#luxury pick up trucks

[haute-lifestyle-com]

Pickup trucks have evolved far beyond their traditional role as rugged workhorses. Today, they often combine utility with the sophistication and technology of modern luxury vehicles, making them the dream choice for many car enthusiasts

[11oh1]

[indeedgoodman]

[authorhjk1]

Heaven on earth

(Minnie X Miyeon X Male Reader)

The stage lights dimm to a roar of applause, the crowd chanting their names like a battle cry. Minnie takes one last bow alongside her groupmates, before retreating backstage. The adrenaline coursing through her veins makes her legs feel shaky, but the energy of the fans carries her forward.

“That was... insane."

Miyeon pants, her arm slung over Minnie’s shoulder as they stumble towards the dressing room.

“Best crowd yet."

Minnie agrees, clutching her water bottle like a lifeline. Her voice is hoarse, her chest heaving from the effort of their two-hour performance.

Soyeon, ever the composed leader, walks beside them with effortless grace. Not a strand of her hair is out of place, her makeup still flawless despite the intensity of the concert.

“You two look like you’ve been hit by a truck."

She teases, flashing them a smirk.

“Feel like it too."

Miyeon groans, collapsing onto the couch as soon as they reach the dressing room. Minnie follows, slumping into the cushions beside her.

“How do you do it?”

Minnie asks Soyeon, who has already begun touching up her lipstick at the vanity.

“You’re like a robot or something.”

“Discipline."

Soyeon replies, capping her lipstick with a flourish.

“And knowing how to recover properly.”

“Recovery?”

Miyeon rolls her neck.

“If you’ve got some secret, now’s the time to share it. My entire body feels like it’s falling apart.”

Soyeon turns to them with a knowing smile.

“I might have just the thing.”

She reaches into her designer handbag and pulls out a small, elegant black-and-gold card. She tosses it onto the coffee table, where it lands with an air of finality.

“What’s this?”

Minnie asks, picking up the card. The text was embossed in gold, reading:

"Heaven on earth."

Beneath it is a residential address in one of Seoul’s wealthiest neighborhoods.

“A massage parlor?”

Miyeon asks, sitting up and squinting at the card.

“Not just any massage parlor."

Soyeon says, returning to her seat with a graceful ease. “It’s exclusive. Appointment-only. The kind of place you’d never find unless someone like me pointed you in the right direction.”

“And you’ve been?”

Minnie flips the card over. It is blank on the back.

“A few times."

Soyeon replies with a sly smile.

"Trust me, it’s worth it. They’ll have you feeling like new.”

“Sounds expensive."

Miyeon says, though the intrigue in her voice was clear.

“It is.”

Soyeon stands up and grabs her bag.

“But you get what you pay for. Oh, and if you decide to go, ask for Mr. Shin.”

“Who’s Mr. Shin?"

Minnie looks up at her.

“The best therapist there."

Soyeon says, her smile turning mysterious.

"You’ll see.”

The next afternoon, Minnie and Miyeon find themselves driving through a quiet street in Cheongdam-dong, a neighborhood known for its old-money charm. Unlike the flashy high-rises of central Seoul, this area has an understated elegance. The houses are large, each tucked behind manicured hedges or stone walls, their gates hinting at secrets rather than wealth.

“This can’t be right. It looks like someone's house."

Minnie murmurs as the car pulls up to an unassuming white stucco house. Miyeon checks the address on the card again.

"But it’s the right place.”

The gate opens automatically, revealing a beautifully landscaped front yard. A small pond glimmers in the afternoon sunlight, its surface dotted with lily pads. Wisteria climbs the side of the house, its purple blossoms trailing like draped silk.

“This is way too fancy for a massage parlor."

Minnie steps out of the car, followed closely by Miyeon.

A woman in her thirties greets them at the door. Dressed in a tailored black suit, she exudes a calm professionalism that seemed incongruous with the cozy facade of the house.

“Welcome to Heaven on Earth."

She gives the two of them a polite bow.

“You must be Miss Miyeon and Miss Minnie. Please, come in.”

The interior of the house is just as luxurious as the exterior, though it feels more like a curated gallery than a home. The floors are polished dark wood, the walls painted in soft neutrals accented with minimalist art pieces. A chandelier made of cascading glass droplets hangs in the entryway, casting soft rainbows on the walls.

“This way."

The woman leads them down a hallway to a spacious lounge.

The room is an embodiment of indulgence. A sunken jacuzzi bubbles softly in the center, steam curling lazily into the air. To the left, an L-shaped sectional sofa surrounds a sleek glass coffee table, while to the right, three armchairs are arranged around a low, polished wooden table. In another corner, a mahogany bar holds crystal decanters filled with amber liquid.

“This is... not what I expected."

Miyeon's voice is tinged with both awe and confusion.

“Where’s the massage table?”

“The setting is designed for your comfort. Please take a moment to fill out these forms while we prepare for your session.”

She hands them clipboards with thick, gold-edged forms. Minnie and Miyeon exchange a glance before sitting down in the armchairs to fill them out.

The first page of the form is standard enough. Name, age, and medical conditions. But as they turn the page, the questions become stranger.

“‘Do you prefer a calming or commanding energy?’”

Minnie reads aloud, her brow furrowing.

"What does that even mean?”

Miyeon glances at her form.

"‘How important is discretion in your experience?’ That’s... oddly specific.”

“It gets weirder."

Minnie says, pointing to a section labeled Personal Comfort Preferences.

"Physical boundaries: open to touch, selective, or exclusive?’ This doesn’t feel like a normal massage parlor.”

Miyeon hesitates, then shrugs.

“Maybe it’s just rich people being extra. You know how Soyeon is about her fancy things.”

They continue filling out the form, though the questions make Minnie feel increasingly uneasy. The final page asks if they’d like to request a specific therapist.

“Soyeon said to ask for Mr. Shin."

Miyeon writes his name in the blank field.

Minnie follows suit, though a part of her wonders what exactly they are signing up for.

After a while, the receptionist returns to collect the forms, her smile never faltering.

“Thank you. Please make yourselves comfortable. Mr. Shin will join you shortly.”

The lounge grows quiet after the receptionist leaves. Miyeon pours herself a drink from one of the decanters, swirling the amber liquid in a crystal glass before taking a sip.

“This is the fanciest waiting room I’ve ever seen."

She settles onto the sectional sofa.

“Soyeon was right about it being exclusive.”

“It’s more than fancy."

Minnie says, pacing the room.

“It’s weird. There’s no massage table, but there’s a jacuzzi, a bar, and enough furniture to host a party. Doesn’t this feel... off?”

Miyeon hesitates, glancing around the room.

"A little, maybe. But if Soyeon comes here all the time, it can’t be that bad.”

Minnie opens her mouth to reply, but the door opens before she could speak. A tall man steps inside, and the atmosphere seems to shift.

His clean, dark suit seems to fit him perfectly. Miyeon notices his broad shoulders. His warm, but piercing eyes. His welcoming, but professional smile.

“Miss Miyeon. Miss Minnie."

He bows slightly.

“I’m Mr. Shin. Welcome to Heaven on Earth.”

Minnie and Miyeon exchange a glance, suddenly unsure of what exactly they've signed up for.

Mr. Shin’s presence fills the room, calm yet imposing. He stands by the door for a moment, his dark eyes seem to look them up and down for just a second. His polite smile widens just enough to feel both professional and unnerving.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable. We’ll begin shortly.”

You gesture towards the seating arrangements.

Minnie and Miyeon hesitate before moving to the L-shaped sectional. The rich cream sofa feels almost too soft, as though it might swallow them whole. Minnie shifts uncomfortably, her senses tingling as you walk towards the bar.

“Would you like a drink to help you relax?”

Your question is directed at Minnie, after seeing that Miyeon has already helped herself. You pour a measure of amber liquid into a crystal glass without waiting for a reply, then place it on the coffee table in front of them. The way your hands move - controlled, deliberate - makes Minnie's stomach tighten.

Miyeon reaches for her own glass, but Minnie stops her with a light touch on her wrist.

“Maybe we should wait.”

Minnie says, her voice low. Something about the situation feels too orchestrated, too precise.

She sees you raising an eyebrow, your expression unreadable.

“Of course."

You say, stepping back.

"The choice is always yours.”

Minnie’s pulse quickens. The words seem innocuous, but there was an undertone to them that she can't quite place.

Your posture remains impeccable as you take a seat in one of the armchairs.

“I’ll need to review your preferences before we begin."

You pull out a tablet from a discreet drawer in the coffee table. Tapping the screen, your eyes scan whatever notes have been transcribed from their forms.

“You mentioned physical tension and overall fatigue."

Your gaze flicking briefly to Miyeon.

"Is there anything else I should know about what you’re hoping to achieve today?”

Miyeon blinks, caught off guard by the directness of the question.

“Uh, just… to feel more relaxed, I guess.”

“Relaxation is our specialty."

You turn towards the other woman.

“And you, Miss Minnie? Any additional concerns?”

Minnie hesitates, her instincts screaming that something isn’t right. But she can't deny the lingering ache in her body from the grueling schedule they've been under.

“No, just the same. Relaxation.”

