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e1dritchjackal0pe · 16 days ago

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𝔚𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔗𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔥

Summary: Tired of being trapped in the suffocation and monotony of your life, you make the hair triggered decision to abandon it all and escape to an eccentric town in California.

You never expected to get spirited away by a charming man one night on the boardwalk. But you should have known from the look in his eyes that he was nothing but bad luck.

Warnings: Fem bodied reader, fem pronouns. 18+ MDI. Oral (F!Receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, sex outdoors, mild gore (blood drinking). Reader is dodging red flags like it's a profession. Not proofread.

Notes: 14k words. I rewatched The Lost Boys a few nights ago and couldn't resist writing for one of my favorites.

Santa Carla is almost jarring to witness. Even in the day, when the mid sun is bright and blunt on the shifting scape of graffiti and grimy corners and sidewalks marred with old gum, it's unabashed in its abnormality. It's entirely unlike the hushed, quaint little streets of your hometown, with its lush lawns and the little elderly ladies in their Sunday best, speaking amongst each other in gossip that's quiet and passive aggressive. A complete one-eighty of the punks that skulk down these avenues with black smeared around their eyes and worn cigarettes dangling between their pierced lips while they lug old boom boxes over their shoulders, spitting out metal and rock and roll.

Just the sight of them would have been enough to send the old committee in your town into a conniption, banding together to drive the demonic filth from the city limits. But here, no one bats an eye to this sort of thing. It isn't shocking to the locals to see a man who's old enough to be your grandfather gliding down the pavement in hot pink booty shorts that are tight enough to show what he's packing.

Your own mother had nearly been sent into a spiral when she had heard about you wearing a crop top - she hadn't even seen you herself. Someone had snitched to her apparently. Your best bet is Audrey. She's always bored on her shifts at the market, sitting at her register with a glazed overlook in her eyes until she manages to find something worth blabbering about. You're sure she had all but flown over to the phone on her lunchbreak to snitch and warn your mother that she had spied you perusing over the ice cream freezers with your stomach shamelessly bared for the entire world to see.

It's pretty embarrassing to have your mother barrel her way into your kitchenette at the middle of 10 p.m. to scold you for "acting like a harlot."

But here it's normal. People are dressed in so many different styles. Sporting hair dyed from fried bleach blonde to bright neon green; decked out in leather, ripped jeans; women and men alike strolling around in tight swimwear that leaves little to the imagination with diamond bellybutton jewelry that glints in the sun. Tattoos on tanned skin and manicured nails with leopard print.

Your mind still hasn't caught up with it all yet. It's like you've stepped into a music video, or another world entirely. It's like the air is permanently charged. Electric and humming, pulsing like something alive. Fluttering in your stomach like a flock of nervous butterflies. But that's probably just the anxiety. You've dangled between pure excitement and tension for the past few days that you've been here. Forcefully fixed there by the stubborn ball of apprehension that's tucked itself behind your sternum like a heavy rock. It's almost makes you nauseous. So caught up in your nerves to truly let go and enjoy the moment. To revel in the reality that you've finally escaped. That you've finally managed to wrangle yourself free of shitty little town in the middle of nowhere and have run off to a place where no one will notice you. Where you can blend into the masses and disappear without the worry of judgement.

It's just not that easy though. It never is. There's guilt behind your panic. The dread that you've just abandoned her. Left her without little more than a letter tapped to her front door before you shoved most of your belongings into a couple of suitcases, took up all of the money you've saved up over the past three summers and vanished in the early morning without a trace.

It was dumb maybe. But you prefer desperate. You had to get out. You had to do it while you still had a chance, while you're still young and hopeful. Before Gallatan could eat you up of all your worth and turn you into one of those judgmental ladies perched out in front of one of its buildings with a mean scowl on your face. You had to do something before you lost sight of yourself or became the woman your mother wanted you to be. All barefoot and pregnant with another baby on your hip while your husband - probably Oliver Palmer if she could have a say so - was busy at work.

The idea to run had snuck into your head, all forbidden and frenzied. You had shunned it for as long as you could, ignoring it while you droned away at your job, pouring the same grouchy bastards' hot coffees and running the same sunny side up eggs and suspiciously damp pancakes in trade for measly tips. And then one day, for no particular reason at all, it had all just become too much. Too stagnant. Too gray. You had to go before you'd suffocate, and that's how you found yourself cruising down the highway with the window rolled down to let the crisp air in, still damp and fresh with morning dew.

You couldn't look back now. You wouldn't. Still, that wouldn't keep the guilt from biting at you. From nipping at your heart, a little bit at a time. It stung. It twisted in your chest like a knife, your selfishness. But you'd been selfless your entire life. Dating the man she had wanted you to date, taking the ballet classes that she had wanted you to take, wearing your hair up the way she wanted. For once you were going to put yourself first, even if it was a tad foolish.

Your newfound liberation didn't banish the anxiety away completely though. The first night here once the high had finally worn off, you had been forced to face reality. And the unfamiliar walls of the dingy hotel didn't help, with its shabby wallpaper and linens that smelt faintly of generic detergent and cigarette smoke. It was alien. Unnatural almost, the chirp of crickets traded in for the rhythmic thumping of music pouring out from the bar across the street. You had stayed inside, hidden away by the locked door, trying desperately to tune out the noise of your own scattered thoughts with the audio of the TV. Using the soft, watery light that spilled out from the screen as a nightlight to try and ward off the confusion and unease in the pit of your gut.

Your sleep had been difficult. Spent tossing and turning on the mattress, its springs creaking lightly with each shift as you tried in vain to ignore your own guilt. Helplessly fighting off the images of your mother pacing about her living room, wearing a pathway into the blush-colored carpet, nipping at the edges of her polished nails with tears in her eyes. The urge to reach over for the landline on the nightstand had nudged at you so insistently that you had to unplug it to keep from dialing her number. You knew that if she answered, if you heard the sound of her voice drifting out in that worried, angry stream that you'd be unable to keep yourself from packing yourself into your car and driving all those miles back to Gallatan.

The morning after you had been unable to resist the allure of the call from outside. Like a slave to your impulses, you had allowed yourself to get caught up in the magnetism of it all. It's as though the scent of the sea had coiled around your throat, salt and wind taking ahold of you to usher you into the wonder of it all. You had spent the entire day exploring all of the shops that Santa Carla had to offer. Everything from quaint little outlets full of sage sticks and minerals that claimed feats such as granting fortune or banishing negativity, to music shops, and boutiques with lingerie and toys that you'd only ever seen in Playgirl magazines and cheesy sex tapes hidden in the back of your town's video store.

It was a wonder in every corner. Everything in the imagination placed to draw your attention. To lure you in. And it had succeeded, stringing you along. Like a moth drawn to dazzling lights you had let it take you. Santa Carla is always a spectacle, but at night is when it truly comes alive, and the boardwalk is the pentacle. It's as though the entire town is lit up in a thousand individual pyres, burning and flickering, a kaleidoscope of neon and thrills.

It sounds dramatic, but your first night on the boardwalk had nearly left you breathless. It was a place that's likeness you've witnessed in movies, or maybe the pathetic little county fair Gallatan throws each year. But the tiny kiosk of buttered corn-on-the-cobs and the pony rides are nothing in comparison.

You had felt like a kid in a candy store despite your initial apprehension. Once you had seen it in all of its glory, wooden pathways swarming with chaotic masses, and carnival games and seedy stores adorned along the streets; sugar and salt and the musk of weed tainting the air in a distinct brand all cultivate to create a unique kind of charm, you had been unable resist.

Like thousands before you, you had fallen for Santa Carla, like a mouse falling into a vat of honey.

And it doesn't take you long for you to give in a splurge a little, ignoring your limited funds in favor of spoiling yourself. It's only something small, like finally trading out the pair of corduroy pants that you'd worn for years in favor of a couple skirts. Your favorite is lightyears away from anything you would have been able to wear before. Tight, dark, buttery leather that molds smoothly to your hips. Just low enough that you don't feel exposed but still skimming up past your knees. It's beyond any of the clothes that you had allowed yourself to purchase, but it feels nice to wear. Even though you still find yourself subconsciously tugging the hem down every once in a while, there's something undeniable freeing about wearing it. Like some kind of middle finger to all of the people who had kept you stunted and trapped. And as a final fuck you, you had immediately tossed your old pants in one of the trashcans settled outside the shop.

You've been out here every night since, basking in the energy and the buzz that prickles over the boardwalk. A sort of treat for yourself after spending all of the hours in the day job searching, walking into all of the vintage themed diners and hole-in-the-wall thrift shops to turn in your applications. You don't have a long-term plan as of now. If you're planning on staying here. If that's even a possibility for you. But it'd be nice to have some extra cash while you try and figure that out. Something to keep you afloat while you try to course your future.

Tonight is just as charged as last night. Shifting and alive with the bodies of tourists and locals alike, all looking for entertainment. You wander aimlessly, people-watching as you go, admiring the different kinds of groups as they all meander around in search of excitement. Children clutching onto the stuffies that their parents have won at carnival games; a gaggle of girls laughing happily as they cling onto each other as they navigate through the crowd; a couple walked by you in a rush earlier, the boyfriend spilling out what sounded like desperate apologies that were going completely unheard.

Despite the speed of everything else around you, you're content to take your time, strolling around while you idlily drink your soda from the cherry-colored straw. You aren't in any particular rush to get anywhere. The dusk is still visible, occasionally peeking past the buildings and the horizon above the sea, all thin and dusty in a rich blue. You have all the time in the world to enjoy yourself, at least for now. You have no desire to go and hold yourself up in your dingy hotel room, clicking through basic cable to try and find something worth watching while you hopelessly chew through another cheap delivery pizza.

The excitement is contagious out here, and you're in the mood to indulge. You let your feet carry into a record shop, a quick glance at the magenta neon sign above declaring it as one of the many music shops displayed along the boardwalk. The cashier posted behind the front desk shoots you a lazy nod before quickly returning to the porn mag boldly held in his hands. You grimace when you see it, but it doesn't keep you from drifting further into the dimly lit depths of the store, glancing over the many aisles of records as you go.

You've burnt yourself through most of your music, playing them ceaselessly in favor to listening to spotty radio stations that turned to static whenever you drove through mountains. If you hear another song off of Like a Virgin you might actually lose your mind.

It takes you a moment of searching the place before you find the cassette tapes, most of them organized in the back of the shop in shelves secured to the walls. The variety is a little overwhelming and the flimsy laminated signs taped above the racks did little to help. Either people have just been shoving tapes back wherever they fit, or the employees have been doing a lousy job of organizing the shelves, because despite claiming to be arranged by genre, you've found Metallica mixed in with Duran Duran, and Def Leopard and Anthrax placed with Prince.

It doesn't bother you much though, and you keep searching over the massive collection of music, stepping around other customers and squinting through the dim golden lighting to read the album names properly. You barely notice it at first. A light brush along the back of your neck. A pressure that prickles and skips down your spine. It's so soft that you almost mistaken it for the press of your shirt nudging at your back, but it feels different.

Like the weight of a stare. Warm and insistent. It has buried animal instincts welling up to the surface. It's kneejerk when you sweep a searching glance over the few people dotted around the shop, skipping over faces that don't meet your stare. They're all caught up in their own personal bubbles to notice your discomfort.

Somehow, it only makes you feel more on edge. Viewed by a potential danger that you can't see. You don't know why it makes your breath snag, but it does. Someone is watching you. But no matter where you look, you can't find them. It has your mouth running dry, even while you assure yourself that it's nothing, nervously tapping at the straw in your soda to distract yourself. Something electric is trembling down your spine, magnetic and alien. It grips ahold of your neck, looping around your throat like static fingers, catching you on a string to tug you around on your feet. Your focus shifts somewhat frantically, with the hope to reassure yourself that no one might be sneaking glances at you, and then, your stare is suddenly moving all on its own. When you notice him and you have to wonder how you missed him in the first place.

He's standing off on the other side of the store, separated by rows of music. You notice his fingers calmly flipping through vinyl's, the silver rings banding his fingers winking softly in the red neon spilling out from behind him. Your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they continue in their sweep up to admire more of him. He looks like a rockstar. Like he had leapt out from an album cover, with fluffy long blond hair. It's messy, spilled out like a lion's mane, wild tips glinting in shades of gold and the cherry red that's projected from the neon.

The first thought you have is dumbstruck and a little captivated: He's gorgeous. He looks like the type of guy that would be spotted making out with models at some exclusive Hollywood club, not here in some dingy shop with a blow-up doll and random movie posters taped to the ceiling.

His eyes shift up then, sudden and unwavering as they land directly on you. It's shocking as they pin you down, prompting a tight gasp from your lungs. His stare is firm but playful, shooting through your body like an electric current. You turn back around like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't, latching you attention back onto the cassette tapes like they're some sort of lifeline all while your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

You didn't miss the amused smirk that had nudged at his lips before you looked away. Almost as though he was expecting you to have been admiring him, all cocky. Self-assured. The hazy air seems too thick now, the ting of cigarette smoke stinging at your lungs is all acrid and heavy. You could choke on it, but you're determined to remain in place. You keep still, secure in your spot as you search the disorganized tapes. Seeing but not really noticing them anymore, the letters and titles all melting into nonsense as you tap at the sweating paper cup clutched in your palm with your fingertips.

You don't know why you feel so nervous. You haven't been like this since your first crush on Christian Bakely. It's bashful. Almost timid like a juvenile, fickle attraction that you have when you're young. It makes you want to scold yourself for developing some sort of superficial, puppy love for the first hot guy you've seen since you've left home.

You will yourself to move down the aisle a little more, going slowly to at least try to appear unbothered while you've become horrendously aware of yourself. A part of you entertains the idea of leaving. There are a million other stores just like this posted along the edges of the boardwalk, but you're quick to squash down your unease. You aren't going to run out over something so stupid. He's probably already forgotten your blatant staring anyway, traded in his amusement in favor of flipping through records and forgot that you even exist.

You try to do the same.

Your attention perks up when you notice a tape that gets your focus and you're quick to pluck it free from its place wedged between the rest. You listen to the song pumping softly from the overhead speakers, falling back into the gentle lull of it all. The delicate hum of the crowd shifting just outside, the chill of the hard plastic casing in your palm, the sweet syrup of the soda on your tongue as you take another sip. It's gentle. Calm in a way that isn't curated.

"Nice choice."

The voice drifts from over your shoulder, but before you fully register it, you're already jumping. You think your heart skips when you do, fluttering briefly as you jolt on your feet.

"Jesus Christ," you hiss through your teeth. You can't hide the glare on your face when you turn to look at the figure standing beside you, but your mind just about falls silent when you realize that it's the pretty blonde that you had been gawking at.

"Shit. Sorry, that was my fault." He holds one of his hands up in a placating gesture, like you're some cornered animal that might startle otherwise. Except he doesn't look all the apologetic. He's smirking, almost like he's pleased. Eyes all bright with mirth like you've done something funny. "Didn't mean to make you jump."

You don't believe him.

"It's fine." You offer a weak smile, torn from your nerves which are frayed between adrenaline and the warm flutter in your chest. Somehow, he's even prettier up close. His features are sharp with a strong, a straight nose that connects to high, pronounced cheekbones like you've seen on old statues. His lips are plump. Rosy and pink. But it's his eyes that really get you, glittering faintly under the light in a blue that's too soft for the mischief lurking around the edges. It takes you a moment to remember what he had initially said, and you have to all but wrangle the delicate thank you out from your throat. All while you know that there's no way in hell that someone like him is listening to Cindi Lauper in his free time.

He doesn't look like any of the men from your hometown. Most of them were just as clean cut and blue-collar as the rest, with worn steel toed boots and baseball caps smeared with grime and sweat. They were handsome in the well-mannered, country kind of way. Hats off at the dinner table sort of guys, even though more than half of them have wound up drunk and lost in someone else's field more than once. But this guy was the type that you've been a victim to fantasizing about more than once. Helpless daydreams about unobtainable rockers.

