note the numbers) while the next one reads "3 Maintenance SUV 0 SEDAN 0." So bay 3 on the right is empty/not working.

I guess I'm curious whether "Welcome to use" means the garage is welcome to be used (as in, this one is working and you can park in it), or the cars are welcome to be used (by residents/members, not random ppl)?

It's obvious that the two cars Great has used are owned by his family, per the window stickers. But has Great really got 44 high-end cars?? Or are they running some kind of elite carshare service and writing it off as a business expense? Somehow I would be surprised if this were the case, but I'm kind of just reeling at the thought of someone having 44 cars lmfao

There's cars in the lot without the Sriwat Cargo sticker (unless I'm just blind idk), so if this is a garage attached to Great's apartment complex, my guess is the lot is for the plebs and Great is taking up all that car space in the garage for himself.

In general I'm just delighted by the mechanics of this system, the way you don't have to back in or back out, the control panel that lets you select your car for the day like you're picking out a pair of shoes. Also this may have been pointed out already, but the car makes a clockwise turn when Great is checking one out for the day.

If this garage has been used in another series please let me know because I just wanna know how it all works

[separatist-apologist]

Cowboy Like Me

Never thought I'd meet you here

Summary: When Nesta is stranded in rural Montana, she finds herself rescued by an unlikely pair.

Day 1 of @sjmromanceweek: Meet-Cute

Also, check out this art of Cowboy Cassian from @melphss

Read on AO3

Nesta was in hell. 

Who got married in Montana? Montana seemed like the sort of place you exiled people to die in lonely misery. She didn’t give a fuck about all the open sky, the clean air, or the nature that quite literally ambled up to her rental car looking for a snack. Nesta wasn’t built for this sort of life and maybe it said something about her that she couldn’t imagine anyone else who was.

She’d made a mistake, though. When she’d rented her airbnb, she’d just assumed it was an actual home, like the pictures had depicted, and not some ramshackle hovel with a literal hole in the ground for shitting.

For fifty dollars a night, she supposed she deserved that. Nesta thought that maybe she also deserved her twisted ankle. Heels on a gravel road had been an obvious mistake—was she supposed to go barefoot? She hadn’t brought anything else. Nesta emitted a soft scream of hatred for this new, cheerful place before propping herself up on the hood of her car to look at her swelling ankle.

All this for a wedding. The minute Nesta managed to get back into her car, she was going to book a flight home and block this friend forever. Why was she even trying to have friends outside of Gwyn and Emerie, besides? Nesta maneuvered her phone from her black skirt pocket only to find that of fucking course she didn’t have service.

She screamed again, irate with the whole endeavor.

“All right, ma’am?” a masculine voice called. Nesta whipped her head to the side of the long, gravel drive, intending to give that busybody man the middle finger for his trouble.

She hesitated. To start, the man in question was astride a large black horse. She had no quick comeback for a man who was pulling towards her shiny red sedan like he’d stepped straight out of eighteen forty six. 

He swung one of his long, powerful legs off the creature with ease, revealing himself to be at least six foot-five. Nesta had never considered herself a small woman, standing at five-nine without heels, but as he approached, his rough stubbled face hidden beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, Nesta felt positively dainty. 

He swept his hat off his head and Nesta wished he hadn’t. Holding it against the blue and green flannel of his shirt, he was like something out of a magazine ad for country living. Warm brown skin, hazel eyes, and dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders was a lethal combination on this man. His chiseled jaw, the stubble grazing his cheeks, and his rough features made Nesta think he had no trouble picking up women.

And that irked her, even as she swallowed with desire. He was absurdly stunning, the absolute dream of anyone hoping to marry a cowboy from a long-forgotten age. Those eyes of his, framed with ridiculously long lashes, swept over her, and then her surroundings.

“Tricked, huh?” he asked in a rich, deep drawl. “You wouldn’t be the first. Won’t be the last.”

“Someone should burn this place to the ground,” she hissed, one hand still gripping her hurt ankle. 

He chuckled. “I don’t think that would stop someone from tryin’ to sell it. You hurt?” he added, his eyes falling on her ankle. 

“I twisted my foot,” she admitted. He knelt, the sight emptying out all of Nesta’s thoughts. She could only stare at his thighs, bulging in his tight jeans. His hand was large enough to wrap fully around her ankle, and ever so slowly, he pulled her foot from her scuffed black heel.

“This is your problem,” he said, holding up her shoe with a frown. 

“Well I know that now,” Nesta hissed, “you must be a psychic.”

His eyes flashed. “Can you drive?”

“No,” she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I wouldn’t go around insultin’ the only person who can help…but that’s just me,” he replied. 

Nesta hesitated. “Are you a doctor?”

He snorted, rising to his feet again. His large, muscular body blocked the bright sun the way a tree might, and Nesta couldn’t pretend she wasn’t grateful.

“Cattle rancher,” he replied, “but I know a thing or two about tapin’ up a sprain. We’ll get you iced up and bandaged and on your way Miss…”

She sighed. “Nesta Archeron,” she half grumbled.

“Miss Archeron—”

“Nesta. Don’t be ridiculous.”

He smiled, setting her heart racing. “Miss Nesta, then. I’m Cassian, and I’m walkin’ towards you real slow because I don’t want to spook you.”

“Why would you—put me down right now!”

He shook his head. “And let you finish breakin’ what you started? No offense, darlin’, but carrying you is a lot safer than letting you hop on the horse—”

“Why can’t we drive?”

He looked down at her, his amusement plain. “And what would I do with Bryaxis?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nesta breathed, gripping Cassian’s neck until her nails dug into his skin. “I’ve never been on a horse.”

“He doesn’t bite,” Cassian replied. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She couldn’t help her squeal as he hoisted her up into the fine leather saddle. Nesta’s bare thighs touched the material, spreading her legs obscenely, though Cassian didn’t seen to notice or care. He merely swung himself up behind her. He put one hand on her hip, the warmth seeping through her silken skirt, before reaching for the reins.

“What were you doing out here, anyway?”

He nodded towards a saddle bag. “Needed a few things in town.

“And you took a horse?” she replied, trying to imagine where he’d even park it.

Cassian’s laugh rumbled through his chest. “Where are you from, Miss Nesta?”

“Chicago,” she replied, well aware she was proving every city slicker stereotype true. “Have you ever been?”

She felt him shrug. “Nope. I’ve been to cities before, but not so far south.

So far south. Nesta didn’t know how to respond to that. “You’re not missing much, honestly.”

“No? Is Chicago not home sweet home?”

It was Nesta’s turn to shrug. “It’s where I live.”

If he had thoughts about that, Cassian kept them to himself. That was just as well—Nesta didn’t want to fight some stranger when she was currently on his horse, unable to even run. He’d left her shoes on top of her car and her suitcase in the trunk. Nesta was literally at his mercy, given the small, two-lane road they were currently traveling down had no hint of civilization besides the two of them. 

She’d done such a shitty job picking an airbnb. 

“What are you doin’ up here, then?” he asked after a moment. His voice had the most pleasant gravel, deep and dark like a star-flecked sky. Nesta knew she was leaning against the broad plain of his chest and found she didn’t care. 

“My friend is getting married,” she said. “I guess her fiance grew up out here.”

“Oh yeah?” he replied, an obvious smile in his voice. “Married on a ranch?”

Nesta twisted in her saddle. “Don’t you dare—”

“Lots of people rent out my barn on the edge of the property. You can stay up with me, if you need a place. I’ll charge you a real fair price.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s that?”

“You ever mucked out a stall, Miss Nesta?”

She poked him in the ribs, turning back to face the endless expanse of cloudless blue. “Is that your thing, then? Humbling the city girl by making her clean up shit?”

“Maybe I think you’d be real pretty with a little mud on your face.”

Nesta swallowed. “I don’t do mud,” she said, looking at her immaculate nails.

“What do you do, then?” Why did he sound so suggestive? Nesta’s hands were clammy–nervous. When had a man ever had that effect on her? 

“Law,” she told him. “Corporate law.”

He made some soft, noncommittal noise that was, honestly, a lot better than a lot of the finance men she dated. Cassian acknowledged he’d heard her without feeling the need to cut her down in service of his own ego. 

“I don’t know much about that,” he finally admitted. Nesta could have kissed him for it, though she wouldn’t. 

“It’s pretty boring,” she said, earning another of his soft noises.

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” he replied. “You don’t strike me as the type to spend your time sufferin’.”

“Well…I do get to humble really rich men with a fair amount of regularity,” she admitted with a smile. His grip on her waist tightened. 

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his breath fanning against the back of her neck. She shivered, unintentionally leaning further into him. She was acting like a cat in heat over a man she’d known for fifteen minutes.

“I’ll pay,” she breathed. Behind her, Cassian went stiff.

“Pay?”

“For a room,” she clarified, wondering what he was thinking. “If you were serious about your offer, I’d pay you for it.”

“Oh, darlin’, there’s no need for that. Just a little hel—”

“I told you I don’t do dirt,” she snapped. “You can have money or nothing at all.”

“I’m not takin’ your money,” Cassian drawled. “Just keep after yourself and don’t disturb the cats.”

Her heart stuttered. “Cats?”

“Yeah. My girl just had kittens and she’s real skittish, so if you see her, be real quiet and soft.”

Nesta could have died. “What's her name?”

She wanted a cat so badly. Her landlord expressly forbade any animals at all, and Nesta was too much of a rule follower to risk a secret cat. The thought of spending three days surrounded by a mama cat and her little kittens seemed like heaven.

“Cheddar,” Cassian admitted ruefully. “She’s orange. Dad must be black, though, because half her little beans are black, too.”

A soft squeak slipped from Nesta’s throat. “Do they have names?”

“Not yet. Maybe you’ll help me out with that,” he added with what sounded suspiciously like hope. 

She didn’t dare unpack that. Not as Cassian pulled off the road, steering his steady horse down another gravel path. Untouched grass stretched for miles in every direction until the sky met mountains in the distance. 

“Your friends will be down there,” Cassian told her, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. Accident, she swore, watching the point of his finger. “But we’ll be up here. I’ll walk you down for the wedding…keep you from wreckin’ that other pretty ankle of yours.”

“Does that work on the women around here? Your folksy charm, your aw shucks—”

Cassian laughed. “Are you askin’ if being nice gets me laid?”

“Does it?”

“My good looks get me laid, darlin’.  My folksy charm, as you so eloquently put it, is just called manners outside of the city. No need to pretend.”

“You’d be surprised,” she told him dryly. Cassian merely held her close, his eyes fixated on the two story ranch just in the distance. Nesta could have wept with relief. The saddle was rubbing against her inner thigh, chafing her delicate skin and the woodsy scent of smoke and pine coming off Cassian was threatening to throw all Nesta’s good sense out the window. 

His home sprawled against the Montana countryside. Built to look as if it was made of wood—and maybe it was, for all she knew—the house had to be worth a cool million in Nesta’s estimation. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder at him, though. Didn’t dare acknowledge she knew this man wasn’t the simple, rural cattle rancher he was trying to embody. 

And Nesta certainly didn’t let him see that she was weirdly relieved. She liked an ambitious man. And unlike all the men she’d been dating back home, Cassian wasn’t slick. Nesta would have put all the money she had on Cassian being the sort who had his heart on his sleeve for all to see. She had no business thinking about that.

This wasn’t a date.

Cassian swung off his horse and gently pulled her back into his arms.

“Don’t you go runnin’ off,” he warned Bryaxis.

“Will he?”

Cassian merely shrugged as he took her up a stone laid path towards his glass and wood front door.

“If he goes anywhere, it’ll be next door to his girlfriend.”

She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. “Your horse has a girlfriend?”