“Perfect. I-"

You get interrupted by the door being opened. Ms. Lee, the receptionist, bows politely in the women's direction.

"I apologize."

She looks at you.

"I have one of your regulars on the line."

You smile, standing up in one fluid motion.

"Please excuse for a minute."

Miyeon nods in understanding.

When the door clicks shut behind you, Miyeon lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

“Okay, is it just me, or is this the strangest massage parlor in existence?”

Minnie nods, leaning forward to whisper.

“Did you see that form he was looking at? Why does a massage therapist need that much detail about ‘intimate boundaries’?”

“Maybe it’s like a medical thing. You know, to avoid lawsuits or something.”

She doesn't sound very convincing.

“Maybe."

Minnie mutters, though the uneasy feeling in her stomach refuses to go away.

A mischievous smile plays around your lips when you reach for the door. The one who just called was Soyeon. She only confirmed what you already expected. The two women don't know what kind of place this is. It's always fun having someone new, who slowly figures it out over time. The older woman asked you to properly take care of them. The way you usually take care of her. Which means you'll need to move them to the room next door eventually.

You step back inside the lounge, two large white towels hanging off your arm. After neatly placing them on the sofa, you keep standing.

“Before we proceed, I’d like you both to relax fully. The body cannot release tension unless the mind is at ease.”

You gesture toward the jacuzzi, its bubbling water glinting like liquid gold under the low lighting.

“You’re welcome to use the jacuzzi to begin loosening your muscles.”

Minnie and Miyeon exchanged a glance. The suggestion seems innocuous enough, but there is something in your tone that makes Minnie’s skin prickle.

“I think we’re fine here."

She says quickly, crossing her legs and sinking deeper into the sofa. The plush cushions envelops her, but she feels no comfort.

Miyeon, however, seems more willing to indulge. “It does look tempting."

She admits, though she makes no move to stand. “But maybe later.”

You nod, your expression neutral. How long is it gonna take until they figure it out? Should you be more straightforward?

“As you wish. Comfort is always a priority at Heaven on Earth.”

Miyeon picks up her glass, taking a cautious sip. She tries to hide her own complex thoughts. Everything looks so professional. And yet it feels odd, almost mysterious. The lack of massage tables, a jacuzzi, the fact you're wearing an expensive looking suit and not a uniform or something. It all has her mind racing. And yet, she doesn't feel threatened or scared. After all, Soyeon seems to be here often.

Minnie hesitates before taking her own glass, her eyes scanning the room for anything that might hint at what this place really is. The furniture, the lighting, the scent of sandalwood and jasmine - it all feels carefully curated, but for what purpose?

As they sit in silence, you lower yourself into one of the armchairs across from them, your posture impeccable. You rest your hands on the armrests, your fingers tapping lightly as though you are gauging their reactions.

“This space,"

You begin, gesturing subtly to the room,

“is designed to help you shed the weight of external pressures. It is a sanctuary for those who give so much of themselves to the world.”

Your words are soothing, almost hypnotic, but Minnie’s unease only deepens. She glances at the bar, at the jacuzzi, at the way the chaise lounge seems positioned as if it is waiting for something - or someone.

She finally breaks the tension.

“So, uh, how exactly does this work? I mean, it’s not like any massage place I’ve ever been to.”

“We believe in offering more than just physical relief. Our approach addresses the whole self - body, mind, and energy.”

Miyeon leans forward, intrigued despite herself.

"And what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means we tailor every experience to the individual. To their needs, their desires. No two sessions are the same.”

Minnie’s grip tightens around her glass. The way you said desires sends a shiver down her spine, though she can't explain why. She exchanges a glance with Miyeon, who looks intrigued but wary. “C-Can you explain that further?”

Minnie asks, her voice tinged with skepticism.

“Everything here is tailored to help you rediscover yourselves. As performers, you expend so much of your energy giving to others. This space is designed for you to receive.”

The way you said receive makes Minnie’s stomach tighten. She shifts in her seat, her unease mixing with a strange curiosity. Miyeon, meanwhile, seems more relaxed, her posture softening as you continue.

“To begin, I’d like to help you release the tension you’re holding."

Leaning forward, your gaze settles on Miyeon first.

“May I?”

Miyeon hesitates, glancing at Minnie before nodding.

“I... guess?”

You move with deliberate grace, taking Miyeon’s hand in yours. Your touch is warm but firm, your thumb pressing lightly into her palm.

“Tension often begins here. The hands carry the weight of everything we hold onto.”

Miyeon’s breath hitches slightly as you begin to massage her hand, your fingers working expertly over the delicate bones and tendons. She closes her eyes, leaning back against the sofa.

"Wow. That’s... really good.”

Minnie watches, her wariness deepening even as she feels a twinge of envy. There is something intimate about the way you work, you focus entirely on Miyeon. It is professional, yes, but there is a closeness to it that feels almost too personal.

“Miss Minnie, may I assist you as well?”

Your words have her comeback to her senses.

Minnie hesitates, but Miyeon’s relaxed expression seems to reassure her.

"Okay."

She offers her hand to you.

Your touch is the same. Firm, deliberate, yet oddly tender. As your fingers press into her palm, she feels the tension in her muscles begin to melt away, replaced by a strange warmth that spreads up her arm. It isn’t just physical. It is as if the room itself shifts, the air growing heavier, more charged.

You guide them gently, your voice steady as you are now standing behind them. The session transitions into a guided relaxation exercise, with you encouraging them to let go of their insecurities, to embrace the moment without judgment.

As the atmosphere grows more intimate, your touch lingers a fraction longer, your voice dipping into a lower register. The boundary between professional and personal begins to blur, and Minnie finds herself caught between unease and a strange sense of surrender.

“Your bodies carry so much tension."

Your hands moving to Miyeon’s shoulders.

"You deserve to feel free.”

Miyeon’s eyes flutter shut as she leans into your touch, her breathing deep and steady. Minnie watches, her chest tightening as the charged atmosphere wraps around them like a cocoon.

When your attention turns back to Minnie, your touch is as deliberate as before, but there is a new intensity to it. A quiet demand for trust.

“You’re holding back. Why?”

“I don’t know."

Minnie whispers, her voice barely audible.

“Let go. Allow yourself to feel.”

The air in the lounge seems to grow thicker, the scent of sandalwood and jasmine wrapping around Minnie and Miyeon like an invisible tether. You move with the same deliberate grace, but your presence has changed. It is no longer just calm. It is commanding, almost magnetic.

“You’ve been carrying this tension for too long.”

Once more you move onto the older girl. Miyeon tilts her head back slightly, her breath hitching as your hands begin to knead the muscles at the base of her neck. Your touch is expert, but there iss a weight behind it now, a quiet insistence that seems to demand more than just physical surrender.

Minnie watches, her heart thudding in her chest. She wants to say something, but the words catch in her throat. There is something about the way you move, the way your voice fills the room, that makes it impossible to look away.

“Relax."

Your hands sliding down to Miyeon' upper arms. Your fingers brush against the edge of her collarbone, lingering just long enough to make her shiver.

"You deserve to let go.”

Miyeon’s eyes flutter shut, her lips parting as she exhales slowly.

“That feels... really good."

Her voice barely a whisper.

“And you, Miss Minnie."

You say, your tone now carrying a quiet authority. “You’re still holding back.”

Minnie’s pulse quickens as you step closer to her. “I... I’m not sure."

“You don’t have to be sure."

You reply, your voice soft but commanding.

“You only have to trust me.”

Before Minnie can respond, you reach for her hand. Your grip is firm yet gentle, your thumb brushing over her knuckles in a way that makes her skin tingle. You guide her to stand, your movements deliberate as you position yourself behind her.

“This isn’t just about touch. It’s about connection. About giving yourself permission to feel.”

Minnie’s breath hitches as your hands rest on her shoulders. Your fingers press into the tense muscles there, drawing a gasp from her lips. Your touch growing firmer as you work your way down her back.

“Good, you’re starting to let go.”

As your hands continue to move, Minnie feels a flicker of something unfamiliar. An awareness that goes beyond the physical. Her cheeks flush as your fingers brush against the curve of her waist, your touch straying just enough to make her wonder if it was intentional.

Miyeon, meanwhile, has leaned forward slightly, her head resting in her hands as you return your attention to her. You kneel in front of her, gesturing Minnie to sink back into the sofa, your hands sliding up Miyeon's calves to her knees.

“Tension gathers here too."

You look up at her.

“May I?”

Miyeon nods, her cheeks pink.

"Yes."

Your hands move higher, kneading the muscles just above her knees. Your movements are precise, but there is a deliberateness to them that makes the air between them feel electric. Your thumbs press inward, just shy of the hem of her dress, and Miyeon inhales sharply.

The silence in the room is broken only by the soft hum of the jacuzzi and the sound of breathing. You rise to your feet, your presence towering over both women as you step back slightly.

“You’re both carrying more than just physical tension. There are walls you’ve built around yourselves. They’re keeping you from fully releasing.”

“What do you mean?”

Miyeon's voice shaky.

“Allow me to show you."

You reach for the top button of your tailored jacket, unfastening it with slow, deliberate movements. The sound of the fabric sliding over your shoulders is almost deafening in the quiet room.