You can smell his cologne with how close he's placed himself next you, rich and masculine and heavy with something that smells earthy. Damp like dark soil. It has your mouth going dry. It you want to lean in towards him to draw more of it into your lungs, but thankfully you snap out of it before you could actually act on the urge. It makes you horrendously aware of the face that you're staring at him again.

You snap out of your daze, casting your attention back over the shelves to keep yourself from shamelessly ogling him any more than you already have. God, you're like some lovestruck middle schooler all of a sudden.

"You're not from around here, are you?" He remains at your side, nearly brushing his arm with yours while he briefly pulls a tape from its shelf before poking it back in. Something tells you that he's pretending to inspect them just as much as you are now.

"What gave it away?" You dare to shoot him a glance. The tension that had turned your muscles taught finally beginning to thaw.

"Nothing," he shrugs. Then he's shooting you another lopsided grin. " I'd just figure that I'd remember seeing a babe like you walking around."

It's undeniably corny, but there's something in the way that he delivers it, the way that he carries himself that sells its charm. You find a weak laugh bubbling from your chest, still nervous but also reluctantly content. You shift down the aisle a few feet and like a brand-new shadow he follows.

"I bet you say that to all the tourists that come through here." You draw another sip from your drink, and you're a little disgruntled to find that it's almost empty.

"I may have used it once or twice," he admits. There's no hesitation when he says it, still displaying as much ease and bravado as he has been.

"And has it ever actually worked for you?"

"I'd like to say that I'll be successful for a second time, but I guess we'll see how tonight goes."

The look you give him is playfully unimpressed, openly toying with him in a way that seems oddly natural. All of that pervious uncertainty shifting and melting down into something new but fluid. His eyebrows perk up in mock disbelief, an arm raising to flatten a palm to his chest as though he's shocked by your answer.

"Damn, shot down already."

"Afraid so." You mirror his shrug from earlier before slipping around the corner made by the edge of a rack, continuing in your search. It feels a little like a chase as he trails after you, all lazy in his pace but no less motivated to keep you in his sight.

"So what brought you to Santa Carla?" he asks from behind.

"Kind of just passing through, I guess. Needed a break, you know."

He nods like he might understand. "Well you lucked out coming here. There's always something going on; parties, drugs." He pauses for a minute. When his voice dips out its right up against your ear, coiling low and dark to tremble down your spine. "Murder."

You spin around to face him then, a gasp snagging in your throat. But when you see him, he isn't close behind you at all but a few feet off. He almost seems delighted to have your focus back on him. Confusion nestles in the back of your mind. You could have sworn that he was directly behind you. That you had felt the subtle weight of his chest on your back, the brush of his breath on the nape of your neck, but he would have had to have leapt back to be standing as far away from you as he is now.

Odd.

You clear your throat, trying to collect yourself as you latch back onto the memory of his voice. "Wai- Murder?"

"Oh yeah, people die here all the time." It's almost bored how he says it, like his discussing some monotonous fact and not tragedies. "It's like a nightly thing."

You wait for some kind of a punchline. Or some reassurances that he's only joking but it doesn't come. He must pick up that you're expecting some kind of explanation, but he must find it funny because that smile is back, just hinting at the corners of his mouth.

"Murder capital." His eyes get a little big when he speaks, somehow entirely serious and teasing all at once. "There's been talk for years about anything from a reclusive serial killer hiding away in the hills to a black market, or maybe devil worshippers."

Figures that in an attempt to escape from your old life that you'd manage to flee to a place where killings are apparently "a nightly thing." An extreme exaggeration you hope. You can practically imagine your mother laughing at you, all snark as she revels in your less than stellar luck. Like some kind of joke from the universe. But now that you think of it, this town would be a prime place for a black market or a cult or whatever. With the massive influx of visitors that rush through here in the summer, it must be easy to snatch people up off the streets without too many noticing.

He laughs at your troubled expression. The silver-plated belt that he fashioned to the shoulder of his coat chimes softly as he shifts himself into your space with a grin, flashing teeth that look sharp. "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe."

You still haven't entirely adjusted to his blatant flirting. Sure, you've encountered your fair share of horn dogs at your past job. Men who would leave their phone numbers on their checks or shamelessly stare at your tits and ass while ordering. Still, you never had someone approach you out in the open like this, apart from maybe at the bar when egos are high and liquored up.

But he's clearly confident. Dripping with a roguish charm that's magnetic. You could almost call it intoxicating, the energy around him is palpable. The way he moves is rushed and light, like a puppy that's too hyper.

"I think I'll manage on my own." But there's no snark in it. It's friendly. A warmth that he shares as you both exchange smiles. You pluck another cassette from its shelving, one you'd been eyeing during the conversation, but you can't manage to pry your attention entirely from him. "I mean, I don't even know your name. You could be a murderer or some cultist creeping around for his next sacrifice."

"You found me out," he teases. Eyes shimmering and blue, all mischief. "There go my plans for the night."

"Sorry about your luck."

He shakes his head. "Nah, it's good. Besides, I think you might be too cute to cut up."

"Oh, well thank you so much," you gush in a mimic of appreciation.

"Of course," he jokes easily. He's holding a hand out then, his voice just a little bit more authentic as he waits for you to take it. "The name's Paul."

You have to tuck your empty cup in the crook of your other arm to accept it. When you do it nearly shocks you how chilled his skin is. His fingers are cold, palm smooth and almost icy against the warmth of your own, but you don't pay it too much mind. Instead you give him your name, speaking it softly through a light smile. He repeats it under his breath, and you try to ignore the pleasant ripple of heat that runs through your body at the sound of it. How he cradles it on the tip of his tongue like he's testing it out and found that it tastes sweet.

"So, are you still looking for some excitement?"

You fall silent, eyeing him a little suspiciously. "It depends. What did you have in mind?"

The grin that spreads across his face is much more puckish. Much more so than the ones before it. There's almost something dangerous there. A darker edge to his stare like you've lit a fire in him somehow. He nods down to the tapes clutched in your hand, and before you can realize it, he's taking them in his own.

"These are the only ones you want?" he asks, backing away from you. It leaves you confused, watching him with your words lost in your throat.

"Uh, yeah?"

He hops back on his feet like an excited kid, jerking his chin like he wants you to follow him as he continues to walk backwards in the direction of the register. He doesn't pause for you to catch up, suddenly twisting on the heels of his boots. He acknowledges the cashier as he draws closer to the direction of the counter, but his lips have drawn up tight like he's repressing a laugh. Like he's in on a joke that you aren't.

You feel like you're being guided by an invisible string as you urge yourself into a hesitant walk, squinting at him through a bewildered stare as you quicken your pace to keep up. But he doesn't switch gears to approach the register at all, instead he's making straight for the front door of the shop. The employee must come to the same conclusion as you do, because suddenly he's dropping his magazine to stand up from his chair with a jerk. A loud shout already raising up high to demand Paul to stop.

Paul only tosses you a look over his shoulder, glancing back at you like he's confirming that you're still trailing after him, and when he sees you, he flashes an impish thousand-watt smile.

"C'mon! We gotta make a run for it."

And then he's bolting. Lurching towards the door with quickness of a high-strung dog let off its chain. A part of your brain stalls, and for a moment your body follows suit, freezing still for less than a split second but it feels like an hour as your mind splits down the middle between two decisions. The clerk is screaming, clammy skin flushed red with anger as he attempts to climb over the front counter like he means to body slam Paul in a tackle. But he's already shoving the glass door open, the bell above sounding his quick leave in a metallic cry.

You should stay back. Keep far away from the random stranger that picked you out in the middle of a random store and is attempting to shop lift your cassette tapes, but before you can properly decide, your body is already in motion. You can hear your feet thumping across the carpet as you rush over to the door that's beginning to slip closed.

"Oh, you fuckers!" The clerk yells so loudly that you're sure he's probably spitting. There's a violent clatter as the tray of lighters that were beside the register make contact with the ground in a messy thump. It has all the impact of a gunshot, and it's all it takes for your system to flood with a burst of adrenaline. You slip through the door before it can close in on you, escaping out into the chaos of the night like a bullet.

Paul grips your arm once you're out, using it as leverage to guide and pull you through the oblivious crowd. He's cackling and howling into the air like a madman, practically skipping as he tugs you forward. You think that you might be laughing too, but it's hard to tell through the blur of it all. The world around you is a rush of colors, lights and sounds. Someone thumps against your shoulder as Paul ushers you through the sea of bodies, but his grip is firm, fixed tightly around your wrist like a cuff.

The voice of reason chants in your head for you to jerk yourself from his hold. To vanish into the cover of the crowd and pretend that tonight never happened. But you don't do that. Against all common sense you allow yourself to be spirited away by some giggling maniac with a pretty face.

His eyes are wild as he looks back over at you, the reflection from the lights of the nearby amusement park rides glinting bright in them. Everything about him might be a red flag, but like a fool you find yourself chasing after him. Running towards the rush; the excitement sparking under your skin and turning your blood white hot. He lifts the cassette's up, still secure in his hand as he waves them in the air like trophies.

You aren't sure how long you two keep running for, but eventually you both slow to walk. The even pace allowing you to catch your breath as he guides you to a set of motorcycles that have been parked along the edge of the boardwalk, the back wheels nearly pressed up against the wooden railing. He releases your arm only so he's able to circle around the one at the end of the line with red rims.

He holds your stare as he swings a leg over to mount the seat, making himself comfortable on the bike. Only then does he hand you the cassette tapes back, and you take them with shaky fingers. A product of the adrenaline that still thrums through your limbs like an electric current. You make sure to tuck the tapes safely in your jacket pocket. It seems dangerous to accept them. It feels good too.

"You know, if you were trying to impress me, you didn't have to all that."

"No?" his eyebrows perk up. "I wish you would have told me sooner then, babe."

"Oh, so it's my fault then."

"Nah. I steal shit all the time."

You can't help but to scoff. Still, there's a bit of a genuine laugh in there too. He hums lowly, leaning forward to hang his wrists over the support of the bike's handlebars, spreading his thighs to get comfortable. You almost hate how pretty he is. It isn't normal. There are bonfires burning on the beach down below. The pyres reaching high enough that the light casted by the fire spills over his hair like sunlight, gold and amber and red. He almost seems otherworldly. Like a spirit that's been raised to tempt you. To lead you astray. God, you think you could let him.

"The question still stands." He tilts his head, watching you expectantly. "Still lookin' for a thrill?"

Time pauses again, churning down into a placid stream. This is another moment when you should say no. And it's right there, held just at the base of your throat. A small puff of air and the word slip out, materialize out on the warm summer air with a punch of finality. That's all it would take to cut this night short. To put a cap on all of it, bottling it all up so you could let it collect dust and become a distant memory.

The voice of reason, bearing a striking resemblance to the sound of your mother's, echos in your head. Chanting from the sidelines for you to back away from him before he drags you down into a pit of trouble that you can't crawl out of. But when has doing anything she's wanted you to do gotten you anywhere?

"Yeah, I think I am." That's your answer.

"What are you waiting for?"

He scoots himself forward, straightening his posture a little and slipping his hands around the handlebars. It's a clear enough invite, and you don't let the air around you both stagnate. You grimace a little when you drop your empty soda cup on the ground, leaving it to drop while you move to lift an arm up to grip onto his shoulder. Using it for stability as you swing your leg over the seat of the motorcycle. He doesn't waste any time starting it, kickstarting it before you've even sat down on the seat.

You try to be mindful of your skirt as you lower yourself down onto the leather cushion. Tugging it down as low as it'll sit while scrunched up around your spread thighs.

The bike is loud. It's engine purring in a great roar, metallic and sharp in your ears. It thrums under your legs, almost like a living, breathing thing. Pulsing as the engine hums and spits. You're quick to slip your arms around his waist, ignoring the stubborn layer of hesitation lurking underneath the exhilaration of it all. You cling on to him, shamelessly tucking your chin over his shoulder as you drape yourself over his back. He doesn't seem to mind, passing you a joyful glance, turning his head just enough that his nose almost brushes over yours.

"Don't be shy now. Better hold on tight."

That's the warning you get before he revs the engine, sending the bike into a jarring lurch. You yelp when the bike blazes off like a rocket, squeezing your hold around his middle tighter to keep yourself from blowing off the seat as he swerves it down another strip of the boardwalk.

He's laughing again. Sounding like a madman as he suddenly directs the motorcycle to the left, smoothly jerking the front wheel to dip it into a turn. Your heart falls down to your ass when a descending staircase drops down in front of the bike. It seems as sudden and daunting as a cliff, but you don't have time to shout. Your cry stays lodged in your lungs, and you only have enough time to tuck your head into the crook of his neck, hiding your face in his hair just as the bike speeds down the steps in a quick glide. The bumps are just barely felt by the speed that he's gunned the motorcycle into, but it doesn't stop your stomach from flipping.

He might be laughing, but it's difficult to tell if the vibrations rattling his ribcage are from the engine or not. But based off of what little you know of him; you wouldn't put it past him in finding your panic funny.

The tires meet the loose sand with a brief drag, spinning for a fleeting second as the bike darts off like a bat out of hell. Once you can feel the solid ground rushing beneath you, you're able to get yourself to lift your head up from the safety of his neck, peeling your eyes open to sweep a cursory glance around your surroundings.

You see the bonfires first. Burning and twisting in the night like glowing spires, flickering in molten amber towers that reach at the sky. People are scattered around them, some holding beer bottles while they dance. You can't hear it over the howl of the wind in your ears but you're sure that they're all laughing. All barely holding in their mirth as they cavort around the fires. And you can smell the smoke in the air, spicy and pungent, melding with the salt of the beach.

It all passes by in a blur, the ocean little more than a pale, twisting smear. Foam tumbling over sand. But the rest of the water - what lies beyond the waves, is a vast black. Stretching out farther than your eyes can perceive. You only get hints of it in the traces of moonlight crossing over the water like silver lace.

The nervousness coiling in your gut finally begins to unwind, and the tight grip of your arms around his ribs follows, slackening just enough for you to slip your hands up to his chest instead, letting you sit up just a little straighter. It makes you extremely aware of how scant the tight fishnet shirt he's wearing truly is. You can feel his skin from between the mesh netting, trepid and soft on your palms. Your fingers flex, the urge to remove your hands bolting up as though you've touched something hot, but somehow you find yourself hesitating. You don't remove them. And he doesn't seem bothered by it in the slightest. Weaving the bike through the bonfires scattered around the beach and coasting it just a little too close to the people walking and dancing around on the sand.

He just narrowly misses running over a few of them. Calling out an unworried, "Get out of the way!" when he nearly clips a guy in the shoulder and sends him diving on the ground to avoid being struck. The man's angry shouting trails after you both, a dim, warbling sound that's quick to die over the wind and heavy rumble of the motorcycle. But Paul's laughter almost sounds louder than all of it. Pitching high over the balmy night air like the cackle of a coyote out on a hunt.

You feel a little guilty, but you can't keep yourself from answering with a similar laugh, all light and airy. Welling up from your chest with an ease that makes you feel alive. It's like you've shed a skin, almost. It's easy to pretend that you're flying. It feels like you are, with the wind pulling at your clothes, nudging at the shape of your face like the sweep of prodding fingers. You can't really remember a time when you've felt so far above the world, miles from your worries and insecurities, soaring past the anxieties that keep you awake at night.

You twist back a little to look over your shoulder, emboldened by the rush in your veins to watch as the man clumsily scrambles up from the ground, kicking up a spray of dirt as he lifts an arm in the air to flip you both off.

"Sorry!" you yell after him, but it doesn't keep you from smiling.

