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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year ago

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Simmer #5

CH5. Wake 'n' Bake | The Menu [4.9K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

“Well, you don’t know what we can find. Why don’t you come with me, little girl? On a magic carpet ride.”

The diner was quiet and the radio was louder than usual, lilting through the kitchen and between the empty tables. It was a too hot Sunday, with most of the usual clientele swapping leather booths for loungers by the community pool. Only Mr Creel sat in his usual stool by the bar, parked perfectly underneath the TV screen that was playing the same old western movie that came on every day at three o’clock. Jonathan was manning the counter, pouring the old man refills when he grumbled, whistling as he went.

Everyone else had either gone home earlier or was preparing for the night shift that started at eight that evening. The diner was too hot, the old AC barely keeping up, blowing out a whisper of cool air that you and Jonathan had taken turns standing under, watching the glass door for any signs of life out on the street.

None came.

So you’d long taken off your apron and after some internal arguing with yourself, you had plucked up the courage to push the doors to the kitchen open. There wasn’t much happening there either. Eddie was the only chef in, clock watching until there was a customer to feed or for when Argyle would arrive to take over the next shift.

And now? Well, now you think you were just annoying him. But he was allowing it, and that was something.

“And what’s that?” You asked for the fourth time.

You were hunkered down on the stool you’d dragged over to Eddie’s station, elbows on the stainless steel and your cheeks squished between your hands as you watched the boy work. He’d told you and Jonathan he’d made some lunch, and after some back and forth (Eddie argued enough until Jonathan gave in), Eddie was making some ramen.

“It’s gochujang,” Eddie mumbled back. He was too busy concentrating as he tapped a teaspoon of the red paste into the pot on the stove. He was more relaxed than you’d seen him, with no big orders to cook, he’d been humming along to the radio, his curls knotted on the top of his head to keep himself cool. He’d merely smiled when you plopped yourself down at his table. “And if you ask me what something is again, m’gonna put you in this pot too.”

You didn’t take offence, not anymore. You scrunched your face at him. “Mean,” you said. “When’s it ready? It smells real good.”

“Soon. And I’m not mean,” he grumbled back, tossing some ramen noodles into the pot that had been ready to overspill with bubbles. “You’re annoying.”

You gasped, all faux dramatics. “And he’s rude too,” you told no one. You grinned when Eddie rolled his eyes and shook his head, but when he bent over to chop up some spring onion at a scarily fast speed, you saw him smile. “Can I do anything?”

“You could get us some drinks,” Eddie suggested and he peered out of the hatch at the empty tables. Mr Creel glared back. “Seeing as you know, you’re not doing anything. At all.”

You huffed but there was a laugh under it that Eddie was beginning to recognise. He raised his brows at you as you let your sneakers slap onto the floor, hands pushed to the worktop as if getting up was an awfully exhausting thing. “I suppose I could manage that,” you told him wistfully. “If you’ll cope without my help for five minutes.”

Eddie snorted, stirring a delicious smelling broth he had simmering in another pot. He levelled you with a stare that a month ago, would’ve made your stomach churn with nerves. “I’ll try,” he played along. “I’ll tell Jim it was your fault if the kitchen burns down though.”

“Snitch. Coke?” You asked him as you made your way to the door.

“Just the one line, sweetheart, I’m driving,” Eddie smirked back.

He had an adorable habit of letting his head tilt to the side when he joked with you, as rare as it sometimes could still be. Dimples in both cheeks, stray curls over those big eyes, thick lashes that he liked to bat at you when he thought he was being real funny. It was becoming a problem.

“You’re hilarious,” you told him flatly from the other side of the hatch, shooting some soda from the gun into a glass for him. “Jonathan, coke?” You called to the other boy from across the diner, holding up an empty glass for him too.

“Shhh!” Mr Creel hissed at you, teeth bared, brows furrowed and you grimaced back, a smile that wasn’t customer service worthy but you’d long learnt to stay away from him.

“God, stop annoying the customers,” Eddie told you when you came back in holding two pints of coke, he was grinning as he ladled your lunch into a big blue bowl, letting his eyes settle on you as you passed him his drink.

“Don’t tell Jim,” you joked, but the humour in your voice fell flat as you watched Eddie bring the glass to his lips and gulp the fizz down.

His neck bobbed as he swallowed, chin tilting up and back as he led his eyes flutter close and you could help but stare at the line of his jaw, the up and down of his Adam’s apple, the push of his lips against the cup. Your mouth felt dry, your head a little empty and when he opened his eyes and put the empty glass down, you were still staring.

“What?” Eddie was staring back.

You shook your head, words unable to form. You stuttered and stammered and shrugged your shoulders, gripping tightly to your own glass. “Nothing,” you finally managed. “What?”

“What?” Eddie squinted at you.

“What?” You asked again, before you could help yourself and you realised too late that you’d asked him a question there wasn’t even an answer to. “Shit.”

The corner of the boy’s mouth lifted and he looked at you, amused, if not a little concerned. “Okay,” he drawled, sliding your lunch over to you. “Here, eat. Lack of good food must be makin’ you loopy or somethin’, christ.”

So you ate in silence, sitting across from Eddie and exchanging shy smiles as he watched you hum at each flavour, nodding at Jonathan when he slapped him on the back in thanks, taking his own bowl outside so he could smoke at the same time. It was a new kind of friendship that still made you nervous, too aware when Eddie looked at you - like, really looked at you. Eyes earnerst, watching, gauging what you liked and what you didn’t. He knew that a scrunch of your nose meant you were unsure, a little taptaptap of your feet on the stool meant you loved it.

He still made you shy, even though you spoke more. Stomach dipping and somersaulting when he called your name out of the hatch, some kind of plate made up for you, grouching good naturedly about how you needed to stop skipping meals. It made your heart jolt when he got too close, when fingers brushed as he passed you a bowl of fruit, a sandwich you could inhale between serving tables.

But then again, maybe that wasn’t nerves. Maybe that was just the crush you were telling yourself you didn’t have.

It was becoming harder to lie.

“Good?” Eddie asked like always, letting his foot kick gently against yours. He’d finished his own bowl and was watching you with a fond look on his face as you wrestled with the last few noodles.

You nodded and hummed happily, “mhmm. Could’ve done with some more salt though.”

Eddie did a double take, lips parted to argue because he knew that broth was damn perfect, before he realised you were joking. He narrowed his eyes at your grin, tried to hide his own smile when you laughed.

“Oh, she’s actin’ real cute today, huh?” He snarked but everything about him told you he thought you were hilarious. He took your empty bowl from you, poked at your shoulder with a chopstick. “The self proclaimed crybaby s’gettin’ bold.”

It was a meaner type of teasing that you’d grown used to, but still, you wrinkled your nose at the boy as your cheeks burned, head ducking down at the memories of your teary eyed encounters with certain customers. You heard Eddie laugh as he dumped the bowls in the sink, but it wasn’t a cruel sound at all. And when you lifted your chin back up from your chest, he was back on the other side of the work station, elbows on the stainless steel and leaning over to you. Close. Closer than before.

You blinked and Eddie smiled, a lazy, knowing thing, his eyes darting over your face like he was able to read you. Maybe he could. “There she is,” he murmured softly. “Shy thing.”

“Oh my god,” you tried to joke weakly, your voice a soft, embarrassed drawl. “Stop.”

It made Eddie laugh, a wide grin pushing at his cheeks until the dimples you rarely got to see appeared. You wanted to push a finger to one, to see if the tip of it would fit perfectly into the dip. You sat on your hands instead.

“What?” The boy asked. “She’s got no jokes now?” But he smiled a little softer and went back to preparing the dough for tomorrow’s rolls, not saying anything else when you leaned back over the counter to watch. If you’d looked up, taken your eyes off the way his big hands kneaded at the sticky mess, you’d have caught the boy watching you, still smiling. Awfully fond.

—————

“Hey,” you interrupted a while later, once Robin had arrived to take over you shift, once Argyle was throwing some burgers on the grill for the customers that had finally shown up. “What’re you doing tonight?”

Eddie looked a little startled as he closed over his locker, chef whites in a bundle in his bag, ready for washing. He blinked at you, pretty, pouted lips parted as he wondered where this conversation would lead. “Uhh, I- I dunno. Probably gonna go home, roll a joint and wait for another day in this shithole to start. Why?”

You wondered if Eddie could hear your heartbeat. ‘Cause it echoed in your ears, inside your head. A thud that made your mouth feel a little dry and suddenly the bravery you’d felt when asking that question melted away with the boy’s gaze on you. You weren’t sure what you’d planned to ask. Maybe if he knew of any good films to rent. Maybe if there was a nice park to explore. Maybe if he’d want to hang out—

“That sounds like a really good night,” you said instead, a nervous laugh following your words and Eddie’s brows shot up in surprise.

“You smoke?” He asked in disbelief.

You shrugged, leaning back against your locker as you tried not to sound completely uncool. “Kinda? Not really. I don’t like to smoke it but- but I’d sometimes, you know, bake some brownies or something. I haven’t done it in a while, but—” you wrinkled your nose. “—moving to a new city really makes you wanna just… get really fucking high.”

Eddie was laughing and nodding, beaming at you with a pink flush covering his cheeks. You watched him swallow hard and then gesture to the door. He almost couldn’t meet your eyes when he said, “d’you, uh, wanna come hang out? Smoke with me?”

It took Eddie a whole ten minutes to drive to his house. A trailer that was tucked into the back of the park you passed every day. You shot him a look when he parked up and he rolled his eyes, like he knew what you were about to say.

“You drove me all the way home that day, when you live, like, seconds away from—“

“Oh, shut up,” he told you, scrunching his face. “It was a fuckin’ tsunami that day. You weren’t walkin’ anywhere.” He nipped his fingers playfully at your knee as he bent over to snatch his rucksack from the footwell. When he sat back up, he was too close. You held your breath. “Besides, Wayne told me I had to, remember?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes then, shoving at his shoulder as he cackled. “God, you’re such a gentleman.”

He was still laughing as he jumped out the van, surprising you as he appeared at your door to open it as you busied yourself with gathering your bag and jacket. Eddie waved his hand in a dramatic gesture as you got out, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I’m gentlemanly enough to be sharing my weed with you, sweetheart, don’t put me down too much.”

It made you soften and you followed him to his front door, the trailer humming from a generator you couldn’t see. “Thank you,” you told him shyly. “For this. For the invite.” Somewhere in an ugly part of your head, was an even uglier voice that was telling you you’d made him feel bad enough that he had to invite you. That he felt sorry for you.

You told it to shut up.

But Eddie turned the key and looked back at you over his shoulder, his eyes soft. “S’alright. What’re friends for?”

You blinked, unable to help the smile that spread across your lips. Your cheeks ached with it. “We’re friends, huh?”

Eddie walked into the trailer and waited for you to follow. “I know,” he drawled dramatically. “I don’t know how it happened either.” He was grinning, an awfully pretty thing.

You didn’t know what to say, or do, for that matter. This felt close to flirting, something that made that horrible crush you had rear up in interest, it’s heart pounding. But maybe that was just your own.

“Here,” Eddie gestured to a small dining booth, a c-shaped bench around a little table. He cleared a pile of laundry from it and looked flustered as he decided where to put it. It got thrown onto an armchair in the corner. “Sit down, you want a drink?”

That’s where you sat with a can of soda, watching with a stuck laugh in your throat as Eddie upended his tiny kitchen, looking for the bag of flour he insisted he had. “I swear, it’s in here,” he told you, holding various jars of spices and cake moulds. “What the fuck?”

“You’re supposed to be a chef, Eddie.”

“I know,” the boy wailed mournfully, swearing when he dropped a whole tub of dried fruit, chocolate sprinkles and vanilla pods. “Shit, kid. Looks like you’re gonna have to be a big girl and smoke up.”

He turned, raising his eyebrows at you like a challenge. You huffed, tipping your head back so he wouldn’t see the panic in your eyes. “Fine.”

And that’s how you ended up in Eddie’s bedroom, a space filled mostly with his double bed, a glaringly personal thing that you felt like you couldn't even look at. But he blushed and spread back the unmade sheets, fluffing up his pillows before he told you to make yourself at home. So you perched on the edge and toed your sneakers off, watching as Eddie flitted around his room, kicking things under the bed as he went, pushing cook books and comics back onto his shelves. Then he plopped himself down beside you, knees almost knocking, an old tin lunch-box on his lap. He flipped the lid and grinned as he produced an already rolled joint, wagging it in front of your face.

“A chef is always prepped,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“You’re a dork,” you whispered back but you leaned into his pillows as he brought it to his lips.

A lighter flickered, a flame lighting up his face in amber just for a second or two, and then he was blowing a cloud out towards his open window. You watched Eddie’s eyes shutter closed, pretty lashes fanning over his cheeks and his lips hung open for a second or two, letting out a sigh along with blue-grey smoke. He let his shoulders drop, his head roll. Melting, like butter in the heatwave.

Then, “here, have at it, sweetheart.” Eddie handed you the joint, careful that you didn’t burn yourself on the glowing ash. He watched you take it dubiously, eyeing it with caution as you prepared yourself to bring it to your lips. You cringed a little, inhaling too sharp, too quick, coughing it all back out before you could even inhale it properly.

You were mortified, coughing into your hand as you handed the joint back to Eddie blindly, eyes tearing up, blurring him and his room. He took it quick, making sympathetic noises as he rubbed his other hand down your spine. He waited until you wiped at your eyes, until you managed to catch your breath. “You alright?”

You wanted the ground to swallow you. “Mhmm,” you managed, keeping the heels of your palms pressed to your eyes, just so you wouldn’t have to look at him. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” Eddie said quietly, voice soft. “None of that, c’mon. You want another drink?”

You ignored him, reaching for the smoke instead, insistent on showing him you weren’t a complete loser. But Eddie tsked and held it out of your reach, frowning at you with concern. You wanted to tell him you’d almost missed that stitch between his brows. “Hey, woah, slow down, yeah?” Eddie knocked a hand into your knee, a comforting touch that didn’t push either of your boundaries. Yet. “You sure you wanna smoke? I can run back to Jim’s, see if I can smuggle some flour and we can make brow—”

You shook your head emphatically, not wanting to be any sort of annoyance. “No, no, it’s fine. I can try again.”

You weren’t sure if it was the setting sun that was coming through Eddie’s window that was turning his face fuschia, or if he was suddenly blushing something furious. It took him a second or two to meet your gaze and when he did, you saw a shyness there you’d never really seen before. Eddie was blushing.

“I could, uh,” the boy cleared his throat noisily, awkward and fumbling. He gestured to the joint he still held, to you, to himself. “I could, I could help. I could help you. You know?” He frowned at himself, annoyed at his own stuttering.

You frowned too, confused. “No?” You replied, unsure. Your hands were fisted in his sheets, a nervous reaction.

“Shotgun. I could, well— I could shotgun you.”

“Oh.”

The room suddenly felt infinitely smaller. Warm and intimate, soft with the last of the sunlight, dust motes floating in the rays that came through slats of the blinds. You were on Eddie Munson’s bed. With Eddie Munson. You sucked in a breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Eddie seemed as surprised as you were at your answer but you nodded firmly, keeping your gaze on his, your chin lifted in a boldness you so rarely felt. So Eddie nodded too. “Right. Um, yeah. Just— c’mere.”

It was a clumsy thing, the way you both shuffled closer, the mattress dipping, sheets rippling. You moved until your knees knocked against Eddie’s and he was watching you so carefully, cautious enough that you felt too shy, a burning in your chest that spread up across your neck, your face. Eddie was holding the joint out to the side, the smoke being drawn to the open window and you looked back and forth between the cigarette and the boy.

“Done this before?” Eddie asked you quietly.

It was suddenly silent in the trailer, in the whole park. Fuck, Hawkins had fallen asleep, you were sure of it, because looking at Eddie this close, you couldn’t hear the way the generators hummed, you couldn’t hear the crickets or cicadas, no car engines or muffled televisions. You could hear Eddie breathe though, normal enough before it hitched a little and he had to exhale that little bit heavier - like he was nervous too.

You shook your head and swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, chasing the taste of the orange soda you’d drank at the kitchen table. “No, never like this. I— I know what to do though.” You sounded so naïve, small and a little silly, but Eddie smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“Atta’ girl,” he murmured and then he was bringing the joint back to his lips. He spoke around it, muffled. “Ready, yeah?”

You watched the way his cheeks hollowed out, how his gaze got a little heavier even though he kept looking at you. And this time, instead of blowing the smoke out to the window, he leaned in, one hand holding the joint away from you both, the other gesturing for you to come closer. You obeyed, moving forward with your heart lodged in your throat. You moved until Eddie’s fingertips met your jaw, skimming over the skin there and he tapped gently with his thumb.

His gaze was lowered, lashes fanning out over his cheeks as he leaned in closer still, eyes searching yours for some kind of hesitation, a sign that you’d maybe changed your mind. And when he found none, he coaxed you a little further until his nose bumped yours and you gasped, lips parted and waiting. The boy opened his mouth, just barely, smoke slipping from between his lips and he gently blew it into yours. You didn’t realise how his hand had fallen to your neck, fingers curling around the sides of it, the cool metal of his rings on your overheated skin and the blunt scratch of his nails in your hair.