Minnie’s eyes widen as you set the jacket aside, revealing a crisp black shirt that clings to your frame. You roll up your sleeves, exposing strong forearms that seem to radiate power and control. The simple act feels charged, as though you are peeling away more than just clothing.

“Relaxation requires vulnerability."

You reach out to Miyeon. Your fingers brush against the strap of her dress, sliding it off her shoulder with a precision that feels both practiced and personal.

“It requires trust.”

Miyeon’s breathing quickens, but she doesn't stop you. Her cheeks flush as you repeat the gesture on her other shoulder, her dress slipping slightly as your hands move to her collarbone.

Minnie’s throat feels dry as you turn to her, your gaze penetrating.

“And you, Miss Minnie. Are you ready to let go?”

Her heart pounds as you reach for her, your hand resting lightly on her jaw. Your thumb brushes against her cheek, sending a jolt of heat through her.

“I... I don’t know."

She admits, her voice trembling.

“You don’t need to know. You only need to trust me.”

And as the line between professionalism and intimacy blurs, Minnie and Miyeon find themselves stepping into uncharted territory, their inhibitions slipping away under your guiding touch.

“You’re so used to holding everything inside. Your body carries it all. Your fear, your doubt, your desire.”

Your voice makes Minnie's breath quicken.

The last word linger in the air, heavy and deliberate. Minnie feels her cheeks flush, but she can't look away from you.

“Let me help you."

You say, your voice dropping into a deeper register. Your thumb traces the line of her jaw before your hand moves to her shoulder, your fingers brushing the edge of her neckline.

“You don’t have to hold onto it anymore.”

Minnie’s breath hitches as your touch grows bolder, your hand sliding down her arm. She feels a strange mix of apprehension and anticipation, her mind racing even as her body seems to respond instinctively to your presence.

You turn your attention back to Miyeon, who sits on the sofa, her posture tense despite the warmth in her cheeks. You move with the same measured grace, kneeling in front of her again, your hands resting lightly on her knees.

“You’re more open. But you’re still holding back.”

“I’m not...”

Miyeon starts, but her voice falters as your hands move higher, your thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above her knees.

“You’re used to giving up control in small ways, but not fully. Not here.”

Your hands slide up further, brushing the hem of her dress as you lean in closer.

“Trust me.”

Miyeon’s breath quickens, her lips parting slightly as she nods. Your hands move to her hips, your fingers firm but careful as you guide her to relax against the cushions. Your movements are deliberate.

“You’re starting to feel it.”

Minnie’s heart pounds as she watches the interaction. There is something mesmerizing about the way you move, the way you speak, the way Miyeon seems to melt under your touch. But there is also something deeply unsettling. Something that makes her question whether you have gone too far.

Before she can process her thoughts, you turn your attention back to her. You rise to your feet, your presence towering over her as you extend a hand.

“Stand."

Minnie hesitates, but the weight of your gaze compels her to obey. She places her hand in yours, her legs trembling slightly as you guide her to stand in front of you again.

“You’re stronger than you think."

Your hand moves to her lower back. The pressure of your palm is firm, steady, grounding.

"But strength doesn’t mean closing yourself off.”

Your free hand moves to her waist, your fingers brushing the fabric of her dress. You're close now. So close that she can feel the heat radiating from your body, the faint scent of your cologne mingling with the jasmine and sandalwood in the air.

“You’re holding your breath. Let it go.”

Minnie exhales shakily, her body softening under your touch. She feels your hands shift, one sliding to the curve of her hip while the other moves to her shoulder. Your movements are slow, deliberate, giving her just enough time to process but not enough to resist.

“Good. Now, let me show you what it feels like to truly release.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Your movements grow bolder, your hands exploring the boundaries of her comfort with the precision of someone who knows exactly how far to go. Your fingers brush the small of Minnie’s back, trailing up her spine in a way that makes her shiver. Your touch isn’t rough, but there is a dominance to it. A quiet insistence that makes her heart race.

Miyeon, still reclining on the sofa, seems completely under your spell. Her dress has slipped lower on her shoulders, and she makes no move to adjust it as you returned to her side. Your hand moves to her thigh, your fingers pressing into the soft flesh just above her knee.

“You’re doing well. But you can give more.”

Miyeon’s breath hitches as your hand moves higher, your touch deliberate but never hurried. She closes her eyes, her body sinking further into the cushions as she lets herself be guided by you.

Minnie watches, her chest tightening as the tension in the room reaches a breaking point. She feels your hand on her waist again, your touch grounding her even as her thoughts spin out of control.

“You’re thinking too much. Stop thinking. Just feel.”

Minnie closes her eyes, her body responding to your words even as her mind screams at her to pull away. But it is too late. Your lips meet hers.

Once again, only the jacuzzi breaks the silence. Minnie's whole body is frozen. Miyeon looks at the two of you with wide eyes. Your sudden move has them both stunned. But to Minnie's own surprise, she can feel her body trying to reciprocate the kiss. Her lips almost move on their own. Why isn't she stopping this? She should pull away, say something. But her body refuses. Instead, she sinks even deeper into your touch.

As the blonde deepens the kiss, you slowly let your hands wonder along her waist. Miyeon bites her lip as she watches you feeling Minnie's ass. Your sudden advance stirs something unexpected inside her. Jealousy? Curiosity? She can't tell, but the older girl's body seems to edge closer on its own.

The two of them have gotten used to your touch. Their bodies reacting positively to every one of your movements. When you finally do break the kiss, Minnie leans back. She can feel your hands on her ass and yet, she can still feel the professionalism in your eyes. Not that horny look she sees in some men's eyes when they walk past her. But a look that makes her curious as to what the next step is.

Her breath hitches, when your left hand moves to the front. It almost seems like a coincidence as it slips beneath the long brown skirt. Minnie's eyes are still focused on yours. You place your hand right above her core. Only her underwear separates your hand from her snatch. But you don't apply pressure, or start to move your hand further. You just hold it there.

Leaning closer again, you let your lips brush against hers, before kissing her cheeks instead. Minnie holds her breath, when she hears your voice.

"Be good girl."

You nod towards the space on the sofa, right next to Miyeon.

"Touch yourself."

Pulling back, you can see all kinds of different emotions reflected in Minnie's eyes. Surprise, uncertainty, and a hint of anger. But her look is too soft. She already feels good, her body relaxed. Why not relax her mind as well?

"Trust me."

Your words already seem so familiar to her. Minnie decides to go with the flow. Unconsciously, she finally realizes what is actually going on here. This is not a massage parlor. At least not an ordinary one. Soyeon must know what place this is. Minnie sinks into the sofa, doing her best to give up control. Soyeon said, you're the best.

Miyeon's cheeks show a deep red as you focus on her. Just like Minnie, she comes to her own realization. She isn't just paying you for a massage. She is paying you for...for sex.

"May I?"

Like before, you ask Miyeon for permission.

She hesitates, but eventually nods. Holding her breath, she expects a kiss from you as well. Instead, you kneel down again. But this time, it's not your hand on her thigh. You plant a kiss right above her left knee.

Miyeon looks down on you, slowly exhaling. She feels an odd mix of disappointment and excitement. Another kiss, above her right knee.

She feels your trail of kisses move along her thighs, alternating between left and right. With every step forward, she lets out a weak gasp.

Reaching the hem of her black dress, you glance at Minnie. She didn't get rid of her skirt yet, but you see that her hand has disappeared underneath it. Her eyes are half closed, looking back at you. Her lips are slightly parted as if she's letting out a soundless moan.

Miyeon instinctively reaches for your wrists as you slowly reach for the hem of her dress.

"Trust me."

Your smile makes Miyeon hesitate. She can feel the sincerity, the professionalism. You aren't a random guy who is taking advantage of her. You're just doing your job.

When her grip loosens, you push up her dress. You expose more and more of her porcelain like thighs, until you expose her core. The sight almost has you surprised. Miyeon must have assumed that she'd change into a proper massage outfit anyway. So she didn't bother wearing underwear. You have to stop your urge to just dive in. Her lips slightly glisten with building arousal. You catch a hint of her clit, almost begging you to take care of it.

Focusing back on her thighs, you start right where you left off. You earn a disappointed sigh, which is quickly replaced by slight moan. Miyeon's beautiful voice accompanies every single one of your kisses, until you finally reach her center.

You start to hear Minnie properly moaning now. You can only guess how she must feel, watching how her friend is going to get eaten out right in front of her. She is still moving her hand relatively slow, showing how relaxed her body really is.

When you finally reach Miyeon's pussy, you decide to give it a long, steady lick from bottom to top. A loud, drawn out sigh leaves her body. Another lick earns you another sigh. The third one makes her moan. You let your hands glide along her thighs as you bury your head between them.

Miyeon's eyes flutter shut as she feels your tongue roaming her pussy. Her head rolls back, when you give her thighs comforting squeezes. You suck on her folds, making her moan out, before finally capturing her clit with your mouth.

Minnie finally inserts two fingers inside her pussy as she watches Miyeon moan and quiver under your touch. She imagines your tongue on her own clit. How you draw patterns on it, how you occasionally let your tongue dart inside her snatch.