Eventually Paul veers off of the beach, cutting through a parking lot that he uses to merge onto a vacant street. The boardwalk grows smaller and smaller behind you, the lights of the rollercoaster and rotating Ferris wheel growing dim until it's hardly more than a few faint dots in the distance, just barely peeking out over the roofs of buildings. He shoots through downtown, blowing past a redlight without any care. He doesn't slow a single time, ignoring the speed limit like it's merely a suggestion. The way he drives is insane, and it makes you wonder if he has a license at all. Probably not.

Uncertainty unfurls when the houses making up the edges of town grow sparse, thinning out until you only pass a few odd little homes bordering the edges of the backroad he's taken you on. You ignore it when he turns his bike, veering off the worn asphalt and onto a dirt path. It looks well-traveled enough, thankfully. The headlight on his motorcycle spilling over the beaten dirt, highlighting the prints left by a vehicle's tread that seems fairly recent.

Apprehension prickles at the nape of your neck, that old instinctual feeling again. It weighs a little in your gut like a physical thing. Your brush it off, telling yourself that you're only being paranoid. But a pair of animal eyes peek out from the field growing on the side of the road, glimmering in the passing headlight like a couple of coins; it seems like a bad omen.

You keep your voice trapped in your mouth, letting your concerns fall silent as he guides the bike up an incline, driving it up a path where tree branches stretch out like reaching fingers. It's like you've been holding your breath, keeping yourself suffocated as the motorcycle eats up the ground, powering up the hill until it levels out into something flat. You see immediately why he brought you here.

From this high up, you can see it all. The entirety of Santa Carla is laid like stars glimmering in the night. Streetlamps, porchlights, and the entire boardwalk flickering in the distance in shimmers of gold and silver. It looks so small from this perspective. Like the little model towns that your grandfather used to make in his basement. Like you could walk right up to it and place a building in your palm. It's a stunning view. One that makes you wish you were able to take a picture of for safe keeping.

You've hardly noticed that he's parked the bike, stopped it close to the edge of the hill and killed the engine. But once you realize the silence it becomes heavy. But not necessarily in a way that's uncomfortable. It's a blanket draped over your shoulders, soft and inviting. You have to remind yourself to move, unmounting the bike to stand up on legs that have become weak from the heavy thrumming of the engine.

Paul's quick to follow, shifting up with an ease that you're a little jealous of. Your muscles feel like Jello. It makes you quick to walk over to the picnic table positioned out in the center of the barren lot, settling yourself up on the weathered wood to shake some feeling back into your legs. Paul is fast to follow, practically skipping over, jewelry jangling as he jumps himself up on the tabletop. He begins absentmindedly picking at the chipping old paint, tearing it from the notches that have been carved into the wood, defaced to immortalize the initials of lovers.

"What did you bring me all the way out here for?" you ask.

"This is one of the nicer spots in Santa Carla. Figured I'd show you."

"Oh, yeah?" you tilt your head, rotating a little in your perch on the bench. "What's the best?"

A smile pushes at the corners of his mouth. It's another one of those amused, secretive little looks. Like he's in on something. "Maybe I'll show ya some time."

"I'd like that," you agree. There's a small bout of silence then. You've gained the feeling back in your legs and it inspires you to sit up from the table, stretching out your limbs as you approach the rounded edge of the hill. A delicate breeze rolls up the slop, shuffling the leaves with a delicate hiss, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the hint of the ocean. It such a simple thing but it abates some that paranoia, loosening its talons, even if just a little bit.

The weight of the cassette tapes in your pocket press against your stomach. Nudging there like a reminder. It has you glancing back over your shoulder, and you see that he's already watching you. The way he holds himself is relaxed, but there's something intense reflecting in his gaze, burning and hot. It makes your heart skip a beat, body flushing with warmth. It could be the shadows, but you think his smile grows.

There's a flash of his teeth. "You'd have to stick around for that."

He doesn't wait for your response as he shoves off of the table, bounding from it with a jump that rattles the silver on his chest. It's like you're both magnetized to each other, unable to stray far now that you've crossed paths. A part of it is almost frightening. You've had crushes of course. A couple random fling before, and a relationship - as complicated and fleeting as it had been, but you can honestly say that you've never been so swept away by a guy. Never enough to that'd be willing to become an accomplice in theft; never enough that you'd get on the bike of stranger and let them carry you off to spot in the middle of nowhere. It's as though all of your common sense has been picked up and dumped out on the ocean tide. Even worse is that you really don't care.

Maybe you're just caught in the whirlwind of it all. Spun up by the excitement of finally being able to do things on your own terms without the worry of hundreds of people watching. Or maybe you're just addicted to the discovery; when you look at him, all of those concerns seem to melt away. Thinning and evaporating like snow in the summer sun. It's terrifying. It's thrilling.

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't."

It's almost as though he takes it as a challenge, stepping into your space like it's where he belongs. His cologne sweeps back over you again, bold and muddled with the spice of tobacco. Combined with his proximity it makes you a little dizzy, fingertips prickling with warmth as he fixes you with a stare that seems the seize you, burrowing down like he's cradling some delicate, wild piece of your soul.

You just barely notice when his hand slips into your coat pocket to grasp the tapes tucked inside, like he's confirming that you still have them. He seems pleased when his fingertips slide over the hard plastic covers, as though it means something to him. His face hovers just a little above yours, noses nearly brushing. With the glow of the moon emitting from above, it makes it easy to see how his gaze flickers down to your lips. Like he's considering if he should try kissing you or not. You don't think you'd mind if he did.

"At least you'll have something to me remember me by," he muses softy.

"I haven't known you for very long but believe me when I say that there's a very slim chance of me forgetting you."

Emboldened by your response, he cocks his head, daring to lean forward just enough that you can feel the faint press of his lips on yours. Not kissing, but just enough to tease the possibility. It's a little pathetic how something so simple has heat licking through your veins. The line you're treading on feels dangerous. Like you're dangling on the edge of some unknown territory. And you are. But what makes it so particularly daunting is the uncertainty of where this might go.

Something about Paul is already addictive. Like a shot of liquor after a long week. You've always been the type to keep yourself from getting too attached, but he's like an adrenaline rush. It'd be so easy to get hung up on a guy like him, and the last thing you want to be is one of those women lying awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling while they fantasize about the one that could have been. Spending the remainder of their years living back in the memory of that one night in the past.

He's a temptation that you've never had to face before. Bursting into your life with all the subtly of a firecracker, abrupt, explosive and invigorating. You want to hold onto that. Grip it tight with greedy fingers and enjoy this - whatever this is - for all it's worth.

He speaks then, his voice has dipped into something low and hushed. Almost like a secret being exchanged, a promise being made. "I'm happy to hear it, but I like to be thorough."

You think he's the one who kisses you first, but you really can't be sure. It a little daunting, how it completely sweeps you up. There isn't any of that dramatic stuff, like explosions, or fireworks, but something about it just feels right. It already makes you breathless. Time stretching out and yawning, heat draping over your body like you've been dipped in warm honey.

The way he kisses you is starved. Passionate and fast like he's trying to have all of you at once. His teeth nip at your lips, a sting that he soothes with the tip of his tongue when you gasp. There's hardly any build up. He approaches it like he seemingly does everything else; just pure intensity as he reaches for you with eager hands that seem to be everywhere all at once. Squeezing at your hips, pressing down at the base of your spine to mold you close to him, and then he's cradling your jaw with chilled fingers.

You can't help moaning into his mouth, a quiet noise that's still definitely heard if the way he smiles into the kiss is any indication. You aren't bothered by his smugness though, only encouraged by it. You slip a hand over his stomach, feeling the lithe muscle under cool skin. It's cute when his abdomen twitches under your palm. He reprimands you by biting at your lip again, only enough for a slight sting, but you really think that it was only an excuse for him to dip his tongue into your mouth, letting you fully taste each other.

There's the subtle sugar of something sweet on his lips. Probably some kind of treat from back on the boardwalk. It mixes with the distinct rich pepper of tobacco, all warmth and cream on his tongue, but there's the edge of something almost metallic lurking beneath it all, almost as though he's been sucking on pennies. It isn't enough to be distracting, and you can't be bothered to pay it any mind as he turns you around without breaking the kiss to blindly back you up until your lower back nudges into the rough lip of the picnic table.

He practically mauls you once he has you pinned, consuming you with a hunger that's infectious. It has you tugging at his hair, clawing your nails through the thick of his soft waves, dragging them along his scalp and it rewards you with a throaty groan that has sparks shooting up your spine. He must enjoy it because he's breaking his mouth away from your and immediately latches it onto your throat. The scratch of his stubble as you arching into his body, your head lolling back to bare more of your throat which he quickly takes advantage of. His tongue laps out at your skin like he's drinking up the subtle salt there, sucking softly like he wants to brand you with the shape of his mouth.

The gasp that leaves you is wrangled when he wedges a thigh between your legs, bending his knee to press it flush against your cunt. Your grip on his hair squeezes tight. Holding on like it might help keep you grounded. Like it might keep you from float up to the heavens. The weight of his leg on you makes you cruelly aware of the wet patch that's dampened the center of your underwear. It's a little embarrassing, already being this worked up by a little making out, but he lights you on fire with a frustrating ease. It's unfair how he's already taking you apart piece by molten piece.

He licks up the base of your throat, sucking at the edge of your jaw before he speaks against your skin like he doesn't want to pull away. "Can I eat you out?"

You swear the question could have knocked you out. He says it casually, but his words are slurred. Almost like he's drunk. It's all moving so fast. Your head is spinning, and your heart is racing, chugging blood through the same artery that he traces with his tongue. It's hard to remember how you've gotten here, curled up in a stranger's arms while he grinds his thigh between your legs. This night has gone completely off the rails. Hurtled far past a simple night out to a haze of chaos and heat. It doesn't really make any sense to be here right now.

But when Paul manages to tear himself away from your neck to meet your stare something seems to fall into place. You don't think you'd want this night to have gone any other way.

There's a desperation glimmering in the blue of his eyes, bright and hungry. It has you contained in place. Swallowed up by the fervor in his expression, the gluttony in how he holds onto you.

At this point you don't think it needs to be said, but you find yourself nodding anyway. "Yeah - yes. Fuck, please."

He flashes you a grin before he's dropping down onto his knees without any fanfare. You decide to help him out a little, planting your hands onto the tabletop to heave yourself up on the surface, spreading your legs open to make room for him. It's brazen, the short length of your skirt scrunching and riding up high on your thighs, flashing the pale fabric of your underwear. His attention zeros in there immediately, stuck between your legs with an intensity that's almost concerning. He's looking at you like you're a piece of meat. All splayed out. It's a compromising that almost has embarrassment creeping beneath it all, but there's a perverted brand of delight on his face, and it's mixed with a strange kind of sincerity that has that shame fizzling out.

He slips a hand up to cup the back of your knee, lifting it up to hook it over his shoulder so he can trail kisses up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. It's much slower than the starved bites and licks that he had given you earlier, the ones that you can still feel on your neck, aching dully from where he had sucked. It's like he's teasing you now. Too caught up in his own desire to indulge you yet and it feels like torture. Just the weight of his head parting your legs open, the brush of his wild hair against your skin has you flushing with heat.

Your hips rock on their own, rolling in an effort to seek out friction that isn't there. The press of your underwear on your cunt is like a taunt, applying a barely there pressure that has your lungs skipping with a silent gasp.

You don't expect the smack that he cracks down on the outside of your leg. It's more surprising than painful, but you jerk anyway, subconsciously trying to escape the smarting that fizzles across your nerves. The look that you shoot him is one of shock, but he doesn't look the least bit apologetic. Expression all smug as he presses his lips down on the crook where your leg joins your pelvis. Slipping his tongue out to lick at the tender skin there, running it along the seam of your underwear.

"Feelin' greedy?" he smirks up at you, looking so smug that it nearly irritates you. "There's no need to flip out babe, I'll give you what you want." He kisses you over your underwear, gripping both of your knees to spread you open wider, giving him the room to nose at your cunt from over the damp fabric. There's something so vulgar about the way that he mouths at you while you're still wearing panties, circling your clit with the point of his tongue before flattening it to suck through your underwear.

It makes your spine bow, fire and smoke blazing up your back and smoldering beneath your skin. There's a plea right there, just at the base of your throat but thankfully you don't have to voice it. He slips both of his hands under your underwear and tugs it down roughly, giving away his own impatience as he moves back just enough to be able to rip them down past the heels of your shoes.

You're pretty sure that he pockets them, bunching them up and stuffing them inside his coat. But you don't get a chance to scold him - not that you would if you were able - because he's dropping his mouth open to lick a stripe up your bare cunt, splitting you open on his tongue. It has your fingers flexing, dragging your nails over the edge of the wood in a wild claw to have something to keep you anchored. It doesn't do much though. Not the chipped, textured paint under your palms, not the faint chill of Paul's hands clamping down on your skin, it fades out into a meaningless blur. Distorted to the sidelines as your brain blocks everything out, banishing it all into a muted background noise as the sensation of his mouth commands all of your focus.

It's mindless how your body chases after its pleasure, your hips attempting to thrust under the unforgiving hold of Paul's hands to build the pressure coiling hotly in the base your abdomen. His grip is practically steel bands, vices around your skin to hold you open and immobilized while he torments you with the ceaseless drag and curl of his tongue.

"Paul, come on, please," you beg. Panting out into the sultry summer air. It's stupid how easily he's pulling noises from you. Tense, breathless moans that drift over the hilltop in a shameless stream. It almost makes you a little thankful that he drove you both out here in the private little lookout, far away from potential witnesses. Based on the joined initials etched and written into the wood, presumably with pocketknives and permanent markers, you'd wager that this is a popular date spot. A cute little place for couples to admire the town lights and take advantage of the privacy while they hookup. You definitely aren't the first person to be splayed out here on this table. A part of you wonders if you aren't the first person that he's brought out here.

You try to ignore the flickering of something stinging and unwelcome that lashes its way through your chest. It's obscure and startling, blinking in and out like a ghost, and you're quick to snuff it out. To turn it over and ignore it entirely. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that it felt suspiciously close to jealousy, but that's a route that you aren't going to dare to go down - a load of baggage that you have no desire to unpack. Not for a stranger, no less.

Your hand pries itself from the edge of the table to grip onto his hair, fingers slipping down through his roots to thread through in the way you think he likes. You're almost instantly gifted with a pleased groan and his tongue dips inside of you, lapping up your taste like he's starved for it.

You nearly sob when he pulls himself back from you, parting his lips from your cunt just enough to mumble out something; his voice slurs, thrumming against your clit as he speaks. "Don't worry about being rough, pull harder if you want." And then he's smothering himself back between your thighs. You do as he says, mostly out of reflex as he traces over you in tight circles that has your nerves running hot, your muscles burning as though you've been submerged in steaming water.

A finger prods at your cunt, running up just along his mouth to get it slick enough and then he's thrusting it inside without little warning, filling you up with a smooth stroke. You moan out raggedly when he suckles at your clit just as he crooks his finger, brushing it in deft swipes. Your grip locks on tight in his hair, digging in through long, golden strands while he practically turns you inside out. Your grasp has to be painful, but he doesn't seem affected by it in the slightest. His effort actually seems to double each time your fingers tug and claw, like he might like the sting.

You don't know why you enjoy the thought of that, but you do. Your hips jerk sharply at the idea of it. Of how he might react from your nails slashing down his back, leaving red cuts behind. Reminders of you on his body. How he'd sound while you bite bruises on his neck and shoulders; the bursts of red and plum placed where they would peek out from the worn collar of his shirt.

"Oh, my god - Paul."

You can already feel your orgasm rising up, winding up your body in an almost violent twist. It's eating at you rapidly. Climbing up at a rate that you can hardly track. You can feel yourself tensing; each individual muscle drawing up. Your lungs squeeze in your ribcage, rendering you breathless. You turn into a broken record, a stream of words and his name spilling out of your like a chant. It hits you like a freight train. Searing and rippling up your body in a splashing of stars that leaves you keening into the open air.