“He’s a good-looking horse. Why shouldn’t he have a girlfriend. I catch him all the time down by the fence nuzzlin’ her with his nose.”

“Like you, then?”

Cassian chuckled. “I am very single, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta,” she interrupted, breathless as he brought her inside. “The Miss makes me feel like someone’s kindergarten teacher.”

“Fine, Nesta. I, unlike my horse, am very single.”

“Any particular reason?” she asked, wishing she sounded snide and not interested.

Cassian set her on a long, dark leather sofa, He swept his hat off his head as he knelt in front of her again. 

“You want to know why I’m single? Maybe I work too much,” he said softly, sliding her his hand up  and then back down her knee. “Maybe I’m a shitty kisser.”

“I’ll bet it’s the second,” she replied. Cassian’s hazel eyes met her own, a smirk curving over his sensual mouth.

“And you? Are you a shitty kisser?”

“Terribly deficient.”

“I figured,” he murmured, turning his gaze back to her swollen ankle. Cassian grabbed a red pillow from the corner of his couch to prop up her foot. “Why don’t you stay here and I’ll get us all set up, hm?”

“Okay.”

Cassian vanished long enough for Nesta to fire off several quiet texts and otherwise study his really nice home. The living room had a wall made of pointed windows, and though everything had that wood cabin aesthetic, it was cozy and cheerful and bright. She flipped through her work emails while she waited, dragging a knitted blanket off the back of the sofa over her lap. 

Was she insane for hanging out in a stranger's house? She would never have dared back home—her friends thought she was insane. And yet she was at the right place, and if Cassian wanted to hurt her, surely bandaging up her foot wasn’t necessary. She doubted his neighbors would have heard her scream if she stood outside and emptied her lungs of air.

Cassian returned nearly an hour later, balancing a glass of water and a plate in one massive hand, and her suitcase in the other.

“You got my things?” she asked him, surprised he’d bother. She’d assumed she’d have to hobble back out there for it.

“Of course, darlin’,” he replied, setting a nice sandwich and two ibuprofen down on the wood coffee table right in front of her. “Unless you plan on wearin’ that skirt the entire time? I don’t mind, but…”

Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you. That was really nice.”

He ducked his head. “Have somethin’ to eat before you take the medicine. You look like you haven’t had anything but coffee today. Pain killers won’t settle well on an empty stomach and while you’re cute, you’re not cute enough to clean up puke.”

Nesta was rendered speechless. That was for the best. Everytime he casually said something nice about her, Nesta was far too tempted to crawl into his lap and repay him for his generosity in a different sort of way. Instead, Nesta remained perfectly still while Cassian wrapped up her ankle with a beige colored bandage and pressed a bag of frozen green beans against the aching bone. 

“Keep this elevated,” he insisted, taking a spot close enough that Nesta could have scooted forward and put her head in his lap. She was far too tempted. 

“Want to watch something?” she suggested. “Or are you busy?”

“Not too busy for you,” he teased, reaching for the remote. “How do you feel about history?”

Their eyes met, and in unison, they said, “Ancient Aliens.”

Cassian smiled with satisfaction. “Fuck yeah.”

They wasted the afternoon that way. Nesta inched closer and closer until her head was propped up against his thigh. Cassian kept his arm casual against the back of the couch, unconcerned as they giggled their way through each new show. He didn’t stop until the sun dipped low, bathing the room in shadow.

“Want to help me make dinner?” he asked, his voice gruffer than before. She looked up at him.

“No eating out?”

His lips curved into a sly smile. “Are you asking to be eaten out?”

She smacked at his stomach, heart racing all the same. “You don’t seem like the cooking type. Isn’t that something for your little wife?”

“Are you offerin’?” he joked. “I accept. C’mon, lazy bones. At least come talk to me.”

“Does anything bother you?” Nesta asked, unconcerned when Cassian lifted her back into the air. She winced at the jolt of pain lancing through her ankle, though she couldn’t pretend she didn’t like the ease with which he carried her through his house. Cassian was careful, setting her atop a granite kitchen island so she could watch over his attempts at cooking.

“So tell me, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta.”

“Nes,” he grinned. “Miss hot shot attorney. What do you think about my humble home?”

She looked around, pretending to survey with an arched eyebrow. “It’s a little rustic—”

Cassian’s fingers were between her ribs before she could stop him, tickling until she thrashed and gasped for a breath of air. 

“Stop it, stop—”

“Rustic,” he chuckled, pulling out a nice creuset pot and setting it atop the range. “You’ll have to work on your insults.”

“I think you just wanted an excuse to touch me,” Nesta replied. Cassian smiled.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “It’s not everyday a beautiful woman is waitin’ for me on the side of the road.”

“I wasn’t waiting. I was stuck.”

He shrugged. “Sure felt like you were waitin’ for me.”

“Maybe you were waiting on me.”

“Almost certainly,” Cassian agreed cheerfully. “Do you eat pasta?”

“I’ll eat anything,” Nesta agreed. Cassian nodded.

“You and me both, sweetheart.”

And God, but Nesta wanted to find out if that was true. Cassian had a box of recipes he’d inherited from his mother that he’d been more than happy to show her. While Nesta pulled the cards out one by one, Cassian made his own tomato sauce. She knew it shouldn’t have impressed her and still it did. 

He was nearly done when his cat, Cheddar, slunk into the room. Three black and orange kittens flopped just behind her, the third tumbling face first over the threshold from the hall to the tile. Nesta gasped.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

“Where are the other four, mama?” Cassian asked his cat as she wound her way through his legs to rub against him. “What are those little demons up to?”

Nesta carefully hopped off the counter so she could scoop up one of the babies.

“Probably peeing in my boot,” Cassian grumbled, stirring his sauce with a wooden spoon. 

“Babies,” Nesta breathed, delighted when the three that had ambled in with their mother immediately bounded towards her. Her favorite, for no reason at all, was the one with the split black and orange face. She had the brightest blue eyes and when Nesta lifted her up to really look at her, the small creature meowed loudly. 

“Well now you’ve done it,” Cassian teased as Cheddar trotted over to see what the fuss was. “Be careful–mama cat has claws.”

Nesta scratched behind her ears. “Maybe for you.”

“I suppose like calls to like,” he grumbled. While he plated their food, Nesta played with the kittens until there was a snag in her skirt. Cassian offered Nesta a hand and when he pulled her up to her feet, balancing on one foot, he yanked just hard enough that she fell into his chest.

Into his lips. 

“Oh,” she whispered, unsure what to do. Cassian kept her steady with one arm, the kiss polite and chaste and just enough to make her want much, much more.

“Sorry,” he murmured, brushing a strand of her hair off her face. “Probably shouldn’t kiss the woman rentin’ one of my rooms, but…”

“It’s alright,” Nesta assured him, letting him lead her to the blocky table just outside the kitchen. It might have been awkward had Cassian not been so charming. So laid back and nice. He’d made her spaghetti and didn’t care when his cat spent the entirety of the meal winding her lithe, orange body through his feet and purring so loud Nesta felt like she was competing for his attention. 

Cassian kept the conversation going as if nothing had happened, but Nesta couldn’t get the feel of his mouth against hers out of her mind. He’d smelled crisp and clean and when her hands had pressed against his chest, he’d been all hard, toned muscle. 

“Why don’t I clean up down here, and you can get settled in your room?” Cassian suggested when Nesta had been silent a little too long. She was undressing him in her mind, and when she looked up at him, the little smile on his face made her wonder if he wasn’t aware. 

“Sure,” she agreed, if only to get out of helping with the dishes.

“I’ll carry you up,” he added, his eyes flashing. Nesta shook her head, her pride unable to stand being taken up and down the stairs.

“I can do it myself.

“Are you always this difficult?” he asked, rising to his feet. Cassian was a big man. Nesta had never felt small in comparison, had never once looked at a prospective lover and thought herself little. Cassian, though. Cassian exuded strength. In another life, he might have been a warrior prince worshiped by the masses. 

Nesta offered him a feline smile. “Maybe.” Back home, that refusal to yield would have earned her nothing good. With Cassian, though? A slow smile spread over his rugged face.

“Wouldn’t be any fun if you weren’t, I suppose. Go on then, Miss Nesta. Yell if you need me…I’ll come runnin’.”

Nesta suppressed a shiver at his sensual tone. “Is that a promise?”

He looked her up and down, his expression suddenly ravenous. If Nesta had less pride, she might have hopped over to him, pressed her hands to his chest, and let him finish what he’d started. 

“It is,” he said simply, those hazel eyes finding her face again. 

It was shree will that made her turn. As if she had something to prove. And Nesta made it all of four little hops before Cassian was coming behind her and sweeping her up off her feet. Nesta gasped, unprepared to be so close to him again.

“C’mon,” he murmured, holding her like she was something delicate.

Something fragile.

And no one thought that about her. Nesta swallowed hard, biting back the urge to snap at him. He didn’t know what she was like and maybe that was a blessing, because Nesta didn’t have to put on a show for him. She could press her head against his chest and sigh, “Thank you,” without needing to scowl, to stare him down so he knew not to ever try such a thing again.

“Tell me if I’m wrong,” he drawled softly, taking that first wooden step. “But I’ve got the feelin’ that back home, you’re somethin’ of a ball buster.”

Nesta tightened, her hackles raised. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No, ma’am,” he chuckled. “It’s just…I’m thinkin’ that most of those men up there don’t know how to act right when it comes to you. And because they can’t make hide or hair of you, they treat you bad. Try and break you, make you small? So you’ve gotta be real tough, don’t you baby?”

Nesta swallowed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said crisply, careful to enunciate every single syllable which she knew only proved his point. 

“That’s what I thought,” he said softly, taking her upstairs. Nesta didn’t want him to let her go. I was a strange thing, to be so seen. To be laid bare by this man she didn’t even know. 

“Don’t get mad at me for sayin’ this, but you remind me of Bryaxis—”

“Your horse?”

“He was mistreated too,” Cassian explained. “Screamed at, whipped…you name it, he endured it. But all he needed was a soft hand. A little patience. I figure you probably aren’t too different.”

“Where are you taking me?” 

Cassian had opened a bedroom door that absolutely belonged to him. The dark masculine reds and blacks of the bed were a dead giveaway, along with the half-full glass of water on a wood bedside table and a stack of books dog-eared haphazardly. A leather jacket was hung from a chair near the open closet door, and though it was dark, Nesta could see an adjoining bathroom at the far end of the room.

“Where, I think, you want to be tonight. Tell me if I’m wrong—I’ll put you somewhere else.”

“This is your room, Cassian.”

She could see he was trying not to smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

Tell him he’s stupid. Tell him he’s wrong. Demand he put you back in your own room and—

“Okay,” she whispered before she could talk herself out of it.

Relief all but crumpled over his features. He murmured something that sounded suspiciously like Thank the good lord, and set her atop his neatly made bedspread.

Nerves shocked through Nesta, rendering her silent for a moment. Cassian, for his part, seemed to have realized that he, too, had her in his bed and didn’t quite know what to make of that.

“I ah…why don’t I wash up the dishes and you can take a shower?”

“That sounds good, Cassian.”

It sounded better than good, and though Nesta swore she wasn’t going to say so, she called, “Unless you think I need help in the shower?”

Cassian froze. For all his bravado, it was obvious he’d never thought he’d get this far. Nesta crawled toward the end of his bed with exaggerated slowness, holding his stare. He took a slow breath, those eyes of his darkening to almost black.

“Is it safe for me alone in there?”

The knot in his throat bobbed. “I reckon it’s not, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta,” she reminded him, rising up on her knees so she could touch the hard planes of his stomach. “Do you think you could call me that, Cassian?”

“I…” his voice trailed off when her fingers found his belt and tugged. 