You feel Minnie's hand hold onto yours, which is still resting on Miyeon's thigh. The older girl's hips have started to buck in your direction, her body desiring more and more of the pleasure you're giving her. She keeps melting into the sofa the longer you feast on her pussy. Her surroundings become blurry, only your tongue exists.

"I think..."

Miyeon tries to say something, but her mouth won't listen. She barely hears Minnie's loud moan, too busy with feeling arousal flooding her senses.

"Close."

It's the only words she can get over her lips. Her breathing becomes quicker. You feel one of her hands finding the back of your head, pushing you further towards her. Her back arches as her body prepares herself for the incoming orgasm.

Miyeon climaxes with your tongue buried deep inside of her. All the tension suddenly leaves her body as she sinks back into the sofa. Her eyes are still closed as she tries to catch her breath.

You stand up and move over to Minnie, who finally stops pleasuring herself. She waits for you to do something. You leave her hanging for a second, before you reach down and start to unbuckle your belt. The two of you keep eye contact, while you take off your pants. Once they're on the floor, you step out of them. You expect Minnie to hesitate, or be surprised. Instead, she reaches forward, eyes still locked onto yours.

You feel one of her fingers trace along the outlines of your cock, the material of your boxers barely disrupting her touch. After her little teasing, Minnie reaches upwards to take off your underwear. When it hits the floor, her eyes move from your own to your dick. You catch her biting her lip, her hand slowly wrapping around your length. She gives you a couple of slow strokes as you look over at Miyeon. The older woman, still a little red, watches her friend's hand move up and down. One of her own is already resting on her thigh, her need for more pleasure obvious.

But you have focus on Minnie now. Soyeon did tell you to properly wear them out, so you get on the sofa, kneeling above Minnie's torso. She looks up at your again, slowly opening her mouth. Guiding your cock towards her, you watch her lips close around your tip. You feel her tongue roaming your length as you push deeper into her. Minnie lets go of your cock, her arms now stretched out on the backrest as she leans back a little.

You hear Miyeon moaning beside you as you place both hands on either side of Minnie's head.

More of your cock disappears inside her mouth, until most of it is buried inside of her. Her eyes still look up at you. It's a mix of plea and challenge, which makes you move back, before pushing back into her again. You feel her tongue pressed flat against the underside of your cock as you give her mouth long, powerful strokes. Not wanting to go too quick from the get go, you decide to enjoy her warm mouth.

Miyeon is now doing the same thing Minnie did earlier. Her fingers are slowly rubbing her clit as she watches you fucking Minnie's mouth. You can tell that Miyeon was more willing to let go during the beginning, but is now more hesitant when it comes to intimacy. Wanting to help her ease into it a little more, you reach out with your right hand. Miyeon gets the hint as you extend your ring- and middle finger. You watch how she leans forward, her lips then slowly closing around your fingers. Miyeon's eyes close again as she starts to suck on your fingers, while she keeps playing with herself.

Minnie makes you focus back on her by holding onto your thighs with both hands. The two of you lock eyes again. You move your hand towards the back of her head and now pull her in your direction as you thrust forward. Minnie's moan sends vibrations up your spine. You now increase your pace as you begin to feed her your whole length.

The room is now filled with the beautiful sounds of both girl either sucking on your fingers, or slightly gagging on your cock. You feel Miyeon making you extend a third finger, before she takes all three of them into her mouth. At the same time, you start to properly fuck Minnie's face, not wanting to disappoint Soyeon, if she asks her friends afterwards about their experience.

Minnie opens her mouth a little wider, trying to make it easier for her to take all of you. Saliva starts to escape the corners of her mouth as you keep thrusting into her. Miyeon lets her tongue swirl around your fingers, while she keeps sucking on them. You can hear her fingers going in and out of her pussy, the sounds telling you how wet this is making her.

After you give Minnie a couple more especially hard thrusts, you slowly retreat out of her mouth. Her spit connects her lips with your cock for a while, until the small strings snap. You remove your wet fingers out of Miyeon's mouth and stand up again.

You head over to a small drawer and take out two items. Minnie and Miyeon watch you while doing so. When you turn back to them, Minnie smiles, while you can still see uncertainty on Miyeon's face.

"They're supposed to be identical to mine."

The younger girl takes both transparent silicon dildos from you, before passing one of them to Miyeon.

"I want you two to show me how good you can suck cock."

You step behind them, your voice still soft, like it was at the beginning. But this time it doesn't ask for permission.

Miyeon hesitates once more, but Minnie gladly pushes the dildo past her lips. When you reach down with both hands, letting them slowly glide down their bodies, Miyeon finally follows the younger girl. Your right hand dives underneath Minnie's skirt, and pulls her panties to the side, while the other directly heads towards Miyeon's pussy.

Only moments later, you have both girls sitting next to each other, sucking on dildos that are shaped like your cock, while you start to finger both of them. Your position behind them enables you to penetrate them further and curl your fingers upwards to find just the right spot. Minnie's mouth produces gagging sounds once more as she does the same to herself as you did barely a minute ago. Miyeon is being more sensual, her lips slowly gliding up and down the hand made length, but focusing on the tip, whenever she is about to pull it out completely. The two women's moans are muffled, but you can clearly hear them. As you continue to move your fingers inside of them, they become louder. It only takes you a couple of minutes, to have both of them melting into the sofa, their eyes shut and the dildos inside their mouths coming to a halt.

Miyeon is quickly overwhelmed by her second orgasm, her body soon quivering once more. Her feet shuffle around on the floor as she sees stars. Minnie, on the other hand, freezes, only her eyelids fluttering. But once the orgasm has washed through her, she shakes for a couple of moments as well, until both finally calm down again. Both their pussies have been massaging your fingers throughout the whole experience, making you want to finally feel them around your cock.

"Strip."

You whisper into Miyeon's ear as you slowly pull your fingers pit of both women. The older girl does what she's told. She stands up and lets her dress slide down her body. You admire her naked body for a moment. But wanting to keep it professional, you just nod towards the middle of the room.

"I want to see you in the jacuzzi on your knees, pretending to suck me off."

You see Miyeon's head trying to have an inner discussion with herself. But despite your unyielding words, you give her a reassuring smile. She takes a deep breath and finally lets go of all the control she has kept over her own body.

"On your knees."

You give a different command to Minnie, but not without playfully giving her ear a small bite afterwards. It was obvious from the beginning that, once she let go of her idol image, Minnie would turn out to be the kinkiest out of the two.

You slowly walk around the sofa, while watching Miyeon slowly stepping into the jacuzzi. She turns around, the toy in her hand, before slowly sinking to her knees. After giving her one last reassuring nod, Miyeon takes the dildo back into her mouth.

Kneeling behind Minnie, you let your hands roam her ass once more. It looks great, even when it's hidden underneath the brown fabric.

She looks back at you as you take off her skirt, wanting to see how you push inside of her. You lean over to capture her lips once more. Minnie loses herself in the kiss, while you push her panties down her thighs.

You lean back again when you hear Miyeon moaning. The older woman is still kneeling in the jacuzzi, her lips wrapped around the toy in her hand. But her other hand is underwater, visibly trying to make herself cum for a third time.

Minnie watches as you take your cock and align it with her entrance. She feels you brush against her folds, before you finally penetrate her. A deep sigh leaves her body as you bury half of your length inside pussy. Her tight walls wrap around your cock like they were made for it. Her head drops down between her shoulders when you pull out and thrust into her again. Minnie's whole body reacts with every thrust.

With both hands on her slim waist, you establish a steady pace, while watching Miyeon acting like a slut in the jacuzzi. The fact that she seems to be the most reserved out of the two makes it even more beautiful. She instinctively started to write two of her own fingers, which are buried inside of her. Her other hand keeps pushing the dildo in and out of her mouth.

After a couple of minutes, you see Miyeon coming to a halt, while you keep fucking Minnie. The older girl's posture weakens and you watch her orgasm yet again. It looks like Miyeon really was in need of a proper relaxation.

You place a hand on Minnie's lower back, pushing her upper body down. It creates a better angle for your cock. You know reach even deeper places, which makes Minnie moan even louder.

"Oh my god, yes! Fuck me harder!"

She's fully embraced the situation by now. Not just giving up control, but also working towards a common goal. Which is to have fun.

As you keep fucking Minnie, you watch Miyeon sitting down in the jacuzzi. She is looking at the two of you, but you can tell that she needs a moment to collect herself. That's why you're focusing on Minnie now, making sure her pussy is being properly stretched out. She can feel it. How your cock parts her walls. How your length continues to hit the deepest spots inside of her.

"Oh, yes. Keep going."

Her voice is reduced to a whine. Minnie is slowly falling apart underneath your relentless assault. You keep pressing her into the sofa, so now her ass is in perfect position. You give her a couple of spanks here and there. Each spank makes her let out a gasp. Her face is pressed into the armrest as Minnie starts to touch herself, while you keep fucking her. The added pleasure soon proves to be too much for her.

She orgasms for a second time today, her body freezing up. You stop pounding her, waiting for her to calm back down. Minnie's body starts to move again, more and more tension leaving her body. But you have to pull out. Otherwise you would've cum right there. Her tight pussy was about to trick you into cumming inside.