You inhaled, a shuddering breath, shaky from how close the boy was - nothing to do with the weed. Eddie’s hand on your throat made you feel higher than anything else had before. And when there was no smoke left, when the last of it had floated up towards the ceiling and had turned into wisps in the sunlight, neither of you moved. You were still close enough that your nose bumped his when you tilted your head and you could see the freckles on the bridge of it, the tiny silver coloured scar at the end of his right brow. You wondered what Eddie could see when he looked at you, if he’d find your imperfections, if he’d find them as pretty as you did his.

You watched as his eyes looked into your own, unabashed and completely shameless, like another hit of the joint made him a bit more bold than before. Maybe it had, because you were feeling fuzzy, a warm, heavy feeling pulling you into the mattress, into Eddie.

Your forehead touched his.

His thumb was on your jaw, tucked into the space underneath your ear and it was pressed there like he meant it. Like he wanted you to feel it and god, you did. You did. His eyes wandered, flicking from yours to your lips and back again, warmer than ever, a honey colour in the setting sun. You wondered what you both must’ve looked like, sitting cross legged and knees knocking on Eddie’s unmade bed, heads bent together like you were sharing secrets, like you were going to share more.

The boy swallowed harshly, Adam’s apple bobbing and his stare on your mouth and it all made you feel so heavy and warm and lightheaded at once. You weren’t sure if it was the weed, you weren’t sure if it was Eddie.

“Your eyes are really pretty,” he whispered and he sucked in a breath when your idle hands found his bare knees through the rips in his jeans.

You played with the frayed hem, the loose threads and tried not to squirm at such a compliment. You hummed, nose wrinkling even when you smiled. “Thank you,” you replied politely and just as quiet. “Your eyes are pretty too.”

The boy turned pink, a pretty flush over the bridge of his nose that you wanted to trace with your fingertip. He tilted his head, inspecting you, eyes flicking over each of your features like he was drawing you in his head. “You shouldn’t be handing out compliments,” he mumured bashfully. “Not when I was such a dick to you.”

You shrugged, smiling as you leaned back just a little, too focused on the way Eddie’s lips moved as he spoke. The small space you put between you both gave you some air and Eddie’s hand dropped from your neck to trail down your arm. His fingers found your ring, a dainty thing on your middle finger that was so different to his own that it was comical and he played with the gold as you did with the rips in his denim.

Touching. Still touching.

“S’okay,” you told him gently. “You’ve made up for it now.”

A wry smile, a thumb brushing over the inside of your palm. “I have?”

“Oh, yeah. Free food and free weed?” You grinned when Eddie scoffed. “What more could a girl want?”

It was a rhetorical question. Eddie knew that, but still, he hummed as if he were thinking about it, his fingers dancing over your wrist now, climbing, climbing, climbing. You wished he’d cup your jaw again, warm, wide hands making you feel small and soft.

“I dunno,” he mused. “What about a d—”

Whatever Eddie was going to say was interrupted by the opening of the trailer door. A sharp noise in the quiet and it rattled off of the wall as Wayne barged his way in, arms full of pizza boxes and a giant bottle of soda. “Ed!” He yelled out in greeting, oblivious. “Grubs up, boy, come get.”

It made you spring apart, the mattress squeaking obnoxiously at the movement and you burned at the noise, at what it made it sound like you were up to. You stared wide eyed at Eddie, like a teenager caught doing something they shouldn’t and suddenly you wondered if Wayne would shout at you both for getting high.

But then Eddie was yelling back something noncommittal as he got off the bed, looking back down at you with an amused expression. He bent at the knees, shins hitting the mattress and his hands found your knees where he squeezed them reassuringly. “Hey, hey,” he smiled like he found you funny. Maybe he did. “S’all good, relax. Wayne doesn’t care.”

You sucked in a breath and willed away the weed induced panic you could feel brewing in your stomach, a knotting of nerves that Eddie managed to unravel with the way his fingers smoothed over your lower thighs. So you smiled back and nodded even though you felt like cardboard and when Eddie offered his hand to help you stand, you took it.

“Hey, Wayne,” Eddie called out into the living room. “We got a dinner guest, that alright?”

You could hear the rustle of pizza boxes being opened, the smell of basil and tomatoes wafting through the trailer. Your stomach rumbled and Eddie laughed, chuckling harder when you batted the back of your hand into his side for his lack of manners.

“You can’t just announce that!” You hissed. “That’s so rude.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and then held out his hand to the bedroom door as if to say ‘see?’ when Wayne grunted and said, “If it’s Steve, tell him I ain’t paying extra for those damn mozzarella sticks when there’s already cheese on the pi— oh, hey, kid.”

Wayne looked surprised to see you as you shuffled out of Eddie’s bedroom in your socks. The boy had his hand on the small of your back as he coaxed you forward into the main space of the trailer. “Hi,” you waved shyly, watching with a hot face as Wayne looked at you, at his nephew and back again, brows raised in interest. “Sorry I interrupted your dinner plans, I—”

“Nonsense,” Wayne said at the same time as Eddie scoffed, “shut up.”

“C’mon, now, sit and grab a plate,” the older man urged. “Hope you like Jeopardy! ‘‘cause that’s pizza night tradition.”

You smiled and nodded as Eddie slid into the breakfast nook beside you, hips nudging yours as you budged up. And as Wayne argued with the remote control, the boy loaded up your plate with pizza slices, ignoring your protests completely.

“God, you’re such a feeder,” you joked weakly, still embarrassed to be crashing the Munson pizza night.

Wayne was still frowning at the buttons when he grunted and laughed. “Yep, the boy doesn’t know how to give someone a damn hug, but he’ll make sure you never go hungry. Gotta show love one way or another, huh?”

Nobody said anything and Wayne won the battle as the channel flicked over and the voice of Alex Trebek filled the room. You couldn’t quite look at Eddie and both of you sat side by side as you ate your pizza, Eddie’s curls hiding his face from view. You wondered if he was pink again, blushing and cursing out his uncle in his head.

You wondered if you should’ve said something.

But then, as if to prove some kind of point, Eddie barely glanced at you as he picked up the last slice of pepperoni from the box, and slid it onto your plate.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson imagine #linecook!eddie

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ramp-it-up · 28 days ago

Text

Best of All

Pairing: Pilot!Steve Rogers x Publicist! Reader

Word count: 3.3 K

Summary: You and Steve FINALLY make it to your suite. And the results are sweet.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY Minors, DNI. Former Enemies to Lovers, and there was only one bed, 20 yr angst, sexual frustration, A yacht, swimming,Steve sketching reader, dry humping, fingering, size kink, personal lubricant, woman on top/ in control, Captain/Sir kink, praise/degradation kink, dirty talk, sloppy oral (m/f receiving), raw p in v, breeding/lactation kink, creampie. Basically porn with plot. Not Beta’d. All errors are on me.

This is the next part in the Greatest series.

A/N: It has been just a little over exactly a year since I've written these two. Please forgive my ain't-shitness. And thank you for rocking with me. I love you all!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

You were relaxing on the bow of the yacht, staring out over an amazing view.

You’d had a delicious brunch with Aperol spritzes, and as the yacht floated on the beautiful Gulf of Genoa, the only sounds you heard were of the water, John Coltraine, and the scratching of Steve’s pencil against the paper of his sketch pad.

He had been wonderful, and contemplative, company for you.

Your time was spent journaling and looking at the water and the cliffs, rotating your lounger with the sun. You even dozed for a few minutes, waking up to find Steve looking at you piercingly as he sketched.

Your sister was right.

Steve was very much into you.

You could get used to this you thought as you got up and walked over to Steve, who looked up at you and smiled.

“Can I see what you’re sketching?”

Steve blushed, and then moved so that you could sit down beside him.

“Sure.”

He put his pencils down and handed his leather bound sketch book to you. You gasped.

“Steve! These are…”

You flipped the pages, looking to him for approval. He nodded and smiled at you.

There were many images, on the boat, some very detailed from the day, some rough sketches, but they were all clearly you. You turned to one drawing of you naked, and it made you feel some kind of way.

You’d never posed that way for him.

“Drew that one from memory. Last night.”

“You make me look so…”

“Beautiful? Then that just means I’m drawing you accurately.”

“You really see me this way?”

You were gazing at the sketches with wonder.

“I can’t believe that you don’t. Y/N. You are one of the most beautiful, most desirable women I’ve ever seen. People talk about Aria, but she looks just like you.”

You turned and put the sketch book down on the table beside Steve’s lounger.

“Can I have a kiss?”

Steve’s eyes lit up.

“You can have anything you want.”

“I want you…”

Steve groaned as you climbed up on his lap and grabbed his face. You traced his lips with your fingers before he closed the distance between you and captured yours with his own. You were breathless before he pulled back and rested his forehead on yours.

“That was… nice.”

Steve shifted, sending his crotch grinding into yours and relishing the way you shivered in his arms.

“You want me?”

Steve looked back up at you. Hopeful.

“Yes. And I want to try. A relationship? Dating once we get back to the states? It will be hard. I travel a lot with what I do, go from coast to coast, and all over the world with Aria.”

You were nervously speaking in questions.

“Hmmm. Wonder how I could get from coast to coast, and all over the world? Oh right, I have two airplanes and I’m a pilot.”

Steve smirked at you as you smacked him on the arm.

“I just don’t want you to feel as if you have to chase after me. Or wait for me to get back when I need to go. Long distance can be hard.”

Steve nodded, and then gave you a quick peck on your lips.

“I know. But I would follow you to the ends of the earth. And I’ve already waited for 20 years. What’s a little longer?”

“How can you be so damn perfect?”

You attacked him, kissing him again as he laughed and grabbed you, holding you close.

“Not perfect, maybe just perfect for you?”

“Maybe,” you smiled into his shirt as you traced a vein down his arm.

“But I want a do over.”

“A do over of what?”

“Of our first date.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight. But first, I wonder if you will give me some? Please? Pretty please Steve?”

You reached down and grasped his hardness in your hand; Steve moaned.

Steve’s mouth was open as you begged for him.

“Oh Baby, you have no idea how much I want that.”

You whined as you moved your hips to feel more of him.

“Steve… need you…”

Your sultry whisper in his ear made him weak.

“Me too. I just … I want it to be special… to take our time…”

“I need you inside me, Captain.”

“Fuuuuuck.…I want that too, Doll. So bad… I dreamt of it last night.”

Steve moved so that his mouth was on your neck.

“You taste like coconuts right now. Why is that?”

“Hmmmm. Flavored body oil spray. It’s edible.”

“Well then, I need to taste more…later. “

You writhed against him hoping for some relief.

“So desperate. I love it when you get needy for me, Baby.”

Steve took in your face and your lips opened in desire. He grabbed the back of your neck, wrapping his hand around your face and inserted his thumb into your mouth. You sucked at it greedily which made him groan again.

“Is that what you want?”

You moaned around his digit and nodded, your heart about to beat out of your chest. Steve leaned down to whisper in your ear as he shoved his thumb further past your tongue and held your mouth open.

“I loved the way you took it in your mouth yesterday. Such a good, good throat. Such a good, sweet girl for me.”

His hand was now at the crotch of your bathing suit and your eyes rolled back into your head at his filthy words as he gagged you with his digit. His long fingers on his other hand pulled the suit to the side and slowly inserted two inside you.

“I can barely get in here, Sweetheart. You’re gonna struggle to take me …”

You grunted, both at what he was doing to you and at what he was saying.

“Yes… you’ll have to be patient just a little while longer. Tonight…”

His wet thumb was caressing your nipples over your bathing suit now. You were frustrated.

“You’re all talk.”

“And you’ll do whatever I say. Later.”

Steve’s words and his steely eyed stare were speaking straight to your pussy. You clenched down on his fingers and he moaned.

“So fucking right. Patience, Doll. Just a little while longer. Meanwhile, you and I need to cool down.”

Steve abandoned you to take off his shirt, laughing at your lust before he reached down to gather you in his arms again while approaching the passerelle.

“Can you get your hair wet?”

“Yes, I planned on swimming, but are you really about to throw me in the water right now?”

“No. “

Steve shook his head as he stopped on the edge.

“Good.”

You smiled as you took in the view.

“I figure we’d take the plunge together.”

And then he backed up and ran toward the edge, you squealing in his arms, the warm mediterranean water separating you when you hit the surface. Soon you felt his arms slip back around you as you found each other again and kissed in the warm Italian sun.

You wanted this moment to last forever.

—-

You made it through the 6 hour voyage and back to the hotel to change for dinner. The meal was nice, with great wine and even better conversation.

After the meal, Steve asked a question as you walked to the elevators.

“Does that invitation to your suite still stand?”

You pressed your back into the elevator wall as Steve pressed the button for your floor before you even answered his question.

This cocky bastard. It was so hot.

“Sure, are we gonna have a pillow fight?” You raised your arms to his board shoulders as he leaned down to your ear.

“Did you say pillow bite?”

You cocked your head at him, smirking.

“So it’s like that?”

“Very much so.”

You kissed him as the doors opened onto your floor. Steve kept his hands on you as you opened your door and immediately had you up against the first available surface once the door closed hands and mouth everywhere he could reach.

After you two almost broke what looked to be a very expensive vase, Steve stepped back from you, lips swollen from your kisses and chest heaving.

“D’you want me as much as I want you?”

You realized now that the look on Steve’s face that you’d once interpreted to be irritation with you or annoyance, was in fact concentration. You pondered the meaning of being the center of his attention as you moved toward him.

“Do you not remember the way I took your cock down my throat the other day?”

You pressed your body against his and Steve swore, growling in your ear.

“Oh yes. That was truly.” He kissed your neck.

“Truly.”

This time the kiss was on the plane of your chin.

“Truly amazing.”

He kissed your lips softly when you decided you were tired of playing around. You grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bedroom.

—-

Soon, you were both naked in the bedroom, a bottle of Prosecco rescued from the honor bar and opened on the dresser. Your eyes were drawn to Steve Rogers, who was as beautiful as one of the statues in the Galleria Borghese.

Steve was grasping his cock at the base as his eyes swept over your body. He was remembering the taste of you.

“You are so beautiful.”

He squeezed himself harder and tried to keep from moving his hand up and down his thick shaft as you stared and licked your lips.

“Come over here, Stevie. Please.”

You lay on the bed on your stomach, showcasing your ass and looking at him invitingly. Stave moved closer, but stopped.

“What if I told you that I wasn’t going to fuck you tonight?”

You began to pout.

“Fix that face.”

That command made you whimper at the power in his voice.

“You are going to fuck me, Doll.”

“What?”

Steve reached for your hand as he switched places with you. Then he lay there and resumed stroking himself. You licked your lips at the sight and retrieved the bottle of Prosecco, suddenly very thirsty.

You contemplated the power he was giving you, and decided you liked this rush of control.

“I like the idea of that, Steve. I’ll get to express exactly how much I want you.”

You took a swig and leaned down to kiss him, giving him a taste from your lips. He licked your mouth as you thumbed his nipples, causing him to shiver from your cold touch. You couldn’t resist tasting his cherry red lips again and again as you lightly squeezed his throat, then ran your hand down his sternum and his abs to the tip of his wet cock.

You grazed the length of him down to his balls, then looked into his eyes and kissed his lips as you took control of him.

“Your lips are perfect,” you whispered as you caressed him.

“No. yours,” replied Steve as he sought your mouth again.

“You like my mouth?”

As you leaned to teasingly kiss the thick cap of his cock, then took him fully down your throat

“Oh.. Shit…”

Steve massaged your scalp as you bobbed on him

“You are so fucking hot, Doll…”

You looked up with a smile and moved to lick his nipple, then kiss him again as you stroked him. Steve was mesmerized. Your hands, your lips, your tongue, he couldn’t concentrate on any one part of you that was ruining him.

It was sensation overload, and he needed to focus to not shoot off.

You were drunk on power. You spit on his cock, deep-throated him once, twice more, and then pulled away, causing Steve to groan as you withdrew contact, your sloppy blow job scrambling his brain. His head was on a swivel as he watched you get up to go to the dresser.

“May I?”

Steve nodded, eager for what was to come. You had a small spray bottle in your hand, and when the liquid made contact with his body, he jumped from the sensation. You rubbed the oil on his cock and up his body to his nipples, basking in the rapt attention he paid you as you sprayed yourself between your breasts. Steve’s cock got impossibly harder in your hand at the sight.

“I think I’m gonna like this.

You loved to hear his sexy deep voice break.

“You like me?”

“Yeah. I…”

Steve trailed off as your hands roamed his body.

“I like you too, Stevie,” you kissed him again. ”

Steve actually whimpered as you swung your leg over his hips and sat down on his cock, rubbing your pussy along his shaft as it lay against his stomach. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw to keep from manhandling you.

“I wanna try that sweet cunt.”

“Hmmm. Is it sweet? Wanna taste it again?”

You leaned back and circled your clit with two fingers, then inserted them into his pretty mouth. Steve’s adam's apple bobbed as he sucked your fingers and swallowed your taste. You pulled away to suck his cock again until he was moaning, at which point you kissed and licked your way up his body, settling your thighs at his shoulders.

He gripped your ass as he turned hushed head so that his lips could kiss your thigh. His fingers reached around your leg to play in your crease as he gave your clit kitten licks and kisses. You tried to move back down, but he grasped your thighs hard enough to leave bruises that would give you daydreams the next day. He started sucking your clit so intently that you began seeing stars.