“You know,” Nesta continued with far more bravado than she felt, “I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for coming to my rescue today.”

“You..” he cleared his throat. “That’s not necessary. I—Nes—”

“That’s better,” she crooned, having undone the button of his jeans. A lump was forming—hard and thick and Nesta was desperate to see what the cowboy had hidden in those black pair of briefs. 

“Nes,” he tried again, his hands resting on her shoulder. He wasn’t stopping her, and given the way his fingers curled against her, she thought he was trying very, very hard to be a gentleman.

That wouldn’t do. 

“I’d be a poor guest if I didn’t thank you,” she said, slipping past the waistband of his underwear. Nesta gasped when she curled around him—or, tried to. As she pulled Cassian out, she realized she’d need to rethink her plan to thank him with her tongue. Cassian was enormous, both thick and long. Hardly a grower, given he was still stiffening in her curled hand.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, each waiting for the other to do something. Deciding he was erect enough, she pumped him. Her fingers just barely fit around his shaft, and even with two hands she couldn’t have fully covered him. Nesta certainly wasn’t going to be able to fit him all in her throat.

But god she wanted to try. 

He exhaled a breath when she stroked him again, earning a chuckle from Nesta. “Tell me how you like it,” she murmured, softening her grip. Nesta had to hope that the cowboy liked it rough, because she wanted him to fuck her within an inch of her life. 

“Nice and slow?” she tried, making a sweet pass over that large cock of his.

Cassian shook his head, his dark tresses, whispering against his broad shoulders. What was he like out of control? 

“What about this?” she tried, pumping him harder, squeezing tighter. He shook his head again, allowing her to make a third, rougher pass. Nesta twisted her wrist against his head, her nails grazing the sensitive vein trailing his now very erect cock jutting from between two powerful legs.

“That's what I thought,” Nesta murmured, looking up through dark lashes. “Just like me.”

“Nes—” 

Nesta silenced him by taking him into her mouth. She had to use her hand to make up the difference and she didn’t care. A soft, strangled noise escaped Cassian as his fingers plunged into her hair. 

Yes.

This was what she needed. Nesta took him until she gagged, and then she took a little more, teeth grazing his sensitive skin, hand punishingly tight. Cassian moaned, tugging at her hair. Nesta sucked again, trying so hard to communicate that she could take it. He was holding back, practically shaking from the effort. 

Nesta took more of him, widening her jaw in order to accommodate the sheer size of him. That was all it took. Cassian made a rough, snarling sound, pushing her off him.

“You’re a lady,” he panted, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. 

Finally.

“And in my house, ladies come first,” he continued, eyes flashing as he shrugged out of that shirt. Nesta swore softly at the sight of all that gleaming, corded muscle. Nesta had never seen someone so effortlessly toned, so big.

Powerful.

“I seem to recall something about eating out,” she said breathlessly, swallowing hard when Cassian prowled toward her.

“I haven’t forgotten, darlin’,” he promised, hovering over her with his unbuttoned jeans and a smile that made Nesta’s heart race. “But first, I think I’m owed a kiss.”

“Just one?” she asked as his lips ghosted over her own.

“Let’s start with one and go from there,” he said, sliding his hand around the back of her head. Nesta had only her ripped dress between them, which provided no protection against Cassian when he pressed the weight of his body against her. 

In another life, she might have kissed him nice and slow—teasing it out, exploring him thoroughly. Right then, though, Nesta thought she might explode if she didn’t have his mouth directly on her, his tongue stroking, thrusting, tasting. He was just as excited, grinding himself into her while she pulled at the strands of his hair.

He tasted like snow kissed wind, somehow. Like the crackling of a fire and a frosted window—like some memory she’d long forgotten. Nesta dug her nails down the back of his neck and against his shoulder blades until he bucked into her, wild and nearly unrestrained. Nesta could not remember the last time she’d wanted someone the way she wanted him.

“Off—get this—off,” Cassian panted between messy, hungry kisses. He was pawing at her dress, trying to figure out how to take it off. Nesta arched her back into his chest, earning matching moans from them both as she yanked down the zipper

Nesta would never know how she managed to get that dress off her body given Cassian never stopped his frantic kissing. Nor did she figure out how her bra joined her clothes on the floor. She only realized she was nearly naked when Cassian licked down the column of her neck before burying his face between her breasts.

“Fuck, Nes,” he breathed, both hands covering them entirely—no easy feat, given how large they were. Cassian massaged them, callused thumbs dragging over her aching nipples until Nesta was certain she was making a mess all over his bedding. 

His mouth latched around her and Nesta was lost, ripping at his hair as her body bowed off the bed.

“Responsive,” he teased, his tongue tracing around the sensitive bud. “I wonder…”

“Cass—” she gasped when his hand made its way between her legs. Nesta writhed when he began drawing circles on her clit, teasing touches that weren’t even close to what she needed, even as he switched between her breasts, sucking and licking. She could feel it all in her pussy, like every nerve in her body was intimately connected.

She could have come from that—for the first time in god knew how long. At least, without her own hand, without assistance from a toy. Nesta couldn’t recall the last time a man had pleased her so easily, so effortlessly.

Cassian pulled back, wild and impossibly sexy. Holding her gaze, he nipped his way down her body until he found the red pair of panties still clinging to her hips.

“Aw, for me?” he teased, kissing against the fabric. “Sweetheart, you’re soaked.”

Nesta pushed herself against his face, but Cassian was still licking against the lace. 

“I’ll bet you could come just like this. Couldn’t you?”

If he was doing it? Probably. Nesta merely whined, arching when he hooked his fingers into her underwear and peeled them off her.

He whistled softly. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby. Do you know that? I feel sick at the sight of you.”

She didn’t have a chance to respond. Cassian’s tongue slid down the center of her, rendering speech impossible. Nesta reached for something to hold on to, and found his hair for purchase. Cassian groaned, the sound vibrating against her. Her thighs tightened around his face, earning another groan of pleasure. 

Cassian’s tongue was everything. She realized, after a lifetime of thinking she was just difficult to get off—too fussy, too particular, too exacting—that what she really needed was someone who knew what they were doing. Cassian had her spread apart, licking and sucking her clit with the sort of expert precision that told Nesta he liked what he was doing. 

She regretted not sucking him more. Nesta was going to come apart in record time and she knew she was going to beg him to do this again in a few hours. All weekend.

For fucking ever. 

Release was gathering on her spine, burning hotly through her blood until Nesta didn’t recognize the noises coming from her throat. Cassian, too, was rolling his hips into the mattress, trying to alleviate his own arousal. Nesta nearly stopped him, if only to have that long, thick length in her body.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Cassian pushed one of his fingers into her. Nesta tightened around him and Cassian swore at whatever he felt, though he didn’t stop. He fucked and sucked in time, working her like she was an instrument only he knew how to play. Nesta built up, up, up, until she was fucking his hand, rolling all over his face like a wild animal. 

Nesta broke apart with a scream she couldn’t control, bucking against him as she shattered into fractals of starlight. Cassian didn’t stop, riding her through wave after wave with clear, obvious excitement. It was only when pleasure became edged with pain that Nesta released the grip her thighs had around his face and Cassian came up for a deep breath of air.

“Fuck,” he said, his lips gleaming from her arousal. “Fuck, Nes—”

“Come here, come here,” she panted, scrabbling for his shoulders. Cassian obliged, kissing her frantically. His tongue was coated in the taste of her, pushed against her own. Nesta liked it, wanted more of him.

“Condom,” he breathed, finally shucking his jeans to trip over to his dresser. Nesta propped herself up on her elbows to watch, admiring his firm ass as he went. Cassian was quick about it, rolling the condom onto his cock with what she swore were shaking hands. His eyes shone, and if she didn’t know better, she would have sworn Cassian could not believe his good luck. 

“You sure?” he asked, hesitating at the end of the bed. Nesta nearly laughed, given she was spread out and still trembling from his mouth. Any other man would have jumped on her, would already be balls deep buried in her.

He was sweet, she decided.

She wanted to keep him, though she had no idea how. She’d figure it out later. “I’m sure.”

“Good,” he said with another heart stopping smile. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d said no.”

“Sure you do,” she offered in what she hoped was a sultry voice. “You’d have gone into the bathroom and used your hand.”

“That was my plan to start,” he agreed, settling between the cradle of her thighs. “But this is much better. Have I said how pretty you are?”

“Once, at least.”

“Well.” He pushed himself an inch or so into her. Nesta gasped loudly. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’.”

He’d punched all the air from her lungs. Nesta didn’t think she’d ever been stretched against anything half as large as Cassian. It was the sweetest pain that, with each shallow stroke inching him in deeper, became wholly pleasure. By the time Cassian had fully seated himself within her, a bead of sweat was trailing down his temple from the effort it took to go slow.

“Good?”

“Good,” she agreed, gripping the back of his neck for a kiss. “Cass?”

He hummed in response.

“I’m not fragile. You can fuck me, if you like.”

Cassian pulled himself out before snapping his hips so hard the headboard above them rattled. “Like that?” he grunted.

“Yes—yes, Cassian—”

He did it again, groaning loudly when she tightened involuntarily around him. This was Cassian unrestrained, his hair wild around his rugged, handsome face. His muscles bunched and shifted from the effort, held over her just enough that she could incline her had and watch his cock slide in and out of her body. 

He wasn’t finished, and Nesta already wanted to have him again. 

And again.

Cassian reached for her knees, bending them up by her shoulders to drive himself deeper. Nesta moaned, eyes rolling up into her head. The balls of her feet were pressed to his chest pushing him with each slide out, only for him to return with twice as much force. When she’d said she’d wanted it rough, well…this was exactly what she meant. 

“Nes, fuck—” he panted, eyes rolling up into his head as she came on his cock. Nesta arched hard, every muscle in her body going taut all at once. She clamped around him and Cassian came too, clearly unbidden and unprepared for the force of his own release. She wanted to drown herself in the noises he made, in the frantic thrusting of his body driving himself deeper on instinct. 

Cassian collapsed on top of her, dropping Nesta’s legs carelessly. She hissed when her bruised ankle hit the bed. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, lips against her jaw. “And I’m not, at the same time. Nesta, I…”

“I know,” she agreed, because she was certain they were thinking the same thing. Something else had happened between them, something they couldn’t so easily walk away from.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, perhaps guessing those words were never going to come easy to Nesta. “I can hear you worryin’. Baby, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Nesta brushed her fingertips against the rough stubble of his face. “Promise?”

Cassian grinned. “I promise.”

[phoenixyfriend]

Ko-fi prompt from @thisarenotarealblog:

There's a street near me that has eight car dealerships all on the same lot- i counted. it mystifies me that even one gets enough sales to keep going- but 8?? is there something you can tell me that demystifies this aspect of capitalism for me?

I had a few theories going in, but had to do some research. Here is my primary hypothesis, and then I'll run through what they mean and whether research agrees with me:

Sales make up only part of a dealership's income, so whether or not the dealership sells much is secondary to other factors.

Dealerships are put near each other for similar reasons to grouping clothing stores in a mall or restaurants on a single street.

Zoning laws impact where a car dealership can exist.

Let's start with how revenue works for a car dealership, as you mentioned 'that even one gets enough sales to keep going' is confusing. For this, I'm going to be using the Sharpsheets finance example, this NYU spreadsheet, and this Motor1 article.

This example notes that the profit margin (i.e. the percentage of revenue that comes out after paying all salaries, rent, supply, etc) for a car dealership is comparatively low, which is confirmed by the NYC sheet. The gross profit margin (that is to say, profits on the car sale before salaries, rent, taxes) is under 15% in both sources, which is significantly lower than, say, the 50% or so that one sees in apparel or cable tv.