As Minnie gets back up into a seating position, you head towards Miyeon, but not without doing another stop at the drawer from earlier. You decide to step it up, hoping that Miyeon is already up for this. She just stepped out of the jacuzzi and is now standing in front of you. Her lower half is glistening due to her wet skin. You capture her lips with yours, make Miyeon melt into the kiss, while reaching down to stimulate her pussy further.

When Miyeon feels your fingers brush against her folds, she moans into your mouth. But her breath hitches, when she suddenly hears something buzzing.

"Just relax."

You mutter into the kiss. The small vibrator, you just took out of the drawer, slowly parts her lower lips. It is not very big, but that's not the point anyway. Miyeon starts to moan when the small toy starts to send vibrations through her body.

"Put your hands behind your back."

Miyeon takes a moment to follow your command, the vibrator a new found experience for her right now. After taking off your tie while walking around her, you bind her wrists together behind her back. Miyeon tries to turn her head, wanting to now what you're up to. You press your body against hers from behind, your cock resting right between her cheeks. Reaching around her, you give her tits a squeeze. The combination of you starting to play either breasts and the vibrator inside of her turns Miyeon's brain into a mess. She moans louder than before, her body already trembling.

"Minnie."

You call the younger girl over and make her take her dildo with her.

"Pick hers up as well."

When she stands in front of you with one in each hand, you nod towards the floor.

"Ride both of them."

You see her hesitating for a second. She might've never tried taking two cocks at once.

"Be a good girl for me, hm?"

Minnie finally nods. To the sound of Miyeon's continuous moans, she places the flat ends of the dildos on the floor. They're right next to each other. As she lowers herself onto them, she has slight trouble to get the two tips into the right positions. But once she does, Minnie slowly takes both cocks at once. Not the full length, but you know she'll eventually work up to that.

You and Miyeon both watch as Minnie rides two dildos at once. She is slow at the beginning, but eventually picks up her pace a little. Her eyes are wide open the entire time. She bites her lip, trying to muffle moans, which would be too loud for the room.

Once you made sure Minnie is doing fine, you return back to Miyeon. You bend your knees a little and suddenly you're just at the perfect hight. Taking a small step forward, you push upwards. Miyeon gasps when she feels your tip push past her entrance. She is now filled with the vibrator and your cock as you keep stuffing her. Eventually, your tip hits the toy, sending vibrations through your body.

Both girls are now filled to their limits. Minnie slowly keeps riding the two dildos. You can see how much her pussy is getting stretched out. Her mouth eventually falls open as she starts to let the moans just flow out of her mouth. Miyeon isn't in a much better state. She's slightly leaned forward, pushing her ass further into you. You're holding onto her tits, occasionally giving them a squeeze. While you fuck her, you hit the vibrator with every thrust.

"Your pussy feels so good, when it's completely stuffed."

Miyeon blushes at your lewd compliment. She can't do anything but watch Minnie riding the two silicon dildos. The younger girl is now starting to drool, saliva slowly dropping out of her mouth and onto the floor.

As you keep ruining her tight pussy, Miyeon is kept on the constant edge of orgasm. To her, it feels like every thrust could be the last. The vibrator gives her a steady wave of pleasure, while your thrusts make her almost tumble over the edge. You can feel how you push the vibrator further and further inside Miyeon. Her pussy is still able to take your cock though. You're just wondering for how much longer.

Because you eventually start to run out of energy and resistance as well. Miyeon's tight snatch and the vibrator leave their marks on your cock as well. You enjoy groping her tits as well. And the sight of Minnie, struggling to ride two cocks, is almost enough on its own.

After a couple more minutes of endless moans and pleas, Miyeon finally experiences the hardest orgasm of the day. The combination inside of her makes her clamp down on your cock, almost squeezing you a little too hard. To her own surprise and embarrassment, Miyeon squirts. You didn't expect it to be much, but you suddenly feel yourself getting forced out of her tight cavern. It would've been a great shame, if it wasn't for what happens after. Because Minnie is basically kneeling right in front of Miyeon, she is the one who gets hit first, not the floor. The older girl destroys even the very last bit of dignity that Minnie had left.

Miyeon's squirt ruins the younger girls face. But instead of turning away, Minnie keeps her mouth open. You can tell she is swallowing some of Miyeon's squirt, making you wonder if something similar has happened between the two of them before.

The older woman's pussy and the sight of Minnie getting drenched in her friend's juices has you now on the verge of climax as well.

"Kneel next to her."

You let go of Miyeon as you slowly pull out of her. Her legs are weak, but she manages to do as you say. Only a couple of moments later, you finally cum on both their faces. Minnie's is now a mixture of squirt, cum and ruined makeup, while Miyeon looks quite decent, despite the amount of cum she has on her left cheek and the bridge of her nose.

Because of a waiting customer, you, Minnie and Miyeon had to switch rooms. Which isn't inherently bad, since this room fits your personal taste a little more. The whole massage parlor act just doesn't work really well though, if you walk new clients into a room with a king sized bed that has ropes tied to it on all four bed posts. Actually, the whole room has a completely different vibe, which Minnie and Miyeon are currently experiencing.

Miyeon is standing against one of the brick walls, her hands not tied by your tie anymore, but by chains. They're hooked into the wall above her head, making her raise her arms. Her forehead is leaning against the wall, your cum leaking out of her freshly fucked pussy. Her ass is covered in big red stripes, the whip you used is lying next to her on the floor.

After making sure that Miyeon is still fine, you move over to Minnie. The younger girl is tied up on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The bullet vibrator strapped to her clit explains her pleasure wrecked face and the wet sheets underneath her.

You reach for the candle that has been burning on the nightstand for a while now. Minnie follows the candle with her eyes, until you hold it up around a meter above her torso. She bites her lip, but instead of closing her eyes, she arches her back off the bed. Taking it as an invitation, you tilt the candle, letting a couple of drops hit her flawless skin.

"Oh, gos! That's hot!"

Minnie cries out, the black wax slightly burning her skin. Another tilt of the candle makes another drop hit her right breast, right next to her nipple. Her breath quickens as you cover her body with more wax.

Wanting to let it cool for now, you put the candle back to it's original place, before climbing on top of Minnie. She instinctively opens her mouth wide as you kneel above her chest. You push your cock into her mouth. Within a couple of seconds, you're already face fucking Minnie for the second time today. Her face is already a mess anyway, so what's the problem?

Soon her gags fill the slightly smaller room. The two of you keep eye contact as you thrust into her mouth.

"You like to get used like this, don't you?"

Minnie can't say anything or shake her head. There is no use denying it anyway. Her eyes only glisten with excitement when you reach for the candle once more. There's is a reason to why idols or actresses have to disclose the date of their next official schedule.

Another tilt of the candle has Minnie moaning and crying around your cock. The black wax hits her left cheek, probably leaving a visible mark for the next day or two. You keep fucking Minnie's face, only slightly slowing down from time to time to glaze her gorgeous features with more wax.

Once you've had enough of her mouth, you only put down the candle for a minute to flip Minnie onto her stomach. Time for your art work. Soyeon enjoyed this before as well. You start to dribble the hot wax onto Minnie's back, while she is trying to guess what you're writing. It doesn't take you long to finish.

"A slut. That's what you are."

You wrote the word in Korean letters from the top of her back to the bottom. After putting the candle down again, you now kneel between her legs. You take Minnie's pussy from behind once more. Pushing past her lips has her moaning louder than before, the wax still uncomfortably cooling on her skin.

"Yes, that's me. You've turned me into a slut for your cock."

Minnie's confession makes you smile. That's what all of this depends on. Rich, regular clients. That's how you can afford all of this and even live comfortably.

You have your way with Minnie's pussy, while you knead her ass cheeks, giving them squeezes and occasionally pressing down on her lower back.

"Damn, you're so deep."

Her whine gives you the energy to keep fucking her. It isn't easy to keep up with these two. This might be their first time, but two frustrated, tension filled, gorgeous women are always a challenge.

You can already hear Miyeon pretending to fight against the chains behind you as she can't see what's going on. Shifting your attention onto Minnie again, you keep plowing her into the mattress. Leaning over her a little further, you're almost prone boning her, your hips meeting her cheeks with every thrust.

"Fuck, you're bruising my insides."

She whines again, but not to complain. Just pure admiration for your craft.

The better angle enables you to reach even deeper places, until you finally can't fight back against Minnie's overwhelmingly tight snatch. All the wax stuff has turned her on way more than she'd like to admit. The way her ass cheeks recoil whenever your thrust into her finally makes your orgasm. You quickly pull out and shoot your load all over Minnie's back. You partially hit the black wax letters, creating a beautiful work of art on her back.

Minnie and Miyeon both give you polite bows as lean against the entrance of the so called massage parlor. You can tell that their consciousness and their shyness from the beginning has returned, but in a softer form. The two women are aware of how deep you were able to look into their souls for the last couple of hours.

The sun is already starting to set as you confirm their next appointment one last time.

"Same time next week, correct?"

You catch the blush return on Miyeon's cheeks, while Minnie nods after hesitating for a second.