“Wanna fuck you now, Stevie. Wanna cum on your cock”

You were on the edge as Steve pulled off of your clit with an obscene slurp.

“I’m yours, Y/N.”

You reached back and grabbed his throbbing cock as you scooted your pelvis down, one hand on his neck and one hand positioning him to enter you. His shaft was large, but the head was even wider, and the stretch as you worked yourself open on him made you moan loudly. Steve grabbed your chin to make you look at him while you slid down his length, stretching yourself out so incredibly well.

“My cock looks so big against your tiny pussy.”

His eyes were riveted.

“It is big, Captain. You’re so huge.”

You grabbed the headboard while you adjusted to his size. Steve’s hands came up around your waist and held you steady as you trembled around him.

Those blue eyes looked up at you with adoration.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Are you okay, Doll?”

“It feels amazing,” you stared down into his eyes and smiled, your slick leaking down his thick shaft to collect and drip off his balls.

“Yes. Yes it does. Holy mother god.”

He looked down to where you were connected.

“You’re wrapped around me so tight and so good, Doll.”

Steve looked up at you and licked his lips, pupils blown wide and struck dumb by lust.

You leaned down and kissed him when you bottomed out on him.

You stared at each other as you both finally got what you wanted. You took his head in your hands and kissed him as you pounded together.

Then you started moving.

Steve played with your nipples and you arched backwards as he planted his feet and pistoned up into you faster.

“Oh! Steve. Feel so full. So good.”

Steve wrapped his arms around your waist and held you in place as his hips moved at the devil's pace. The sound of his dick breaching your wet pussy and skin slapping on skin was everything. His thumb went to your clit and traced figure eights as you shuddered in his grip.

“F-f-f- u-u-u-ck! I’m- I’m coming!”

“Give it to me!”

He stroked you through your orgasm and then sat up, manipulating you so that you were sitting back on your arms in his lap as he moved you up and down his cock like a sex toy.

“Shit, you feel so good!”

Steve looked down at you and then up at the ceiling, eyes rolling

“Jesus, you’re so fucking hot.”

You looked down and the image of Steve’s large member destroying your hole was enough to make you cum around his cock again. Steve took control, taking your hips in his large hands and moving you at his will.

“Oh my god.”

He ground you against the base of his cock and started grinding circles for his greedy eyes and your pleasure. You were addicted.

“Such a good little slut for my cock. Need you to give me one more. That’s it. Good girl.”

He grabbed you by the hair and kissed you as you shuddered through your orgasm and suddenly, you were on your back as Steve flipped you over, getting on his knees and folding you in half to fuck you even better.

Steve stopped as he tried to hold back.

“You got me so close Doll… I gotta calm down.”

“I just want you to stuff me full of your cum, Captain.”

“Ooohhhhhh. Fuck.”

Steve sped up and then stopped, trying to calm down. But he couldn’t help what he said next that turned out to be his doom.

“Are- are you trying to have my baby, Y/N.”

You arched against him, shuddering at the thought.

“Nnnnnnoooooo. Fuck. Maybe.”

“You wanna be all round and full of my child, tits so full of milk…so I can suck… holy fuck!”

The image was making Steve start to shoot off.

“Fill me up, Steve–I”

“Ahhh!”

And then you keened as you felt his hot cum start to spurt against your walls. You came around his rapidly pulsing cock as he finished inside you.

You two were a hot, sweaty heap as you came down together, Steve kissing your forehead and praising you.

“You did so good for me.”

He gathered you in his arms.

“I love you.”

Steve gazed at you.

“Think I’ve been in love with you for 20 years, Y/N.”

You smiled at him.

“I love you too.”

You said it, barely above a whisper. But you meant it. Then you said it again.

“I love you, Steve Rogers.”

You attacked him, kissing him again as he laughed and grabbed you, holding you close.

“All of the bad things that we’ve gone through to get to this moment is for the best. I can see that now.”

Steve looked to you just like that little boy you met 20 years ago. Then you saw the beautiful man who loved you.

“You’re right. And this, right now. It’s the best of all.”

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scoops-aboy86 · 2 months ago

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Your Smile Is My Favorite

Prompt Used: Summer reading (@thehairandthebanished) and cheesy pickup lines (@softsteddieseptember) | Your Smile Is My Favorite | Rating: T | CW: mild body image issues | Additional Tags: chubby Steve Harrington, gay Eddie Munson, pining, bizarre communication through intricate pickup line rituals, Robin loves these two idiots

I wrote most of this while on a 11 hour car trip, I’ll post it to ao3 later. 🥱 Still the 4th in my time zone though!

It’s hard to stay absorbed in a book when Steve Harrington is swimming laps in his little red shorts, but Eddie is managing.

Sort of. Kinda.

Okay, not really. Or at all.

But he’s read Return of the King so many times before that he can fill in any paragraphs his eyes accidentally skim over from memory, so it’s fine. And he definitely rolled high on stealth by being smart enough to bring sunglasses, because Middle Earth has nothing on his view of Steve’s chest while the guy does the backstroke.

Earlier in the summer Steve would have been poolside with Eddie and Robin, sprawled out in the sun snacking on pizza and chips with them and letting Eddie draw him into their umpteenth debate on which is better, Coca Cola or Mountain Dew. Now he’s going at it in the pool like he has something to prove, or diving in over and over while complaining about his form.

Which, Eddie thinks, is a very fine form indeed. He’s thickened up some since their harrowing adventures last Spring Break, transformed from merely good-looking to downright beefy in a way that makes Eddie’s mouth water and fingers twitch with the urge to rake through that tantalizing chest hair, test the give of Steve’s deliciously softer pecs and stomach. It’s starting to become a problem.

As if Aragorn, son of Arathorn, would have an easier time concentrating on a book about the Party’s adventures if Arwen were parading around in front of him while scantily clad, Eddie thinks, trying to make himself feel like a little bit less of a pining loser.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Robin says, sounding bored from the next lounge chair over. She hasn’t even looked up from her own book.

Eddie considers protesting. He could; they’ve never actually discussed the way they’d clocked each other as queer during Spring Break, he has plausible deniability.

Instead, he says, “Got a camera you can loan me, Birdie?”

She snorts, sliding her bookmark into place as she turns towards him on her lounger. “No, but now that we’re talking about it, can we talk about how your crush is visible from, like, space?”

“He is not!” The protest tumbles out of him before Eddie even thinks about it, and his cheeks immediately flare red under layers of sunblock. It’s not like Robin would talk about the way her platonic soulmate had recently put on some extra weight like that, Eddie is just a moron. Well, he’ll just have to blow past it and pretend he’d been… bluffing about his crush not being Steve. Yeah. “Uh, I mean. Fuck, I’m not being too obvious, am I?”

Robin’s grin is smug, and definitely a little bit at his expense. “Not really. You’re super easily distracted when there’s more people around, so the kids haven’t picked up on it yet.” She glances back at the pool and the expression softens to amused affection. “It’s written all over your face right now, but I’m pretty sure dingus over there has this fixed idea about your type being all dark clothes and leather and tattoos. He’ll never figure it out on his own, completely hopeless.”

That’s a relief to hear. Eddie relaxes beneath the shade of his poolside umbrella, glances down at his book again…

And snaps it shut and scrunches up on his side to face her too. He’ll be able to find his place again later, more or less. The occasional splashes of Steve reaching one side of the pool and flipping around to swim back fades into the background for the first time all day in the face of this new, unexplored conversational territory.

“So,” he says matter-of-factly. Because he’s reconciled with this a long time ago: Robin has literally helped save his life a number of times, she’s safe. “Clearly you’ve got me all figured out. And there’s no way you could be around that all the time and still get anything done without being… oppositely inclined.”

She nods, and the teeny tiny bit of him that had been braced just in case he was wrong relaxes. “Yeah. I don’t see the appeal, but I’ve literally seen a few girls walk into things when they catch sight of him.”

Eddie snickers, like the hypocrite slightly wired on nerves and relief that he is. Curbs, trash cans, the glass doors of Family Video… he’s been there, done that, and been forced to turn it into a bit so no one catches on to what all of those instances had in common. (Steve smiling at him. Steve looking at him. Just, Steve.)

“Not as many lately though,” Robin confides, a little sad. “Shallow bitches.”

“Shallow as hell,” Eddie agrees. One hundred percent. “They have no idea what they’re missing out on.”

“It’s taking a toll on him,” she continues. “You know, how his hair kinda deflates a little when he’s bummed out? Those great big puppy dog eyes come out and it’s all—” her voice drops in a possible Steve impression “—‘Is it me, Rob? What am I doing wrong?’”

Eddie huffs a wordless disagreement with that whole sentiment. Wrong with Steve? Wrong with Steve? There’s nothing wrong with Steve, in his opinion. Badass scars, heart of gold, hair of the gods, and a little more meat on his bones making him even more solid and dependable? Sign Eddie the fuck up.

Sure, there’s also the nightmares and a general jumpiness whenever the phone rings or lights flicker or a radio starts to crackle, but the same can be said of pretty much everyone in the Party, Eddie included. It’s perfectly understandable after everything they’ve been through, the number of times they’ve helped save the world.

“I think that’s why he’s leaning so hard into swimming again,” Robin adds. And even though she seems totally casual, there’s something… not pointed, exactly, but definitely not dull behind her words. She’s giving him a look that Eddie can’t figure out, because he just doesn’t have the same kind of in-tune-ness with her that she and Steve display on a regular basis, having conversations with nothing but stares, blinks, and funny eyebrow twitches.

He tries anyway. Even pushes his sunglasses up into his hair for a clearer look, but message not received. Frowning, he glances over his shoulder at the pool again. “Because he’s… upset about not going on dates lately?”

Not that Eddie had been paying attention or anything. Not that he’d daydreamed hopelessly a few times that it was because Steve was hung up on him, lingering a bit more than necessary when dropping off and picking up the kids on Hellfire days. Inviting Eddie to hangout days like this. Taking Eddie up on it whenever he offers to smoke the guy out, usually when they both have dark circles from sleeping poorly blooming under their eyes and everything about the no longer in peril world around them feels like too much. Springing for fast food whenever they get the munchies, since Eddie supplied the grass…

“Because he thinks there’s something wrong about him,” Robin corrects, “that he needs to work out.”

Oh. What—oh. Eddie blinks, reorients, and realizes that the thing he hadn’t been able to read before is concern. “But… he looks so good,” he says dumbly.

Steve is self-conscious about his weight? Oh no, that won’t do at all. Eddie’s mind is already racing through ways to reassure their friend that he looks great, fantastic, amazing, all the positive adjectives that he knows. He wants to build Steve up, make sure he knows that there are definitely people who would absolutely jump at the chance to be with him.

Or, you know, right here. Or something.

Splashing sounds draw his attention back to the pool, and it’s Steve wading up the shallow end towards them, apparently tired out for the time being. And Eddie… panics.

“Damn, Harrington,” he blurts out, “is it hot out here or is it just you?”

Which is. It’s. Something out of that terrible pickup lines book one of the Corroded Coffin guys found at a yard sale a few weeks ago—he can’t remember who exactly, maybe Jeff?—that they’d all howled over, reading the worst ones out loud in ridiculous voices. Why the hell is that what popped into his head?

Steve pauses with one foot still in the pool, squinting at him. “Uh… It’s definitely hot today. Are you… overheated or something? I could get you some ice water.”

“No, I’m good,” Eddie manages. And then, because he’s an idiot, he continues, “Have I told you lately that you’re very attractive? You must eat magnets for breakfast.”

He catches a glimpse of Robin out of the corner of one eye. For a second he hopes that she might step in and save him from himself, but nope; her face is frozen in a look of appalled fascination. No help coming from that quarter.

“I,” Steve starts, stepping the rest of the way out of the pool and putting both hands on his hips like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “Dude, are you high?”

If only he were. The proximity of Steve’s naked, dripping wet chest and the gentle roll over the top of his swim trunks seems to have roughly the same effect on him though.

“Nope,” Eddie squeaks. His face feels incandescent, and he can’t even blame it on a sunburn. And still he opens his mouth again, because he’s already gone this far, might as well commit to the bit. “But we should smoke up later, sweetheart. I think weed be really good together.”

That one wasn’t from the book. It’s an Eddie Munson original. If death took him now, he would not hate it.

Steve looks to Robin, who shrugs and throws him a towel. He catches it and starts drying his hair, returning his attention to Eddie with a perplexed look. “Low blood sugar?” he asks, and it takes a second for Eddie to place that Steve is still trying to guess why he’s being so weird.

As if the Freak of Hawkins needs something so pedestrian as a reason.

“We can order pizza,” Robin suggests in a strangled voice. She’s trying so hard not to laugh, which is good. Probably.

Eddie can muster a little gratitude for that, right up until he opens his mouth again and “Oh, are you craving pizza? Because I’d love to get a pizz-a you” falls out.

… Maybe he does have low blood sugar. Or, like. A brain tumor or something.

Steve sends Robin another look, then shrugs and heads inside the house. Presumably to order pizza, and hopefully for Eddie’s sanity to put on a shirt.

As soon as the glass door slides shut behind him, Robin whips around and whisper yells, “What the hell was that?!”

Eddie throws himself back on his lounger and covers his face with both hands. “I don’t know. I wanted to cheer him up, make him feel good about himself or something, but—”

“And you thought hitting on him would do the trick? Very badly, I might add!”

“Oh, like you know anything about what works when hitting on dudes!” Eddie shoots back, even though she’s right. So very right. Cruelly correct, to a poor gay man who is suffering.

He rolls over on the chair, only putting a knee or elbow through the plastic straps beneath him a few times before flopping face down and tugging his own unused towel over his entire head. It’s almost restful under there. The lounger cradles his face a little too high because the back is still angled slightly up for, you know, lounging… and Return of the King is dry and solid under one shoulder, twisting his frame a little oddly, but other than that…

By the time Steve comes back outside, Eddie barely notices. He feels slow and drowsy from the heat, everything muffled by the towel. But he does hear a scrape over the concrete beneath him and cracks an eye open to peer through the gaps in the chair.

It’s a slice of pepperoni and extra cheese on a paper plate, positioned directly below his head, right where he can smell it.

Fuck, okay. He can’t not get up for food freely offered. It’s just not how Wayne raised him.

“There you are,” Steve says brightly when Eddie emerges and resituates himself with the plate in hand. “Feeling better? Seemed like the heat was getting to you there.”

“Must’ve,” Eddie replies with a weak laugh. “Thanks.” For the pizza, and for allowing him some semblance of dignity to fall back on after… whatever that had been. Because Steve, above all else, is a good dude; something Eddie has been all too aware of for over a year now.

Steve passes him a can of Mountain Dew and taps his own Coke can against it like a toast. “Don’t mention it. And, uh, Eds…” He’s starting to smile, just a little. “I know this is going to sound cheesy, but I think you're the gratest.”

Somewhere to Eddie’s other side, Robin chokes on her drink and has to cough a few times to clear it.

Eddie just stares, jaw dropped open and feeling flushed all over, heart in his throat. Even with his hair still wet and smelling strongly of chlorine, Steve has somehow retained that signature swoop. Maybe he fixed it while he was inside, procuring pizza and slipping into an old and raggedy high school gym shirt that makes him only slightly less biteable.

And that smile, fully bloomed now and brighter than the afternoon sun. Like he’s decided, playfully, to meet Eddie at his level no matter how dumb it is.

“Alright,” Robin rasps. “Okay. I’m just gonna go inside to finish my summer reading while you dingi do… whatever this is.” Followed by the creak of her chair as she clambers off.

“Don’t mess with the thermostat,” Steve calls after her. He turns slightly to do it and releases Eddie from his tractor beam stare, letting Eddie breathe again—when had he stopped doing that? And then those hazel eyes are back on him, hypnotizing. “Well? Cat got your tongue, or do you have any more?”

The words are… different, now that they’re alone. Quieter. Steve is leaning forward slightly, legs over the side of the chair as he faces Eddie. Elbows on his knees and Coke can dangling forgotten from one big hand. His stare is intense in a way that is almost too terrifying to try to read into.

Eddie wets his lips nervously. “No, I… I’ve got more.” He sits up a little straighter, turns to put his feet down on the shaded but still warm concrete and face Steve head-on. “I’m no photographer, but I can picture us together.”

It sounds, feels, almost terrifyingly like a confession.

Steve’s grin gets impossibly brighter and Eddie is back to not daring to breathe, because what is happening. “Are you a camera? Because every time I look at you, I smile.”

Which is. That’s. Does he? Eddie is having some sort of out of body experience trying to think back.

The part of him that’s still anchored in bones and nerves and skin takes a deep breath. Committing to it.

“Of all the beautiful curves on your body, your smile is my favorite,” he hears himself say, and it’s probably the plainest, most honest words he’s uttered in his entire twenty-one years of life.

It’s not like he thinks Steve is going to punch him for saying it. Or even for saying it like that. Good dude, inescapable. But he wasn’t expecting the guy’s eyes to go big and molten, or for him to swallow hard, all while that amazing smile never dims.

“I’m… Shit, I’m going to give you a kiss, Eddie. If you don't like it, you can return it.”

And then Steve leans forward, and does.