Cars are expensive to purchase, and can't be sold for much more than you did purchase them. However, a low gross profit margin on an item that costs tens of thousands of dollars is still a hefty chunk of cash. 15% gross profit of a $20,000 car is still $3,000 profit. On top of that, the dealership will charge fees, sell warranties, and offer upgrades. They may also have paid deals to advertise or push certain brands of tire, maintenance fluids, and of course, banks that offer auto loans. So if a dealership sells one car a day, well, that's still several thousand dollars coming in, which is enough to pay the salaries of most of the employees. According to the Motor1 article, "the average gross profit per new vehicle sits at $6,244" in early 2022.

There is also a much less volatile, if also much smaller, source of revenue in attaching a repairs and checkup service to a dealership. If the location offers repairs (either under warranty or at a 'discounted' rate compared to a local, non-dealership mechanic), state inspections, and software updates, that's a recurring source of revenue from customers that aren't interested in purchasing a car more than once a decade.

This also all varies based on whether it's a brand location, used vs new, luxury vs standards, and so on.

I was mistaken as to how large a part of the revenue is the repairs and services section, but the income for a single dealership, on average, does work out math-wise. Hypothesis disproven, but we've learned something, and confirmed that income across the field does seem to be holding steady.

I'm going to handle the zoning and consolidation together, since they overlap:

Consolidation is a pretty easy one: this is a tactic called clustering. The expectation is that if you're going to, say, a Honda dealership to look at a midsize sedan, and there's a Nissan right next door, and a Ford across the street, and a Honda right around the corner, you might as well hit up the others to see if they have better deals. This tactic works for some businesses but not others. In the case of auto dealerships, the marketing advantage of clustering mixes with the restrictions of zoning laws.

Zoning laws vary by state, county, and township. Auto dealerships can generally only be opened on commercially zoned property.

I am going to use an area I have been to as an example/case study.

This pdf is a set of zoning regulations for Suffolk County, New York, published 2018, reviewing land use in the county during 2016. I'm going to paste in the map of the Town of Huntington, page 62, a region I worked in sporadically a few years ago, and know mostly for its mall and cutesy town center.

Those red sections are Commercially Zoned areas, and they largely follow some large stroads, most notably Jericho Turnpike (the horizontal line halfway down) and Walt Whitman Road (the vertical line on the left). The bulge where they intersect is Walt Whitman Mall, and the big red chunk in the bottom left is... mostly parking. That central strip, Jericho Turnpike, and its intersection with Walt Whitman... looks like this:

All those red spots are auto dealerships, one after another.

So zoning laws indicate that a dealership (and many other types of commercial properties) can only exist in that little red strip on the land use map, and dealerships take up a lot of space. Not only do they need places to put all of the cars they are selling, but they also need places to park all their customers and employees.

This is where we get into the issue of parking minimums. There is a recent video from Climate Town, with a guest spot by NotJustBikes. If you want to know more about this aspect of zoning law, I'd recommend watching this video and the one linked in the description.

Suffolk county does not have parking minimums. Those are decided on a town or village level. In this case, this means we are looking at the code set for the town of Huntington. (I was originally looking on the county level, and then cut the knot by just asking my real estate agent mom if she knew where I could find minimum parking regulations. She said to look up e360 by town, and lo and behold! There they are.)

(There is also this arcgis map, which shows that they are all within the C6 subset of commercial districting, the General Business District.)

Furniture or appliance store, machinery or new auto sales - 1 per 500 square feet of gross floor area

Used auto sales, boat sales, commercial nurseries selling at retail - 5 spaces for each use (to be specifically designated for customer parking) - Plus 1 for each 5,000 square feet of lot area

This is a bit odd, at first glance, as the requirements are actually much lower than that of other businesses, like drive-in restaurants (1 per 35 sqft) or department stores (1 per 200 sqft). I could not find confirmation on whether the 'gross floor area' of the dealership included only indoor spaces or also the parking lot space allotted to the objects for sale, but I think we can assume that any parking spaces used by merchandise do not qualify as part of the minimum. Some dealerships can have up to 20,000 gross sqft, so those would require 40 parking spaces reserved solely for customers and employees. Smaller dealerships would naturally need less. One dealership in this area is currently offering 65 cars of varying makes and models; some may be held inside the building, but most will be on the lot, and the number may go higher in other seasons. If we assume they need 30 parking spaces for customers and employees, and can have up to 70 cars in the lot itself, they are likely to have 100 parking spaces total.

That's a lot of parking.

Other businesses that require that kind of parking requirement are generally seeing much higher visitation. Consider this wider section of the map:

The other buildings with comparative parking are a grocery store (Lidl) and a post office (can get some pretty high visitation in the holiday season, but also just at random).

Compare them, then, to the "old town" section of the same town.

There are a handful of public parking areas nearby (lined in blue), whereas the bulk of the businesses are put together along this set of streets. While there is a lot of foot traffic and vehicle passage, which is appealing for almost any business, opening a car dealership in this area would require not only buying a building, but also the buildings surrounding it. You would need to bulldoze them for the necessary parking, which would be prohibitively expensive due to the cost of local real estate... and would probably get shot down in the application process by city planners and town councils and so on. Much easier to just buy land over in the strip where everyone's got giant parking lots and you can just add a few extra cramped lanes for the merchandise.

Car dealerships also tend to be very brightly lit, which hits a lot of NIMBY sore spots. It's much easier to go to sleep if you aren't right next to a glaring floodlight at a car dealership, so it's best if we just shove them all away from expensive residential, which means towards the loud stroads, which means... all along these two major roads/highways.

And if they're all limited to a narrow type of zoning already, they might as well take advantage of cluster marketing and just all set up shop near each other in hopes of stealing one of the other's customers.

As consumers, it's also better for us, because if we want to try out a few different cars from a few different brands, it's pretty easy to just go one building down to try out the Hyundai and see if it's better than a Chevy in the same price group.

(Prompt me on ko-fi!)

[theradicalscrivener]

Big Changes: Homecumming

The twins hurry back to check in on Troy and find much more than they expected. Their experiment has answered some questions but now new ones arise.

(P.S. Ya boi's got Linktree and Bluesky now)

[First Chapter || Previous Chapter || [Series Index] || || [Next Chapter]

               The twins were unable to enjoy their vacation in Hawaii, in part because the weather turned foul, and in part because they knew that the longer they stayed on the island, the larger and larger Troy grew and grew. Their last communication with Troy had shown that Troy had grown to an already absurd size. His dick was easily twice as big as it had been when they had left! Troy had gone from a seven-foot cock – a cock larger than he was tall by nearly two feet! To having a cock that was probably closing in on the size of a sedan.

                The twins had tried to get back sooner. As soon as they landed, the twins resolved to skip their weekend on the Big Island and head back to the continent. They put down the cash for the next available flight and waited at the airport, but the storm hit before the plane could leave. The next few days were spent sheltering in place in a bungalow until the skies cleared enough for flights to resume. The worst part was they didn’t even have cell service or wi-fi! They had no way to keep in touch with Troy!

                The twins had tried repeatedly to reach Troy during the flight, but the phone always went unanswered. As soon as they were back in town, the twins hopped in their truck and booked it to the rental place outside of town. Their hearts were beating in their chests as they got out of their truck and stared down the massive sliding door to the retrofitted jet hangar that they had rented.

                “Here goes something…” The twins said in unison as each one grabbed a hold of the handle on the double sliding door.       They tugged and strained against the metal door. As they did so the doors slowly creaked open and the light of day slowly began to creep into the room within. The smell was incredible and intoxicating. The smell of cock, balls, and pre flooded their nostrils. The whole hangar smelled like pair of gym shorts after an intense workout. 

                Once the door was open, the twins reconvened in front, and stared into the hangar in awe. At first, they weren’t even sure what they were looking at. It was like something out of a cheesy sci-fi movie. It was a solid wall of flesh! The twins tried to process what they were seeing. Troy had been seated facing the doorway, right? Had his nuts filled the entire hangar!?

                But as they continued to take in the sight of the massive, shifting wall of flesh, the twins came to realize the truth…

                This was not Troy’s sack but the opposite end of the beast. A massive, drooling slit, taller than either twin, loomed over them. Troy’s cock head was so huge that it was too big to even force through the hangar doors! This was a retrofitted jet hangar! His cock now rivaled the sheer girth of a 747!

                The twin’s thoughts raced. How were they going to get in? How were they going to get Troy out!? If Troy’s cock was this massive, they may not be able to get him out! But one problem at a time. Judging from the shuddering of Troy’s enormous cockhead, he had to be beyond fully boned. If they could get him to cream, maybe his dick would deflate enough that it no longer blocked the entire entryway, but in order to do that, they’d have to do something drastic! The only way out was through… Troy’s cock!

                Mike nodded to his brother to give him a boost.  Ike then quickly knelt down and held his hands out for Mike to climb up. Ike quickly hoisted his brother up so that Mike could crawl up and into the pre-drooling slit of Troy’s monster cock. Mike quickly spun around and reached a hand down to help his brother climb up with him.

                The twins found themselves standing at the entrance of Troy’s monstrous cave. The twins had teased Troy about one day his dick may be large enough that they could crawl in, but they had never imagined it would be this big or this soon! Troy’s cock was now so massive, that they twins could walk straight into his slit and only slightly have to shimmy to force their way deeper in. The heat and the smell were intoxicating. It was like being in a sauna that that had thick, syrupy liquid dripping from the walls.

                “We shoulda stripped first…” Mike grunted as he shoved deeper and deeper into Troy’s cock.

                “Too late now…” Ike replied as he too shoved his way into the slit.

                The twins quietly went to work rubbing their bodies against the inner lining of Troy’s colossal cock. They tried to tune out the warmth and the aroma, but despite the severity of their situations, their cocks were rock hard. This was like something out of a dream! A surrealist, absurdist, wet dream, but a dream that twins had had more than once!

                “Maybe… after he calms down…” Mike moaned as he ground the bulge of his pants against Troy’s inner wall.

                “We can talk… Troy into letting us do this for fun…” Ike moaned in agreement.

                Troy’s building-sized wang shuddered. No doubt the twin’s gyrations were having the intended effect on their lover’s super-sized schlong. Had the situation been different, the twins would have loved to edge Troy longer, but they needed to get Troy off quickly so they could check up on him. Troy had equipment in the hangar with him that allowed him to shower and get food even while seated, but given how delirious Troy sounded when last they spoke, the twins worried that he had reached a point where he was so lost in the orgasmic bliss of constant growth that he had forgotten all about his bodily needs. They just hoped he wasn’t too dehydrated to speak to them after they got him off.

                “Almost…” Mike moaned as he continued to bump and grind against the inner walls of Troy’s cock.

                “Got it…” Ike moaned in agreement.

                The twins could feel Troy’s enormous cock bucking and lurching with them in it. With each massive heave of the enormous cock, the twins felt like extras on the bridge of the Enterprise during an intense battle. The only thing preventing them from tumbling ass over teakettle with each massive shudder and lurch was that the walls were tight enough to hold them in place.

     ��          The twins could feel the walls tighten around them. Troy’s dick was tensing up, and they knew what that meant. He was about to blow!

                “Hold on!” The twins shouted to each other.

                The twins grabbed hands just in time to brace themselves as a massive gush of cum slammed into them and sent them flying out into the warm midday sunlight. They landed with a thud on the ground. Fortunately, Troy’s thick wad gave them enough of a buffer that no bones were broken, but the wind was definitely knocked out of them. The twins could only lie there and gasp for air as they watched the head of Troy’s massive cock buck and lurch and spew cum.

                The sheer volume of spunk was staggering. It was like watching a volcano erupt, but the hot, thick goop that oozed from the tip was white instead of bright, fiery red. Each enormous spurt fired hundreds of feet into the air. The spray of jizz even managed to clear the rooves of the nearby hangars and splash down hundreds of feet away. The massive ropes of jizz ranged so far, that some of it even hit the freeway nearly a quarter mile away!