He doesn't part from you, coasting you through the remnants of your orgasm with the stroke of his fingers and tongue, sucking steadily at your clit until your thighs shake. You have to tug him away by the grip on his hair, pulling his head back sharply to give yourself relief before the pleasure could become too much. He yields to you reluctantly, nipping pointed bites up the tender flesh of your legs as you drag him to stand.

You feel almost outside of yourself as you grip onto his shoulders, clutching onto his coat while he crawls himself over you, notching his hips against your own like he belongs there. You're still floaty from your orgasm, pleasure thrumming and hopping along your nerves in a pleasant buzz but somehow you still want more. It burns and burrows deep in the pit of your stomach, lighting a fire in your veins that you haven't felt in a long time. Not like this, at least.

His lips crash against yours in a meeting of teeth and tongue. It's almost animalistic, how you both reach for each other. His hands are all over you again, grabbing at everything he can like he's trying to commit the shape of your body to memory, like he wants to brand the warmth of your skin on his palms. And you're just as desperate. Your own slip down as a pair, reaching with trembling, frantic fingers for the buckle of his belt. You struggle blindly with it for a minute, fingertips slipping uselessly over the smooth metal from the way they tremble. You'd swear if your mouth wasn't occupied.

You can taste yourself on him, just subtly sweet and smearing on your own lips. It's dirty. Filthy, but it only makes it hotter; the very idea of breaking the kiss seems like torture, so when he huffs a laugh in your mouth and tries to pull away to help you with his belt, your other hand moves on its own to cradle the back of his skull. Keeping him pressed to your lips with an annoyed groan.

"Don't." You demand into the kiss, nipping lightly at his pout to draw him back in. He complies easily, but that doesn't stop him from laughing a little.

Finally, you manage to slip the leather free from buckle, tugging it loose from over the prong to pull it open. And then you're fumbling with the zipper, tracing over the metal teeth to find it, tugging it down like it's molten on your fingertips once you do. You're almost delirious with a single goal, slipping your hand down inside to feel him, and you don't hesitate to take him within your palm. He hisses lowly when you grip him, thrusting up in an uneven grind to chase after his own pleasure.

He pants into your mouth when you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, smearing a drop of precum to aid in your glide and it makes the clutch of his fingers around your hips squeeze. Bordering close to almost painful, but the ache of it ebbs into an afterthought. He's thick in your hand, so hard that it has to be uncomfortable. You take pity on him, unable to string either of you out any longer than you already have and take him out of his pants.

He moves like a man possessed now, slipping of his hands down lower to hitch your thighs high around the trim length of his waist, and then he's reaching down between the thin gap of your bodies to bat you hand out of the way, taking ahold of himself. Gripping the base of his cock to slide it between your legs, grinding the head against your clit in teasing strokes. It makes you whine, the sensitivity from your orgasm lights over you like small bolts of electricity and yet you find yourself raising your hips to chase after the feeling.

"Gonna let me fuck you?" He scatters kisses along the corner of your mouth and the edge of your jaw, much too tender and saccharine for what this is. Cradling you like a lover would despite the ardor and desire saturating the air like the perfume of whisky. It makes a pathetic little piece of you melt, turning syrupy and pliant like a strip of wax held over an open flame.

You find yourself nodding, swallowing thickly as you try to find your worn voice again. "Yes - just stop teasing." You lock your legs tighter around him, drawing him in closer, aiding his cock in grinding over your pussy like it'd help urge him along, and luckily for you it seems to snap through the rest of his restraint. There's no warning as he guides himself down to your entrance and drives himself inside in a single stroke.

He punches the air free from your lungs as he buries himself to the hilt, the both of you groaning in relief through the stretch. He's so deep, holding you open around his girth, and you know that you're going to feel him for a few days after this. You hope that you do. You want this night to be vivid in your memory for as long as possible. You want it tattooed into your skin, stained behind your eyes like watercolors, sunk bone deep.

You can't remember the last time you've been able to exist beyond the pressures and judgement of the world. A thousand miles above prying eyes, confiscated within the hushed intimacy of your own bubble - except for the first time in what might be forever, you aren't alone in it. It's a shard space, gone from quiet and lonely to fiery and scorching. Howling in the dark. You think it's too late. You really are going to be one of those women staring up at the ceiling, fantasizing about that one perfect night from a decade ago. But right now, you really don't give a damn about that.

All of the thoughts rattling around in your brain are turning into mush, liquifying like hot sugar on stove. It's like you've been engulfed. Ate up by the wet bite of his mouth on your throat, the persistent weight of his hands clumsily tugging up at your shirt and bra to ruck it them over your breasts. He doesn't take his lips off of your neck once; it's like he's been captivated by the smooth stretch of skin, lapping the flat of his tongue over the column of it like he wants to stain the taste of you on his mouth. But it doesn't keep his hands from taking greedy handfuls of your breasts.

You gasp when his chilled fingertips squeeze around the shape of them, the frigid rings around his fingers force you to gasp and arch into his palms. He plucks at your nipples, circling around them in tight circles that has your voice pitching as he drives his cock into you. The way he fucks you is unrestrained but no less practiced, burying himself into you with calculated strokes that have you tearing at the seams.

You don't know if you've ever felt so full, so spread out in your entire life. Granted you aren't the most experienced person. A lot of your practice coming from an ex that frequently left you high and dry and a couple of flings you met from the bar. One of which wasn't the most satisfying affair considering that his roommate had burst in before things could really get good. But Paul has to be the first guy that's ever really taken your pleasure into any real regard. All the others were quick to get you off with a sense of obligation, as though your pleasure was transactional so they wouldn't feel too much guilt for using you to get themselves off afterwards.

He fucks you like he wants to. Like he's hellbent on making you cum as quickly as possible. Like he needs your pleasure to satisfy his own.

"You're so hot," he groans. His teeth clamp down on the muscle in your neck like he might tear flesh, inspiring a muted ache up your neck but he lets go before it becomes too violent. His voice is all gutted, like he's growing drunk on the bliss cutting though his body. "Fucking squeezing me."

He sounds just as wrecked, and it you can't help how your cunt clenches down tight around his cock, strangling another rough groan from the base of his chest. The small silver plates of the ornamental belt he has fixed to his coat dig into your exposed skin, pinching at your abdomen from how closely he pins your bodies together. It's like he's trying to join the two of you together, pressing into you until you live in the same body.

You tear uselessly at his shoulders, digging your nails into the thick material of his jacket so wildly that you think you'd probably be able to rip it. You pant into his hair as he laps at your jugular, breathing in the fresh, chemical fragrance of the hairspray that styles the soft gold in selfish gulps. All of it cumulates, tiny little elements stacking on top of the other until the ecstasy starts to raise again. Maybe it's just riding off the afterglow of the first orgasm, but somehow, this feels like it's going to be stronger. More devastating than the one that still hums under your skin.

You almost mourn that you're so close already, and a part of you tries to shun off the thick rapture building between your thighs entirely. You don't want this night to end yet. You aren't prepared for the awkward silence that will inevitably come next. You don't want to live through the silent ride back into town, where he'll drop you off at your ramshackle hotel room and presumably drive out of your life forever, leaving you to stand outside on the balcony outside your door while you listen to engine of his bike fade out and grow silent like a dying pulse.

But he seems bound and determined to have you reach your high. One of his hands strays down from your chest, sweeping low until his knuckles are dragging over your clit in firm figure eights. A moan shudders through you, your ribcage wracking from what almost sounds like a sob. He doesn't let up though, driving you directly towards a yawning precipice that promises to swallow you up whole, and you can't do much else but cling onto him like he's a buoy in a storm.

"Paul - I - "

"Let me feel it. You're so close, baby, just let go." He bites at the shape of your ear; voice low and rich as he fucks himself into you like he wants to watch you black out. "I want to feel you cum all over me. You can take it."

Like a slave to his voice your body draws up tight, muscles bunching up to strip you down of all you're worth. You kind of hate him for hurtling you towards the edge already, but you can't keep yourself from chasing after it. It's dirty, the cum between your thighs squelching lewdly each time he plunges into you, his skin meeting yours in damp smacks. And yet he cradles your cheek like you're something delicate, running the print of his thumb over the swell of your cheekbone in a gentle brush. It's all a juxtaposition of the other, and it has you crumbling.

"You'll taste so good, just let go for me." The fires burn a little higher, white-hot and lashing, turned into an inferno that uses your bones as kindling. His teeth drag over your skin, sharp points gliding over flesh. You don't remember them feeling so lethal, like they could rip you open with a single touch, but it's hard to focus through the haze of it all. He bites deep and you swear that skin gives under the pressure, nerves lighting up light they've been doused in fire, parting like butter under a serrated knife, and the world erupts in a flurry of embers.

This must be what it's like to be struck by lightning, static curling your toes and fingers, cosmos bursting in your eyes. You think you might scream. A chorus of his name that sounds like a prayer and a plea for help all at once as rapture's injected directly into your veins. It's almost brutal as pleasure rolls its way through you, seizing you up and stripping you to piece like a burst of dynamite. Just like before he fucks you all the way through it, pumping himself deep inside until he shudders, cock twitching inside of your cunt as he spills over into his own orgasm.

It's almost abrupt how he drops you both back down onto the support of the table, leaning his body over yours like he's gone boneless. Crowding you in with his weight while he continues to grind himself against you without pulling out, drawing his pelvis on your overstimulated clit. You moan at the static searing through you, writhing under his body as he guides out your pleasure until it stings.

But you can't find the strength to stop him, staring past his shoulder and up at the sky while your thoughts spin and flatline. You feel like you're floating, admiring the way the stars above twinkle and shift in an iridescent sheen with a drunken kind of fascination. You've felt good after sex before, but you've never been reduced to a state like this. It's like you're no longer in your body, tethered to it only by a thin, pulsing string, almost giddy from the pleasure.

It's like you've been cocooned in warmth, something alcoholic tingling at your fingertips as he sucks and laps at your throat. Groaning softly while he cradles your skull, just barely thrusting himself into you like he doesn't want to stop. And despite how sensitive you've become; you don't think you want him too either. You're sense of time has gone all fuzzy, turned sluggish and pleasantly warm as you drift on your high, all loose limbed and heavy.

It could be seconds or hours before he finally parts his mouth from you, a hollow sting digging into your neck as canines slip free. It's strange. Far from the bites that he had scattered over your throat before. It feels deep. Like he'd broken skin and pierced deep. He still hasn't pulled his face from the crook of your neck, licking up your throat like it's layered in sugar. Your skin is warm. A starling sensation against the weird chill of his tongue. Damp and hot. For a moment you think that it might be his spit, but it's not cold enough for that, trickling lazily down your throat like a slow leak.

You're face pinches in confusion and will yourself to remove your arm from around his shoulder. An almost herculean task considering that your limbs have turned to lead from the dopey effects of your orgasm, but you force yourself to move. Years have passed by the time your fingers curl around your neck, dragging over your damp flesh to collect the liquid that's smearing over it.

You blink sluggishly when you raise your hand up over your face, trying to focus past the blur that smudges around the edges of your vision. For a moment you think that you're hallucinating it. That the dark liquid staining your fingertips, glittering in the dark, tinged red and running hot from your body heat isn't real. You're trapped as you stare at it dumbly, horribly transfixed by the thick of it dripping down the crook of a finger in a single rivulet.

You think your heart stops, a wild panic setting in as you scramble beneath him to try and slip free. But suddenly the comforting weight of him is now as unyielding as a snare. A cry locks in your throat, snagged behind the catch of your quivering lungs.

A hand catches your wrist as you struggle, silver jewelry winking in the dark like a warning, horrible talons sprouting from its fingertips. It paralyzes you in place, the ice pumping through your frantic heart, turning your lethargic limbs into heavy stone.

It's then that he chooses to lift his head from the vulnerable stretch of the throat that you had offered so foolishly, placing a kiss to the ache that you now know is bitten flesh. Your thoughts run into scattered cries, a litany of voices rattling around in your skull like taunts and yells. Shrieks that chant, told you so, over and over again in a bitter, acidic stream. And then you hear the echo of his voice.

It's like a nightly thing.

God, he had been toying with you this entire time.

You can't escape. Too weak to move. Too overcome with fear - drained and so wrung dry that the adrenaline singing throughout your system falls useless. Your bones tremble with a broken cry, tears tainting your waterline, but even that isn't enough to keep you from seeing him as he is now. The logical part of your brain scrambles to find reason, but there is none as flashes of burning amber pin you down - the eyes of an animal's, peering from a face that's gone bestial. Inhuman. A demon's face stretched over a human skull; jaw smeared with a rich red like a feral dog that's been feeding on a fresh corpse. The smile that you had once loved is now tainted. Ruined by the blood that soaks his mouth; lips peeled back into a grin. But that charm is ruined, stretching into something sadistic and sharp, violent teeth baring in the dark.

It's cruel when he guides the hand that he has caught within his own up to his mouth, easily bending your limb, overpowering you as though you aren't resisting him; made instead out of weakened clay and not muscle and bone. He snickers when you try to jerk your arm from his hold, like you're a mean kitten that he's picked up by the scruff.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart."

You don't believe him. And suddenly the conversation you had back in the record store seems like a twisted joke. You think back on all the smiles he had passed you then. Like he was in on a joke that you weren't. But now you are and it's like the universe is laughing at you too for being so dumb, digging the knife in deeper for being so naive. The cassette tapes in your pocket are now as weighted and crushing as stones.

His tongue slips out past his mouth, lips parting as he takes your fingers into his mouth, licking up the blood there like it's something precious. A drug in short supply. Despite the amusement glinting in his eyes, there's an unmistakable fringe of something intense and determined peeking through it all, as though you've made a bargain that you didn't know you were signing. Etched out your name in blood and written over your soul for the taking.

"I think you're too sweet to part with, babe. " He places nauseatingly tender kiss to the palm of your hand - a mockery, and dead in the center, where you'd maybe slice your hand for a blood pact, and you know now that you aren't going to escape. At least not with your life intact. His eyes gleam like gold. Like two roaring fire pits. Hellmouths opening wide to consume you, bones, blood and all.

"I think I might keep you."

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hotvintagepoll · 8 months ago

Text

Propaganda

Hedy Lamarr (Samson and Delilah, Ziegfeld Girl)—Look. I'm sure someone has already submitted Hedy Lamarr because she was spectacularly beautiful, and a very strong lady too: she fled both an abusive marriage AND nazi persecution at a very young age and rebuilt a life for herself pursuing her love for acting all on her own!! Her career as an actress was stellar; while she began acting outside of Hollywood (her very first movie, Ecstasy, won a prize at the Venice Film Festival), she conquered American hearts very quickly with her first movie in the US, Algiers, and then just kept getting better and better. If all this isn't enough, she was also an inventor: her invention of the frequency-hopping spread spectrum radio transmission technique forms the base of bluetooth and has a lot of applications in all kinds of communication technologies. I think that deserves a prize, don't you?

Grace Kelly (Rear Window, High Society, Dial M for Murder)—The literal princess of Hollywood (she retired at 26 to become princess of Monaco), her name said everything about why she was so hot. She carried herself with a grace and elegance you just don't see anymore. Her voice was sultry without being overbearing, and she had the ability to be sweet but suggest a deep sensuality at all times.

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Hedy Lamarr:

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The only person you can find both on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and in the Inventor's Hall of Fame--her radio-frequency-hopping technology forms the basis for cordless phones, wi-fi, and a dozen other aspects of modern life. She was also passionate in her efforts to aid the Allies in WWII (unsurprising for a Jewish-Austrian Emigree to America), and her name served as the backbone for one of the best running jokes in what is possibly Mel Brooks' best movie. Look, Louis B. Mayer apparently believed he could plausibly promote her as "The world's most beautiful woman". Is an entire website full of people going to be less audacious than one Louis B. Mayer? I didn't think so!