Half an hour later, Robin comes back outside to check on them and finds the two young men twined together on one lounger. Steve is sprawled half on top of Eddie, who looks like he’s holding him in place with both legs and teasing a half eaten slice of pizza against Steve’s mouth. Steve snaps at it with his teeth, and Eddie yanks it away but then goes back in to tap it against his lips anyway with a laugh, loose and easy. Happy.

They both look so happy together.

She knew it. All she’d had to do was get those two pining idiots talking about something real—even if Eddie had surprised her with a deeply unexpected means of doing so. Whatever, he’s weird, nothing new there. The important thing is that her plan to end her two best friends’ ridiculous mutual pining for one another had worked.

And Steve hadn’t believed her when she’d insisted that the metalhead definitely doesn’t think it’s a bad thing that his clothes all fit a little more snug these days. Ha. One more tally on her own You Rule column.

Feeling magnanimous, Robin decides to wait until they’re done with lunch to turn the hose on them.

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @irishvampireboy @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls @theseaofdespair

#chubby steve harrington #scoops words #wg steddie #sbtsb24 #Soft Steddie September

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sinisterexaggerator · 6 months ago

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Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

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Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren. Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company.

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends.

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment.

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action.

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.”

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you.

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around.

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed.

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high.

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part.

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger.

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth.

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner.

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose.

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose.

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable.

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds.

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints.

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud.

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown.

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life.

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin.

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance.

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm.

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes.

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center.

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl.

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit.

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it.

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings.

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time.

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption.

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin.

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking.

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again.

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips.

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous.

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection.

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return.

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss.

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

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ellaa-writes · 10 months ago

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I should really be working on my other fic's but I just need to get this out of my head. Not proof read (when is anything)

Cw: dubcon/cnc. Drugs, smut, blood, death, and violence. 18+, MDNI

Another boring party, a gathering of people you didn't care much for. They are your boyfriends friends and associates, they scare you. Being around a bunch of drunk idiots, lines of coke and who knows what spread out on the coffee table.

You should have broken up with him a long time ago. But the sex was decent and he liked spending his money on you. Luxury vacations, a new car, a penthouse in the city and all the best designer clothes. You became complaint in this mess.

Stumbling away from the dwindling party goers, trying to get away from the noise and to find your boyfriend Sergi. You always hated this house, so isolated in the woods. Acres of nothing but wilderness surrounding you, mocking you. The hallways always a maze, trying to find the door to the bathroom.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, surrounded by marble, quartz and gold fixtures. Your eyeliner was smudged, lipstick long gone. You looked like you fell down a flight of stairs. Wiping away the mess and making yourself look less depressing. Fresh air, that's what you needed.

Walking back out, everything was eerily quieter than before. A few people still sprawled out on the white leather sofa, in different stages on undress. You avoided looking, not wanting to see what comes next. Wandering down another white empty hallway, following the sound of hushed voices. Finding your boyfriend, and two of his closest friends gathered around a desk. Talking about the next shipment and distribution. His eyes snapping to yours, a quick flick of something nafarious behind him before he smiled big, beckoning you inside.

"Come darling." he motioned for you to enter, you hesitated. "I'm going to go get some air." you mumbled, stumbling towards the back entrance that led to the pool and patio. Hearing your boyfriends footsteps catching up to you. His arms encasing you from behind, pulling you into his chest.

"You ok?" he asks, a small hint of genuine concern. "Yeah, yes. I- just needing air. That's all." you struggled to say. His lips peaking you in the side of your head as he let you go. Giving your ass a hard smack, a small yelp leaving your throat. "Don't be gone for too long." it was a warning, one you wont take lightly. Giving him a small smile as he walked back to the office.

Soon as you stepped into the crisp night air you sucked in a deep breath. Allowing it to fill your lungs and blowing it back out. Taking a seat on one of the lounge chairs, closing your eyes and indulging in the silence.

Glass, the sound of it shattering disturbing your small slice of peace.

"What the hell was that?" you asked yourself, sitting up in the lounger, side eyeing the house. That's when the screams started to come in. Turning your blood into ice, you shot up from your spot. Racing to the door your came from, and towards the office. The door was closed and locked, you started to bang on it before hearing gun fire coming from the common area.

Your heart was racing, what the hell was going on. Before you could gather yourself one of your boyfriends came running around the corner. His clothes covered in blood, his eyes locked on you as he ran up. Taking a hold of you as he continued to run back down the hallway towards the back entrance.

"We gotta get the fuck out of here." he was yelling right into your ear but he sounded so far away. Your mind was locking up, struggling to understand how dire your situation has become.

"What-.. What the fuck is going on?" you asked the man, trying to remember his make. Leo, it has to be. "It's a fucking sting, we need to get far away." he dragged you down the stone steps leading towards the front of the house. Coming to a stop, armoured vechiles were blocking the driveway.

"Fuck." he whispered, looking around for another option. "Where's Sergi?" you asked Leo, your boyfriend where the hell is he?

"Hiding that mother fucker." Leo hissed quietly. He finally looked at you, his head tilted has he looked you up and down. Suddenly becoming very self conscious of your barely there dress. You yanked you hand from his grip, taking a few steps back. His face twisting into anger.

"Where the fuck you think your going." he hissed, stomping towards you. You bolted, running back into the house. Turning the corner and being met with a blood bath, three bodies filled with bullet holes and oozing blood. You had to shut your eyes to stop the vomit from rising. "You stupid fucking bitch." Leo roared from behind you, you ran past the living room and to the stairs. Taking two at a time as you climbed them, Leo's heavier footsteps not far behind.

Taking sharp turns down the maze of endless white hall ways, opening the master bedroom and slamming it closed behind you. Using you body as weight while trying to secure the lock, Leo throwing his into the door. Screaming and cursing from behind the secure door, you began stepping back from the door. Watching as it shook from his impact, a loud shot ringing out. You barely missed the bullet as it prentrated through the door. A thump followed by blood seeped from under, you found yourself gasps for air. Running to the attached bathroom just in time to empty your stomach into the bathtub, crumpling to the floor. You couldn't stop the trembling as it wrecked your body. The hicupping and head pounding, everything was too much.

You were too busy spiraling too notice and a shadow emerge from the closet, closing in on your fast. The butt of a rifle connection to the back of your head, sending you into the abyss.

You woke sometime later, face down and drooling. Your hands were tied at your back, your ankles fastened together. You could hear your name being called as you came in and out of consciousness. Finally getting you eyes to focus on the to your left, Sergi, his face was beaten and bloody. But he was alive, your tried to reach out to him but couldn't. "Shh, shh, it's ok." he whispered out. "What the fuck." you croaked back. "Quiet, they are close." he hissed to you. Turning silent as the masked assailants entered what you assumed was the dining room. Sergi turned from you, eyes straight ahead as blood soaked boots came to stop in front of him.

"Up!" a thick German voice yelled, you and Sergi were yanked up into your knees. You eyes followed the boots all the way up passed two massive thighs followed by a wide torso and shoulders. A hooded head rested upon them, it's stormy blue eyes piercing down at you. You couldn't help the gaps that left your mouth, it was followed by a laugh from the giant. His eyes trailing up and down your body, you could feel a breeze brush past your ass, looking down to find the bottom of your dress pushed up to your waist, exposed to the prying eyes of the people around you.

The giant tore his eyes from you and focused them on your boyfriend Sergi. "Tell where the coordinates and I'll let her live." you turned to Sergi, watching as the command bounced around his head. He didn't look at you, didn't even acknowledge you were there. Instead he spit at the man in front, cursing him to hell. The man who your assumed was the leader stuck out his leg, connecting his boot with Sergi's jaw. His head snapping back as blood splattered across your face.

You jumped back from the impact, the trembling starting up again. You tried not to panic, but you could feel your lungs locking up, refusing to cooperate. Bile rose in your throat, burning a path up and out. Releasing it all to the right of you, doubling over in pain. All you could hear is your own vomiting and laughter.

"I'll let you watch as I take my time with her." the words weren't directed at you but to the bleeding man howling in pain next to you. The German was knelt down in front of your boyfriend, holding his head by the hair. "Don't worry, I'll put you out before we finish her." the English was broken but you got the message. Your body was racked by sobs and pleas, you didn't know what you were saying. You couldn't look at Sergi's face, knowing he never truly cared about you beyond your body and face.

"Shhhhhh." the giant was now on you, grabbing your chin in his grip and facing you towards him. The hood over his face making him look much more menacing. "We'll have our fun." he taunted as he dragged his knife down the side of your face towards your chest. You could feel the blade slide across your chest, and down the center of your breasts as it tore open your dress.

The hooded monster removed the blade and tucked it into his belt. Grabbing you by the throat as he easily maneuvered you to the dining table, tossing you belly first onto the wood. Taking a hold of your bound arms, you felt the restraints around your ankles come undone, the thick thighs of your captors edging itself between your thighs. You felt his gloved hands grip the flesh of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart and finishing with a hard slap.

"You better be watching. Won't recognize this oreety face when I'm done." he was taunting your boyfriend. Grinding his hips into your ass, pushing his hard bulging crotch into you. Making you squirm and gasp, closing you eyes hard. Trying to make everything stop and disappear. "What a hot body." the giant said all to quietly as he ripped the dress from your body. Tossing the shredded material to the side, leaving you in only your risqué panties. You could hear him hmm in approval behind you, his hands running up and down your back as the dug into your hips, gripping your panties as he slid them down your legs.

"I'll tell you!" Sergi's voice screamed from behind, making the German stop in his tracks. "So now you play." the giant teased once again grabbing your ass cheeks and spreading them. You could feel the cool air kiss your lips as he spread you open, you tried clenching you thighs but was stopped by a hard stinging slap to your ass. And suddenly the instrusion was gone, leaving you bare, cold and vulnerable bent over the table.

"I'm waiting." the heavy accent barked, making you flinch, you didn't dare to move. You could hear Sergi mumble some numbers off before the room became overwhelmingly silent. "See, that wasn't hard." the German mocked. His hard body once again pressed against your, grabbed a fist full of your hair, yanking you around so you faced your boyfriend. Another masked figure stood behind him, gun to his head. You clamped your eyes closed just in time as the gun went off and your boyfriends brains hit you.

A violent so left your body as you heard his hit the floor. A slap echoed across your face, "What a shame." the massive German said from beside you, "It was a beautiful site. But not beautiful like you." he sneered. Realization sunk into your belly, this giant was gonna rape you and probably kill you now. He shoved your body forward and towards the living room. Pushing you belly first onto the bloodied sofa, only stopped to kick a body onto the ground.

"Clean up!"he commanded, footsteps retreating, leaving you alone with him." I'll make you enjoy." he whispered behind you, the sound of a belt being undone followed by a zipper. " Please, please!" you sobbed, trying to lossen his grip on the back of your neck that pinned you in place. "Don't worry, you'll be begging on my cock soon." you felt some hot and big press against you entrance. Stretching you out painfully, feeling your pussy tighten even more. You began thrashing even harder now, trying your best to resist.

A warm tongue licked you ear and cheek, "take it" he said, pulling back and spitting at your conjoined bodies. Moving his hips in and out as the wetness began coating you. After a moment his hips snpped forward, knocking the air from your lungs. Your mouth agape in a silent scream, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He used your bound hands and neck as leverage as he pounder into you. All you could do was take it, whimpering and crying now and then.

He left you go, dropping face first into the stained leather, a rough gloved hand pushing into way to your pussy, finding you clit and grinding against it harshly. Making you grit through your teeth, the pressure residing as he lazily circled your now throbbing clit. You tried to fight the building sensation making its way to your core. You tried thinking of your dead boyfriend in the next room but nothing could stop the violent orgasm that ripped through your body. Making your choke on your spit as it drooled out of your mouth.

Your pussy clenched tightly around him, making his movements flatter as he chased his own high. Burying the head of his cock roughly against your sore crevix, releasing deep into you. His own loud moans finally quieting has his hips ceased to move. You could feel him catching his breath, the orgasm knocking the wind out of him. Seconds later his cock left your aching pussy, stuffing himself back into his pants.

He left you there as he grabbed a discarded throw blanket from a chair in the room. Pulling you up gently and wrapping it around your spent body. "Now that wasn't bad." he cooed, rubbing a hand up and down your hair. "Went just as planned didn't it?" he was fishing for a compliment that you gladly gave him. "Of course my King." your mouthed over his lips obscured by the hood.

#cod mw2 #könig #konig #könig mw2 #konig mw2 #konig cod #könig cod #cod könig #cod konig #könig call of duty #konig call of duty #cod mwii

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ms-nesbit · 1 year ago

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Empire records (jason todd x reader)

Rating: 18+ (minors, fuck off)

Warnings: masturbation, reader is female, reader is bisexual, Jason Todd is not red hood, plus size reader

Summary: Jason is a cam model and is killing it, so he heads to the record store where he sees y/n.

Notes: honestly, i loved the idea of this one. Let me know if you want me to continue with an additional chapter or something.

ao3

“God…” Jason exhaled, a slow flow of cum spurting from his cock and onto his hand. Breathing labored as he came down from his orgasm, Jason revealed the mess he made to the webcam. “Fuck, that’s so much cum.” he spoke half-heartedly, the tone masked by faux sensuality and confidence. “What do you want me to do next, hmm?” he sat up in his computer chair and bit on his bottom lip. “Let me know, Babe. I’ll be here again next week. Till next time.” Jason ran his fingers through his hair, his tricep exposed to the camera. He flashed his signature winked before ending the livestream, shutting off the comment section and logging off from his administrative account.

Wiping his hand clean on a nearby napkin, he remained silent, his presiding persona crumbling with each minute after the stream ended. Jason hadn’t bothered to glance at the comments - only the tips, which he gratefully appreciated; they accounted for his rent and utilities, above other expenses, including the impromptu trip to Vanity Records he was getting ready to make.

After a quick shower (graphic details spared) and his skincare routine consisting of serum and spf moisturizer, Jason adorned his already-attractive figure with dark washed jeans and a simple black tee, which was layered by his black and red-striped leather biking jacket.

Once he tied his boots, he set out the door to the record store, walking to the parking lot - riding helmet in tow - to his motorcycle.

—

“I’ve told you how many times that we don’t carry that bullshit?” y/n spat into the landline phone, wrapping her cord around her finger. “Seriously, Joe, I don’t give a rat’s ass that your old town carried Tom Petty. We don’t do campy bullshit. Got it?” Before she gave the voice on the other end to even respond, she abruptly hung up, rolling her eyes and wiggling her finger free from the twisted cord.

She crossed her arms and sat back in her velvet mustard lounger behind the register, pulling an inventory sheet from the cluster of papers scattered on the surface. Clanging of bells attached to the entrance door temporarily distracted her enough to drone, “Vanity Records: if we don’t have it, your music taste sucks.”

“Well, I hope it doesn’t. Do you have Foo Fighters?”

The voice was sardonic, but it didn’t stop y/n from giving a judgemental look to… a tall man whose black tee matched his (mostly) black hair, the white patch in the front pairing fondly with the low white collar on his leather jacket. He awaited her answer with playful eyes, though they seemed heavy. “If you’re talking about Nirvana, yes.” y/n began, crossing her arms in front of the keyhole cutout on the chest of her long-sleeved black blouse, which was coupled by black and red plaid pants, and a scowl on her face. “If you’re talking about the Louise Post-worshipping Foo Fighters? Also yes.” she stood from her seat and leaned over the clutter of paperwork, ignoring it completely in an attempt to flirt with the handsome stranger. “But if you’re talking about the mock-punk, dads-in-a-cluttered-garage-with-a-pipe-dream Foo Fighters? We don’t carry it.”

The man smiled down at her. “Could you show me?” he tilted his head ever-so-slightly, as if he wasn’t a regular customer already.

With a click of her tongue, y/n left her station, showing the man to a collection of vinyl organized alphabetically. She scanned at the waves of albums, distraught by the poor penmanship of the poor schmuck who had a stroke labeling the aisles, but made her way to the ‘dad rock’ section, reaching over and thumbing through different albums behind a poorly-enunciated letter ‘F’. In between all this, she failed to notice the man - who had been walking behind her - ingesting her outfit, and how the blouse accentuated her.

“Ah! Here we go.” She pulled out a plastic-slipped album titled The Colour and the Shape, and handed it over to the man, who grinned at her. “Anything else?”

Biting the inside of his cheek to prevent him from commenting anything creepy, he chose safer words instead. “Is there anything you recommend? I’m kinda new here, and I don’t really know what to listen to.”

Y/n pondered for a moment, before asking a series of questions: “What do you like to do on a Saturday afternoon? What’s your favorite comfort food? Do you have any siblings? And…fight or flight?”

The man was taken aback by the questions, confused by the randomness of the inquiries. As he thought carefully about his answers, he zoned out, unaware of the chewing of his lip that allowed a dimple to present itself to y/n. If she wasn’t committed to her shrewd demeanor, she would have swooned. “If it’s sunny, I like to watch tv, but if it’s raining, I’ll read and take a walk; I fucking love an unhealthy amount of baklava, but I will settle for eclairs if necessary;” the man began rambling, passion strong in his voice, “I do have adopted siblings, but no blood relatives that are living, and; I suppose fight. I don’t really know when to quit.” the man smiled embarrassingly at his own confession.