                As the spurts tapered off, the twins propped themselves up on their elbows and watched Troy’s massive beast begin to deflate. At first, they were relieved to see the beast shrink away from the doorway. Their plan had worked! With Troy getting soft, the doorway was no longer blocked!

                But as the twins continued to watch, they realized something incredibly strange. Troy was a bit of a grower, but even so… the amount of shrinkage his monstrous cock was experiencing was way more than they would expect! It shrunk down and down from the size of a 747 to the size of a train car to the size of a bus…

                The twins looked to one another in confusion. They had never seen Troy’s cock do this before. It was normal for his balls to shrink down after a climax, but his cock size stayed pretty static… usually, anyway. This was far from a typical scenario, though. They had never seen Troy’s cock size surge upwards like this before. They had proven their theory about what made Troy’s cock grow, but the results of their little experiment created more questions than it had answered. They would definitely need to consider these findings, but this was not the time for that.

               The twins were confused, but they weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Their immediate concern was Troy’s safety. The scrambled to their feet and dashed back up the hill towards the hangar. They charged through the doorway and spotted Troy unconscious atop his own enormous cock. The twins looked at each other and nodded. Mike ran to one side of the room to grab some towels and Ike ran to the other side to grab some bottles of water.

                The twins clambered up the side of Troy’s enormous cock and plopped down next to their delirious friend. Mike grabbed one of the bottles of water and began to soak the towel while Ike slowly tilted another bottle to Troy’s lips.

                Troy groaned in pain. His head was pounding. He had been in a constant state of delirious bliss for what felt like ages. At some point he had lost all sense of time as the pleasure overtook his senses. He had just had the most amazing climax of his life, but no sooner had the shooting stopped than the pain had set in. The pain was so intense that it even overpowered what was sure to be the most intense afterglow anyone had ever experienced. His head throbbed. His throat ached. He tried to cry out for water, but no sound came out. Fortunately, as soon as his mouth opened, he felt the water pouring past his lips.

                For the next half hour, Mike kept a cool, damp towel on Troy’s forehead and gave Troy a sponge bath while Ike continued to give Troy sips of water. Eventually, Troy seemed to have recovered enough to speak.

                “What happened…?” Troy groaned.

                “Um…” Mike mumbled.

                “Well…” Ike stammered.

                “The experiment…” Mike said sheepishly.

“Was a success?” Ike added furtively.

               “The experiment…?” Troy murmured groggily, but then he tensed up and sat upright. “The experiment! What happened!?” he shouted.

               Mike quickly pulled the damp towel that was still sitting on Troy’s forehead down over Troy’s eyes.

               “You’re gonna want to sit down for this…” Ike said.

               Troy quickly clawed at the towel that covered his eyes and pulled it down. His jaw went slack and his eyes went wide as he stared out at the expanse of flesh that laid before him.

               Troy was now seated atop his own massive, soft cock. The week before, he had been able to straddle his enormous hog as if it was a motorcycle, but now it was far too wide for him to drape his legs over the sides. His cock was now so huge that the twins could easily sit atop it as if it was a park bench. His dick was easily twice as wide as his shoulder, and the beast stretched on in front of him.

               Troy tried to get a feel for just how long his soft cock was now, but as he stared out at the several feet of schlong splayed out in front of him, his head felt hazy and the vertigo overtook him. His vision tunneled and everything seemed to stretch impossibly in front of him like the front screen during warp drive.

               “Oh… oh fuck…” Troy whined and fell slack back into the recess between his two massive balls. Troy collapsed in a heap as the new burst of panic mixed with the prior feelings of fatigue and dehydration. Yet despite his panic and exhaustion, Troy’s colossal cock chubbed up slightly as it gave a twitch of excitement.

[First Chapter || Previous Chapter || [Series Index] || || [Next Chapter]

[things-about-cars-in-posts]

this is the most genderfluid car (derogatory)

, reads the caption this picture of a ‘94 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera Wagon S was submitted to this blog with.

And while I would indeed like @sapphicshart​ to elaborate on why this car would be so genderfluid and why in a derogatory way, and perhaps appreciate how they reused the window triangles from the regular one at the rear end of the body, I feel that must make way for my first reaction upon the claim of “most genderfluid”:

haha.

Hahahaha.

HAHAHAHAHHA.

MUAUAHAHAUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAAAAAAA.

Dear friend, prepare to get absolutely motherfucking BODIED.

This is the 1982 Nissan Pulsar NX (Pulsar EXA in Japan and Australia), and it’s not the car we are interested in.

The Pulsar NX was a way Nissan devised to get a more youthful and exciting coupe out of the underpinnings of the Nissan Pulsar/Sunny/Cherry (or even Holden Astra, if you’re feeling weirdly Australian), …conventionally unappealing little sedan and hatchback. Ah, right, I’ve still not made the body styles master explainer - let me brief you very quick. The above is a coupe, a car with two doors and a trunk compartment that is separate from the cabin. When the doors are four, it’s what you see below, a sedan.

Whereas a hatchback is one with a rear hatch that contains the rear windshield, making the trunk compartment part of the cabin.

See what I meant with the “conventionally unappealing”, eh.

Well, in 1986 the base Pulsar/Sunny/Cherry/Sentra/so on received an update, and thus the Pulsar NX based on its guts was updated with it.

And if your brows are furrowed by unfamiliarity and not by the painful realization of how hard our poor submitter is about to get pulverized, you must understand that this car’s body style is… rather unique.

In late ‘60s America, word started spreading that the Department Of Transportation would ban convertibles due to the awful lack of shit between passenger heads and pavement when they decided to change side - thus began the popularity of “targas” like this here NX (though manufacturers called them a lot of different names because Porsche copyrighted that word).

In a targa, instead of both roof and rear windshield all folding down behind the cabin, the roof is a solid panel (or, as in this case, two) that is removed and stored away and the rear windshield stays there, on the rear structure that remains at the service of body rigidity and occupants safety. And personally that feels extremely genderfluid to me.

But of course, there are many targa coupes, so this would not be such a peculiarity. But the thing is, while this car has two doors and a trunk compartment separate from the interior and thus a coupe, it can also be argued a hatchback since it has a hatch that includes the rear windshield.

But why in tarnation would they design a rear hatch like that when, since it doesn’t create any more room above the trunk, it has no cargo space advantage? Well, remember how one key difference between targas and convertibles is that in the former the rear windshield stays in place? Well, here it does stay in place, if you want to. If you don’t, though, you just take it off.

So the Pulsar NX is a coupe that is also a hatchback and a targa and a cabriolet. Except that now, as you can see, the rear compartment is open. So arguably it’s also a pickup - or, if you will, a ute. (It’s doing that weird thing it does sometimes with post submissions where it keeps me on the old editor where I can’t change text color so please pretend that link is the trademark ‘link to a related things-about-cars-in-posts post’ blue.)

But then you’d at least want a canvas cover or something just in case it rains and your rear passengers and/or cargo don’t like rain, right? So indeed, here’s the optional canvas canopy.

Meaning it could also have both a fixed glass rear windshield and a folding plastic one, making it both a hardtop convertible and a soft top one.

But what if you wanted to transport too much cargo to fit under the hatch -or the canvas cover- but you still wanted to have it protected, as you could do in a ute with a rear canopy?

Well, folks, I truly saved the best for last.

Because this thing is not just a coupe, a hatchback, a targa, a soft top convertible, a hardtop convertible, a pickup and a ute. It’s also a shooting brake. (Again, pretend that’s blue.)

You see now why the rear hatch hinged like that.

So while this is a post about a most [specific sexual identity or orientation] car, I am not, as per tradition, offering other options nor a vote between them, because democracy does not apply to matters of fact. (And also again I’m stuck on the old editor.)

But of course, if you want to participate in the creation of any future installments, hop on over into the Discord server linked in my pinned! It’s got glowing reviews :)

[paskariu]

Toyota Yaris Ranking

Because I am definitely not having a Moment about the Yaris I have decided to create a personal ranking from best to worst yaris model. This is just my personal opinion based on my own biases.

For the sake of simplicity, I won't rate the facelifts separately and instead only rank the entire model generation.

1 Yaris P1 1999-2006

The OG. The cuddle bug that graced the world and said "I WILL get you from A to B no matter what you do to me". Change its oil and it's happy.

2 GR Yaris 2020-

The cool little brother. The GR set out to fulfil the question we all wanted to be answered, "What if Yaris but fast as fuck".

Makes the old TR and RS variants sweat, and even people who previously scuffed at the Yaris do a double take.

Kind of looks like it has this dentist push-your-lips-away device on. Angry hamster.

3 Yaris XP9 2005-2011

As a reviewer put it, the second gen is an example of "sophisticated blandness". It's a car. It drives you places. The interior features are good enough for people who just want to have a car.

It takes all of this with a friendly face. Its circular body refined with a few chosen body lines to break up the shape make for a car that got a participation trophy at a sports event.

It's just happy to be included.

Fun fact: I have that model

4 Yaris XP21 2020-

Final evolution (for the time being). Lost some of the no-thoughts-head-empty charm of the older Yari. Manta ray inspired front is somewhat unique in today's angry faced car world. Wants to look like the GR, but not that much.

5 Yaris Verso/FunCargo XP10 1999-2005

What SUVs could have been. Toyota themselves called this an MPV- Multi-Purpose-Vehicle. This micro-van can bring your kid to school and then work on a construction site on the same day.

Get yourself a Yaris that can do it all. Looks like a stretched P1. What it basically is.

6 Yaris Sedan/Vios/Belta XP90 2007-2013

Looks neat. A hatchback-limousine based on the original Yaris, and spiritual successor of the Toyota Echo.

Same charm as the XP9. Looks just happy to be of service. That's a lot of names for one car though. Like the Echo, it's not available in Europe :(

Other generations of the Yaris Belta drop the Yaris part, being sold as "just" Toyota Vios/Belta which is why they're not on this list.

7 Yaris XP13 2010-2020

The awkward middle evolution. The XP21 also has a wild design, but this is just... no. I don't like this. All I see is Steve Harvey's block of a moustache but car.

At least the back looks neat.

-100 Yaris Cross

Why the fuck make a small car an SUV. Kill it with fire. Throw it in a ditch. IDK just make it leave. This is an insult to the original Yaris. I want to buy a ticket to Japan and murder whoever is responsible for this piece of shit.

The Yaris Verso was right there. Why not modernise that and release it. Don't tell me the reason I know why they did this I don't like it though.

Honourable Mention: Daihatsu Charade 2011-2013

Hail Mary by Toyota's struggling daughter in the European market. They called this Charade because it's literally just the XP9F pretending that it's not.

[sprinterbuzz]

Van Rental at DFW Airport: Sprinter Buzz

Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport (DFW) is one of the busiest airports in the world, serving millions of travelers each year. For many of those visitors, reliable transportation is essential, whether it’s for a family vacation, a business trip, or group travel. Renting a van from DFW Airport can be a smart, cost-effective solution for those who need more space, comfort, and flexibility than a standard rental car can offer. In this guide, we’ll explore the benefits of van rentals, the types of vans available, tips for choosing the right van, and the top rental companies at DFW Airport.

Why Rent a Van at DFW Airport?

Spaciousness: Vans offer significantly more room than sedans or SUVs, making them ideal for families, groups of friends, or business teams. Whether you’re traveling with a lot of luggage or just want extra legroom, vans provide ample space for both passengers and belongings.

Group Travel: If you're traveling with a group, renting a van allows everyone to stay together, rather than splitting up into multiple vehicles. This not only simplifies coordination but also makes it easier to enjoy the journey together.