64.media.tumblr.com

Described as "Hedy has the most incredible personal sophistication. She knows the peculiarly European art of being womanly; she knows what men want in a beautiful woman, what attracts them, and she forces herself to be these things. She has magnetism with warmth, something that neither Dietrich nor Garbo has managed to achieve" by Howard Sharpe, she managed to escape her controlling husband (and Nazi Germany) by a) Disguising as her maid and fleeing to Paris or b) Convincing the husband to let her wear all of her jewelry to a dinner, only to disappear afterwards. Also she was particularly clever and helped develop Frequency-Hopping Spread Spectrum (I can't really explain it but anyway...)

64.media.tumblr.com

Her depiction of Delilah and Samson and Delilah just lives rent free in my head. The woman was gorgeous.

64.media.tumblr.com

One of the most beautiful women ever in film, spoken by many critics and fans. Beautiful shapely figure, deeper seductive voice, and often played femme fatale roles. She was also brilliant and an inventor. Mainly self-taught, she invested her spare time, including on set between takes, in designing and drafting inventions, which included an improved traffic stoplight and a tablet that would dissolve in water to create a flavored carbonated drink, and much more.

Gorgeous and brilliant pioneer of modern technology and the middle part.

Grace Kelly:

flawlessly beautiful and a literal princess

Her facial structure? Flawless. Her eyes? Stunning. Her hair? Gorgeous. Her style? Immaculate. Every second she’s on screen, she just exudes this elegance and sophistication. It’s no wonder she ended up marrying a prince. But she’s got this mischief in her eyes that is compelling.

She was so elegant, so beautiful and perfect I could cry for real. A fairy disguised as a woman.

the most beautiful of Hitchcock's "icy blondes". elegant, glamorous, she left hollywood to became an actual princess, I mean, COME ON

she's so pretty and refined and elegant! I'm pretty sure taylor swift's blonde hair red lip look is modeled partly after her

She's just so elegant, look at her all dressed up like a Barbie doll in the latest fashions. There's a quiet dignity about her.

Not only was she princess of Monaco she also is Stéphanie de Monaco's mother and yeah, vote for her she's soooo pretty That red dress in Dial M.... hot damn

To me, she is the first and only blonde. She earned it. Paired with Edith Head's costume design she is unstoppable. I dare anyone to watch her as Lisa Carol Fremont in Rear Window and not be completely blown away by her hotness.

SHE IS SO PRETTY AND FASHIONABLE!! Not only that but she has an alluring aura to her in whatever film I've seen her in! Rear Window is just one of my personal favorite films she was in, especially for her costumes in that. And how many actresses can you say was a princess consort in addition to being a famous leading lady?

#grace kelly #hedy lamarr #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 5

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lovecanyon · 1 year ago

Text

Inside Y/N L/N’s Bag | Vogue | Dad!H

MASTERLIST | PATREON

“Hi Vogue I am Y/N L/N and this is what’s in my bag.”

After she introduces herself, Y/N looks down at the bag in her lap. The bag she had used every single day was a personalized Pleasing mesh bag. It was a light pink color and had a blue ribbon tied onto one of the straps.

It was clear that it meant a lot to her.

“What I carry with me everyday is this.” She says grabbing onto her bag. “You can fit anything in here. And the thing about this is, it’s technically Inez’s diaper bag.”

Y/N then grins at the memory of Harry gifting her the tote.

“This specific bag was gifted to me by my husband a while ago, right before he had launched Pleasing. My son actually loves this bag and has one of his own but smaller. He doesn't go anywhere without it.” Y/N shares.

Setting her carrier onto the wooden coffee table in front of her, the Styles woman reaches into her bag and pulls out a bag of candy. Beau's favorite type.

Y/N remembers the night when Harry had got their son addicted to the chocolate minstrels.

“My son is obsessed with these and when I saw them I had to get them for him.” She laughs. “I spoil my kids way too much.”

The next thing Y/N pulled out was her phone. Just a plain iPhone 14 with a case that she had stolen from Harry or borrowed it, so she said. Once she taps on the screen her face lights up.

Her lock screen was a photo of a newborn Inez sleeping on Harry’s chest with Beau right beside them.

She almost shed a tear.

“This is my phone, nothing special until you look at the lock screen.” Y/N grins. She loved her family so deeply.

After placing her phone onto the table, she slides her hand into her carrier pulling out a blue bandanna. It previously belonged to Harry until Inez came around and slid the bandanna off of her father’s head.

It was truly her favorite thing in the world. You could say it was sort of like a safety blanket for her.

“Harry’s bandanna or should I say Inez’s bandanna. That girl loves this thing so much.”

A small bag of diapers, bibs, toy trucks, hair clips that she had stole back from Harry, kids sunscreen, Love on Tour’s backstage/V.I.P passes, bandaids, Harry’s headphones, her family’s passports and a camera

“Since we’re currently on tour and always traveling I always have to carry my children’s essentials.” Y/N explains looking at all the items laid out in front of her. “You can never be unprepared.”

Just five years ago her bag was filled with very different items than now. She was now a mother and had a family with a man she’s always wanted to grow old with.

Two kids later and she’s become a changed woman, a better one. She’s always valued the life she had, especially right now. Y/N couldn't have been more happy.

“Another toy!” Y/N laughs, pulling out another toy from her bag. “A mini statue of our dog Kendall who was actually named after Kendall Roy from Succession since Harry is obsessed with that show.” She holds out a miniature dog in her palm.

Following the toy, she slides out a pair of rings that clearly belonged to Harry Styles since they were his initials.

Y/N leans forward and slips the rings into her back pocket. She remembers the last time Harry had lost jewelry. It was at Coachella and he went insane looking for them.

“We are not losing any more rings.”

Comments:

harryfan2 WHEN WAS THEIR WEDDING OMFG?????

harryfan10 best mother in the world truly

harryfan4 harry’s love for succession has me rolling 😭😭

harryfan8 this. is. what. we. needed.

harryfan13 THE LOCK SCREEN

harryfan7 i cannot stress how much i love this video

harryfan5 the literal girl version of harry

harryfan9 harry is finally y/n’s husband 🧎‍♂️

harryfan11 i’m literally crying

tag list: @harrysmatcha @harryspinkpillow @helen-with-an-a @florencepughily @peterparkerbae @toji-dabi-wife @fallonx @drphilssoulmate @cherriesrae @alienorknight @valluvsu @ayeshathestyles @hazgoldenstyles @eiffelmezarry @tsukishimawhore @renatavieira @michellekstyles @eleanordaisy @shawnsblue @agustdpeach @hannahnikohl @whoscamila @ch3rryrry @msolbesg @futuristicpalacegardenpsychic @youusunshineyoutemptress @cherryfragrancx @milkiane @golden-hoax @sunshinemendes8 @your--sweetest--downfall @melllinaa @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cashtons-wife @stellarossii @scenesofobx @manifestrry @lomlolivia

#harry styles x reader #dad!harry #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #boyfriend!harry #husband!harry #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fake ig #harry styles fan fic #dilf!harry #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine

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stylespctals · 5 months ago

Text

The nanny | Part 2 - Confession

Summary: where Y/N is the nanny for a little girl named Stevie Styles. Her job consists of traveling all around the world with the girls rockstar dad - Harry Styles. What happens when Y/N and Harry start having feelings for one another?

A/N: part 2 of The Nanny series!! Enjoy!

Word count: 3k

Warnings: smut oral f/m receiving, fluff fluff fluff, slight bit of angst but not really, accusing on Harry's end, mentions of weight (Y/N is medium/plus size sorry for not mentioning before but I dont think it really makes a difference 😊)

Part 1

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

"Miss Y/N!" you hear as you feel a weight jumping up and down on your bed. You slowly open one eye to see a messy-haired four-year-old, still clad in her ariel pajamas, smiling at you brightly.

"Hi! What are you doing in here you troublemaker." You say as you drag her down on top of you to start tickling her.

"She wanted to wish you good morning, I told her to wait until you were up but she ran in here before I could stop her." You hear a deep voice say from your doorway. You look up and see Harry, only wearing pajama pants and no shirt, leaning against the wall smiling at the two of you.

You look at the clock and see it's seven-thirty in the morning. "Well you're up early," you say hugging the girl close to you. She giggles, "Daddy woke me up 'cause he has a surprise for us!" she gets up and runs to her father and he picks her up and holds her above his head while she squeals.

"Well how about me and you go make breakfast and let Miss Y/N get ready?" He says starting to walk out of the room, giving you a wink. "Oh my gosh can we have pancakes with chocolate syrup and whipped cream!" you hear Stevie yell as she runs towards the kitchen. Harry laughs and follows her down the hall. You sit there smiling, covering your face with your hands, feeling giddy.

After you get up you head into the kitchen to see Stevie sitting on the counter kicking her feet as Harry cooks the pancakes. You see a pile of bacon sitting off to the side, so you walk up and grab one as you slide past Harry.

"So what's the surprise?" You ask as you lean against the counter looking at him.

"I'm gonna be honest the surprise is more for Stevie than you, but I think you'll enjoy it too" he whispers to you, a cocky grin on his face. Leaving you slightly confused.

"Okay let us eat, then I'll get you ready okay lovebug?" he carries Stevie to a stool and places a plate in front of her, she immediately digs in. "Are you excited for your surprise?" he asks, surprised at her quick eating.

"Yes!" Stevie tries to say, her mouth full of food.

You all eat then head to go and get ready. You dress in a black top with pink bows tied on the sleeves and ripped jeans with more bows on the pockets. You accessorize with some simple gold jewelry and pink and white Gucci x gazelle that Harry gifted you.

You walk out of your room into the living room to see Harry helping Stevie put on her little shoes that match yours.

You look at their outfits to see Stevie wearing a pink romper with all the Disney princesses and frilly socks.

Harry, you could not keep your eyes off him. He is dressed in a white shirt, Mickey Mouse on the front, and baggy blue jeans with rips on the knees. He had his hair pulled back by his sunglasses and he had the same shoes on as you and Stevie.

"Hey look we match!" you announce as you walk in the room. They look up at you and Evie runs towards you and tugs on you, dragging you to the door. "I know Daddy picked my outfit and shoes out. But let's gooo please," she says. You look at Harry with a surprised look on your face.

"Yeah lets go. You got everything?" he asks. You nod and you guys pile into the car.

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

You guys have been in the car for about 45 minutes. Until you see the large sign that says Disneyland in a fancy font. Harry starts pulling into the parking lot making Evie perk up.

"Oh my god! Disneyland!" She screams, bouncing up and down in her booster seat. "I love you, daddy! Thank you." She almost cries.

"You're welcome, lovebug. I love you to the moon and back." He smiles, his heart warming at the sight of his girl so happy.

"This is amazing, thank you, Harry. But you know, you didn't have to take me with you guys, it could've just been you and Evie. I know how much she's been missing her dad." You say, so extremely grateful to be here, but not wanting to intrude.

Harry looks at you like you're insane. "Y/N I told you this yesterday, you are one of the most important people in my life, and Stevie's. Our lives would be so much different if you were in it and I can't imagine you not being here." He holds your hand, still baffled at the fact you thought he didn't want you here.

"Sorry, I just get a little scared that I'm intruding." He smiles and tells you it's okay and to just trust him.

You spend the rest of the day getting dragged around Disneyland by a very eager four-year-old, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

You guys arrive home absolutely exhausted. Evie is completely passed out and Harry heads to take her upstairs. "I'm going to shower after I put her down. You wanna meet down here when we're done and chat?" He asks

You nod and smile, "Of course, I'll see you down here in a bit."

After your shower, you pull on a brown pleasing jumper and pink plaid sleep shorts. You pull on some fuzzy socks since you know you’ll get cold.

You walk into the living room to see Harry setting up your glasses of wine and putting vinyl on his record player at a low volume.

He’s dressed in blue plaid pajama pants and a Rolling Stones t-shirt. His hair is wet and covering his forehead messily; you don’t think he’s ever looked so good.

You settle down on the couch, Harry smiles at you and sits close to you. You guys start chatting about your day and how adorable Stevie is, so happy that she had fun and enjoyed her day.

“Sooo any new relationships going on in your life?” you ask, teasing him by wiggling your eyebrows.

He chuckles and shakes his head no, “I think I’m ready to settle down with someone that matters.” He says looking deeply into your eyes.

You swallow and nod, “Yeah me too.” you say, your cheeks turning a deep shade of red.

“That’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about…” he says, fidgeting; looking really nervous.

You turn your head sideways and look at him with a questioning look coming across your face.

“I’m very nervous to tell you because I’m scared of what your reaction will be. Even if the reaction is good what if it’s for the wrong reason?” he starts to stress about this making you place your hand on his leg and rub it assuringly.

“You can tell me anything Harry I promise I won’t judge,” you say making sure he knows you are here for him.

He looks so deeply into your eyes, you feel your face heat up and a different look enters his eyes that you’ve only seen a handful of times.

“I think I’m in love with you.” he blurts out. Immediately regretting saying it, thinking of all the ways you could reject him.

“What?” you gasp, you swear you feel your heart stopping in your chest.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He stands up running his fingers through his hair. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I just thought you felt the same way which you obviously don’t. I’m so sorr-“

You stand up and cut him off by pressing your lips against his. He gasps into your mouth, and you wrap your arms around his neck; pulling him closer to you.

You pull away with a smile on your face. “I know I’m in love with you.” You say with a giggle looking into his eyes. His face breaks out into a smile and he pulls you in for another kiss.

“I know I’m in love with you too.” He mumbles against your lips as he lays you down on the couch climbing on top of you.

Suddenly he pulls away with a sort of distressed look on his face, “Are you sure you aren’t just saying this because of who I am?” He asks.

You push him off you and look at him like he’s crazy, “How could you even think I would ever do that to someone? Especially you.” you say getting kind of angry at him for accusing you of that.

“No no Y/N I didn’t mean it like that.” He rushes out reaching to grab onto your hands, “It’s just I can’t even count how many times that has happened to me before and I’m just scared because even the people I’ve really trusted have just used me.” he says looking so upset making you frown.

“I would never do that to you,” you say taking his face in your hands. “I love you, Harry, I swear I have since the moment we met.”

He smiles, looking at you fondly, “Me too, I’m so sorry for doubting you. That’s just a constant fear surrounding my head.”

You smile and pull him into another deep kiss, making him fall on top of you. He props himself up so he’s not crushing you, and runs his hands across your waist.

You guys sit there making out for around 15 minutes when his hand starts traveling lower and his mouth moves down to your neck. You moan as you feel him lick a stripe up the side of your neck.

His hand freezes when he reaches the top of your shorts, “Is this okay?” he asks, tugging on your shorts, indicating he wants them off.

You nod, breathing heavily. He grabs your chin and looks in your eyes, “Words baby.” he says sternly.

“Yes, please,” you say breathlessly. Wanting- no needing him to touch you.

He smiles and continues kissing and sucking at your neck while pulling down your shorts.

Once your shorts are off you stop him. Wait-“ you say, making him back away and stop touching you. “Should we move this to the bedroom,” you say, flustered, pushing a strand of hair out his face.

He smirks and nods, standing up and grabbing your shorts, pulling you towards your bedroom. Your room is on the first floor while his and Stevies' is on the 2nd, so you decide yours will be the safest one not to wake his daughter.

When you get to your room he picks you up making you scared that you’re too heavy for him to hold and you try to get him to put you down.

“Harry no I’m too heavy,” you say, squirming a little.

He drops you on the bed and looks at you with a stern look on his face. “Don’t you ever say that about yourself. You’re perfect,” he says climbing over you and kissing all over your neck making you whine.

“Can I take this off?” He says, pulling on the jumper you have on. You sit up and pull it off yourself, revealing that you’re not wearing a bra. He almost moans as he sees you bare before him.