Responding with a hum of affirmation, y/n skimmed over the vast selection in the compact shop. She then briskly walked to a middle aisle, dusty tile floor scuffed by her combat boots, before stopping at an unmarked section, fingering through the untouched vinyl. She pulled one out and whipped around, presenting the album cover to the man on the other end of the crates. “Human Bloom. They are fusion jazz from Chicago, but have a nice tone to it. I would give them a try if I were you.” she handed the man the record. “Need anything else…?” her question hung on a cliff, dangling in hope for a name.

“Jason.” he replied, “and no, I think that’ll be all.” he tried to look for a nametag, but found a newfound attraction to chest-placed keyhole cutouts instead.

“Y/n. The checkout is something I’m supposed to take care of with a register, not with you and your eyes.” she admonished, quirking a brow before heading back to her post behind the counter, hips swaying with each step she took.

Jason watched, unable to speak by the way he was called out. He took larger steps to the checkout, head down as he did so. “Yes. Right. Sorry.” he stammered when he finally reached the register, patting his jacket pockets for his wallet before finding it in his pec pocket (or, as he calls it, tit patch). “How much would those be?”

Y/n clacked at the old register buttons, its labels washed out from abuse. “$52.75. Cash, card, or number?”

“Pardon?” Jason opened up his wallet.

“Y’know, you could tender with cash, a credit or debit card, or your phone number.”

Jason smiled widely at y/n, finally acknowledging her forward attempt at flirting. He set his wallet down on the counter and asked quietly, “Can you do that here?”

“For you? Sure.” y/n remarked, her ‘sure’ accompanied by a survey of Jason’s tall figure with her eyes. She tore a piece of paper and opened a drawer by her hip, grabbing a pen and jamming it shut before sliding the pair to Jason.

Pen in hand, Jason jotted down his number and passed it back to y/n, who already removed her phone from one of her pockets and entered the number into it. Jason watched her every move, impressed, albeit flattered, by her determination; until, of course, his phone vibrated in his back pocket. He checked it briefly: new text: you are as tall as you are hot, buddy.

Jason gaped at the text before looking at y/n. “I must be pretty short then.” he snickered, earning a scoff from the woman on the other end of the counter.

“Short on time? Patience?” she dipped her voice an octave. “...Self-control?”

Before Jason could respond, y/n’s coworker, Jade, greeted him. “Hey, Jay! How was work today?”

Jason stopped in his tracks. Y/n dropped her seduction tactics, returning to her guarded expression. “Yes, Jay, how was work today?”

Both employees stared at Jason with terribly different intentions, one with genuine curiosity, and the other with vehemence. “It was okay, I guess. Made some tips, so that’s why I’m here.”

“Good.” Jade chirped. “I would have stopped by on the livestream, but I dunno…camwork really isn’t my thing. Wish you all the best though!” She finished with a beam before walking away from the counter and to the back of the store, away from whatever tension she sensed.

“I can explain-”

“Over breakfast. Tomorrow.” y/n decided Jason’s fate for him, which he was happy was spared. It was rare he was forgiven for white lies, something that he was awfully rung out for. He accepted his dues with a nod and snuck out of the record store with his tail tucked between his legs.

—

Jason and y/n exchanged details on their confirmed date, so it was rather disappointing to Jason when he arrived at the Gotham Diner to��nobody. He checked his phone when the waitress seated him at a booth, and again after she poured him a cup of coffee. Nothing.

“Good morning, Jason.” y/n greeted out of nowhere, bringing Jason’s attention from his desolate thoughts to the woman now scooting herself on the abrasive booth cushion. He must have smiled, because y/n added, “Got your uppers for today?”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Good to know your chipper attitude isn’t just your customer service voice.” he critiqued, to which y/n stared at him. “You look nice today.”

“Thanks. I think I stepped on dog shit on the way over.” she glanced underneath the table at the underside of her boot.

The silence between them was too agonizing for Jason to handle, despite it being short. “So, about yesterday, I didn’t really mean to lie like that, and I just wanted to say I’m-”

“Seriously don’t worry about it, man. I like that you’re not put off by me, y’know? A lot of guys are; usually it’s the chicks I hit on that admire my decisiveness.” y/n tore open a few packets of stevia, shaking its contents into her coffee before stirring it with the wooden stick. “Jade gave me intel on your job though.” Jason frowned, awaiting the imminent rejection he expected with the acknowledgement of his unconventional line of work. “I’m all for sex work, dude, so don’t sweat it, but camwork? Really? Isn’t that, like, outdated now?”

Jason allowed his shoulders to slouch as his nerves settled, pleasantly surprised by y/n’s reaction. “To be honest, I know a lot of people do shit like modeling, but it feels so…forced.”

“And camwork is different? I’m not sure how it is for guys.”

“No, you…you have a point.” y/n saw through him, and saw something he hadn’t quite noticed in himself; it was, to a degree, a facade. He didn’t want to jeopardize his vulnerability to the dark caves of the internet, so he simply hid behind something he wanted to be, rather than completely himself. Perhaps that was why he admired y/n so much, despite knowing so little of her.

The pair was interrupted by a waitress, who took their orders. “An egg-white only omelet, please.” Jason politely asked.

“And could you get me a large stack, please? With extra blueberries on top.” Y/n asked with wide eyes, clearly ecstatic by the antioxidant properties of the garnish.

After the waitress left, they returned to their conversation. “I do pretend to enjoy some of the stuff I’m requested to do, but I dunno.” Jason hid behind his cup of coffee, an absurd sight for y/n seeing a tall, broad figure hunched over. “To be honest, I’m kinda turned on by the idea of someone watching me. Plus it pays the bills.”

Y/n mirrored Jason’s shrug in rapport. “I see what you mean. If I had the body, I think I’d do the same, but there isn’t much of a market for stocky punk chicks.” she stated, a sliver of disappointment in her voice.

“I’d watch.” Jason blurted, before covering his face with his large hand. “Sorry, I-”

“One omelet, egg whites only.” the waitress returned, huge tray balanced in her palm. She distributed the plates and utensils. “And a large stack for y/n, our favorite regular.” the waitress beamed at y/n, who returned the sentiment. “Hope you two enjoy.” she left with a wink.

“Thanks, Wanda!” y/n called from her booth, giddily dancing in her seat when returning her attention to the stack of round, golden pancakes in front of her.

“You come here often?” Jason inquired skeptically, offended that she hadn’t indulged him in the information prior to their scheduling.

Y/n nodded and gave a “mmhmm” that was muffled by pancakes in her mouth. “You know, I used to come here in my college days.” y/n explained once she swallowed her first bite of the delectable breakfast treat. “I’d stop by with my study group - which was usually just me - and I’d sometimes order a few rounds of the stacks. Wanda there joked that my veins are probably pumping syrup more than blood, and I’m afraid I have to agree with her on that one.”

Jason let out a chuckle while cutting his omelet with a knife and fork with minimal scraping. “At least the vampires will get a tasty dessert if they bite you.”

“Maybe you’re right!” y/n stifled her laughter. “Maybe they’ll pour my blood over some waffles or something.”

Hand over his mouth to prevent omelet from flying all over the table and y/n, Jason chortled and mocked Dracula, “Mmm! ‘Vou must try this breakfast! Ze blood is vunderful!”

Y/n gasped jokingly. “How dare you mock vampires? They don’t all sound like that.”

They each took turns smacking the table and giggling, exchanging niche vocal impressions until Wanda returned with a warning. “You two are causing a distraction to some of our other patrons here. Try to keep it under control, okay?” she gave them a lambasted look. “Here is the check, since I know you two will probably want to continue your date.”

Date. Y/n blushed at the word. “Thank you, Wanda. And tell that rigid couple in booth twelve that we’re sorry, and we’re not real vampires.”

“But we will bite if needed.” Jason added with a cheap smile.

Wanda sighed and walked away, murmuring something incoherent.

As Jason was about to snag his wallet, y/n slipped a couple of bills in the receipt card. “I’m holding you hostage, so I’m paying. Don’t worry, pretty boy.”

Though the action was assurring, it was confusing when paired with y/n’s nickname for Jason. He found himself amused at the woman, and had to ask: “What are your answers, by the way?”

“Hmm?”

“Your answers. To the question you asked me yesterday. You never gave me yours.”

Y/n grinned innocently, sincerity splayed across her face. Jason wished he could have taken a photo of it - her eyes were just pretty. “Gimme a sec to think,” she sat back in the booth, head hitting the backrest with a thump. “So I usually don’t do anything except listen to music and read, I have two siblings - but three if you count the imaginary turtle I had when I was six, I love a good bowl of soup and some tamales, and I’m not wearing any.”

Jason cocked his head, perplexed by the final answer. “Not wearing any? Any what?”

“Underwear.” y/n blinked innocently, despite being well aware of her suggestion. “You asked if I’m wearing underwear, right? I’m not.” her smile grew bigger with each word, and her eyes dimmed darker with lust.

So did Jason’s. “Oh, uhm.” he was indecisive, unable to choose how to respond. It wasn’t that Jason was inexperienced the art of flirtation, it was that he hadn’t quite been this interested in someone in a long time, and it showed by the way his cheeks reddened (and cock hardened in his pants) at her reveal.

He refused to indulge, his pride in the way. “Thank you for this.”

“No problem.” It wasn’t the reaction y/n was hoping for, and her tone fell with it.

They stood and exited the diner together, loitering in the parking space where Jason had left his motorcycle. Jason noticed that y/n’s spark died off when he hadn’t taken her bait, and although he felt guilt, he knew he wanted to explore the relationship more prior to sleeping together. He feared that y/n took it personally;

She did. “I’ll text you.” she said, backing away before she gave a brief wave of her hand and disappearing into the crowd of Gothamites.

—

“Jesus, what is wrong with me.” y/n sighed when she re-entered her loft, littered with old clothing on the ground, and walls decorated with mismatched posters. As she untied her boots, she replayed the rejection in her head: Jason’s nose twitching, eyes shifty, and mouth open, pausing to choose whatever denial he believed was appropriate.

Her phone chimed in her pocket, but she neglected to check it; instead, she hovered to her bed on the other end of the studio flat, and tumbled onto it, her sheets making a punched ‘oof’. Deep breaths calmed her worried mind buzzing with defeat, and she wondered if perhaps she was, in a word, bamboozled.

It didn’t make sense: the flirting beforehand, way his eyes wandered too freely on her body like a dog to a treat, yet he rejected her…why? Was it what she wore that day? The borderline offensive vampire impressions? Or was it, in the end, her determination that hammered the final nail into the coffin of the potential of their relationship?

Heels digging in the sand, y/n set off on her research, beginning with Jason’s business venture. She sat up in her bed, fixing the pillows to better suit her needs, and reached over for the laptop on the ground. Y/n opened it and waited for the startup operation sequence, the fan vibrating over y/n’s lap as it whirred.

“Alright, Todd, let’s see what camwork you’re doing.” y/n murmured as she entered the site info, creating an account to access the lewd media. “A $7.99 subscription? I didn’t know these cost money nowadays.” she chortled at the virtual pricetag while entering her card info, reluctant to provide sensitive information on her archaic device.

Upon granted access, y/n’s eyes widened, blurred images revealing themselves to her, and she was, well, intrigued, to say the least. The first uncensored media on the site feed was Jason in a public dressing room, unclothed; his hooded eyelids and smirk enhanced his smitten look; his chest was naked, gleaming from the shop lights, and his shoulders were broad, leaned back into the wall of the dressing room; his torso was chiseled, the contour of his muscles shaping into a v near his pelvis, almost as if they were a sign from god for y/n’s eyes to point to his carefully trimmed pubic hair, which failed to hide the base of his thich, uncut cock.

Y/n hadn’t even looked at the caption, so when she finally managed to strip her eyes away from his holy figure, she grinned at the words, “Imagination - life is your creation, Doll.”

A fucking Barbie reference, and she dropped the ball? Y/n scrolled to drown her distraught, searching for a video she could watch.

A notification popped on the page: Robin Hood started a livestream. Click to join. Y/n scrambled to find her dreaded wired headphones, shoving the plug into the jack on the side of the laptop. She then clicked on the notification, instantly refreshing the screen to bring her to a livestream starring the man she had just joked with about Transylvanian vampire genitalia.

The irony. “This is unreal.” y/n muttered to herself as she stared at the tall man sat back on his bed - different than his usual post in his computer seat - as he flicked open a cap of lube, applying it to his hand before he spread it on his erection. He exhaled as he did so, toned chest rising as his fingers moved along his sensitive flesh.

“Fuck, this feels good.” Jason moaned, hips bucking into his hand as his eyes remained closed. Y/n rubbed her thighs together at the sight. “I’m already so close. I wanna come so bad.”

Y/n let out a low moan deep in her throat, mouth watering at the filth transmitted through her earbuds. She watched as Jason’s hand moved from the base of his cock to its head, his wrist twisting. He searched for a speed, but was indecisive with the way his hips shot up sharply, thrusting into his hand. The wet skin sound filling y/n’s earbuds was fucking dirty, and she knew she had to shower right after finishing the livestream - she wanted to see him come, hear the euphoric, obscene noises leaving his mouth.

“Fuck” Jason grunted, holding his cock with one hand, and the other roaming his torso and thighs. “Oh, shit, you feel amazing.” his words were so intent, sincere, as if he imagined someone actually riding his cock - or it was y/n who was projecting her desires onto him, wishing she could straddle his lap and be the source of his pleasure, bouncing on his dick until she milked him dry.

“Oh,” Jason barely pushed through gritted teeth, “Keep going, y/n” he whispered, brows furrowing. Y/n stopped and blinked at the screen, doubting what her senses told her she heard. “Please, please, y/n…” he said it again, this time in a plea that sent y/n’s mind reeling into another dimension as she wanted to touch herself, but wanted, more than anything, to drive Jason over the edge.

His breaths fell staggered, jerking at his cock hard as his bottom lip trembled. “God, I wanna come. Your pussy is so good,” he admitted, eyes screwed shut, “so fucking good.” his speed became erratic, frantically searching for God in a moment’s release, and y/n was right there with him, her panties soaked from the heavenly torturous sight in front of her. She wanted to tell him to come, tell him how good he feels driving his cock into her, continuously, and how badly she wanted to sit on his pretty face until she screamed.

“Shit! Oh, fuck, god.” Jason exclaimed, profanities slipping him like a ghost leaving his vessel as spurts of cum erupted from his cock, body stilling. He thrusted into his hand once more before finally relaxing, catching his breath in a laugh.

He looked down at the mess of cum he made on his pelvic bone and torso, a splash landing all the way to his neck, and he shook his head. “Wow. Hadn’t had that much in a long time. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. See you later.” Jason smirked, propping himself on his elbows and biting his lip before the livestream ended.

Y/n sat in front of the computer screen with glossy eyes. She was his spank bank. She was. The reality set in, and it finally clicked.

But before she could allow herself to feel relief, free from the shackles of rejection in which she imprisoned herself, y/n quickly moved to her feet and grabbed her phone from the other side of the room to check the notification she dismissed earlier:

Jason. Hey, I hope I wasn’t too rude, but I don’t want to pursue any- (½) Y/n opened the message, careless of the read receipt that would be sent to him. -anything sexual, since that’s my job, and I’ve been used before. I hope that doesn’t ruin anything with you, because I do think you’re special, but I understand if it does. I’m here if you want a second date.

Y/n skimmed over the text, and reread it to check if her senses failed her once more. I hope that doesn’t ruin anything with you, she repeated. I do think you’re special. Y/n smiled widely as she opened up the keyboard to reply:

I thought I was too much. Usually am.

She rested her back against the wall, waiting for a response. Already, it shown as read, and the bubbles appeared at the bottom of their chat.

It’s not your fault, I should have clarified from the start. Are you free this weekend?

Y/n felt the melting of the glacier in her chest, and the cooling of the heat between her legs. She gathered her thoughts for a response:

I think I am on Sunday.

Jason’s reply was instantaneous, and y/n was thankful games were off the table for them.

Meet me at the Gotham library?

Y/n smiled. Fuck yeah.

It’s a date. Jason replied, the three words launching y/n into orbit.

So much of an orbit that she hadn’t proofread her response. Btw, saw your livestream.

Y/n regretted it instantly, eyes blown wide and apprehension rising in her.

The bubbles came up on the phone screen before disappearing, then reappearing again. Y/n cursed to herself as she waited. Finally: Good. You looked absolutely stunning at breakfast. Wanted to eat you instead of the omelet.

Maybe y/n could get used to this, after all.

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somejazzinthemorning · 2 years ago

Text

tightrope. 07

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Foul language; Word Count: ~11.6K Previous chapter: 06.

The run had completely exhausted me. Steep hills were clearly not my strong point, but I couldn't say the effort wasn't worth it. The line of the horizon fused with whatever lines we’d woven for ourselves, which had divided the two parallel lives we lived away from each other’s gaze.

Although having him around was challenging, I felt lighter. Experiencing the person he had become, mature and adult, but still so him, made me proud and sad in the same measure. Nonetheless, that talk and confrontation were needed. I needed that, to see and listen to that other side of him and learn to trust it. That other side, the version of him that took shape in these last years. Sainz.

It was Sainz that I couldn’t trust. Not Carlos, not Chili as we used to call him. Sainz. The night before, during the match, I had seen a fraction of Carlos when he put his hand on my thigh and made sure I was comfortable with the guests, a fraction of Chili when he got me a beer without me asking, and then a lot of Sainz each time the people around us tried, forcefully and some times even embarrassingly, to get his attention.