Comfort: Modern vans are equipped with comfortable seating, entertainment systems, climate control, and other amenities that make long trips more pleasant. Whether you’re headed on a road trip or navigating Dallas traffic, the comfort of a van enhances the overall experience.

Cost-Effective: Renting a van can be more economical than renting multiple smaller vehicles, especially when traveling with a large group. You’ll save on rental fees, fuel, and parking by consolidating your transportation needs into one vehicle.

Flexibility: With a van rental, you have the flexibility to go where you need, when you need. Whether it’s a hotel, a business meeting, or a tourist attraction, you can set your own schedule without relying on public transportation or ride-sharing services.

Types of Vans Available for Rent at DFW Airport

There are various types of vans available for rent at DFW Airport, depending on your specific needs. Here’s an overview of the most common options:

Passenger Vans: These are ideal for transporting larger groups of people, typically seating between 7 and 15 passengers. Passenger vans are commonly used for family vacations, group trips, or shuttle services. They offer comfortable seating and sufficient storage for luggage.

Minivans: A minivan is perfect for families or smaller groups of up to 7 passengers. They offer a balance of space, comfort, and fuel efficiency, making them a popular choice for road trips and airport transfers. Minivans also feature foldable seats for extra cargo space.

Cargo Vans: If you're traveling for business and need to transport equipment or goods, cargo vans provide ample storage space. These vans are also useful for moving furniture, catering supplies, or other large items. Cargo vans are spacious but still easy to drive.

Luxury Vans: For those looking for a more upscale experience, luxury vans come with premium features such as leather seats, advanced entertainment systems, and enhanced climate control. These are often rented for corporate events, VIP transport, or special occasions.

12-15 Passenger Vans: For large groups, a 12- or 15-passenger van is the best option. These vans are perfect for sports teams, large families, or company outings. They offer maximum seating capacity while maintaining comfort and legroom for passengers.

Top Van Rental Companies at DFW Airport

DFW Airport has several major car rental companies, many of which offer a wide selection of vans. Here’s a look at some of the top van rental providers you’ll find at DFW Airport:

Enterprise Rent-A-Car: Enterprise is known for its extensive fleet and excellent customer service. At DFW Airport, Enterprise offers a variety of van options, including minivans, passenger vans, and luxury vans. They also have flexible rental terms and a well-organized pickup process.

Hertz: One of the most recognized names in car rentals, Hertz offers a variety of van rentals at DFW Airport, including both passenger and cargo vans. Hertz is a great option for travelers looking for reliable, well-maintained vehicles and competitive pricing.

Avis: Avis is another popular choice for van rentals at DFW. They offer minivans and passenger vans with a focus on comfort and safety. Avis frequently provides discounts and promotions, making it a great option for budget-conscious travelers.

Budget Rent-A-Car: True to its name, Budget provides affordable van rental options for those looking to save money without sacrificing quality. They offer 7- and 12-passenger vans, ideal for family trips and group travel.

Alamo Rent-A-Car: Alamo is a great choice for international travelers, with a wide range of van rental options. They offer quick check-in services and have a reputation for providing clean, comfortable vehicles.

National Car Rental: National caters to business travelers and those who prefer a premium rental experience. Their selection of luxury vans and passenger vans is perfect for those needing extra comfort or high-end features.

Things to Consider When Renting a Van at DFW Airport

Size of the Van: Determine how many passengers you’ll have and how much luggage or cargo you’ll be bringing. Choose a van that accommodates your group comfortably, with enough storage space for your belongings.

Duration of Rental: Rental companies at DFW offer flexible rental periods, from a few hours to several weeks. Be sure to consider your travel itinerary and whether you’ll need the van for just the airport transfer or for the entirety of your stay in Dallas.

Rental Price: Prices for van rentals at DFW vary depending on the type of van, rental duration, and demand. Booking in advance can help you secure better rates, especially during peak travel seasons. Be sure to compare prices across different companies to find the best deal.

Insurance: Rental companies offer various insurance options, including collision damage waivers and liability coverage. Make sure to review your existing auto insurance policy or credit card benefits to determine if additional coverage is necessary.

Airport Pickup: DFW Airport has a dedicated Rental Car Center, accessible via shuttle from all terminals. Be sure to familiarize yourself with the pickup and return process, as well as shuttle schedules, to avoid delays in your travel plans.

Extras and Add-ons: If you're traveling with children, you may need a van with child safety seats. Some rental companies offer add-ons such as GPS navigation systems, Wi-Fi hotspots, or additional driver options, so be sure to inquire about available extras.

Benefits of Renting a Van at DFW Airport

Convenience: Having a van ready for you as soon as you land at DFW saves time and simplifies logistics. You can hit the road immediately and travel without any delays.

Wide Selection: With several major car rental companies operating at DFW, you have a wide variety of vans to choose from, ensuring that you find the perfect vehicle for your trip.

On-site Support: Most rental companies have customer service representatives and support staff at DFW, ensuring that any issues or questions can be resolved quickly.

Conclusion

Renting a van from DFW Airport is a practical and convenient solution for families, groups, or business travelers needing extra space and flexibility. With a range of van options available—from minivans to luxury passenger vans—travelers can easily find a vehicle that suits their specific needs. Whether you're visiting Dallas for business or pleasure, a van rental will enhance your travel experience, providing comfort, convenience, and cost savings throughout your trip. By considering the type of van, rental terms, and the best rental companies, you can ensure a smooth and enjoyable journey from the moment you arrive at DFW.

[oftenwantedafton]

Night Shift - William Afton/Steve Raglan x Female Reader + Mike Schmidt

Chapter 8

Rating - Explicit

Warning for sexual content, mild violence, blood kink

Also available on AO3

You stare sightlessly at the computer screen.

The deadline for your technical writer internship project is one week away and you haven’t even started it yet.

You’ve stayed indoors the last couple of days; hadn’t even gotten out of bed the first day at all. You keep replaying your conversation with Mike over and over in your mind. You cry sometimes. You know you’ve done the right thing, you know it wouldn’t have been fair to keep cheating and lying. You know it, but you still grieve for the loss all the same.

And then there’s William; the man you’d spent an entire weekend with. Consumed by him. You’d never wanted it to end. You should have talked about the future; your future, with him. You’d been afraid of his response. And he doesn’t even have your phone number or address. Such simple details you’d forgotten to offer up.

It would never be a normal relationship. I can’t give you what you need. What you deserve.

So now it’s left to you to chase after him and find your answers. Your eyes move to the clock on the menu bar. He’ll be out of work soon. You could wait for him in the parking lot. You don’t think you can bring yourself to go back into the office again, desperate and needy, arguing with the receptionist.

You shut the computer down and head into the bathroom to get ready.

***

It’s overcast today.

You scan the parking lot of the social services office building in the wan late afternoon light as your car crawls forward. It’s easy to find William’s vintage automobile amidst the others, but there are no vacancies directly near it. You pass the vehicle and turn into the next row, looking for a spot. Still nothing. You try the next. Another. Another. You’re going to end up having to park on the street at this rate. Wait—there, at the far end of the row. You ease into the space, shifting the gears into park and shut off the engine. Your heart is pounding. You’re so nervous.

You can’t see the older man’s car from this vantage point. You’re going to have to get out and wait. You turn the key to the accessory position so you can see the clock on the dashboard. You should just chill for another ten minutes. Maybe his last client ran late. Maybe he has paperwork, things he needs to bring home. It takes time to gather things together. He’ll probably rinse his coffee mug, get his coat on, shut all the lamps off. Grab the keys off the desk on his way out the door. You know now he doesn’t bother with breakfast. He probably doesn’t pack a lunch either, so no bag to carry for that. It’s a large building to make your way through. You need to be patient.

Some of the cars around you begin to file out, employees and visitors departing at last. You wrench the keys from the ignition and open the door. There’s a familiar looking rusty sedan in the row across from the one you’re parked in. Your stomach drops. It can’t be Mike’s. He can’t be here. Not today, not now.

You walk past it, glancing inside to find it empty. Your steps are more hurried now. You can hear arguing, the words indistinct at this distance. Faster still. You bump into someone and apologize distractedly. A car horn blares at you when you dash in front of the vehicle, oblivious to your other surroundings. The voices grow louder. William is seated in his car, the window rolled down, Mike’s hands curled around the door frame.

“You’ve lost your only bargaining chip, Mike. You don’t have anything left to offer me. There’s absolutely no reason for me not to go to the owner now.”

“You bastard.” The younger man swings, the motion catching the seated man off guard. You can hear the knuckles connecting to some part of William’s face from here.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Stop!” You’re still two rows away. No one else seems to notice what’s going on, everyone fixated on leaving for the day. The driver’s side door swings wide open and Mike barely manages to dodge it. William doesn’t bother closing it, gathering a fistful of the other man’s shirt and shoving him to the pavement.

“W-Steve!” It had been so difficult not to say William. You’d just barely registered the need to switch at the last moment. He either doesn’t hear you or is ignoring you. One more row passed, one left to traverse. Why was it taking so long to get there?

William has Mike pinned beneath him, straddling his hips, one hand curling around his throat. You’re finally nearly there, threading between the parked cars and almost within reach of the career counselor’s shoulder.

“Steve! Stop!” You grab at his arm but he shakes you off easily, his attention still focused on the security guard he has trapped under his body. Too tight, you can see the older man squeezing far past what he’d tested on you in his bedroom, Mike struggling for air, eyes wide.

“William!” You have no choice, your lips close to his ear when you say his real name. The effect is instantaneous, the fingers relaxing and Mike gasps in a lungful of air, the older man also struggling to breathe. You can feel him trembling violently. He rises to his feet, using the car for leverage, and your ex boyfriend scrabbles backwards, still watching him warily, the color in his face gradually coming back to normal.

“Hey. Look at me.” You have to force yourself to remain calm, force yourself not to dwell on the fact that Mike could have gotten seriously hurt or worse if you hadn’t been there to intervene. William’s still shaking, but not as much as before. His eyes shift to meet yours, one minute the darkest you’ve ever seen him, a complete stranger looking at you without recognition; the next visibly relaxing, the tension leaving his features as he finally seems to register who’s standing beside him.

“Honey.”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

He glances down at the fallen man. “You’d better watch your back, Mike. Your ex isn’t going to always be around to watch it for you.” He drags the back of his hand across his mouth and it comes away bloodstained.

You can see the point where Mike’s fist had made contact now, a trail of crimson leaking from the corner of the older man’s mouth.

You gingerly touch his jaw and see him wince. “Let’s get you home and get this cleaned up, okay?” He nods, settling back into the car, the window cranked back up. You guess your own will be safe enough leaving it here for now.

You offer a hand to Mike to help him get back on his feet but he ignores it, brushing the heels of his hands off on the security uniform he’s still wearing. You’re willing to bet he hasn’t even attempted to sleep yet today before deciding to come here to confront the career counselor.

“Are you okay?”

“He’s fucking psychotic.”

You shake your head. You’ve seen Mike be aggressive before. That’s how you’d met after all; that fateful day in the mall, when he’d thrown someone into the fountain that he’d thought was kidnapping a child. Pummeling him relentlessly until he was pulled away. You’d always defended him and taken his side. The man was acting suspiciously. And Mike would do anything to protect a child. You knew it, and yet you couldn’t entirely blame William here. Mike had sought him out, had thrown the first punch. “I don’t know what you thought coming here today was going to achieve. It’s not going to change anything. You should just stay away from him.”

“What, you’re going to defend him now? Of course you are. You couldn’t wait to see him. Had to be right there waiting for him to get out of work. Christ.” He rubs at his throat, grimacing when he swallows.