“God y/n you’re going to kill me.” He says as he leans forward and buries his face in your breasts. You moan and grip his hair as he takes your nipple in his mouth, sucking hard.

“Off.” you moan as you tug at the back of his shirt. He leans up rips his shirt off and slides his pajama pants down to reveal his tight briefs. A bulge is very prominent in them, making you bite your lip.

He starts kissing down your breasts and over your plushy stomach, making you suck in. You look down and see him give you a look which makes you let out a breath.

He starts pulling your wet panties down, looking up at you for approval. “Yes please do whatever you want.” you gasp, making him smirk, pulling your panties all the way down revealing your soaking wet cunt.

He spreads your legs wide and you watch him bite his lip as he stares at your pussy. “So fucking pretty.” He says leaning in and kissing around where you want him, his lips dragging on your inner thighs and mound.

“Stop teasing,” you whine as this goes on for a while, he smirks.

“You want my mouth on your cunt baby, don’t you?” He says, a cocky smirk on his face. You almost roll your eyes but you know he’s right. You whine and nod your head quickly, “Please.” you say sweetly making him immediately latch on to your pussy his eyes rolling back in his head at the taste of you.

You let out a shamelessly loud moan as you lift your hips up into his mouth. He wraps his arms around your hips holding you still as he sucks your clit into his mouth.

You almost scream as you bite your hand to keep you somewhat quiet. You’ve never been eaten out before and you never thought it would feel this good.

He keeps alternating from sucking a licking around your clit until, he slips his tongue into your hole, making you lift up and grip his hair; bucking your hips to match his pace.

You're withering around feeling your orgasm build up quicker than it ever has. “I’m close, H” he starts going faster his head moving in between your legs making you cry out as your orgasm crashes through you, your legs shaking from the feeling.

You take short gasps of air as the aftershocks of your orgasm pass through you. Harry slides up your body and catches your lips in his, you whine at the taste of yourself.

"Was that good?" he asks, rubbing his nose against yours. You grip the hair on the nape of his neck, smiling, "So good." You giggle as you pull him back into a kiss.

After a minute you pull away and flip you guys over so you're now on top. "My turn now." you giggle. You drag your lips over his body until you reach the top of his briefs, you take the material in your teeth, "Can I take these off of you huh?" he nods eagerly, "Words baby." you mock him.

He rolls his eyes, "Yes please." He says, petting your hair as you start to drag down his underwear. You gasp as you see his cock spring out, not expecting it to be so big.

You start by taking his cock into your hands, spitting into your palm to help your hand glide over him. You do this for a few minutes until you decide to lick stripes over him, making him moan and whimper your name. You take his cock in your mouth and start bobbing your head up and down surprising yourself and him with your confidence.

"God y/n," He whined trying not to grab your head and push you further down. You decide to try and deep-throat him, you gag and pull off of him.

"Sorry," you say, embarrassed.

"Y/N it's okay, do what you can handle I don't want you to think I'm pressuring you." You smile and nod and continue on with what you are doing.

Your tongue circles around his mushroom tip, tasting the bitter taste of his precum, but you don't mind the taste; you enjoy it.

You suck him in your mouth again, using your hands for the parts your mouth can't reach.

"Y/n, baby I'm so close. Please don't stop." You start moving your head faster wanting his cum down in your mouth.

You stop and suck harder as you feel his cum burst into your mouth the thick liquid filling up quickly.

You pull off him when you're done and his cock starts to soften in your hold. You lick the rest of his orgasm off his cock and swallow the load he left in your mouth.

You crawl up his body and lay on his chest.

"Wow, I wasn't expecting that today." He says, a chuckle leaving his lips.

"Me neither," You giggle cuddling into his chest. You feel yourself starting to drift off on his chest.

"Y/N, I might have to go back into my room in case Stevie wakes up and comes to my room." He says sitting up.

"Oh," you say disappointed, reaching over to grab your hoodie, pulling it over your head, and getting up.

Harry grabs your hand, pulling you back into his arms, "You know what let's both move to my room, so what if she comes in, we will just tell her what we are because I love you so much and I know she will be happy." He says. You smile so big and large. He gets up pulling on his underwear and pants and throwing his shirt and your clothes into the laundry bin.

He picks you up and sets you on the bed, grabbing you a new pair of panties and sliding them up your smooth legs. He lifts you up your legs wrapping around his waist and he carries you up the stairs into his room. He lays you down on the bed and climbs in next to you cuddling into your backside.

"I love you so much. Goodnight, love" He whispers in your ear making you shiver.

"I love you too. Goodnight, H."

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

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed it.

I am so incredibly grateful for all the support I got on the first part of this series and it also being my first post. Im so happy to build a platform on here and look out for new stories coming out.

Lots of love xx

- Mae

#harry styles #harry styles fandom #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles story #harrystyles #my writing

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thesecretsofthedivine · 1 year ago

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Pick a Pile Reading | Messages From Your Future Spouse 💍🪐

Business Carrd 🍶🧺

Paid Services 🍇⭐

Tip Jar 🍾🎱

*Disclaimer: This is a collective reading - take what resonates and leave the rest. If this resonates with you, please show support by reposting (with credit), tipping, or booking with me! :)

*Exchanges with other intuitives/readers are available via dm's

──────

PILE 1 COLLECTIVE

• I love the sound of your laughter.

• You’ve turned me into a more carefree person.

• Let’s spend the day baking/cooking then heading right back to bed to cuddle!

• I feel like we could never have enough quality time together.

• You’re my favorite person in the world.

• I’m addicted to your scent.

• We should start a family (🐾/👶).

• You’re my lock screen.

• I tell all my friends about you. If you checked my notifications, all you’d see is a group chat roasting me for how obsessed I am with you.

• There is no place I’d rather be than here with you in my arms.

• I like to watch you sleep. You just seem so peaceful and still that it’s intensely captivating. I hope you don’t mind 😵‍💫.

~ miscellaneous: earth sign placements. homebodies. 2 introverts or an introvert & an extrovert. hard-working, masculine qualities in your spouse. wholesome domestic moments.

PILE 2 COLLECTIVE

• I want to drown in the sea of your existence.

• Dedicating poetry and art to you — my favorite muse.

• There is nothing in the world that I wouldn’t give to have more time with you.

• I’m afraid of loss/dying, but entering old age with you would make my existence complete.

• Please don’t leave me.

• Can I wake you up early if I’m craving your attention? It’s hard for me to contain my excitement when you look this beautiful/attractive.

• Let’s watch the sunset together and stay up late talking for hours.

• Every detail of your existence does not go unnoticed by me.

• We were meant to love each other in this life/I know that we are past life lovers who have found one another again.

• Come on, baby. Don’t be shy with me.

~ miscellaneous: water sign placements (especially scorpio or for their moon sign). 2 night owls or a night owl & a morning person. hozier songs. romantic moments caught on camera/posted online. artist x muse trope.

PILE 3 COLLECTIVE

• You light me on fire with desire.

• I love teasing you more than anything else in the world.

• You’re my best friend and lover, all wrapped into one.

• My heart feels warm and glows from the inside whenever you’re around.

• I can’t lose you. If I do, I’ll go crazy.

• Let’s go for a drive, listen to music, eat food, and forget about our worries.

• I want to be the first person you call when you’re in trouble.

• I will never judge you.

• We will travel everywhere and make the world our own.

• I want to surprise you with grand gestures (especially via gifts or shared experiences).

~ miscellaneous: fire sign placements. ready or not — bridgit mendler. sneaky smirks that make you smile uncontrollably. spontaneous memories or communication. fluffy hair & tan skin features for some.

PILE 4 COLLECTIVE

• Pulling out all my best jokes just for you.

• Give me a nickname and I’ll give you one back.

• How can I possibly deny your charm?!

• Your style is impeccable. Every time we’re in a shop together, I just want to watch you pose in front of the mirror.

• I’ll make you homemade snacks and share my family’s recipes with you!

• Spoiling you with acts of service.

• We don’t even have to speak to understand one another. Mere eye contact is enough.

• You bring out my (good) crazy side 🤪.

• I love how we can always bounce off each other’s energies so well.

• I wanna give you expensive jewelry or items with my initials on it.

~ miscellaneous: air sign placements. a quirky sense of humor. distinct eyebrows. friends to lovers trope (Monica & Chandler came to mind). latin/hispanic backgrounds for some.

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kentnaturaltribrid · 5 months ago

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• “Incase you haven’t noticed, I’m weird. I’m a weirdo. I don’t fit in, and I don’t want to fit in.”

Even though it’s summery-style, still useful for back to school or in general. Nothing beats a cute little snake, or multiple snakes. 🐍 they’re so hard to find something nice to wear as, but so adorable. They just make a cute theme, and fangs out they’re all around fiery fierce but small. Plus, they’re easy to make into pretty much any cool items that are easy enough for them to fit in. Some of them anyway.

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hunn1e-bunn1e · 7 months ago

Note

Hello,I'll have saw the post Sinbad ask with dorm leader of twisted wonderland, can you do a same but with vice leader or first years group please?

Trey Clover, Ruggie Bucci, Jade Leech, Jamil Viper, Rook Hunt & Sebek Zigvolt - Sinbad (Magi, Aos) Male Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Hey @ryu-things, you have no idea how long I've been pushing this ask back and procrastinating. I was trying to avoid it until I got done with all of the unfinished single-character asks that I have backed up, but I suddenly stumbled upon a really good song that I could use for the lyric quote. So here I am, suffering once again. (post note: somehow Lilia transitioned into Sebek 1/3 of the way through, so I'll do a part three of the first years and add Lilia there.) The lyrics quoted in this one are from the song “Cautionary Tales” by Jon Bellion. —Benny🐰

❝𝕭𝖎𝖌 𝕽𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖓, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖎𝖝𝖙𝖍, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓- 𝕳𝖊𝖞 𝕳𝖊𝖞, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉! 𝕭𝖆𝖓𝖌 𝕭𝖆𝖓𝖌, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕿𝖗𝖚𝖙𝖍, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖔𝖓- 𝕳𝖊𝖞 𝕳𝖊𝖞, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌, 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉!~❞

. . .

🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏

♠️ Trey has been the target of many flirtatious comments already, so you'd think he wouldn't be too flustered, right? The suggestive remarks and sexy smirks would simply roll off of him, like water off a duck's back. Except… He didn't think that [Name] would corner him up against a wall in the kitchen and whisper so close to his ear that he could feel the dampness of the world-hopper's breath. Trey didn't expect just how large the foreign king's hands would be as they engulfed his waist. The Vice Dorm Head didn't take into account that [Name] would treat him with such respect yet be so blunt with his desire. By the Seven, is this even legal?

♠️ Considering that the Queen of Hearts was well… the Queen of Hearts, Trey isn't too surprised at [Name] being the king of an entire country back in his old world. Although the bespectacled man didn't believe him at first since he's a naturally skeptical person, the man did come from another world. Not only that, but the foreigner gives off the air of a natural-born leader who has experience with being in a significant position of power. Trey will ask [Name] if he can spare some advice to Riddle about being an important public figure who holds power over others. He trusts his childhood friend, of course, but the clover-haired man can't help but feel that the redhead could still use the help.

♠️ This bespectacled man is about to lose his marbles if he receives one more ridiculously expensive ingredient from that hard-headed king! This has to stop; Trey is really starting to feel bad. How is he supposed to give [Name] gifts that are of equal value if the guy is buying shit that costs upward of one hundred thousand madol!? His family owns a local bakery for Seven's sake, not an international catering company! Not that Trey doesn't appreciate the foie gras, gold leaf, and fresh morels; he does, but he wishes [Name] would give him something less expensive and more personal. He also wishes that the world-hopper would stop spending such ridiculous amounts of money on the most unimportant shit.

♠️ Now, Trey is certainly not a jewelry connoisseur, however, he is absolutely certain that he's seen jewelry of a similar style to [Name]’s draping off of Kalim and even Jamil on certain occasions. They are quite lovely things aren't they, though, the six-pointed stars that were engraved into a few of them were telling enough of their true origin. Apparently, [Name] had gotten them from a structure called a dungeon; what the otherworldly man described as a giant spire that erupts from beneath the sands of the vast and vacant desert at the command of a magi. Whatever a magi is supposed to be… The Sindrian king even offered to make Trey one of his household vessels! Even if the bespectacled man still has no clue what that's supposed to mean…

🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏•♡•🃏

“N‐now listen, you! This is a kitchen. It's meant for kitchen-related activities and not… n‐not this. You'll dirty the counters if you keep this up. H‐hey! Don't give me such a look!”

🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾

🍩 Its safe to say that Ruggie was very caught off guard when he was on the receiving end of someone's flirting. He's sure that he's not exactly anybody's first choice when it comes to a romantic partner, he'll, he's not even the first choice for a friend. But the hyena beastman can't deny the thundering of his heart in his throat when [Name] appears behind him and rests his face in the crook of his neck. Nor can Ruggie admit the swirling thoughts of a future together whenever the charismatic [Name] sneaks into the Savanaclaw Dorm kitchen and lifts him onto the countertop so the man can hand feed him. The feeling of large hands holding the underside of his thighs is forever burned into his mind.

🍩 Aw jeez, not this shit again. No offense to [Name] or anything, but this hyena is really burned out by all this royalty stuff. If the Sindrian king turns out to be another jealous royal, Ruggie's going to start ripping his hair out; one Leona is more than enough for him to deal with. He would ask the otherworldly man to talk some sense into his Dorm Head but he doesn't even bother, he lost hope long ago. [Name] being a king does sound pretty cool though, if the foreigner ever wants to spare him some gold or food the Ruggie will welcome it with open arms. The hyena beastman does think about how it would feel to sit on a throne, but a king's lap is comfortable enough for now.

🍩 Oh, for him? [Name], you shouldn't have– just kidding, keep them coming, ol’ Ruggie can pawn some of these beauties for a hefty sum of madol and then he can send it to his family back in the Afterglow Savana. O-oh, the Sindrian king is wondering why his little doughnut lover isn't wearing most of the gifts he bought them. Those are– those are in his room! Yes, his room. This hyena just didn't want to dirty anything that was given to him by someone as important as [Name], with him being a king and all. The ol’ Rugster definitely didn't sell most of the gifts that were given to him, absolutely not. But… on the off chance that that's exactly what happened, surely the foreigner wouldn't be mad at him, right? He's got priorities after all.

🍩 You know, Ruggie doesn't mind it too much when [Name] wears his gaudy jewelry when they cuddle, so long as this hyena gets to wear some every once in a while. For some reason, though, the henchman of the second prince of the Afterglow Savana only wants to wear the jewelry that the otherworldly man won't let him touch. But how could he blame him, it's the scrap hound in him, looking at things he can't have with big wanting eyes. [Name] will have to end up showing Ruggie just how important his accessories actually are eventually and it's safe to say that the hyena beastman will no longer let his Sindrian sugar daddy wear such dangerous things while he wants to be vulnerable for a moment.

🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾•♡•🐾

“Hey, if ya ever get tired of eatin’ the same ol’ royal meals, yer pal Ruggie‘ll take care of it for ya. I'll clean yer plates lickety-split an’ free o’ charge. Heck, I'll even throw in a free fridge cleanin’ for ya as a bonus! All this with a downpayment o’ absolutely nothin’!”

🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚

🐬 Is Jade flustered? No, no, dear, he's more amused than flustered. This slippery eel hasn't had someone speak to him in such a bold way before, aside from Rook, but the hunter goes about it in a much more eloquent way. [Name] wants to wrap an arm around his waist and pepper his neck with kisses. Alright, but the monarch from another world better expect a bite or two placed over his Adam's apple in return, it's only fair.~ [Name] wants to sit him on his lap and whisper sweet nothings in his ear? That's fine, but he'd better expect Jade to take those sweet words up a few notches into dirty territory, this eel won't hold back. The king had better watch himself and stick to flirting with the mushroom lover only; this vice dorm head doesn't share.~

🐬 Hoh? A king? [Name]? It's not that Jade doesn't believe that the Sindrian man is royalty, he just doesn't want him to know that he believes it. It was fairly obvious by just the way that the foreign man carried himself and even subtly in the way he spoke. Hell, even Floyd figured it out -not that this eel is saying anything about his brother- was it even a secret at this point? But even so, Jade doesn't care too much about [Name]’s social status and will continue to pretend that he doesn't believe the man for the sake of seeing his frustration. That glare that the Sindrian man shoots him whenever the gentlemanly eel once again denies his claims, is really gratifying in a way.

🐬 Yes, that hand-crafted broach is absolutely stunning, and yes, these rings are embedded with treasured stones from all around Twisted Wonderland, but does Jade want them? Absolutely not. What use would he have for them? Sure, he could wear a few of the accessories that [Name] gifted him to any formal events that he may need to attend, but other than that, they'll just sit around and collect dust. He will certainly take his time to sit down with the world-hopper and discuss preferences; although the slippery eel prefers to do it the difficult way and make the king guess instead. Luckily for Jade though, [Name] seems to like the ones that play hard to get the most, so the influx of gifts being sent to the twin's shared room in Octavinelle skyrockets. Poor Floyd is so annoyed at being buried in fancy gift boxes, give him a rest already.

🐬 The amount of side-eye that this man gets from Azul whenever [Name] comes into Monstrou Lounge all decked out in gold and jewels is downright atrocious. Jade loves his otherworldly himbo boy toy, but it's becoming a bother to try and steer his childhood friend's schemes away from him at this point. Especially since a few of those accessories radiate a foreign magical signature and the Seven knows how power-hungry that four-eyed takoyaki is. So [Name], if you would be so kind, stop broadcasting your vulnerability to the group of people who are known all around the college's campus for taking advantage of vulnerable people, you dumbass. Jade himself is a part of said group, he hopes that just because he and the Parthevian native are in a certain relationship, the man won't assume he's a good person.

🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚•♡•🐚

“Oh my, you're still going on about that? I understand that you're magicless, but I doubt lying about your social status will help your situation. Honestly, I'm starting to believe you're having delusions.”

🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌

🐍 While Jamil appreciates that [Name] is trying to cheer him up, such vulgar words are- are unnecessary. Yeah, as much as I love our beautiful serpent man, he can be a bit dense. No matter what compliment, kind gesturing, or suggestive remark the king flings at him, he will immediately assume one of four things; 1. Those were meant to be passed onto Kalim, 2. They're trying to insult him in some way, 3. They need a favor from him, and 4. They're just trying to annoy him. But even then, Jamil can't ignore how hot-faced and tongue-tied he gets when [Name] pinches the brunette's chin between his large, calloused fingers and plants a searing kiss on his lips. Or how the Sindrian man leads him away to take a break and runs his fingers through his long dark brown hair.

🐍 As soon as the words ‘I'm also the king of’ left the handsome worldhoppers lips, Jamil could only let out a long resigned sigh. Of course [Name] was royalty, which explains why that man is so childish and irresponsible; running around and leaving masses for other people to pick up. The Al Asim servant resented the charismatic man quite a bit after that revelation; going as far as to slap his hands away whenever the other tried to touch him. Jamil will feel a bit bad after a while though, [Name] hadn't done anything wrong and he was taking his frustration over his situation with Kalim out on a third party. Thankfully the foreigner accepted his apology immediately and even offered to take him and his sister back to Sindria with him, how sweet.

🐍 Once again this serpentine man assumes that all kind words and gift-like objects being given to him are things that he's meant to pass to Kalim, and he does just that. It was only [Name]’s asking whether or not the gifts he had given him were useful and Kalim pointing out that the gifts were addressed to him by name that Jamil finally got it through his thick skull. This time, surprisingly, it was the Al Asim prince who was exasperated at his servant and not the other way around. The prince even made it a point to tell people to give all gifts meant for him directly to him so that they'd leave his servant be. (responsible Kalim for the win!) Looking over his now recovered gifts, Jamil couldn't help but flush at how costly they were. The thought of [Name] spending so much money to please him made the basketball player both embarrassed and endeared.

🐍 At first he didn't really notice them, but after being pulled against the muscled chest of his word-hopping fling(?), he was smooshed onto the business end of a few of the man's familiar-looking accessories. The imprint of a six-pointed star was on the side of Jamil’s forehead for days after that, to which the idiot whose arms he was in made a joke about him having a shiny forehead. [Name] got a good bonk on the head after that. The Sindrian man had once shown Jamil a djinn that dwelled inside his necklace, but after seeing the look that the serpentine man was giving the djinn, [Name] decided to keep the rest to himself. Now, the dark brunette gets frequent reminders that, if he so chose, the foreign king would take him with him when he eventually went back to Sindria.

🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌•♡•🕌

“You'll take me back with you? You'd really do that for me? Then please… remember you said these words to me… and take me away from this place when the time comes.”

🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞

🏹 Well [Name], prepare to be outdone by a true professional. Rook will make the foreign man swoon so hard it's not even funny. The Parthevian native wants to pin this hunter to a tree, oh, haha look, now he himself is against that tree while the bob-headed blonde attacks his neck in between whispers of recherché poetry that he wrote earlier that day. That Sindrian king is lounging on a blanket in the wooded area just on the outskirts of the Pomfiore dorm campus and trying to coax the Frenchman onto his lap? Oh my, what's this? [Name] is now practically nude as Rook kisses and caresses each and every inch of his muse's warm muscular body. Somehow the blonde finds this thing the two have going on to be even more thrilling than a hunt.

🏹 His lovely muse is a king? It looks like [Name] has another new pet name courtesy of a certain huntsman. In fact, it's become Rook's favorite pet name, so his darling muse and everyone else in his vicinity is going to be hearing the words ‘Mon Roi’ as often as they breathe. Oh, this bob-headed blonde is dying to know what kind of wildlife is back in Sindria; he can describe beauteous landscapes in his poetry, what newfound fauna could be his prey, ah what thrilling thoughts he has. Since [Name] is the king, he'd certainly let Rook hunt to his heart's content, right~? You can't just tell him about all these curious little creatures and then ban him from hunting them; such a tease the otherworldly man is being, how cruel.~

🏹 The feeling of being spoiled with gifts by [Name] reminds him of how Vil ‘saved him’ during his first year when he was still in Savanaclaw. Although, Rook could never think back on his experience in his old dorm negatively; his roots are firmly planted in the Afterglow Savana after all. But instead of a haircut and rigorous skin care, he was given the best hunting equipment money could buy, and when it came to [Name]’s money, well there was a lot of it. As Rook's lovely Mon Roi told him, the greatest hunters are those who aren't afraid to become a beast themselves for the sake of the hunt. These new intricate daggers that he was gifted seem to have quite the resemblance to fangs do they not?

🏹 Rook doesn't bother too much when it comes to his Mon Roi's jewelry, it's simply a token of a faraway home in his eyes; the hunter himself has many of his own. Yes, the bob-headed blonde does in fact notice that his otherworldly muse's adornments emanate a mystical aura and glow from time to time and yes the poetry enthusiast also knows that the giant blue figures that [Name] calls djinn do live in the ones with stars engraved on them, but he could care less. What Rook is really interested in is having his dearest muse hold that pose while he captures how the light bounces off the gold and jewels that draped across [Name]’s naked chest in this portrait. The hunter made sure to hang the paintings on the wall opposite his bed so that he could see his magnetic Mon Roi when he woke up every morning.

🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞•♡•🪞

“Ah~ Mon Roi, the tales you have given me do you no justice. You are far more magnifique than these simple words can capture. It seems that I have found myself a challenge to overcome; I must bid you adieu.~”

🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉

⚡ He keeps swearing up and down that he's been cursed by the otherworldly man; why else would he be feeling so odd around him after every interaction!? Sebek has been feeling flushed, and sweaty all over, having racing thoughts, been unable to sleep, and has continuously been stumbling over his words since he met [Name]! This has to be a curse; the half-fae wasn't experiencing any of these symptoms before! Even after Sebek demanded a duel in order for the foreigner to release the spell, to which wrestling on the bed was the request by the perpetrator, the curse only got worse! Now his mind is only occupied with thoughts of [Name] at any given moment; but he needs those thoughts for Waka-Sama, not some random human witch man!!!

⚡ So, the witchy human claims to be a king? HAH! Fat chance! There's no way Sebek would believe such an obvious farce, just who does this human take him for? The only royalty worth any salt is clearly his Waka-Sama, didn't you know? This half-fae knows what that human ‘king’ is up to, that man is just trying to lie his way into Waka-Sama's good graces, that's the only explanation! Even if Sebek knows that [Name] walks with the same regal posture as Malleus and knows that he has the same aura as Lilia does whenever they're sparring during swordsmanship lessons, he just won't accept it. And no, he will not accept a duel to change his mind.

⚡ A new sword and armor that cost millions of madol? Denied. As if Sebek would accept anything from some lowly human that definitely has plans to hurt Waka-Sama, he's not an idiot. Even if that sword looks expertly crafted and the blade is magically reinforced to cut through concrete like butter, h‐he's not interested in [Name]’s wicked wares! Ah, but… the weight of the blade is pretty good and the handle is very comfortable to grip onto… oh, and the hand guard is customizable too… A‐ah! Sebek wasn't admiring the craftsmanship, he was– he was just making sure that [Name] didn't place a curse on this sword is all. Yeah, that's it. What? No, he won't give it back, it was a gift, wasn't it? N‐not that a proud fae warrior like himself needs gifts from lowly humans!

⚡ Poor [Name] no matter what he does, Sebek continues his tsundere behavior. If the Sindrian king were to show the half-fae his djinn or metal vessels, who knows what he'd be accused of? Probably something like kidnapping his djinn and holding them against their will or saving a metal vessel for Malleus so he can trap him inside. But, if not that, Sebek would likely say that he has them for nefarious purposes. Whatever, [Name] better go back to the drawing board.

🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉•♡•🐉

“HUMAN! Remove this curse you've cast upon me at once, it's interfering with my duties to Waka-Sama! Wha- You still have the gall to lie right to my face!?”

. . .

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Reblogs are appreciated ~ 𔓘

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

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ofallthingsnasty · 5 months ago

Text

pairing: crocodile x f!reader tags: fat reader, yandere, past violence, written from nico robin's pov as a little character/relationship study, minors dni word count: 0.9k

note: I had this thought about Robin meeting Crocodile's well-kept basement wife for the first time ages ago but wanted to expand on it a little, mainly because I love the melancholic and stuffy feel being his basement wife has to me. This is mainly vibes and exploration, but I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it! If you want to know more about 'your' scar, I talked about it here and here.

For the first time since she’s met Crocodile, Nico Robin is actually surprised.

She hadn’t been when she had first seen his lavish base at Rain Dinners in all its opulent glory, hadn’t flinched when she noticed the gigantic species of gators swimming through an even more gigantic, underground tank, hadn’t raised a brow at his penchant for expensive clothes and jewelry and countless cigars, something so decadent compared to the starving land around him. No, instead it fit him like a glove; that elegant, suave style of evil that had crawled into the very foundations of his lair to fester and rot and ooze wickedness whenever she returned. A marvel to witness, truly, such commitment to the bit. Predictable. Placeable.

What doesn’t fit, however, is a dependent.

A man like Crocodile - with all his peacockery, arrogance, scorn and grandeur, isn’t someone she can see oh-so-graciously letting someone partake in the riches he has carefully hoarded just because of the goodness of his heart. It’s laughable, the thought. She could have seen him with a child, maybe, a little brat from some old flame many moons past, a little snot-nosed kid who is the epitome of spoiled, who gets too little attention and too much money from daddy. That, she could have seen sitting on that old, luxurious chaise after getting called back to the base.

But not you. Not fully-grown, very much not snot-nosed, you.

You’re so small, she thinks, or at least you seem to be. Compared to the grand interior surrounding you, the expensive leather settee you’ve been put on, the dark fur that nearly swallows you as you sit, nothing but your hands and round face peeking out from underneath, you are, in fact, quite small. Small and scared, the coat that’s been draped over you making you look like you’re all fat, bug-eyed rabbit and no part lithe and feisty wolf. If she wasn’t trying to grasp this situation she’d suppress a laugh at the clear intention behind your gaudy little outfit: like a purse, you’ve been dressed to compliment his outfit of the day, undoubtedly just as ornamented with pelt as you. You’re an unusual sight for the wife (and wife you are, she notes with a glance at a gold band wrapped around your pudgy finger) of someone as high-ranking as a warlord - if she had to imagine anyone befitting of that title it would have been someone more sleek; tall, classy, with observant eyes and painted lips that give way to pearly and sharp teeth. Someone whose mere presence whispers power, someone who is at least half as capable as Mister 0 himself.

What’s sitting right in front of her is a liability, a living, breathing shackle. And those are dangerous in the world the two of them operate.

And it begs a simple question: why? Why show her this, make her aware of your presence? Everything he does has a reason, but what purpose does this encounter serve? Robin’s life has been nothing but running, running and then some more running - and so does her mind, ever on edge, ever hunted. She needs to put this into a category, to discern good from bad from somewhere in between, especially when it comes to the inherent danger that is Crocodile. But it makes no sense to her, no matter how hard she tries to find any in the short second she has seen you. Is this a lesson? A show? A reward? A sign of trust?

Nothing quite fits. She tilts her head as your eyes flutter over her form; taking in the seemingly relaxed elegance, her effortlessly chic outfit. You don’t seem to know either, fear and confusion etched into your soft features. Too easy to read, she thinks. He has clearly never told you about her. Not involved in this business. Hm.

Before she can take another step towards you - to glean another detail, to lure a word out of you that might solve this little mystery - the heavy thud of opening doors startles you. You sit ramrod straight in a millisecond, face instinctively pulled towards the source of the noise. Although she stays right where she is, it gives her another piece in the puzzle to work with: with the motion, a gnarly scar bulges underneath fake light, spanning from the edge of your mouth almost to your ear, gifting you an unnatural, lopsided smile. Ah. She knows Crocodile’s handwriting when she sees it, knows how heavy it can be with his left hand especially.

You aren’t here out of your own free will.

How fitting, after all.

Not a dependent, but a captive. A cherished one, at that. A little pet, his favorite, tucked away and kept in safety.

She almost wants to scoff at the revelation. Evil, through and through. But this isn’t yet another display of just how cartoonishly bad he is, she thinks, until-

Until you part your lips to reveal a horribly tainted smile as you spot him, hurrying to sit up from the stiff leather and scuttling over. He doesn’t even look at her as you greet him quietly, awkward and uneasy, his face so utterly pleased with whatever this display is supposed to show him. You fold one hand over his right wrist and pull close as he laughs at your antics - you don’t act like this normally, do you?

Finally, as he excuses you to disappear behind him, whispering something to you that she’d consider intimate if she hadn’t seen the raw, unembellished fear in your eyes, if she hadn’t known that the scar that adorns your face is years-old, it clicks.

This isn’t for her. It’s for you.

#crocodile x reader #one piece x reader #yandere one piece #fat reader #chubby reader #plus sized reader #tw.yandere #/crocodile #/one piece

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porkcutletbowl44 · 6 months ago

Text

Simon x Goth!Reader minishot🖤

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Warnings!: taxidermy mention, fluff 🕷️

Fem pronouns!

(I'm sorry if y'all hate this but this idea lives rent free in my brain! it's literally so cute and sweet)

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻♱༉‧₊˚.

"Aye, my sis wants ta go to a rave... I ain't gonnae let mah sis go alone, so let's tag along!" Soap had told him, what Simon didn't know was how crowded it was. How loud everything was, the flashing lights, the music and how...different it was.