It didn’t matter the glimmers of hope that having him around brought me, there was still a barrier. The fall was too big to risk and the rope was held too high. And yet, having him back seemed to offer a glimpse of stability in a life that had become increasingly unsteady.

Rio was leaving, the unpredictability of my career was taking a toll on me and everything else seemed to be constantly shifting. In the midst of all that chaos, the possibility of Carlos staying around was like an anchor that kept me from being swept away.

The fear of getting hurt again was still there, lurking beneath the surface, but for better or for worse, Carlos Sainz had once again become a fixture in my life, and I couldn't help but wonder what the future held for us.

That afternoon, after lunch, I fell asleep near the pool, and my feet dipped in the water.

I woke up to the sound of two loud motors, a distinct sharp noise. They were not cars or jetskis. I sat up and looked around, half of me still battling laziness and sleepiness, another part of me completely annoyed by being woken up by that sound.

Marjorie, who I gathered had been asleep in one of the loungers, grunted while getting up. “What the actual f—” and then her tone shifted, “Hi babe!”

I looked behind me; my brother was standing on the terrace, at the top of the stairs.

“We got two bikes!” Rio proudly announced.

“You got what?” Her ginger hair fell in waves on her back.

“Two bikes, for me and Chili.” He pointed with his thumb to the path leading to the front of the house. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“Weren’t you two supposed to go to the market?”

“Evita, come oooon. We couldn’t let the opportunity escape.” I looked at Marjorie, confused and she was looking at me too, with sleepy eyes and frowned brown. “Andiamo, ragazze!”

Marjorie motioned with her head and I got up from the sponge mattress I’d laid down on the grass. The fabric was hot to the touch. I dragged it to one of the loungers before turning back to my brother who impatiently waited.

“Where did you even find the bikes?” I asked him.

“We rented them.”

I looked up, my hands on the straps of my sandals. Carlos appeared behind Rio, holding what seemed to be two pairs of leather gloves and a white helmet. He passed one of the pairs to my brother and instantly, a childish grin took his features; his eyes glistening like a little kid on a Christmas morning.

“Nice,” he said under his breath.

I made my way up the stairs fixing the creases on my dress, tight but fresh, crocheted in summery clothes. Marjorie and I had spent the early hours of the afternoon on the sea, and then laid down for a nap near the pool, in the shadow of the trees in the garden. My hair, in a braid, was still a bit wet, falling over my shoulder.

“Are you even allowed to ride a bike during summer break?”

Rio looked down at me, and then at Carlos and me again. “Help me here, mate,” he extended his hand to the Spaniard and while Carlos helped him with the strap, he said: “It’s just a bike ride. We need to get his back tomorrow.”

Marjorie turned to the guys and called out, "Carlos?”

I looked over to see my sister-in-law motioning towards me, silently asking for his confirmation. "It's just a ride to the market and back," he reassured me, "relax, just a stroll." I let out a defeated sigh and glanced over to Marjorie, who simply shrugged in response. "The bikes are in front," he informed us.

As I walked towards the front of the house, I saw the bikes and three more helmets parked in the shadow next to Carlos' car. Carlos himself was already getting on his bike, putting on his leather gloves and white helmet, his hair slightly dishevelled but somehow still looking impeccable. Damn him and his hair. He then donned his Ray-Bans.

A couple of steps away, Rio had already started his engine.

Carlos extended the last helmet to me. "Come on. It'll be fun.”

I took the helmet and then his hand, hopping on the bike behind him. A rush of excitement ran through me, though it was tempered with a tinge of nervousness. He placed his right hand on my thigh, the warmth of his skin seeping through mine. He turned his head back to me. "Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The wind blew through my hair as we rode along the narrow path leading to the main road. I held onto Carlos' waist tightly, feeling the muscles under his shirt tense as we swerved around sharp corners. I let my arms wrap around his waist, my hands meeting each other on his abdomen. We rode in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being the hum of the engine and the rush of air in my ears. The scent of the sea melded with the smells of oil and rubber, as well as Carlos' cologne. The notes of sandalwood grew more intense with the heat and the sweat.

It didn’t take us long to arrive at the familiar market, planted near a small village bathed by the Mediterranean. Rio and Marjorie had already parked their bike and were waiting for us. Carlos parked next to them.

"Not that bad, huh?" my brother's voice roared over the sound of the engine, approaching us to help me dismount. "Drama queen."

“Not bad.”

“I could get used to this, actually,” Carlos said.

I snorted, undoing the straps of my helmet. “Nah, you couldn’t.”

Carlos took off his helmet, running his fingers through his hair, and I couldn't help but notice the way the sunlight caught the highlights in his hair. “Why not?”

“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you ride a bike.”

“And?” He extended his hand and took my helmet out of my hands.

“If it was not for Rio, you wouldn’t rent it, in the first place. Let alone buy one.”

“Did you hear this?” He asked my brother.

“And she’s right.”

As Carlos chuckled, he reached into his pocket, tucking his gloves away as we strolled towards the bustling market. The sound of waves crashing against the shore grew louder with each step, and the sweet scent of ripe fruit tickled my senses, making my stomach growl in anticipation.

The market was bustling with locals and tourists alike, the stalls selling everything from fruit, to fresh seafood and handmade crafts. The air was thick with the mingling of scents and languages, creating an atmosphere that was full of the Mediterranean's enchanting charm that I missed so dearly.

As we wandered, Rio and Carlos drifted ahead. Meanwhile, Marjorie and I lingered at each stall, taking in the sights and sounds, chatting with the sellers, and breathing in the fragrant aromas. Our organic net bags were already heavy when we found the guy—Rio on his phone, and Carlos hunched over one of the stalls. Marjorie stopped next to Rio, and I walked over to the stall, sneaking in being Carlos.

“Oh, the sign says they’re the sweetest in the market,” I said. Carlos turned to me, holding a small bunch of grapes. I motioned to another stall not too far away, “they all say the same.”

The Spaniard raised the bunch of grapes to the level of his eyes. “They look pretty good to me.”

“But are they the sweetest?” I replied, my tone teasing.

He plucked a grape from the bunch, his grin wide and eyebrows raised playfully. "Let's find out."

A Spanish song that I didn’t know was playing on the radio set over a crate of fruit, and a tired, melancholy whistling could be heard accompanying the melody. I looked around. With his eyes on a newspaper, an old man was sitting on a wooden bench; a coffee stain on the sleeve of his shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“You can’t eat the grapes…” I whispered, my eyes drifting from the old man to the handsome, way younger Spaniard in front of me. Carlos teased me, opening his mouth. I frowned.

“You eat it, then,” he held it out to me. I shook my head. “He won’t go after a lady. Come on.”

I hesitated for a moment, but the whistling continued, and the man seemed too distracted with the news to pay attention to two tourists in his stall. Carlos’ eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite understand, his expression becoming sterner as I leaned him, grabbed the grape from his pinch and popped it in my mouth.

It burst with flavour, the sweetness tingling on my tongue, making me close my eyes in pleasure. Carlos' grin widened, and he plucked another grape, offering it to me again.

"You know what, the sign might be actually telling the truth.”

“Should I have this one?”

“Hm, hm,” I nodded, reaching for another one, from the small bunch he was holding. He, too, reached for another grape. My eyes drifted from his portrait to his slender fingers, taking their time picking one of the half dozen left in the saturated red bunch.

But instead of hearing a pleasurable hum coming from his lips, the old man’s voice permeated the moment. He was now hobbling over to the stall, eyes flashing with annoyance.

“¡Que cosa! Look at the sign!” The old man harrumphed, pointing to another sign. “No eating before paying!”

“Oh, no, I—”

“Lo siento, señor,” Carlos turned around, interrupting me. “We’re just…”

The old man's eyes widened, and he took both hands to his head. "Ay! Carlos Sainz!" he exclaimed, rushing over to us in fast, unsteady steps. Carlos looked at me, his embarrassment resembled in his shaky grin.

Carlos chuckled, "Yes, that's me."

"My grandson loves you!" The old man beamed, gesturing to a small frame next to the radio, a small boy was smiling in the picture and then shook Carlos’ hand vigorously. "He always wants to watch you on TV. And your father! Your father is a legend." The man looked around. “Is he around by any chance?”

“No, no,” Carlos pointed at me, and then at the couple waiting for us not too far away. “Just the four of us, for today. And let me apologize for the grapes, we’re going to pay for them.”

The old man just waved his hand dismissively, "No, no, it's okay. Keep them!” His voice softened, noticing Carlos wouldn’t accept to take the fruit. “It’s my offer. Please, take them. And take this, too." He then reached behind the stall and pulled out a small basket. His hand, wrinkly and hairy, hovered on top of the fruit. “Do you like figs?”

The bright colours caught my attention. The smell, the colours, the music coming from the radio, so slow and light, stretching through the air. It felt like being trapped in a living painting.

“Eva,” I heard Carlos. I hadn't noticed he was looking at me before. “Do you like figs?” And then, motioned to the old man, waiting for my reply.

“I’m sorry. I do, I love figs.”

The old man's grin widened. “Come close, try one.”

The old man opened it up for me. I took a bite. Soft and juicy, with a delicate sweetness that was almost addictive. As I bit on it, the juice ran down my fingers, creating a thin, sweet, shiny film around my lips and fingers. I couldn't resist licking them, savouring the sweet nectar and the way it clung to my skin. I couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious under Carlos' intense gaze. His eyes bore into me, fixated on the way my lips wrapped around my thumb. It was like he was watching my every move, studying my every expression, trying to decipher my thoughts.

I couldn't help but feel a little flustered under his gaze, but at the same time, I couldn't deny the thrill that ran through me. There was something about the way he looked at me. Intense and magnetic, that sent shivers down my spine.

Carlos cleared his throat, breaking me out of my reverie, and turned to the stall once again.

"Yeah. We will take some figs.”

Wednesday was slow.

Heart beating fast, but reality danced around us at a slow pace.

What can one do when reality tastes like figs and smells like the sea and sandalwood?

It was not just the figs and the sea air, and the cologne. It was not just the Mediterranean light or the aura that so easily takes us over. It was the way he looked at me. The adoring gaze, that I knew from before, but was now tainted by a thin layer of lust, tick enough to cloud my senses and drive me into spirals.

Thursday passed in a breeze; I only saw him for dinner, as he spent all day golfing with the boys. And then came Friday.

Like some other days, we were at home. We spent the day alternating between basking in the sun on the yacht, driving around in jetskis or diving into the crystal-clear water. Easy.

It was easier when we were at home.

The trees and the sea shielded us from reality and for a time we could simply live without worrying about curious eyes or unwelcomed lenses. I liked that. To be locked away from the world in a reality moulded to us, for us.

On top of that, seeing my friends talk in the garden, or joke around in the yacht, wearing swimsuits with a beer in hand, and walking around barefoot not worrying about anything else but the moment, reminded me of the little family we once were. I loved our bubble, where no one was famous and no friendships had been torn apart by distance.

Like I did every day, I texted a photo to my mom — Rio laid in a hammock, with the sea as the background, but this time she texted me back saying she should have accepted Reye’s invitation to spend a few days there. I said she should have, it would have been nice for them.

And then I read the messages Lin and Nicola had left in our group chat, avoiding all the questions about Carlos, because there were a lot of them. And finally, I called Amanda, trying to assure her I was in fact enjoying the vacation and was not locked in the office. I think I spent half an hour talking to her, filling her up on the events of the recent days before my brother interrupted me.

“C’mon. Volleyball,” Rio stood between me and the sun, putting a shadow over me and shielding my skin from the warm kiss of the sun. “Carlos wants to play. Vamos.”

Amanda said goodbye in a hurry, probably after listening to Rio’s voice. I left my phone on the side and sat up on the lounger, facing Rio that was already standing in his blue swimming trunks with an orange and yellow volleyball under his arm.

“And what do I have to do with that?”

“We’re uneven.”

“Well, stay with me and Carlos plays in your place.”

In response to my suggestion, my brother just shrugged and looked behind him at Guillermo, Blanca’s boyfriend, helping Carlos assemble the net. My attention was grabbed by Marjorie, running down the stairs with her ginger hair arranged in a messy french braid and wearing a long shirt over her black swimsuit.

“Eva! C’mon, lass,” she screamed, joining Carlos and Guillermo next to the net.

“Volleyball isn’t played with teams of four!” I screamed back, making Rio sigh again, this time threatening to throw the ball in my direction. I just put both my hands in front of my face, in an instinct to protect myself. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“DiMaggio versus Sainz,” Carlos screamed from the other side of the garden. The net was set and he was standing next to Marjorie.

“Ah, you traitor,” Blanca interjected, joining her boyfriend on the other side of the net. Ana and Rodrigo joined them too.

Rio looked back at me, his eyebrow raised in a defiant expression and the victorious look of someone who knows that had won a battle. He knew I couldn’t say no, especially now that everybody was ready and waiting for me, and there was an actual challenge. As I went past him, I took the ball from his hands, hearing in response a couple of Italian curse words and a strident laugh from Marjorie.

Carlos, on the other side of the net, smiled at me. “See?” he asked Marjorie. “All it takes is adding a bit of competition and she changes her mind.”

“I won’t forget you’re the enemy, Sainz,” I threw the ball at him. “You serve.”

That didn’t take the smile away from his face. Marjorie ran to her position in front of her husband and I went to her side. I looked at Carlos as he spun the ball in his hands and threw it in the air.

The following moments rolled in slow motion. His arms extended over his head and his hair moved graciously with his jump. With the sound of the impact of his hand on the synthetic leather of the ball, a wave crashed over me. My eyes ventured along the lines of his body; it was inevitable to not admire the way his arms contracted or the way his movement revealed a patch of paler skin, covered with a light brown fuzz, just above the waistband of his shorts.

The lines, the sumptuously curved outlines of him. His body seemed to be sculpted with the sole purpose of making me desire him.

I turned my head to the other side of the net, my eyes following the ball, fully committed to the game, but I couldn’t forget Carlos was there, always two steps away from me. I tried to dodge him every time we got too close, always looking back to be sure I wouldn’t have to feel his sweaty skin against mine.

Every cell of my body buzzed just from that idea.

I wanted it more than I cared to admit.

Even to myself.

In the intervals between points, Marjorie and Rio would kiss or hug each other. In the meantime, Carlos would approach me with a smile and an open hand for a high-five and our eyes would lock. No words, nothing. Just a casual glance and I would feel myself melting inside. Everything else faded in comparison. The conversations, the laughs, the screams and the insults. Each time his eyes landed on me, everything went silent. And I realised a big part of why I enjoyed that little bubble was because Carlos was with me in it and, for the first time in a while, none of us was trying to burst it.

“Last one,” Blanca was the one to call it and, although we had a pretty good advantage, I knew we wanted that last point on our side. “We need to leave in two hours.”

Rodrigo took the ball in his hand and I moved to my place. I could see Blanca on the other side of the net, her hair tied in a messy ponytail. In a couple of seconds, her face became a blur and the screams and the laughs came back in a rush.

“Eva!” Marjorie screamed my name and I knew I was the only one who could reach the ball. I ran to the net, ready to block their move and all of a sudden, a strong grip on both sides of my waist.

Arms extended over my head, hands ready to take the impact and my mind desperately trying to ignore his strong firm hands. The ball fell on the floor on the other side and, quicker than that, I felt my feet on the ground and my back going against Carlos’ chest. Instantly, his arms wrapped around my body, stopping me from falling.

I turned around, my eyes locked with his. My eyes refused to let go of his, my body was unresponsive to anything but the warmth of his embrace. I looked down, at my hands on his chest. I could feel his heartbeat on my digits. His sweat on my palms. Jesus.

I knew he felt it too.

“Good team effort,” he whispered.

Rio screamed victory, I took a step back. The bubble burst.

Carlos turned his back, not before winking at me, and then walked to Marjorie and Rio and I, still trying to recollect myself and drift back to reality, went back to my sun lounger, where my phone and water bottle rested in the shadow. I sat down, had a sip of the water and looked at the group, each individual following their own path. Guillermo and Carlos stayed there to take down the net, I went inside.

The skin of my palms tingled.

Even under the cold brush of the water, I could feel the beating of his heart on my digits and the fire his touch had ignited on my skin. I was down bad, horrendously bad. Not even a cold shower could bring me back on my feet.

Carlos had made his point straight, with words and gestures both.

The brush of his fingers on my arm during the flight. The touch under the table. His piercing gaze. The grip on my waist that afternoon. That was his way of showing it. He would not cross any line, but he was not going to back down.

And I hoped, God, I really hoped, I was reading it right.

I promised myself to make an effort to understand that whatever lines we’d drawn for ourselves weren’t eternal. They were just as ephemeral as every moment we chose to share with each other and so, they were capable of being erased and forgotten.

Dropping my barriers and welcoming the idea of trusting him again wouldn’t be as difficult as forcing him back out once again, now that he’d settled himself under a comfortable light in my mind. He was going back to being Carlos again. The boy next door and my brother’s best friend. Not the cocky, egoistic and overly busy Ferrari driver.

I left the room after being called twice by Rio, the first of all of us to get ready. He’d sit on my bed for a while, waiting for me to get ready and complain about my make-up and the dress I’d chosen. Rio was just like my dad—a fan of simplicity. He even made me spin in front of him, in the dusty pink backless dress, to make sure it wasn’t too revealing for the occasion.