"Yes. See you next week."

You keep your professional smile, giving them a slight bow as they walk down the driveway.

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

Hi, everyone!

This is the second story of the December special. I tried to write in a slightly different way this time, I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless.

Stay healthy!

FIY: I have trouble sleeping recently, so if I have more spelling issues or stuff, that's because I'm tired. I'm hoping to read over this again soon though.

[stankhole]

what vehicle i think veilguard characters drive/their mode of transportation

bellara- street legal dirt bike that she did all the work to. can go from the streets to the forests wherever she needs

taash- jeep wrangler with no top so they can have room for their horns and enjoy the rivaini sun

davrin- 2000 toyota tacoma. it’s may be a little beat up and dirty from work but it gets the job done just as well as bigger trucks

neve- public transit 💅, though she is also forklift certified

lucanis- a maserati ghibli or jaguar f-type. he would have a luxury sports car but it wouldn’t be overly ostentatious like a lamborghini, but just know that the price of it would pay off my rent for years

emmrich- a lexus rx. he will spend the extra money for the knowledge that it is a very reliable brand

harding- 2012 toyota prius with a bunch of bumper stickers from all the places she’s been

elgar’nan- a cyber truck lol fuck this guy

ghilan’nain- an amphicar. she would think it it the pinnacle of science to have a floating car and she can go visit her sea monster creatures

varric- a mom van to haul around all the strays he’s picked up over the years

rook- clown car/unicycle. 🤡

solas- runs, especially from his problems 💀

[pucksandpower]

Best Laid Plans

Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!Reader

Summary: you were just supposed to be a means to an end — a way for Carlos to get back at your father for dropping him — but the best laid plans often go awry and you quickly become so much more than that

Warnings: 18+ content and manipulation

Note: did I spend the whole day writing this to celebrate Carlos’ win? Maybe …

So much love to @struggling-with-drivers for always giving me the best ideas

The warm Portuguese sun beats down on Carlos as he strolls through the luxurious resort grounds, trying and failing to shake the anger simmering inside him.

How could Ferrari do this to him? After all he has given to the team over the past few seasons? To be so unceremoniously dumped for Lewis fucking Hamilton is a slap in the face he can barely comprehend.

He kicks at the pebbled path, hands jammed in his pockets, catching the eye of a young woman lounging by the pool up ahead. She gives him a warm smile that does strange things to his insides for a moment before he recognizes her — Y/N Vasseur.

The reality of who she is hits Carlos like a truck. The daughter of the team principal who betrayed him.

An idea begins to form in Carlos’ mind, a cruel little seed taking root. If Ferrari wants to play hardball, he can play harder. And what better way to get back at Fred than through his precious daughter?

Putting on his most charming grin, Carlos changes course to approach you. “Y/N, fancy running into you here,” he lies easily. “I didn’t realize you were vacationing at this resort too.”

You sit up, shielding your eyes against the sun’s glare. “Carlos! What a pleasant surprise.” Your smile is bright and genuine, setting off warning bells in the back of Carlos’ mind. He quickly silences them — this is just collateral damage.

“I was just getting ready for a dip. Care to join me?” You gesture towards the welcoming blue waters.

Carlos pretends to consider it for a moment. “You know what, I would love to.”

Stripping off his shirt, he can’t help but sneak glances at your swimsuit-clad figure as you slide into the pool, telling himself it’s just for show. You really are stunning though, he has to admit. This might not be so difficult after all.

“So what’s a beautiful young woman like yourself doing all alone at a place like this?” Carlos asks once he’s waded in beside you.

You let out a tinkling laugh, sweeping wet hair away from your face. “Taking a much needed break from real life, I suppose. My job can be … demanding at times.”

That piques Carlos’ interest — to be quite honest, he had just assumed you did nothing all day. “Oh? Do tell, I’m fascinated.”

With a bashful look, you launch into an explanation of your high-powered career that genuinely impresses Carlos despite himself. You’re whip-smart, articulate, and passionate about your work in a way he can relate to.

“Wow,” he finds himself saying once you’ve finished. “I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting that from you. Not that I’m judging a book by its cover or anything!” He adds quickly at your arched eyebrow.

You let out another of those bright laughs. “Don’t worry, I get that a lot. People see a privileged girl and make all sorts of assumptions.”

There’s a hint of bitterness underlying the lightness of your tone that Carlos picks up on all too well. He knows what it’s like to be looked down on and underestimated.

“For what it’s worth, I think what you do is really impressive,” he finds himself saying honestly. “And anyone who thinks less of you for it is a fool.”

The words seem to catch you off guard for a moment before your expression melts into a warm smile. “Why Carlos Sainz, I do believe you’re flirting with me.”

He grins back unrepentantly. “Is it working?”

You pretend to consider it for a moment before laughing again. “Maybe a little.”

The flirtatious back-and-forth continues as you both float lazily in the pool, Carlos quickly getting caught up in the effortless fun of it. You match him quip for quip, parry for parry, in a way he’s not used to from women. It’s exhilarating and unexpected.

In fact, he’s so caught up in your company that he nearly forgets his original intention entirely. Until a stray thought brings the memory crashing back down … you’re Fred Vasseur’s daughter.

The realization is like a bucket of cold water being upended over Carlos’ head. What is he doing? This woman hasn’t done anything to wrong him. Going after you just to get petty revenge on your father is ugly and uncalled for. He should just be the bigger man, swallow the insult Ferrari dealt him, and move on.

But then he thinks about the disrespect, the callousness of dumping him like dead weight after all he bled for the team. Perhaps a little payback is in order after all.

With a wicked grin, Carlos begins swimming slowly towards you, an unmistakable glint in his eye. You seem to pick up on it, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “What’s that look for?”

“Just thinking,” he murmurs once he’s close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. “About how I could make this vacation even more … memorable.”

His heavy-lidded gaze drops to your lips for just a moment, but you catch it. You bite your lower lip unconsciously as heat blazes between you. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” Carlos all but purrs, reaching out to gently cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You shiver despite the warmth of the day, eyelids fluttering. “If you’ll allow me?”

For a long stretch, you seem to be rendered speechless, pupils blown wide as you study his face intently. Then, so softly, “Yes.”

That’s all the permission Carlos needs before he’s crashing his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

The moment your lips meet his, it’s like a jolt of electricity courses through Carlos. He kisses you deeply, urgently, all thoughts of revenge or ill-intent evaporating from his mind. This is pure want, unbridled desire singing through his veins.

You return the kiss with equal fervor, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. Your mouth is warm, soft, pillowy — everything Carlos didn’t know he was craving until this very moment. He skims his hands over the slick curves of your body beneath the pool’s surface, marveling at the gasps and sighs he pulls from you with each exploratory touch.

When you finally break apart, you’re both panting heavily, faces flushed. Carlos drinks in the sight of you — hair tousled, lips swollen, and eyes dark with wanting. He’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Carlos ...” You breathe his name like a prayer and something primal uncurls in his lower belly.

Instead of responding, he simply crushes his mouth to yours once more, walking you backward until your back gently hits the pool’s tiled edge. You let out a muffled moan as he settles between your parted thighs, the heated line of his body flush against yours.

One of his hands slides up over the soft skin of your ribs to cup your breast as you arch shamelessly into his touch. He drags his lips in hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your jaw and down the graceful column of your neck, relishing the way you keen beneath his attention.

“You feel so good, cariño,” he rumbles against the feverish skin just below your ear, punctuating the words with a deliberately slow roll of his hips that has you releasing a broken whimper. “So fucking perfect ...”

In this moment, with you writhing and mewling in his arms, Carlos has never been more grateful for his commitment to physical fitness. He knows he can keep this up all day if need be, ravishing you over and over until you’re a limp, sated puddle.

He runs his tongue in a scorching path up the side of your neck before returning to that sinful mouth, swallowing your desperate little moans hungrily. You cling to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered, nails raking deliciously over his back and shoulders in a way that will surely leave marks. Carlos loves it, loves the proof of your passion painted on his skin in thin red lines.

Trailing his lips across the hinge of your jaw, he murmurs “Should we take this somewhere more private, princesa?”

You let out a shuddering breath, hips canting up instinctively to meet each roll of his. “God, yes ... please ...”

The sound of your needy whine sends a molten thrill straight to Carlos’ cock. He’s fully hard and aching for you, straining against his swim trunks with every second that passes. If possible, he wants you even more.

With a grunt of effort, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and hikes your legs up around his waist in one swift motion. You let out a startled squeak that quickly dissolves into a moan as he shifts against you just right, creating delicious friction. Your arms wind around his neck as you bury your face in the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.

“You feel that, cariño?” Carlos rumbles darkly. “I can’t wait to be inside you. Stretching you so perfectly full of me. Will you be a good girl and take it? Every. Last. Inch?”

He emphasizes each of the final three words with a firm grind of his hips, rutting his rigid length against your clothed heat. Your back bows in response, mouth dropping open on a silent wail of pleasure. Carlos can feel your sticky wetness soaking through the thin material of your swimsuit bottoms and groans harshly.

“P-please ...” You keen, worrying his earlobe between your teeth. “I need you, Carlos. I need it so bad ...”