“This isn’t about me. What if he gets you fired after all of this? What about Abby…and Garrett? You don’t want to lose that job. Please go home. Take care of Abby and yourself, okay?”

“Don’t pretend you care.” He shoves his hands into his hooded sweatshirt’s center pocket, avoiding your gaze. “You’re making a mistake,” he says, his voice low. “You shouldn’t be with him.”

William’s car engine rumbles to life, an impatient reminder.

“I have to go.” You walk around to the passenger side door, hesitating. “I do care. You’re wrong,” you say softly before opening the door and entering the car.

You can see Mike’s image in the side mirror, staring at you as you leave.

***

William’s seated on the edge of the bathtub, those long legs of his stretching out well past the bath mat while you rummage in the linen closet for something to clean his injuries with. Neither of you has spoken the entire way to his house. Your movements are brisk as you run a washcloth under the hot water from the sink and begin scrubbing at the dried blood on his face, along the cut’s origin on his bottom lip, against the stain smeared into his beard, moving more softly over the bruised area that’s forming on his jaw right beside his chin.

“I’m okay,” he says. You can feel his gaze on you. “I’ve had worse, believe me. I mean,” he gestures to the scars dotting his forearms.

“Let me see your hands.” You refuse to make eye contact. You can feel more tears welling in your own again. God, how could there be anything left to cry out after the last few days? You scrub at the bloodstains and then return to the sink, rinsing the washcloth out. A diluted pink trail flows down the drain. Your eyes flick towards the toothbrush holder. Yours is still there.

Something breaks inside of you and you sob, quickly pressing a hand to your lips to stifle any more sound.

William stands and moves behind you, wrapping his arms around you. “Sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

You sniffle, swiping at the tears staining your cheeks. “I’m scared.”

”Of what?”

”Of you getting hurt, and…the way you were this afternoon. You couldn’t even hear me. Didn’t recognize me at all. You could have killed him. What if I wasn’t there?”

”I wouldn’t have let it go that far. No one was in any real danger. I was upset, that’s all.” You think it’s a poor excuse, but it’s only the tip of the iceberg of the thoughts agonizing you.

”I’m scared about what’s going to happen to me if you decide…”. The words begin to tumble out unrestrained. “I want more than just one weekend with you. I was afraid to ask you before; terrified to hear your answer. I know you said it’s not a normal relationship and I said I would take whatever you’re willing to give me. I can’t help the way I feel. I can’t help wanting more of you.”

He sighs heavily against your ear. “I’m not good at this. I have failed at so many relationships. I tried to tell you before. I don’t want to disappoint you. But yes, I want to be with you. I want more of you, too.” He kisses your neck gently. “I just thought maybe you’d need some space, after…I’ve missed you. It’s not the same being here without you now. I didn’t know what to do. Everything reminds me of you.” Another kiss, mouth open now, tongue stroking along your carotid pulse. “You’re not the only one that feels something. I need you,” his voice is raw against your ear. His hands move from your arms, working on the button and zipper of your jeans. He shoves them down, just clearing your buttocks before he’s unfastened his own pants and angles his cock against your entrance, impatiently shoving inside.

Another broken sound tears from your throat at that desperate plead for intimacy. You grip the edge of the bathroom counter, letting him push you down, bending over, his hands rough on your hips as he fucks you harder, your body already responding, lubricating for him, making it easier to pound that thick prick inside of you. He rests a hand in the space between your neck and shoulder and pulls you back against him, striking deep, hitting your cervix with each thrust.

He stops just long enough to drag you back upright, lifting you up to sit on the counter and he’s right back inside, his mouth frantic on yours. You taste blood and you pull back but he chases your mouth again.

“Suck on it,” he growls. You take his bottom lip in your mouth and the metallic tang of it flows into yours. “Harder.” You’d somehow forgotten he likes it like this, remembering your teeth on his shoulder. His hand on your throat. His hand on Mike’s. The fury of passion. The fury of anger. Were they really so different? You know you should be more afraid of the darkness in him. You should be even more afraid that you’re allowing yourself to be drawn to it, led by his command. You obey him now, your lips violent, your tongue aggressively coaxing more lifeforce from your lover and he moans into your mouth. You’re so slick against him now, spilling sloppily all over his cock. He grabs the hand you have cupped along his jaw and presses it against the bruise and you push, harder and harder, digging into that tender injury, shoving against that fragile pain-pleasure border until you feel him shudder and paint your insides with his release. His fingers follow the path his erection just took and crook inside of you. You gasp around the taste of his bloodied mouth against yours as you cum.

***

You’ve cleaned William up again— and gotten dirty all over again in the shower, and then clean again—and are now on his couch, his head in your lap. You siphon through his damp hair until he catches your fingers and presses his lips against them.

“Easy, your cut,” you caution him. He sighs but lets your clasped hands rest against his chest. You feel something digging into your left thigh and realize I t’s the television remote. “Did you bring the movie back to the rental store yet?”

“Fuck. I completely forgot. We can stop on the way to pick up your car.” He’s already decided you’ll be spending the night at your apartment, planning on following you back to your place after your retrieve your vehicle.

“How early do you get up in the morning?”

“Five. Can be a little later since I’ll be closer to work.”

“I’ll make you coffee. ‘With a terrifying amount of sugar’.”

He smiles softly. “Just how I like it. I’d appreciate that.”

You watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest, of your fingers netted with his. So calm after such fury earlier. “William, what’s your last name? You never told me.”

The smile fades. “Afton.”

“William Afton.” You feel his fingers tightening against yours. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“I’d appreciate that, too.” He shifts, sitting upright next to you. “Are you ready to get going?”

You hesitate, biting your lip.

“Ask.”

“Can you not…can you not tell the owner about what happened today? Mike really needs that job.”

William scowls, releasing your hand abruptly. “He should have thought about that before he assaulted me. I could have called the police; he should be grateful I didn’t.”

“I know, I just…”

“You can’t have it both ways. Not anymore. Not after all of this. You have to pick a side. You’re with me or you’re with him.”

“I’m yours,” you say. It’s the simple truth.

“Alright, sweetheart.” His expression softens. “Let’s get you home.”

***

By Thursday morning you’ve finally made some headway on your project for work.

You reread the lines of instructions in the manual template again, satisfied with the concise directions. Your coffee cup is disappointingly empty and you stand to go make a fresh cup when you hear a knock at the door.

Mike Schmidt is standing on your doorstep with deeply shadowed eyes. He clearly hasn’t been sleeping well, but that’s nothing new. You notice he’s balancing two paper cups on top of a box of donuts.

“I brought breakfast. I um…I didn’t like how we left things. Can I come in?”

You nod, stepping aside to let him in. He places the items he’s carrying carefully on the counter. You shut the door behind him.

“I thought…I thought I could do this without you. But I can’t. I told Abby…I said you were busy with work stuff. I couldn’t bring myself to…she knows something’s up. She’s too smart.” He looks at you. “I really miss you. It fucking hurts so bad you can’t even imagine.”

“Mike…” you say helplessly.

“I know you…I don’t want to talk about him, just…you have feelings for him or whatever. I know you and I aren’t…I’m not asking you to…fuck, why is this so difficult?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I was wrong before. About not wanting you in your lives. I do want you. In our lives.” There’s an undeniable pause between those last two statements.

“I don’t want to hurt you or Abby. I miss you, too. I just want to be clear about…what we would be. It can’t be anything more than friends.”

“I know. I know it’s not going to be easy.

I can’t just switch my feelings off. They’re still there. But it’s still better than not having you around at all. I know that’s probably selfish…I really do want you to be happy.”

“I want you to be happy, too,” you murmur.

“So um…so yeah. Friends?”

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “So what’s in the box?”

“Well I had to get sprinkles for Abs of course but they had the lemon curd filled ones you like so…”

“Those are my favorite.”

“I know.” He opens the box and you accept the powdered sugar covered donut, taking a bite. The filling oozes out. “Here, you’ve got…” His thumb drags against the smear of yellow tucked into the corner of your mouth, lingering there.

“Mike…we can’t…”

“I know.” He heaves a shuddering sigh, his hand dropping. “This is really difficult. I’m not…I’m not going to cross any boundaries, I promise. I respect you too much for that. It’s just going to take me time to get used to…this. The new ‘us’. Do you think…do you think maybe you’d like to come over for dinner one night next week? Watch a movie, something like that?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Okay.” He smiles softly.

“Has your aunt been watching Abby?”

“Yeah. That’s another reason I need you around. I’m tired of getting yelled at. I know she would never get mad at you, so…”

“I can still watch her, sometimes, you know…”

“That would be helpful. You don’t have to, but…I’m not going to decline that offer. And I know Abs would appreciate it.”

“Sure. I’m happy to help out.” You glance down at the open box. “I see there’s only one chocolate dipped one there.”

“Yeah, that’s all they had left.”

“I call dibs.”

“No way. You got first pick, now I get the next one.”

“Rock paper scissors?”

“Deal. And the loser does the dishes after dinner next week.”

“Those are pretty high stakes.”

“I think it’s worth the risk.”

He smiles and you grin back. Maybe it will be okay after all.

***

It’s Mike’s birthday. There’s no way you’re going to let him get through a shitty shift at the pizzeria thinking you’d forgotten the date.

You keep one hand on the cake box on the passenger seat beside you. There’s a card and a wrapped box with a new nature sounds tape tucked inside it. Also a new frame for the photo he keeps at his bedside, folded face down. You think he’s torn between wanting to see his family, alive and well and happy, and the pain of that reminder, held close but unable to face it fully. You think maybe reframing it will help. A fresh start while still treasuring the memory. You’ll volunteer to help him hang it somewhere. Maybe it’ll help him heal a little. You hope so.

You reach your destination and stare in disbelief at the pair of cars in Freddy’s parking lot.

William’s here.

You can’t imagine a single good reason for it, unless it’s another ‘site visit’, but that excuse seems paper thin now. The last time the two men had seen each other as far as you’re aware was that day in the parking lot when Mike had punched him and gotten choked in return. You park hastily, straddling the faded white line that demarcates two designated spots, deciding to leave Mike’s birthday things in the car for now until you find out what’s going on inside. You walk quickly to the entrance, tugging on the handle of the front door, but it’s locked. You push the buzzer, looking into the nearest camera. “Mike, come on, open up.”

You peer inside the glass doors but you can’t see much of anything. Cursing, you begin walking around the building, pushing halfheartedly at the other doors until one actually shifts, the sudden momentum nearly making you fall. You enter and find yourself in one of the rear hallways. You actually recognize the custodial closet on your left and the employee locker storage across from you.

The door is cracked open, a familiar looking set of keys hanging from the lock, the white rabbit’s foot unmistakable.

Your footsteps slow, your sense of unease growing. You push against the door and it swings inward silently. The steel cabinet that was sealed shut before is now wide open…and empty.

[scotianostra]

On 19th October, 1687 Edinburgh's first formal taxi service was proposed in the form of Sedan Chairs.

Alexander Hay, a carpenter, had constructed six sedan chairs - padded seats enclosed in a wooden compartment, mounted on two wooden poles - which could be carried between two footmen, typically fit and strong Highlanders who came down to the city seeking employment.

Hay applied to the council for a monopoly to run this service exclusively, and was granted the right to operate his sedan chairs without competition for a period of 11 years.

The sedan chairs had to be stored overnight in sheds around the city, and Tweeddale Court, near the World's End, as seen in the first pic, which is surely the smallest listed building in Edinburgh.

Following Alexander Hay's death, his widow made an application to Edinburgh council in 1700 to extend the monopoly her husband held on operating the service. Her petition was granted, allowing her to continue drawing income from the business, in order to pay for the support and education of her children.

A 1768 list of fares in Edinburgh suggested a fee of 6d (2.5 pence) for a journey within the City, 1 shilling and 6d (7.5p) for a journey half a mile outside the City, and 4 shillings (20p) for a whole day's hire.