We stopped as soon as we reached the entrance hall, where a portion of the group had already gathered. Guillermo and Rodrigo were already waiting outside, having a casual conversation by the car which keys were already in Blanca's hand. The keys to the other car, the Alfa Romeo Stelvio that Carlos had been driving over the last few days, still remained in the decorative bowl on the console.

“You haven’t decided on the ride, yet?” Rio sounded annoyed, a short sight leaving his lips before sitting next to his wife on the sage chaise lounge in front of the console.

“What’s the deal? Why isn’t Carlos driving?” I asked.

“They are eighteen again,” Marjorie mumbled, slightly irritated.

“We deserve a proper boys’ night,” my brother corrected her, his arm wrapping around Marjorie’s shoulders and giving her a small kiss on the cheek. “Where’s he, anyway?”

“On the phone,” Blanca replied. “We’re late. Do you want to call a cab?”

“No need, I can drive,” I said, walking to the console and taking the keys. “It’s fine.”

My brother and Marjorie followed Ana and Blanca outside, their silhouettes disappearing against the sunlight cast on the driveway. Before entering the car, the older shouted. “The car’s parked in the garage!”

With them outside, Carlos’ voice was clear, echoing in the space. It was easy to find him.

“We need to leave,” his eyes met mine the second I walked through the archway that led to the kitchen. He was putting his phone in the pocket of his dark jeans, standing near a window. “We’re already late.”

“Okay, let’s go, then,” he walked to me, extending his hand in my direction.

“We agreed I was going to drive,” I closed my hand around the keys and he stopped in front of me.

He frowned. “I don’t care. I’m driving.”

I took a deep breath and looked at him before speaking. Bad choice. He had his usual smile on his lips, a sweet smile that in the blink of an eye became a smirk full of meaning. I narrowed my eyes, my grip on the keys getting stronger.

“I do. I’m driving.”

Carlos took a step forward, getting closer to me. I had to raise my head a bit more to maintain eye contact. Annoying bastard. I rolled my eyes at his attempt to make himself look intimidating, or whatever it was he was trying to do.

“Drop it.” He glanced at my hand. “You know I don’t like being driven around, especially in my own car.”

“I’m holding the keys. Unless you take them from me, I’ll be driving.” Carlos didn’t move an inch. “We can stay here until you get tired.”

"Is that a challenge?"

"Try me."

Joder. He relaxed his eyebrows and his smirk grew bigger. The next thing I knew, the air around us was being charged with electricity as his hazel eyes locked onto mine like he was trying to read my soul. God damn you. His sweet, tender gaze had turned into something darker, something so much deeper.

He took another step and, once again, he was dangerously close. This time I wouldn’t mind if he erased all the lines and barriers and dropped all my shields himself. His thumb rubbed the back of my hand. My eyes couldn’t leave his face. I was petrified at the moment, drifting away from all the negative feelings and diving into him. He leaned in and, for a second that seemed to last an eternity, I thought he was going to kiss me.

But he didn’t.

And I had opened my hand, just enough for him to take the key from my hand before I was able to understand what had just happened.

“Don’t worry. I won’t do it,” Carlos’ lips were brushing against my ear. My eyes were open wide, looking into the void. “Learn the lesson the first time.”

He left the kitchen. I just shook my head, my mind completely bereft of everything but the electricity his little move had filled my body with. I took a deep breath and resigned to the fact he had taken the best of me. I would’ve found that funny if I wasn’t completely flustered. Fucking idiot.

We had been invited to a party by one of Carlos’ friends.

There was a small group waiting for us, from which I recognized a fair share of faces from that night. From the way the group welcomed Carlos, one would think the party had been thrown for him or by him. The host had even reserved him a parking spot on the driveway. Blanca had no such luck; she parked outside, on the road.

The house was not too far away from Costa del Pins and, just like the Sainzes’, it was located on a hillside and offered a nice view of the serene sea, still clear blue and dancing with ease against the rocks. From the driveway, standing next to my brother and Marjorie, I admired the house. My gaze continuously shifted from the building to Carlos, whose attention resided on a blonde girl, Mila, to who we were introduced the night of the match. They seemed to get along well.

For a second, I regretted leaving so early that night.

Just minutes before he had been so close to me that I felt inebriated by his perfume, almost dizzy just from experiencing him so close, and now there he was, walking alongside this girl with too much make-up and a sad sense of fashion.

Jealously doesn’t look pretty on me.

And I was not even sure why I was jealous.

As we walked across the stone path that lead us to the terrace at the back of the house, the music got louder and the voices and laughter became more clear. Rio and Marjorie were too busy with each other, as usual, and Blanca and Ana were talking about something I couldn’t find interest in simply because my eyes couldn’t leave the man walking ahead of us and the blonde on his side.

“Sainz!” The German accent that shouted out was strong. It stole Carlos’ attention and, consecutively, mine. I remembered that face from the night before and quickly realized that the German rally driver a.k.a. The Guy, was our host for the night. “You came, ’migo!”

Of course, Carlos pulled him for a hug, like they hadn't seen each other in forever. Suddenly, everything he did made me angry. Every drop of resentment was coming back. I was jealous and although I was doing everything to look like I wasn’t, I didn’t bother to convince myself otherwise.

“You already know them, no?” Carlos pointed to us. Rio hugged him as well and Marjorie did the same with her usual enthusiasm. Blanca and Ana were more simple – a polite kiss on the cheek was more than enough. Their boyfriends opted for a handshake.

When I approached him, the guy had a smile on his face. His eyes sparkled when I smiled at him too. I kissed his cheeks, once on each side. “I’m Eva.”

“DiMaggio, I remember,” he completed. “If Sainz didn’t steal all of our attention yesterday, I’d have more things to recall about you.”

“He likes the attention,” I think my eyes drifted to the girl for a second. “You’ll get used to it.”

His name hadn’t yet come to my mind. I couldn’t remember much from last night, not even who was the team Real had played against because, as the German said, Carlos had been the only thing I cared to pay attention to.

The guy only chuckled at my comment and patted Sainz on the back. “Call for me if you need anything. I’ll be around.” Then, he turned back to me. “You don’t need to call, I’ll have an eye on you at all times.”

That was a surprise, I’ll admit. The words drew a small laugh and a nod on my part. “I’ll remember that.”

When the guy turned around, Marjorie came up to me. Her ginger hair was tied in a high ponytail that fell over her bare shoulder. She looked at me with a big smile.

“Uwe’s into you!” Uwe. That was his name. Too unusual for me to simply remember. “Be sure to have some fun today.”

“He’s too… German?” I pondered, watching him disappear in the crowd; his shirt, with an awful pattern, disappeared with him.

“He’s quite a character, I know…” she paused. “But you probably won’t see him again, ever.”

That was a good argument, I’ll give her that, but it also reminded me of a certain Italian driver, whose presence had been lingering on my mind since the morning I’d left Imola. I tried not to think about him, which was not that hard considering that Carlos monopolized my attention the last few days, but I couldn’t help thinking about why he didn’t say anything about that poor spectacle in my hotel room.

I knew I would see Pulcini again and it didn’t stop me from anything.

On the other hand, I was pretty drunk that night and tonight I couldn’t even drink half as much. Also, Carlos was right there. If the mere memory of him had made me leave Andreas in a bathroom stall, I couldn’t tell what his presence would provoke. But, to be honest, if the blonde didn’t leave his side, I would probably sleep with Uwe just out of spite.

As I said, jealousy doesn’t look pretty on me.

“This may sound terrible, but I don’t remember all the names from last night. Could you reintroduce me to your friends?” Oh, her voice was annoying. My gaze drifted to her and then to him. Rio, standing next to Carlos was the first to step closer and introduce himself. Carlos made her a favour by introducing the rest of us. “I’m Mila, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said in return.

I couldn't do more than just smile before excusing myself and leaving the group. Marjorie walked by my side, accompanying me to the bar on the right side where the guests were talking and swinging to the music.

Everybody seemed to know everybody. During the short walk, Blanca and Ana stopped multiple times to hug a few friends and introduce me and Marjorie to the ones we didn’t yet get to know. The good looks and the expensive perfumes were abundant. It actually seemed like it was the ideal night to have some fun.

An hour had already passed while we sat on the couches near the bar and my feet were already complaining. It surprised me how easy it was to get lost in the small talk, especially when the people around turned out to be more interesting than I thought. I accepted two flutes of champagne. That was plenty to get just loose enough to enjoy the party without getting drunk.

Every time my eyes met Carlos, he was always surrounded by a different small crowd, but the blonde girl was always there, right at his right side. Each time I laid my eyes on them it was a reminder of his status and the rumours that often appeared connected to his name all around social media. They’d gotten worse after Carlos signed for Ferrari and because we hardly saw each other since then, and I refused to say his name or talk about him with his sisters or my brother, there was no way of knowing if those rumours were real or just fabricated lies the fans made to entertain themselves.

Either way, Mia, Mila, or whatever her name was, didn’t leave his side. There was no way of denying that she really wanted his attention all for herself and, unlike the photos that occasionally appeared online, this time I could see them crystal clear. No blur or too much grain.

“Those meetings you’ve been having…” Blanca captured my attention, “work or race-related?”

“Normal work, nothing exciting,” I let her know. Marjorie and Blanca seemed appeased with the answer too. “I’m trying to not worry about racing, just for one week.”

“You deserve a real break,” the younger of the Sainzes took a sip of her drink. “And that includes tonight. I don’t wanna talk about work, especially when we know Eva is having a hard time.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said, my back hitting the soft fabric of the couch. “I haven’t asked you yet,” my attention drifted to Marjorie, looking at me with a confused look on her face. “How are you handling all of this?”

“Oh,” a pause, then a sip. Then, she let the cup meet the mate black coaster placed on the table and played with the napkin at its side. “Not bad.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That means it’s not going well.”

“It’s not bad,” she repeated herself. “These last days have been amazing, I feel like I’m rediscovering my husband. At the same time, it feels like a goodbye, you know?”

Ana and Blanca shared a look. I think they felt displaced. They barely knew Marjorie and the last days didn’t give them enough time to understand the dynamics of her marriage with my brother.

“I mean,” she continued and quickly stopped again, almost like she was analysing what to say, or how to say it. I felt her eyes drifting to the man standing a few feet ahead, leaning to the railing on the other side of the terrace and accompanied by a blonde who was still laughing too much at his words and I quickly understood where the conversation was leading. “Look what the distance did to you and Carlos.”

“Carlos and I were never married. Not even— Don’t go there.”

“Nevertheless,” she kept going, “I have two kids at home and Fabrizio wants to move to Italy. We’re talking about it, but it seems wise to move. At the same time, I see what all of this did to you two and you were not even married,” she rebated my point with the same argument. “It’s hard enough when he travels two weekends in the same month. How am I supposed to deal with having him home for only two weeks a month, if I get those two weeks?”

Fair point.

“We’re married. I’ll miss him, as a husband,” she sighed. “And the babies... you know.”

I blinked, no words left to be spoken. I knew. I didn’t miss Carlos as a husband, nor as a boyfriend, but I’d missed him. In the beginning, those phone calls and facetime sessions made the feeling grow, but the love I felt for him grew at the same rate as the longing. I’d missed him as much as I’d loved him. So I couldn’t picture what the future would be like for Marjorie.

“I don’t know if it helps,” Blanca said, “but our father wasn’t around either. He spent a lot of time away. That didn’t make us love him less.”

Marjorie shrugged. “The only thing I know is that I will never ask him not to go. I know it’s difficult for him too, although it doesn’t look like it.”

A smile tugged the corner of her lips and her eyes travelled across the crowd. My brother was talking and laughing with two guys I recognized from the match the night before. Marjorie looked at him with a warm smile on her lips.

“Trust is important,” I said, “and you both trust and love each other so much it makes me nauseous. You will be fine.”

Trust is important. Trust was everything stopping me from acting, even though my body was ready to betray me and fall into Carlos’ trap. No matter how much I desired Carlos, I couldn’t trust him and that meant we would fall from the tightrope the second I surrendered my body and soul to his arms and warm lips.

“What’s hardest to trust?” Marjorie said, looking at her man, who was now winking at her. She smiled at him, and then turned to me, again. “Him or the people around him?”

She was talking about Rio, and whatever could happen during race weekends, or the eventuality of him moving alone to Italy, but that hit a little close to home.

“Him,” I said. “People won’t do anything he doesn’t let them do. He won’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

The blonde, Mila, was touching him. Small pats on his arm to pull his attention back to her, another small pat on his chest while he spoke and she leaned her head back, laughing at whatever he was saying. Another embarrassing show; quite pathetic.

“That’s true,” Ana added. “But you don’t seem like a couple with problems in that regard,” she continued, her hand reaching for the cup filled with white sangria. “Rio is and always was a nice guy, you know it better than us.”

Marjorie was not uncertain about how faithful her husband was; she was scared of the void he would leave behind. The unanswered calls. The postponed encounters. The empty space at dinners and birthday parties. I promised her that I would sleep at hers one or two nights each week to keep her feet warm; she knew I wasn’t joking.

After this conversation reached its natural end, I dragged her to the dance floor. On top of her wearing heels, she complained about not having enough rhythm to dance, or even enough balance. I told her to get another drink, with the excuse that the right amount of alcohol would give her the rhythm she needed. Marjorie found her rhythm and new confidence at the bottom of her fourth drink and I found myself to be less patient than I thought. In need of both resting my feet and taking a break from Marjorie, who was too playful and talkative after those four drinks, I led the group to the couches where the boys were sitting.

Carlos’ blonde had disappeared. Another one had resurged on his side, this time a man—the host.

After almost forcing Marjorie to sit next to Rio and take a break, I went to the bar. One of the two silver foxes serving drinks stopped what he was doing to pay attention to my request. Virgin Mojito, I asked. My insides were asking for more alcohol, especially before my amazing idea of getting my friends drunk, but I knew my limits.

“Quite a character, no?” I didn’t need to look to my right to understand who said these words. I would recognize his voice and accent anywhere.

“You and Marjorie are spending too much time together; she said the same thing.” Carlos put down his tumbler on the counter; the bartender replaced it with another, this one with a thick line of a brownish liquid around a large ice cube. “How many of those did you have?”

“Not enough.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why do you care?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t wanna drag you from the car to your bed. Marjorie is giving me enough trouble already.”

“Don’t worry about it, Blanca can take me home,” he deadpanned and then, with two sips, Carlos drank the whole thing. I abstained from making any comment. “Don’t look at me like that. I can get drunk once in a while.”

“Where’s your blonde? Did she leave you hanging and now you’re mad about it?” He scowled at me. “Am I wrong? Sorry, my mistake,” I huffed sarcastically. Carlos didn’t say anything. I was getting more annoyed with each second he ignored me. “Can you please stop ignoring my presence? I’m right here.”

“Where she is, is not of your business.”

I tilted my head. “Are you a grumpy drunk? I was hoping for something different.” Carlos looked around, his hand going to his hair and sorting it out. The wind was messing with his hair, but somehow, he still looked handsome. “Or are you just mad?”

“I’m annoyed.”

“Why’s that?” Carlos turned to me, eyes piercing through mine. He bit his lip and then shook his head.

“Go enjoy the party. Our host had a lot of questions about you,” he finally responded. My gaze looked for Uwe, sitting with another group, his rebellious blonde hair falling in front of his eyes. The man didn’t seem to stop in one place for more than two minutes. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to stay a stranger.”

Reverse psychology or what?

“Maybe I will,” I responded offhandedly and took a sip of my drink that I didn’t notice was waiting for me on the counter, drops of condensation staining the coaster of a deeper black. “Enjoy Mia.”

“Mila,” he corrected me, to which I just grinned. He knew I knew her name.

Leaving the bar behind, my feet starting to ache on the heels and my eyes already tired from the strong lights that had replaced the pastel dusky tones of the sunset, I found myself in a dilemma, contemplating what game Carlos was playing.

Marjorie sat on Rio’s lap to give me her place on the couch. She was just another level of clingy when she was drunk and my brother didn’t seem to mind. His hands were around her, holding her close to him. Compared to the other two couples in the group, they were more carefree. The Sainzes were not big fans of PDA.

“I hope that one has alcohol on it,” the enthusiastic and accent-filled voice of our host erupted in our surroundings a few beats later, interrupting a boring conversation about how Rodrigo could improve his golfing skills.

The German driver leaned against the back of the couch in front of me, behind Ana. “Oh, it doesn’t,” I replied. “I’m behaving tonight.”

“Too bad,” the guy winked and Marjorie patted Rio’s shoulder. My brother dragged himself to the end of the couch and moved slightly to the side, creating a little spot for Uwe to sit. He put his beer on the table, next to the fancy glasses filled with drinks of all colours. “Your friend there told me you’re a driver too,” he signalled to Carlos with his head. “In which category?”

“For the last year, I’ve been driving in the Ferrari Challenge. I’m looking at endurance for next year,” his eyes widened and his smile grew a bit more. “I made my debut in WEC last year when a driver got COVID. That was good.”

“That’s interesting,” he said.

Marjorie leaned into me, trying to whisper something to Uwe, but failed and her words came out loud and excited. “She won the championship last week!”