It was nothing like the places he was used to go. In the rave, people were jumping around, dancing carelessly to the rhythm of the song, shouting in excitement. It was so loud that he almost couldn't even think straight.

It was chaotic in a way he wasn't used to it, he wasn't even sure why Soap dragged him in this place. Why he would even agree to join Soap on this ridiculous adventure? Soap was very capable of watching over just one of his sisters.

He hated every single thing of it; it was overwhelming him. He never fit in any kind of gathering but this one was on a whole new level.

All those people in this place were acting careless and free, they acted like there wasn't a care in the world. He watched them from the corner of his eye, these people were so different than regular people on the street, in a pub, or even in a store. He even began wondering whether he was just getting too old for these kinds of things, not understanding this style and "lingo."

The music's beat was thumping through the stadium speakers, it vibrated across his body and practically raddled his jaw to his skull. It was almost impossible to ignore the sound, the way it made him pulse to the rhythm of the bass. The lights were flashing, sending all sorts of colors across his vision.

He could feel himself starting to feel warm, and he clenched his fists, trying to ignore the way his mind was wandering to ditch his teammate. He felt a slight irritation that Soap had forced him to be here, as if to prove to himself that he wasn't as 'boring' as he claimed to be.

But this was too much for his introverted and solitary self.

He shifted his gaze to look away from the crowd, and his eyes fell on you. Just to the far right, you stood calmly on the side lines nodding away with the music without a care in the world, in your own little bubble of content happiness.

He stared at you, and his eyebrows slightly twitched.

He couldn't get himself to look away from you, you looked so different yet the same to all those people around, so peaceful and calm, like an oasis of calm within the sea of frenzy. Even with your makeup of black and white, you looked so beautiful, something he has never seen before.

He felt his heart race, but he couldn't tell why. Maybe because you were alone? no, no...you weren't acting suspicious, why was he so nervous?

He comes over warily, unsure what to even say. You were dressed like everyone else too, the clothes, the makeup of white and black, bats and spider webs adoring your style. With each step, he felt his heart accelerate. Why? He didn't know. As he got closer, he observed how different you were from anyone he's ever seen.

He observed the way your eyes were outlined by black eye liner, the way your clothes wrapped your body, the way the silver jewelry shined against your neck and wrists.

He found it all attractive and fascinating for some reason.

He took a deep breath, clenching his fist as he approached. The thought of striking up even a casual conversation made him uncomfortable. But you were so captivating; something about you drew him in like a moth to a flame. He took a moment to study your style, the bats and spider webs, a crazy yet tame hairdo, your layered clothes of black and grey accentuating the aesthetic. Not to mention, it was hard to miss the little bones on your belt around your waist.

He swallowed the tension in his throat before he finally spoke, his voice a whisper over the music.

"Quiet corner you picked for yourself."

You looked over with a kind smile, your movements ceasing with your attention.

"It's less crowded, can see the stage better too." You pointed, but he could give a fuck less than to look over at the stage when you were standing right in front of him.

Your smile was enough to disarm him, and he found his tense shoulders relaxing. He nodded in acknowledgment of your words, the bright lights flashing over your persons in a strobing flash to the beat.

"Aye, less crowded," He murmured, trying to make small talk, but it felt unnatural to him.

"You come here often?"

You giggled with a hand over your lips, nodding. He thinks you might be blushing under the makeup.

"Every weekend! How about you?" You asked kindly, completely ignoring how Simon could literally be a fucking serial killer, completely shoving aside the fact this man was a man crossed over with a damn Ox and could literally tear a person limb from limb.

He found himself enjoying the sound of your laughter, the way you smiled in that infectious way, how you easily spoke to him as if he was another person you come across every day.

He tried his best not to sound as stiff as he normally did, but it was proving harder than he thought.

"Me?" He raised an eyebrow. "First time." He admitted, his voice a few notches above what it usually was. Maybe he shouldn't try and scare you, so far you've been polite.

"Really?" You exclaimed in surprise, eyeing him in curiosity. "I never would of guessed! I was just about to say how sick your mask is!" You kindly shouted over the music.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at the compliment, his cheeks staring to simmer with low heat under his balaclava. He wasn't used to receiving compliments, much less on his choice of attire.

"Thanks," he replied, trying to sound casual, but he couldn't help feeling a little bit pleased.

"Most people just find it weird," he mumbled, running a hand over the mask, and secretly he was relieved that you seemed to like it.

"'Weird'? You're at a goth rave! Everyone is weird!" You brushed off so obviously, giving him a funny look. Not the bad kind, like he should know better, but like you were reassuring him.

He looked over the sea of peculiar faces around, all the odd individuals who seemed to revel in the strangeness of the moment.

"Guess you're right about that," he said, turning his attention back to you. "In that case, I guess I just blend right in."

"You do! Fit right in, no one would guess it's your first!" You agreed in a sweet voice.

He felt a warmth in his chest. It was strange to have someone, especially a literal stranger, make him feel so comfortable in a place that he was out of his element. And you were being so sweet, so genuine, not at all intimidated by his large and intimidating figure. You rambled about how they play good goth music here, asking if he's ever listened to any goth music or if maybe he could potentially find a band he'd like. He happily listened, not knowing what the fuck a "baby bat" was or what dance moves were what when you pointed to people in the crowd.

It was... nice, in a way he could hardly describe.

He smiled again, a small but genuine one this time.

"Thanks," he replied. He paused for a moment, then added, "I guess I owe Soap one."

He then realized that you had no idea who Soap was, also the strange look you give him, and nodding away to be polite. You don't even push it either.

"Soap's my friend," he explained, feeling embarrassed and awkward. "He's the one who dragged me here, against my will." His cheeks were positively blazing under his mask, thinking about how he was being such a git.

"Cool nickname!" You remarked casually, entertaining his conversation and lack of communication skills.

"Yeah, I guess it is," He agreed, thinking back on how strange Soap's callsign must sound to someone who had no context.

"It's actually a call sign," he added, trying to fill in the blanks for you. "We're both—" he broke off then, realizing he was about to reveal more than he should, to some random woman in a rave.

"Sorry, what was that?" You politely asked, leaning forward with a welcoming smile. The music was loud, the sound waves crashing against Simon's chest with every rhythm.

He paused, feeling a wave of hesitance at the question. He had let his guard down, and now he was almost about to give away sensitive information to a total stranger. But, maybe he didn't have to make is sensitive information, it's not like you were a spy or a terrorist. You were just a regular civilian, enjoying the weekend.

But he saw your smile, and he could sense the genuine curiosity in your voice, and he found himself unable to stop.

"We're both in the military," he finally admitted, keeping his voice low. "Special Forces, actually."

"No shit? That's awesome! Thanks for your service!"

Your enthusiasm and gratitude caught him off guard, and he found himself awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't used to being thanked for what he did, and it made him feel a little more embarrassed.

"Cheers," he replied, feeling strangely bashful. "It's just a job, innit? Nothing special."

"Military is scary stuff, no? Takes guts." You giggled.

He chuckled at your assessment, feeling a little bit flattered.

"Aye, it's not for the faint-hearted," he conceded. "But it's nothing I can't handle." He flexed his biceps as he crosses his arm, as if to emphasize his own strength and toughness. Maybe he could impress you, make you swoon, and probably land a number or something.

You're so different, kind and carefree, so...unjudging.

"You must work hard!" You remarked.

"Every day, we train hard," he said, thinking back on all the endless drills, the early rising, and the exhausting exercises they went through, his second life in the gym.

He eyed you, taking in the way you seemed so unbothered by his intimidating figure.

"How about you? What do you do?" he asked, hoping to turn the conversation towards you.

He couldn't help it. You were so easy to talk to, so friendly, he just wanted to keep talking.

You sighed slightly, taking on a nonchalant stature and keeping your enthusiasm.

"I work in a oddity shop. Bones, wet specimens, framed insects and stuff."

He cocked his head to the side. Simon certainly wasn't expecting that, but it was fitting.

"An oddity shop?" He repeated, a mixture of amusement and curiosity in his tone. "Quite the choice of career. Unusual, innit?"

He couldn't help but wonder what kind of peculiar things you must deal with daily, and how comfortable you must be with the idea of death.

"It's peaceful, handling things that are forever at rest." You held up a charm around your neck, a small little bottle with something inside—

"This is my wolf spider specimen!"

He leaned closer to get a better look, now intrigued by the object around your neck. It...was a literal spider. Encased in some kind of resin or fluid.

"A spider," he noted, studying the small bottle carefully. "Looks...different, I reckon."

He couldn't help but think that the choice of a spider was a bit strange, but hey, who was he to judge? Everyone had their own quirks.

"And a scorpion," you'd show off your bracelet, a thick charm encasing a scorpion in its forever prison.

"A scorpion, eh?" he commented, half impressed and half creeped out. "Quite a few dead animals you got hangin' 'round you. Got any more?"

"Nope, but back at the shop we got this big ass jar holding a Fruit Bat." You emphasized with your hands, showing the size and shape with enthusiasm.

"A fruit bat, eh?" he repeated, trying to picture a jar holding such an animal, trying to imagine it with the demonstrated size you gave. "And big, too, by the looks of it."

He paused, then added, "Don't suppose you keep anything that's livin', do you?"

"I have a cat!" You mentioned kindly, "He's very much alive too;" you pulled out your little skull wallet, showing a picture of your black cat in one of the sleeves.

He hadn't expected to find something as adorable as a little black cat on your person, but then again, you seemed like a walking contradiction. Sweet, kind, and death-obsessed.

"Cute," he said, his voice suddenly softer as he studied the photo. "Looks like a little bundle of chaos incarnate."

He couldn't help but smile slightly when you showed him the picture of your cat. The contrast between the skull wallet and the cute cat photo was both amusing and endearing.

"What's its name, then?"

"Bones," you replied fondly.

He paused, imagining a cute cat named 'Bones'.

"Bones? Like the dead ones you keep in jars and stuff?" He teased, a smirk playing on his lips. "Seems a bit on the nose, eh?"

"It's cute!" You arguably protested.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, enjoying your playful banter.

"Alright, alright," he caved in, grinning beneath his mask. "It's cute, then. A cute cat with a weird owner who likes weird things."

Maybe it was fitting too, cats did bring dead things to their owners. Maybe your cat had brought a bunch of dead little animals for you to stuff in a jar, or keep the bones for work and that's how the little guy got his name.

"And yet you're still here talking to the weird owner." You teased.

He chuckled, feeling more and more relaxed by the second with your personality. He wasn't used to people being so unafraid of his intimidating presence.

"You got me there," he conceded, "Suppose I must be a little weird myself, then, to be standing here with a bird who keeps dead things as jewelry."

He found himself captivated by how carefree and unapologetic you were about your unique interests. It was refreshing and slightly mesmerizing to see someone so content in their own skin. You were so unabashedly yourself, completely unbothered by what others thought. It was a stark contrast to his own reserved and secretive demeanor, where he was always conscious of how he was perceived.

He found himself wanting to ask you more, more about you, more about your life. He wanted to understand how you could be so unapologetically yourself.

But he held back, afraid to delve too deeply.

You eyes widened, pointing at the sleeve of war-ridden tattoos on his skin.

"Nice tattoos! Skulls and shit? Yeah, you totally fit in!"

He looked slightly alarmed for a split second, before he relaxed and took your compliment.

"Yeah, skulls and stuff," he confirmed, trying to sound casual. "Got em' during my service in the military."

He glanced down at his sleeve, the intricate ink designs sprawling over his skin. It was a stark reminder of his past, one that he was reminded of every time he looked at them.

"Thanks," he replied, his voice a little rough. "I've got a few, I suppose."

He raised an eyebrow at your next comment, a little smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Do I fit in, then? I thought I was sticking out like a sore thumb 'ere."

You laughed again, shooting your hand out and giving your name—kindly, gentle and welcoming.

He blinked at the suddenness of your gesture, and for a moment he hesitated. Sharing names felt oddly personal, like an unwarranted intimacy.

But your welcoming gesture and the way you introduced yourself so easily won him over. He reached out and took your hand, his own large and calloused hand enveloping yours completely.

The contrast between your small, soft hand and his rough, large one was jarring.

But there was something about you, something that made him feel at ease.

"Ghost," he responded.

You smirked slightly, nodding.

"Military stuff?" You asked.

"Military stuff," he confirmed, a smirk playing on his lips beneath the mask.

He appreciated your lack of probing, your willingness to let the conversation take a natural route. It was refreshing, to talk without feeling questioned or judged. He found himself feeling relaxed in your company, his usual guard lowering a bit.

"So, you like dark stuff, I wager?" he asked, gesturing to your oddity shop job and the accessories you wore.

"Seems like you also have a knack for it too," you pointed out, gesturing to your face to mirror his, the skull mask, tattoos, black war paint.

He chuckled, admiring your witty remark. You were observant; he had to give you that.

"Guess I do," he admitted, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Never thought about it like that before."

He ran a hand over his mask, feeling the ridges and bumps of the skull figure.

"I don't do it for fun, though. It's... practical."

"Why not make it fun?" You shrugged.

He paused for a moment, considering your casual response. Make it fun? He hadn't thought about it like that before.

"I suppose you could," he agreed, a note of curiosity in his voice. "But in my line of work, it's not always the best idea to draw attention."

He leaned forward slightly, a smirk on his lips. He feels comfortable now, gaining his confidence back.

"Besides, I don't think my superiors would appreciate it if I turned up to a mission in a skeleton onesie."

You giggled, shaking your head at the obscene thought. You fished out a card from your wallet, giving it to him.

"Come by the oddity shop. We have lots of accessories, maybe you can switch out the mask for another, we have tons of stuff."

He took the card from you, feeling an odd sense of warmth as your fingers brushed against his. He looked down at the card, reading the shop's name and address. He couldn't help but feel a sense of intrigue at your offer.

"Maybe I will," he replied with a sly innuendo, "Seems like you've got quite the variety. I'm not sure if I'd fit in with your other customers, though."

"Don't worry, I've had worse come through. The goth community embraces all weirdness and odd people." You smiled at him.

He chuckled at your casual reassurance. It was true, he figured; a shop like yours probably did attract a fair share of 'odd' characters. He found himself admiring your ability to make him feel at ease, despite the obvious oddities of your persona. You were unapologetic in your interests and unapologetic in how you dealt with others as well.

He tucked the card into a pocket, feeling a sense of curiosity he hadn't experienced in a long while. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Here, in this weird and wonderful crowd, he felt like he could just... exist.

No stares, no whispers, no judgment—just acceptance of the strange and unusual. It was a strange, liberating feeling, to fit in somewhere he never expected. He allowed himself to relax a bit, his usual stiff stance softening slightly as he observed the quirky people around him.

He watched as a group of people with wildly colored hair and mismatched clothes gathered around and dance together, smooth, slow, yet wild movements. A girl with a buzzcut sporting a leather jacket and an array of piercings was talking amongst other people, holding up skull-themed earrings from her earlobe and giggling to herself.

A group of teenagers, all clad in black, were huddled together, trading bracelets and showing dance moves. This gothic music festival, with its dark and strange aura, was more welcoming than he expected...maybe he didn't dislike it so much after all. Here, amidst the sea of darkly dressed individuals, he felt a sense of acceptance he rarely experienced elsewhere.

He had thought he would stand out, a stark and stoic figure in the crowd, but the truth was quite different. Here, his oddities were just another part of the aesthetic, another shade amidst the shadows. Who would have thought he'd find such a sense of belonging in a sea of black clothes and alternative styles?

The atmosphere was different here, more inclusive and accepting. He wasn't singled out as an oddity; for once, he was just another face in the crowd. He decided to embrace the experience, allowing himself to enjoy the music and the company around him.

"You mentioned accessories," he said, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "You've got something that could outdo my mask, then?"

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