And just like that, the trance is broken. Carlos blinks, suddenly acutely aware that you’re grinding shamelessly against each other in the very public pool area of this high-end resort. A few pointed looks from other guests are enough to have a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

Clearing his throat, he reluctantly pulls himself back and sets you on your feet. You let out a disappointed whimper that goes straight to his groin.

“P-perhaps we got a bit carried away, princesa,” Carlos huffs out a laugh, running a hand through his damp curls. “Why don’t we go somewhere a bit more … private to continue this?”

You bite your plump lower lip and Carlos has to resist the urge to lean forward and free it with his teeth. Nodding eagerly, you cast a look around before tugging his hand and heading for the exit, leaving a trail of water droplets in your wake.

Carlos follows eagerly, openly ogling the way your soaked swimsuit hugs every tantalizing curve. He’s never been so grateful for his decision to book one of the private beachfront villas at this resort — just a stone’s throw from where you’re leading him, he’ll finally be able to have you all to himself.

The thought has him semi-frantically fumbling for the keycard as you press urgent, open-mouthed kisses to any patch of bare skin you can find — his shoulder, his neck, the line of his jaw. By the time he gets the door open you’re both panting like you’ve run a marathon, desire thrumming white-hot through your veins.

The second you’re inside, Carlos has you pressed back against the door, forearms braced on either side of your head as he towers over you. For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crosses your features and he’s abruptly reminded of who you are.

“Are you sure about this?” He murmurs lowly, searching your eyes. “Because if we do this, I can promise you there’s no going back for me, cariño.”

You visibly swallow hard but then give a small, determined nod. “I want this, Carlos. I want you.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s capturing your lips in another searing, desperate kiss that has you melting against him. He walks you backward, never breaking contact until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the plush bed. With a growl, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and hitches your legs around his hips once more.

You let out a breathless giggle as he tumbles you both down onto the soft cotton sheets, immediately rolling until he’s blanketed by the gorgeous expanse of your body. God, you’re even more stunning like this — hair fanned out in a tousled riot, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, eyes glazed with naked wanting.

Carlos takes a moment just to appreciate the view, raking his eyes over every inch he can see. A tremor goes through you beneath his weighty gaze and he smirks, leaning down to trail open-mouthed kisses along the column of your slender throat.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, princesa,” he rumbles against your overheated skin. “How many times I’ve thought about having you just like this, spread out beneath me and begging for it ...”

The truth is, he hasn’t thought about it at all until this very day. But something about the way your breath hitches and your hips cant up instinctively at his words makes Carlos want to keep going.

“I’ve watched you, you know,” he lies smoothly, relishing the full-body shiver that wracks your frame. He nips along the graceful line of your collarbone and you whine softly in the back of your throat. “Couldn’t tear my eyes away whenever you were around. Imagining what delicious little sounds you might make with my cock buried inside you ...”

You moan then, loud and unabashed as you tug needily at his hair to bring his mouth back up to yours. Carlos chuckles darkly into the kiss, reveling in how utterly desperate he’s managed to make you for him so quickly.

“Is this what you want, princesa? You want me to fuck you?” He keeps his tone a low, filthy rasp against the plush of your lips. “Hard and deep and ruthless until you can’t remember anything but my name on your tongue?”

“Yes!” The word rushes out in an urgent whine and Carlos lets out a feral growl, slamming his hips firmly against yours in one rough grind that has your mouth dropping open on a broken cry of ecstasy.

Moving with purposeful efficiency, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms and tugs them down over the swell of your hips and off completely. He shoves his own trunks down just far enough to free his throbbing length, giving it a few firm strokes to spread the pearling bead of precome over the swollen head.

With a low, heated look, Carlos hitches your legs over his shoulders and lines the blunt head of his cock up with your entrance. Just from this angle, he can see how slick and swollen you already are for him, glistening with arousal.

“Last chance, cariño,” he rumbles, rubbing himself in one deliciously torturous swipe through your folds and back again. You moan loudly, back bowing off the bed. “After this, I won’t be able to stop until you’re utterly ruined for anyone else’s touch ...”

The sound you make is practically inhuman, hand shooting out to grasp at his hip almost painfully hard. “Carlos … Carlos, please!”

Never one to deny such a desperate plea, Carlos braces one hand beside your head and slowly, inexorably begins to sink into your welcoming heat.

The tight, slick heat of your core enveloping Carlos inch by agonizing inch is utterly sublime. He has to grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut to keep from embarrassing himself right then and there. You’re impossibly tight, so perfectly molded to his shape — he’s never felt anything quite like it.

Beneath him, you keen softly as he stretches and fills you in one steady glide. Your fingernails bite crescent moons into the firm planes of his back as if you’ll fall apart if not anchored to him. Carlos rumbles his approval low in his chest at the sweet sting.

Once he’s fully sheathed, hips flush with yours, he pauses to simply bask in the feeling for a long moment. You feel so indescribably good wrapped around his throbbing length — hot and snug and fluttering subtly like your body can’t decide whether to grip him tighter or ease his way.

“Fuck, cariño ...” The words tear from Carlos’ throat in a ragged groan. “You feel incredible. So perfect for me.”

You whimper wordlessly in response, flexing and releasing your inner muscles in a way that has him seeing stars behind his eyelids. He captures your mouth in a filthy, demanding kiss to swallow your desperate little noises. It’s all he can do not to start pounding away with reckless abandon.

Pulling back slowly until just the thick head of his cock remains inside your clutching heat, Carlos locks eyes with you. Your pupils are blown wide, lips parted enticingly with each panting breath, the picture of wanton desire. He’s never seen anything so erotic in his life.

You must read the promise in his expression because suddenly you’re nodding frantically and chasing his retreating hips with a needy whine.

“Please, Carlos!” You keen desperately, nails scoring lines of fiery pleasure-pain down the rigid plane of his back. “I need it, I need you to-”

He doesn’t let you finish, snapping his hips forward in one hard thrust that buries him to the hilt. The broken cry that tears from your perfect lips goes straight to his dick.

Carlos repeats the harsh, punishing rhythm over and over, relishing the snug drag of your velvet walls against his aching cock. He soon has you a mewling, mindless mess beneath him, whining his name like a holy mantra with each powerful stroke.

“That’s it, princesa,” he rasps against the flushed curve of your neck, lips brushing saltily over your overheated skin. “Take it all for me. Every. Last. Fucking. Inch.”

As punctuation, he slams home with a sharp roll of his hips that has you keening shrilly and throwing your head back. You clutch at him desperately, meeting each heavy thrust in perfect counterpoint as he picks up the pace. The air is thick with the obscene sounds of skin sliding relentlessly together and your punched-out whimpers and moans.

Carlos has never felt so deliriously consumed by physicality before. It’s like his whole world has narrowed down to this moment, this connection of your joined bodies moving as one. He wants to burn the memory of how you feel, how you sound, how you taste, into his mind forever.

“Look at me,” he growls against the sweat-slick curve of your jaw when your eyes start to drift shut in ecstasy. “I wanna see those pretty eyes when you fall apart on my cock, princesa.”

You force your lids open with obvious effort, irises wild and hazy with lust. Carlos feels a molten surge of possessive desire lash through his veins at the sight. He slams into you with renewed fervor, savoring the high, desperate whine it punches from your parted lips.

“That’s it, cariño ... fuck, you’re exquisite like this.” His praise comes out in a ruined rasp but it seems to spur you on. Your nails dig bruising furrows into his lower back as you meet him thrust for bruising thrust.

Carlos can feel the telltale tightening and fluttering in your inner walls that signals your impending release like a vise grip around his cock. He wants nothing more than for you to shatter apart on his length. Slipping one hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, he finds the swollen bundle of nerves and rolls it firmly between calloused fingertips.

You release a strangled scream, back bowing off the mattress as white-hot pleasure spikes through you. “Carlos! Oh my god, Carlos, I’m … I can’t ...”

“Come for me, princesa,” Carlos encourages hoarsely against the side of your neck. He continues to work you over with nimble fingers in time with the punishing snap of his hips. “Let me feel you come apart all over my cock. Fucking soak it ...”

The guttural river of carnal filth coming from his lips seems to be the final straw, sending you crashing violently over the edge. You seize up around him with a shrill, sobbing wail, inner muscles clamping down in hot, pulsing waves. Carlos curses roughly, eyes squeezing shut against the unbelievable sensation of being massaged and milked for every drop.

If he thought the vice grip of your orgasm was intense, the aftermath is even more sublime. You lie utterly limp and boneless beneath him, still aflutter and fluttering in sweet, rhythmic clenches around his cock. He grits his jaw and fights to keep control, knowing he won’t last much longer buried in your intoxicating heat like this.

When you finally regain some coherency, eyes fluttering open with a dazed murmur of his name, Carlos pulls back slowly until just the throbbing crown remains inside. He intends to give you a brief respite before chasing his own thunderous release, but the moment he starts to withdraw your legs lock high around his hips.

“No ...” You keen, nails raking pleadingly down his back. The desperate craving in your tone very nearly undoes him. “Carlos, please. Don’t stop ...”