“Ja?! Sainz forgot to mention that,” he looked at me, impressed. Men usually didn’t get this excited when told about my driving skills and just from his reaction, the German scored some points in his favour.

“The first woman to do so!” Marjorie added and I rolled my eyes.

“Marjorie—” I stopped her, but the guy interrupted me.

“What? If the fruit won’t sell itself…” Marjorie said in her defence and the guy nodded in agreement. “Take her dancing, Uwe. She needs some fun.”

I was surprised by her tenacity in ensuring I have some fun tonight. The tall blonde German took my hand and walked in front of me, gently dragging me to the dance floor. My eyes dropped to the floor to be sure my heels would not fail me. When I looked back up to find him, I noticed the height difference. Too German, indeed.

As soon as we approached the small crowd around the DJ, he pulled me close by my waist. His grip was firm and confident and his posture changed the second his fingers found my skin, as if he enjoyed my delicate size and weight. The crowd surrounded us when he stopped, the bodies of the guest shielding us from the eyes of those scattered around the terrace. His hand drifted to my bare back. He felt warm and gentle.

“I hope you enjoy the music,” he whispered as I drowned in his cologne when he leaned against me, so close to my ear I could feel the brush of his lips against the sensitive skin. He smelled of pine and bay – fresh, crisp and masculine. “I’m hoping for some reggaeton.”

I laughed and he grinned back at me. “It’s a better fit for dancing, that’s for sure.” The rhythm of the current music was not bad, but not suited for the contact I knew he was hoping for. He hadn’t let go of me. His warm touch on my lower back kept reminding me of Marjorie’s words. “I hope you get lucky.”

He chucked. “That’s up to you.”

“Don’t step out of line,” I got on my tip-toes and, on the way to his ear, I could feel his breath against my cheek.

The music carried us away, not reggaeton yet, but it had just the pace we needed to dance and explore each other a bit more.

I didn’t feel anything whenever his lips got closer to my skin, not even in anticipation to feel them end all the need for touch and attention. Thinking about it, I didn’t even remember the last time I got laid and that was worrying, to say the least. Even though Uwe was there, making sure I knew he was available, he was not Carlos; in fact, he was Carlos’ polar opposite. Attractive, nonetheless. Blonde, tall, strong. Nice accent. Nice hands. Long, warm fingers. I could go on, I could make a list of this man’s wonders and I knew he would not make me feel half as good as Sainz could.

He bit my earlobe. Hands conducting my waist. I moved a few inches away, the corner of my lips curling into a smile. He tightened the grip around my waist, both his hands holding me close.

“Behave,” I said playfully.

“You can walk away if you want to,” he let go of me and I shook my head in disapproval. His hands met my waist again. The music changed and I chuckled at the familiar sound and so did the crowd, as they quickly started singing. “Dance with me, DiMaggio,” he commanded.

We danced, slowly and easily. I didn’t even know where we were standing, as the music and his touch clouded my mind with nothing but this moment. His fingers kissed my skin in an adoring way, the lyrics to the songs escaping his lips with a funny accent he tried to fight. It made me laugh and correct him on his Spanish more than once.

He turned me around, my back to his chest, his hands on my waist, his touch warm, firm and strong, pushing me to him. The shirt was so thin that his body heat seeped through the fabric and reached the exposed skin of my back. I could feel his strong hands everywhere as we danced some more until the set ended. As the music changed to a more upbeat one, I turned back to him.

During the movement I caught a glimpse of him, alone. A beer in his hand and nothing but the dark sky around him.

“Another drink?” The German’s voice snapped me back to the moment.

My eyes seemed too hard to move, I was stuck there, on him. But then a slimmer silhouette appeared at his side, with blonde hair and a big smile.

I smiled. “No, thanks. I told you. I’m behaving.”

“Hope that’s only regarding the alcohol,” he murmured and he licked his lips.

“Let’s see,” I said as my eyes dropped to his lips and then to the medallion hidden under the fabric of his shirt. “What does it say?”

He noticed what my gaze has fallen upon and he followed it by dropping his forehead closer to mine. “Das Blaue vom Himmel versprechen,” he answered. I turned it around with the help of my fingers.

“The blue of the sky?” I asked, not letting go of the amulet.

“Promise the blue of the sky. It’s a saying. There’s a certain ring to it.” I nodded at the explanation and out of nowhere, his lips crashed against mine.

Harsh and wet. Brutal and aggressive. Ocean and tequila.

Tasted so wrong. So wrong.

Wrong in way too many ways.

The moment awakened the memories of an Italian guy left alone in a bathroom stall and the reasons that had made me leave. He was not Carlos. They were not Carlos. Carlos. My eyes drifted to him, his eyes piercing through the crowd to find mine. Even with his friend’s lips on the skin of my neck and his arms firmly grabbing my ass, I couldn’t find the strength to break the eye contact.

It felt like an out-of-body experience. I could feel every cell of my body reject the man touching me, yet I was locked in a man standing not too far away, not moving, but getting more distant each second.

My look, a shout for help.

His made me burn. No emotion, just a blank expression.

Surprisingly, Uwe didn’t seem to be bothered by the glances Sainz cast in our direction; in fact, I wasn’t even sure if he was aware of them. His attention was focused on me. His hands, his lips, his eyes. Unfortunately for him, I couldn’t reciprocate the devotion.

Every time his eyes dropped to another part of me other than my face, my eyes would go back to the Spaniard on the other side of the crowd, leaning against the fence of the terrace. Alone. He’s alone.

The cast of Carlos' gaze was making me dizzy. Even worse, making me feel guilty. Guilty. His eyes were half-lidded, his hair mussed and his clothes dishevelled. He looked drunk. He was drunk.

And he started walking towards us.

“Eva,” his voice resonated, hoarse and deep as always. The only difference was that his lips were barely moving. “I would like to go home.”

“Already? But we’re all having so much fun, ‘migo,” the German exclaimed. Carlos was unfazed. Uwe’s words seemed to enter one ear and escape from the other, as Carlos didn’t even look at him. I was unsure if he had even listened to his friend. His gaze was focused on me.

“Eva.”

“Don’t worry, pal, I can take her home,” Uwe offered, his hand falling on Carlos’ shoulder. The Spaniard moved just enough to make the blonde retract his hand.

“Eva, I need you to take me home,” Carlos insisted. I sent an apologetic look to Uwe, whose confused eyes drifted from me to Carlos, repeatedly. I looked over the crowd, my eyes trying to find Blanca. He grabbed my hand. “Take me home.”

For fuck’s sake.

The man was drunk and acting like a fool and yet my body reacted to that gesture, electricity sparkling from the point of contact. I looked at him, directly into his eyes. They were dark, the black of his eyes dripping into the hazel iris. He tensed his jaw.

I turned back to Uwe. My hand on Carlos’. The German nodded at my words and took a step back to let me through the crowd.

“Not what I expected when told you to enjoy the party.”

“Sorry?”

“This,” he motioned to Uwe. I dropped his hand.

“You think I was?”

“Looked like it.”

A frown instantly took over my face, confusion growing inside. I walked to my brother, who was probably as drunk as Carlos, and his girlfriend, who was leaning against the handrail. Rio’s eyes followed Carlos and not me. His lips curled into a smile watching him trying to reach me.

“Land him a hand, ‘Vita. He’s fucked up.”

Of course, I didn’t. My steps led me to Marjorie and I stood next to her, waiting for Carlos to slowly make his way through the crowd. I dared to look down, at the foam the waves created when they kissed the cliff and followed the trails of white foam. The music made it impossible to hear the claps of the waves.

“You’re so wasted, bro!” Rio hailed Carlos when he finished his unstable walk and finally reached us. “Where’s blondie?”

“You should worry about your wife,” Carlos responded and my eyes drifted to Marjorie, frowning at the Spaniard’s comment.

Rio and Marjorie walked in front of us. He was holding her by the waist, saying things in her ear I was sure I didn’t want to listen to. I didn’t try to match my pace to Carlos’, but he made an effort to catch mine. We had to wait for him in the car.

“Could you please stop?”

Carlos had opened and closed his window three times in the last ten minutes. “It’s hot,” was the excuse he gave when he lowered the glass for the first time. And for why he had closed it a short moment after, he only offered a measly “It’s messing my hair”. After those first times, he repeated the words two times, each time after the annoying noise of the mechanism.

“I’m hot,” he said for the fourth time, the glass going down and the cold night air filling the car. I could feel my skin being taken by goosebumps as the cold air touched my skin.

“I’ll leave you on the side of the road if you close it one more time,” I threatened him.

Marjorie and Rio had fallen asleep five minutes into the drive home and Carlos had sat in silence next to me, watching me drive. My ear drums were still suffering from the loud music of the party, so I was quite enjoying the silence.

“Oh, please don’t,” he said, his voice mildly sarcastic and his eyes avoiding mine. I could see his pupils dilate as he looked at me.

“Just shut up, please,” my eyes didn’t leave the road, which was only lit by the headlights and the street lamps, except to look up at the dark velvety stripes painted in the night sky. “You don’t even look like yourself when you’re drunk,” I mumbled.

“You’re sober and I can say the same.”

“Why?”

“You kissed.” There was a slight pause but I refused to look at the man whose arm, resting on the console, almost touched mine. “You didn’t let me kiss you.”

You didn’t let me kiss you.

I blinked, trying to understand if the words were real and not a fabrication of my tired mind. Does he think I wanted that kiss? I kept my eyes on the road, my grip firm on the steering wheel. I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“D’you like it?” he continued, “Him? The kiss?”

“You’re drunk. We will talk tomorrow,” was all I said. This was not the time or place to talk about anything remotely related to all the feelings and emotions I wanted to repress.

“I’m not that drunk, Eva,” he sighed. A long breath escaped me, not knowing exactly what to do or say to amend the situation.

Again, the imabalance. If on one side I was pissed at him for dragging me out of the party like he owned me and had some kind of sick power over me, I was also thankful to know he still cared. Also, not only he cared but he was jealous of Uwe.

Is this insanity taking over?

You didn’t let me kiss you. Another man's kiss would never make me descend into a weeks-long spiral. I wanted to tell him that. I wanted him to know that I’d been craving him, desiring him, dreaming about him each night since our dinner weeks before.

“You flee my touch. You act like I’m a pervert,” he kept going.

What? I glanced at him from under my lashes, trying to gauge his expression. His stubble framed his face, giving him a vulnerable look that made my heart dance in my chest. The wind was making his hair messier; the untamed dark strands made him look even more vulnerable, yet his words cut deeper than ever. How could he look so fragile and yet sting me out like this?

“I don’t—”

“You do. And now that guy? That guy? D’you really think I don’t notice how you step away from me every time I touch you? Every fucking time, Eva.”

“It’s not like that.” Carlos looked over the window. I peeked in the rearview mirror, hoping I would find Marjorie and Rio still sleeping. They were. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“No.” Just no.

But he didn’t speak. For a couple of minutes, silence reigned in the car and a battle happened inside me. So many thoughts and guilt. Resentment and desire in the same measure.

“Tell me what’s it like then.”

“I don’t want to,” I sounded like my two-year-old nieces, for fuck’s sake. I turned into the gate of the residential area.

In the five minutes it took me to drive from the entrance to the residence, Marjorie and Rio woke up and complained two times about how cold the car was. Two times each. I didn’t say a word until I parked the car in the driveway, leaving enough space for Blanca’s.

“You should use the garage,” Carlos complained, dragging himself out of the car. His hand over his abdomen and a funny expression on his face.

“And you should drink less.”

Before I could reach the house, whose door my brother had opened, I heard his room’s door close. They were in a rush. Behind me, Carlos walked slowly. Not that drunk, he said. The man could barely walk in a straight line or have his eyes completely open.

I stood by the door, on the inside of the house and waited for him to go past me so I could lock the door. As he did, he turned to me. One of his hands travelled to the cold skin of my waist, the other to my face, his index finger caressing my cheek.

Warmth and delicacy. He could barely stand straight but his touch was delicate and soft against my skin. Seconds of pure bliss. I felt a silent sigh leaving me and, without realizing it, I took a step back. Like a marionette cut from its strings, my back hit the door frame.

I immediately condemned my body for doing so. He shook his head. “See?”

He left me standing there, my blood rushing inside my veins. The sad look in his eyes and the memory of this touch remained in my mind until I saw his body disappear being a wall. Then I placed my hand on the place he’d touched me, trying to bring back the comfort of his touch. I could feel the leftover warmth on my skin.

I didn’t move until I heard his steps reach the top of the stairs, making sure he would make it upstairs safe. When the sound stopped, probably indicating he had reached his bedroom, I turned away. I walked to the kitchen, searching for a water bottle and a large bowl and then I made my way upstairs.

Upstairs was dark and silent. Rio and Marjorie’s door was closed and even though Carlos had left his open, I couldn’t hear anything. Before walking to his room to check if he was okay and to leave the water and the bowl next to his bed, I left my heels and wallet in my room.

I knocked. Didn’t hear anything. The door was ajar and the silence hurt my ears, still buzzing from the loud music at the party. I peeked inside; an orange hue was talking over the room, coming from the lamps on the bedside tables. Carlos was nowhere to be seen.

When I was about to call his name, I saw a stream of light coming from the bathroom, casting a white line on the dark rug in front of the door, but the silence continued.

I left the bottle and the bowl on the nightstand, where his phone was charging and his wallet was left open, and then turned around to the door from where the light was coming. I couldn’t see much more than the image of his back through the small gap. Although I felt like I was invading his privacy, as I actually was, I let myself enjoy that moment of intimacy.

He was still wearing his jeans. And socks. Green socks.

I would have killed to see him like this.

I heard the splash of the water hitting the porcelain of the sink. My image was reflected in the mirror when he bent down to wash his face and even though I tried to escape his gaze, his reflexes were faster than mine. He turned to me.

“I left water and a bowl on your bedside table,” I said. “Just in case.”

Carlos used a towel to dry his hands and face and walked past me, turning off the bathroom light on his way. Darkness fell into the room, the glow from the lights too low to light up the whole space. He became nothing but shades.

“I’m not a child,” I heard him undo the zipper of his jeans and take them off under the orangy glow. I drifted my gaze to the well-lit water bottle and, made myself read the label, fighting the urge to look at him. “You can go now.”

“You have no right to be mad at me.”

“Now you want to talk,” he deadpanned. The ruffle of the comforter and then a muted thud, his body meeting the bed. “I want to sleep.”

“Have some water first,” mentally, I complimented the choice of low brightness on the lamps. I really didn’t want to see his reaction to my words – his grunt was enough to know he was annoyed. I grabbed the bottle and extended my arm towards him.

He turned to me and the light reached his face faster than my eyes did. The beams outlined his features: the nose, the lips, the full eyelashes and gave a new sparkle to his eyes. Under the warm tones, he looked peaceful and somewhat delicate, and that wasn’t a word I would naturally use for him.

“I’m not a child,” he repeated his words from before and didn’t take the bottle from my hands.

“Yet you’re behaving like one.”

“Go to bed, Eva.”

“I don’t want you to choke to death on your own vomit.”

His eyes widened, a snort coming from his mouth before his words. “I won’t.”

“You can’t be sure,” I replied and I moved the bottle in front of his face. “Just a sip.”

“Eva,” a sigh and then my hand got lighter. He took the bottle from my hand and I took a step back. It didn’t take long until I heard a satisfied sigh.

“Try to not die,” and with these parting words, I walked away from the bed.

“Eva,” he called my name again and each time he was taking more time with it. Perhaps he was tired, or the alcohol was slowing him down, but my name sounded like music.

The accent. The v on his lips sounded like a b. Soft and tender.

And just like that, I couldn’t resist turning back to look at him. He was a striking silhouette under that stupid orange dim light; shirtless, his head against the headboard and his hair falling on his forehead and at that moment, I understood it was too late to fight the feelings.

“Can we talk tomorrow? You need sleep.”

“When?”

I shrugged. “Any time will do.”

“Eva,” he had his eyes almost closed, his face down on the pillow; my name sounded like a siren call. I wanted to dive in and meet him in bed. “Don’t see him again.”

His soft whisper cut through the silence like thunder.

I got close, just so I could turn off the lights and let him rest, but as I did so, my eyes caught the sight of his tired face. The line of his perfect lashes, the hair ruffled against the pillow, the light kissing his face, making him even more beautiful.

My fingers lingered over the light switch, postponing the gesture that would make him disappear in the dark. I stood next to him for a couple of minutes, staring adoringly at his face and appreciating the tranquillity of his sleep. It didn’t feel wrong, not even for a second.

He had ruined me the moment he brushed his lips against mine and reopened the door where all the what-ifs were stored and left to be forgotten. He set them free and they twirled around me, poking me with all the scenarios I’d made so much effort to forget.

But perhaps I shouldn't forget them. Perhaps I belonged here, at his side, not afraid to look at him and adore his face. Without the weight of the world and its expectations, I could just be here, tracing the lines between the light and the shadows with my eyes, be free to admit I wanted to kiss him right where the light touched him. How much I envied that orange dim light that staked a claim on him before I could.

With a click, all of it vanished into the dark.

I don't even know what to say. First of all, THANK YOU for reading and leaving messages and comments. I can't tell you how much I value every single word you write me. also: virtually hugging all of you sainz girlies. it was tough, today. still hurts. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think. See you around, Bru 🩷

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