The second pic shows a sedan chair on an invitation to a Mr Anderson for a private view at the French Gallery, Hanover Street, Edinburgh.

The pics include a sedan chair in the Museum of Edinburgh on the city’s Royal Mile at Canongate, a great wee place to visit, and one of the smallest structures listed bt Historic Scotland, Sa edan Chair House, at in the Old Toen, just off the High Street at Tweeddale Cour

[gean-grey-blog]

Thank you @thesymphonytrue for the prompt! Set pre-series.

Neal was curious. It was the root of many of his problems. Including this one.

His contact for obtaining a sample of a historic paint was a recluse, so he had schlepped himself upstate to meet the man. He got to the nearest town the day before and stayed in a hotel. Paging through the very limited attractions brochure, he discovered there was a museum in town. Not an art museum, but still, he was curious.

He went to the museum in the afternoon after completing his transaction, ducking his head against blowing snow between the parking lot and the entrance. It was a medium sized museum, warm on a freezing day. He stood over a case of baseball World Series rings, studying the metalwork. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He looked.

Agent Peter Burke, the man Neal would least like to run into in a museum where he was contemplating crime, was walking towards the exit, conversing intensely with someone who seemed like a curator. Neal ducked into another room, heart pounding.

He carefully followed Burke through the museum, until he saw the Agent leave.

Neal went and hid in the bathrooms for a while. After about an hour, he left, and got in the car he had borrowed. Shaken–was it just bad luck, or had Burke known he was going to be here?--he pulled onto the road.

The storm was getting worse, and it was starting to get dark. Snow plows were out, keeping the roads passable, but snow was still building up. Neal stopped and put chains on the tires, grunting and grumbling in the wet and the cold. His fingers were numb by the time he got back in the car, he held them in front of the vent, shivering.

He really hadn’t needed this paint this bad. He pulled back onto the road after a plow passed the chain up area, cutting through a short wall of snow. The plow was going faster than he was going to try, so he ended up just alone on the road in the dark, snow coming towards his headlights like he was flying through space.

A tractor trailer suddenly flew up to his left, swerving around him on the wrong side of the road. He clutched the steering wheel, and tried to stay on the road. He shook his head. He could have freaking died…

He had driven for another twenty or so minutes, when he saw light shining out of a snowbank. Someone was crashed on the side of the road. The snowbank was knocked down by the car having gone through it, leaving a space to pull over. He did, and pulled out his phone to call 911. There was no service. Shit.

He climbed out of his car, pulled his coat around himself, and pushed through the snow, hating every minute of it. The car was a black sedan, the tail lights were flashing. He scooped snow out of the way with his hands, until he could get to the driver’s side door and look in the window. There was a man inside, not moving.

Neal knocked on the window. The man turned his head, and Neal jumped. It was Burke.

Burke stared at him through the window, and Neal saw his mouth move in the right shape for, “Caffrey?”

Neal dug in his coat pockets, found a small hammer for using a bump key, gestured for Burke to turn away from the window, and protect his face. Burke turned his head, but didn’t otherwise move. Neal had to bang on the window four times before it broke. Finally it did, and he used his elbow to knock the square chunks of glass out of the way.

Burke stared up at him, shivering violently.

“Caffrey?”

Neal reached inside, trying to pull the door open, but it wouldn’t budge, “what happened?”

“Truck ran me off the road.”

Neal winced. Probably the one that had nearly done the same to him.

“Can you move?”

Burke gazed up at him, blood under his nose, trapped, a known criminal standing over him in the dark, where nobody could help him.

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

Peter nodded very slightly, and finally admitted, “no, I can’t.”

Neal started to dig at the snow. He sighed, shook his head, and looked at Burke, “I’ll be right back.”

Burke watched him go, anxiously. Neal went back to his car, found a plastic box lid, and went back to the crashed car. He started digging Burke’s car out, his hands freezing and red in the cold and wet.

“Caffrey,” said Burke, his voice shaking. Neal looked up. Burke was holding out a pair of gloves, face contorted in pain.

Neal took them quickly, Burke let his arm drop, body shuddering. Neal put the gloves on, and kept digging. Finally he had enough room to partially open the car door. He reached in through the window and made sure it was unlocked, then yanked on the handle. It screeched, and strained, but didn’t open. Neal tried the inside handle, tried both at the same time. He shook his head and cleared more snow, so he could use the full weight of his body.

Burke groaned faintly, and Neal paused to look at him. The older man was leaning forward, eyes closed, arm hugged tight around his ribs. Neal put a hand on his arm, gently.

Burke raised his head with a grunt. His face was wet with snow and blood, his eyes wet with unshed tears of pain.

“Maybe if you keep driving…can get a signal…” ground out Burke, barely audible.

Neal considered it. He could drive until he could call 911, send them back. Firefighters could get this door open in moments, get Burke into an ambulance.

A loud roar sounded behind him, he turned in alarm. A snowplow was coming through. It pushed more snow into the hollow. He was partially pinned against Burke’s car by the influx of snow, and had to dig himself free again.

He looked at Burke. The agent’s head was hanging again, he was really hurt. The snowplow had buried Neal’s car, he would have to dig it out to keep driving. That might be too long to wait. Neal picked up the plastic lid and went back to digging out the door.

Neal finally got enough space to pull with as much weight and strength as he had. It took three tries, his arms straining, one foot braced against the rest of the car, but finally the door popped open. Neal fell back into the snow, panting, sweating even in the cold.

He struggled back to his feet and crouched beside Burke, now that he could actually see what was going on. There was a branch protruding into the cab of the car through the far window, pinning Peter. Peter’s pants were torn, there was a deep gash on his thigh.

Another snowplow came through, Neal got shoved against the open door and against Peter.

“Caffrey…you can’t…stay here…you’ll get…hurt, too…” Burke was struggling to speak, arching his head back in agony, as he fought to get the words out.

Neal glared at Burke, “I do what I want.”

Burke actually chuckled a little at that, though it made him go even paler.

Neal dug himself out again, and reached in, unfastening Peter’s seatbelt. He shoved on the branch until he could get it out of the way and get a good look Burke’s leg. There was a lot of blood.

Neal took off his scarf, and leaned in, tucking it under Peter’s knee, and then sliding it up under his thigh. Peter cried out, grabbing on to the steering wheel, twisting and whimpering as Neal tied the scarf tightly above the wound, until he saw the bleeding noticeably slow. He used a piece of the branch that had injured Peter to secure the tourniquet.

He had to get Peter away from the road, or they would in fact just get crushed. He dug his way into the wall of snow, panting with effort. He managed to break through into the woods beyond the packed plowed snow. He returned to the car.

Burke was lying in the seat, eyes closed. His hands were on his leg, head back.

“Burke?”

Burke opened his eyes and looked up at Neal.

“Do you think your back is hurt, or anything is broken?”

Peter shrugged a little, weakly, “maybe some ribs.”

“Okay. I’m going to pull you back into the woods, away from the road.”

Peter gazed up at Neal, wary.

Neal sighed and crouched beside the car. He gripped Peter’s arm, “I will keep you safe.”

Peter was still uncertain, but he finally nodded. Neal hadn’t hurt him yet, after all.

Neal got his arms under Peter’s armpits, and started to pull Peter out of the car. Peter howled in pain, but did his best to help anyway.

Neal squeezed his eyes shut, hating everything, as he dragged Peter onto the snowy ground, and then back through the tunnel he had made. The journey went over lumps, rocks, sticks, bushes. Peter screamed more than once.

By the time he had gotten Peter back into the woods, the older man was semi-conscious, limp in Neal’s arms. Neal left him there for a moment and went back to Peter’s car. He found a first aid kit in the back seat, and an emergency bag.

He returned to Peter, lying on the ground only partially with it. He dug in the emergency bag, and found a space blanket. He put that over Peter, and tried to tuck it under the bigger man a bit as well. Then he opened the first aid kit. Thankfully there was bleed stop powder, packing gauze, and more. He took off the gloves and stuffed them in his pockets.

He used fresh snow to clean the dirty wood bits out of the wound, Peter just whimpered loosely, fading in and out from the pain and blood loss. Neal put the bleed stop powder on generously, and then started to pack and dress the wound. Finally, satisfied he took the tourniquet off. If it bled through the bandages he would put it back.

He then moved to kneel beside Peter’s head. The FBI agent looked up at him, shivering violently, frighteningly pale.

“You with me?” asked Neal.

Peter closed his eyes, “mmh…”

Neal patted Peter’s face. Peter opened his eyes again.

“Why were you at the museum today?” Neal asked.

Peter opened his eyes, surprise bringing him back around a little.

“You were there?” Peter asked.

Neal nodded, then added with a chuckle, “not to do any crime, it was just on the way.”

Peter managed a faint laugh, “from doing crime?”

Neal shrugged.

Peter closed his eyes again, but did keep talking, “they had a smash and grab. One of a series...came across my desk, I took an interest…baseball is...”

Peter stopped talking, panting, moving his arm down under the shiny silver mylar, clutching the top of his leg. Neal checked it. The bandages were a little wet from melting snow under Peter’s thigh, but no blood had soaked through on top.

He was more worried about the cold, now. He started to trim thin branches from nearby trees, and weave them into a mat thick with pine needles. He laid that down on top of the snow, and dragged Peter onto it. Peter cried out, but weakly.

Neal adjusted the space blanket over Peter, then set to making a second mat, this one stiffer with slightly bigger sticks. He used fallen branches to prop it up at one end, tying it together with bark he stripped from trees and rolled between his hands to make a rough cord. He set it up over Peter to keep the snow off.

He put the first aid kit and emergency bag under the shelter as well, and knelt beside the agent to check on him. Peter was awake, watching him in silence.

“Never knew you were an outdoorsman,” murmured Peter.

“I’m not,” said Neal, flatly, “but I’ve seen some pretty cool art made with natural materials…just copied what they did.”

Peter laughed a little, but it clearly hurt his ribs. He turned his head away. He was starting to get overwhelmed, by pain, cold, fear…

Neal crawled under the little shelter with Peter, put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter turned his head back to look at Neal, tears starting to run down the sides of his face. Neal opened the front of his coat to share his body heat, and laid down next to him on the pine needle mat. He undid Peter’s coat as well, and wrapped himself as much as he could around the bigger man, careful of his injuries.

“Try and rest,” said Neal, and since it seemed to have reached Peter before, repeated, “I’ll keep you safe.”

He put his head on Peter’s shoulder. The older man was solid, muscular but still soft under Neal’s cheek. Neal tried not to be curious about what it would be like to lay down beside Peter under other circumstances.

“Okay,” mumbled Peter, finally.

T

As soon as the sun was up, Neal climbed over the snow wall back onto the road. He stood there until he was able to flag down a snowplow, which was able to radio for help. They also helped dig his and Peter’s cars out.

Eighteen minutes later–Neal was very much keeping track–an ambulance arrived. Peter had to be put on a backboard and carried back to the road. Neal walked beside the crew, holding Peter’s hand tightly. Peter was only kind of awake, but he was definitely aware of whether Neal was beside him or not.

They reached the ambulance, he was put on the stretcher, and prepared to be loaded into the vehicle.

Neal squeezed Peter’s hand, and shook Peter very slightly by the shoulder. He opened his eyes, weakly turning his head to look up at Neal.

“I’m going to go now,” said Neal, gently, “you’ll be okay from here.”

Peter nodded very slightly, and rasped, “thank you. I’ll see you…again…some day…”

His eyes closed of their own accord, and his hand loosened on Neal’s. Neal squeezed it one last time, and gave Peter a quick peck on the cheek, “we’ll see.”

He was curious, after all...