Growling low in his chest, Carlos immediately buries himself home once more — this time with a single, powerful thrust that has your brows shooting up as the air rushes from your lungs in a strangled cry. Clearly, you still need it as much as he does.

He fists one hand in the tousled hair at the nape of your neck, using the grip to tilt your head to one side as he lays a searing path of nips and sucking kisses along the exposed column. You shudder and whimper beneath him, utterly pliant and receptive to his claiming touches.

“Tell me what you want, cariño,” he rasps between rough drags of teeth over your thundering pulse point. He remains buried to the hilt, muscles bunched and quivering with the effort of holding himself rigid and still inside you. “Use your words and tell me.”

For a long moment, you seem too dazed and overwhelmed to reply. Then, in a small, wrecked voice, “I want … I want you to fuck me, Carlos. Please ...” Your eyes are glazed yet earnest, boring into his from beneath sooty lashes. “Don’t hold back. I need to feel you come too.”

A harsh groan is punched from Carlos’ lungs at your plea. Letting himself go and really taking you the way his body screams at him to would be heaven and hell all at once.

There’s likely no coming back from it — he’ll ruin you for anyone else’s touch, just as he warned. Once all is said and done, you’ll be irrevocably his in a way that frightens and exhilarates him to his core.

For a heart-stopping moment, he hesitates. And then you moan again — a thin, keening sound of utter desperation — and it’s like the last thread of Carlos’ control snaps completely.

“Hold on tight then, cariño ... because I won’t be able to stop.”

That’s the only warning he gives before pulling almost fully out and slamming back home in one brutal thrust that drives the air from your lungs on a high, shocked cry. He doesn’t let up from there — turning you over onto your belly and dragging your hips up onto his thighs so he can take you from behind in a series of ruthless, punishing strokes.

You quickly become an incoherent, sobbing mess beneath his onslaught, hands clawing uselessly at the sheets as he pounds into you again and again like he’s trying to split you apart. Carlos relishes the sharp smack of sweat-slick flesh on flesh, the strained crescendo of your hoarse wails, the drug-like delirium of being utterly surrounded and consumed by your scorching velvet grip.

It’s too much and not enough all at once. He clutches you flush against him, one big hand spread over your lower stomach like he could somehow force his cock impossibly deeper. The other winds around to toy and tug almost cruelly at your taut, reddened nipples — drawing out a stream of broken, overwhelmed whimpers.

Carlos has never felt more powerful. Body and mind, he owns you utterly in this moment. The thought is nearly enough to send him skating right over the edge into oblivion.

Instead, he jerks you up onto your knees fully so he can plunge into your straining, overworked sex at a different angle — this one hitting something deep inside that has you screaming hoarsely. He captures the wild thrash of your head in the curve of one sweat-slick bicep to bare the elegant line of your throat to his hungry mouth.

“Could you possibly have taken any more of me, princesa?” Carlos husks against the side of your neck, relishing the way it makes you tremble and clench even harder around his pistoning length. “You were made just to be split open on my cock ...”

You let out a garbled sound halfway between agreement and overwhelmed protest. Carlos snarls against your racing pulse, sucking a blatant mark of possession just below your jaw where everyone will be able to see before abruptly rolling you both back over.

He looms above you once more, grinding steadily into your core with deep, purposeful strokes that leave you writhing and wailing with over-stimulation. But Carlos isn’t finished yet — isn’t anywhere close to getting his fill.

“Look at me, cariño,” he commands in a guttural rasp, waiting with molten, heavy-lidded eyes until your lust-drunk stare meets his. “I need to see that pretty face when I come inside you ...”

His words seem to energize you somewhat, your eyes snapping sharper with renewed awareness.

And then, incredibly, you cunt flutters and grips down around him again in the unmistakable clutch of another orgasm ripping through you like a livewire. Carlos has to use every ounce of stamina and control not to follow you right over that blinding edge as you thrash and shriek beautifully beneath him.

By the time you come back down, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, Carlos is practically vibrating with the force of his impending release. His movements have taken on a desperate edge, hips snapping in erratic, forceful jabs as he chases that final blissful oblivion.

When your sated, velvety heat squeezes rhythmically one final time, Carlos throws his head back with his own roar of release. White-hot rapture spikes through every nerve ending as his balls tighten in excruciating bliss. His world narrows down to the exquisite pulsing of your sheathed depths rippling and drawing every last drop from him in endless, blistering waves.

It seems to stretch on forever, Carlos unable and unwilling to move from his impaled position even once the final shudders have wrung him dry. He simply remains blanketed over you, lungs heaving and muscles quaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

When he finally regains enough presence of mind to open his eyes and look down at you, the devotion burning in your spent, glowing expression makes his breath catch. For a long, fragile moment, it’s like you’re the only two people in the world.

Eventually, your eyes drift shut on a contented sigh and your body goes lax and pliant against the sheets once more. Carefully, Carlos eases out of your swollen, used entrance and rolls to collapse in a sweaty heap beside you. He immediately tugs you into his embrace, savoring the feeling of your damp, feverish skin pressed to his.

As you drift off to slumber coiled against his chest, Carlos presses a lingering, tender kiss to your crown and tightens his arms around you. He can feel the words pressing at his lips, straining to be released into the silence of this moment.

For now, he keeps them locked behind his teeth. But already he knows this isn’t simply lust or passion or a primal need for revenge that will fade with time. This was always meant to be more — something deeper …. everything Carlos never even realized he was missing until you stormed into his life in a whirlwind of smiles and secrets and blinding desire.

He’s in trouble now. Trouble of the very best kind.

***

Pale morning light filters in through the sheer curtains as Carlos blinks awake slowly. For a disoriented moment, he’s unsure of his surroundings — the rumpled white linens tangled around his naked body are certainly not what he’s used to waking up in.

Then the previous night’s events come rushing back in a heated wave. The pool … the frantic, desperate passion as he took you again and again until you were both hollowed out and sated … finally collapsing into a sweaty pile together. Carlos feels his chest tighten with a complicated swirl of emotions.

He turns his head on the pillow to find the source of the delicious warmth pressed along his side. And just like that, everything else falls away.

You’re tangled up with him still, one shapely leg hooked over his and an arm flung possessively across his torso. Loose riotous locks tickle Carlos’ skin where your face is half-buried in the curve of his neck.

He has to tamp down the overwhelming urge to pull you even closer, to wrap you in his arms and inhale the sweet, clean scent of your hair.

Like this — sleep-rumpled and soft in the morning’s buttery rays — you look almost unbearably lovely. An ache blossoms behind Carlos’ ribs as he studies the delicate fan of your lashes brushing flushed cheekbones and the gentle part of those full lips. Disheveled and without a stitch of make-up, you’re somehow even more breathtakingly beautiful.

Unconsciously, Carlos’ fingers find their way into your tangled tresses, lightly stroking and playing with the silken strands. You make a small, snuffling sound of contentment and burrow infinitesimally closer. He freezes, worried he’s disturbed your slumber, but your features remain smooth and serene.

He should get up. He should definitely get up and extract himself from this warm, addictive little bubble you’ve created before things go any further. This was only ever supposed to be a fling — a deliciously vindictive way to get back at your father for how he so callously cast Carlos aside.

Yet even as Carlos turns the thought over in his head, it rings hollow. What happened between you last night transcended anything so petty and cruel as revenge.

When he was sheathed so deeply inside you, your bodies moving in perfect sync like they were made for each other, Carlos felt something far more profound than just physical gratification. It was spiritual … cosmic, even, like every star in the universe had finally clicked into perfect alignment.

He should be disgusted with himself for having such saccharine notions. Carlos has always considered himself a realist — someone grounded in facts and figures, not given to romantic flights of fancy whatsoever. Yet here he is, helplessly mooning over a woman he barely knows all because of one night of incredible sex.

Except … Carlos is self-aware enough to recognize there was more to it than that, even if he can’t put words to the feeling yet. Some invisible cord has been lashed between you in a knot that feels unbreakable. Some intangible shift has occurred in his perspective that he can’t seem to walk back from.

Perhaps you sensed it too in the way you gazed at him afterwards — not just satiated, but glowing with a sort of wondering, naked adoration far too profound for a mere fuck. Carlos knows he should have been unnerved by the depth of emotion in your spent, happy features. And yet, he only felt it mirrored and compounded tenfold within himself.

With a frustrated huff, he tugs you closer and burrows his face into your hair, allowing your warm, comforting scent to soothe his wildly spiraling thoughts. You make another soft sound and your fingers twitch where they’re splayed over his ribs — reflexively trying to pull him in even tighter.

“What are you doing to me, princesa?” Carlos murmurs, low and graveled, against the crown of your head. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go at all ...”

Because the truth is, this was never meant to be anything more than a fleeting dalliance — an explosive joining of bodies and nothing more. But now that he’s had you, had this bone-deep connection to you, Carlos doesn’t think he can let it go so easily. The prospect of never again feeling you wrapped so perfectly around him in every sense of the word is abruptly gut-wrenchingly awful.

Which leaves him at an impasse. Because you … you are the daughter of the very man who unceremoniously discarded Carlos like an old rag after he gave everything to Ferrari. The offspring of the person who threw him away in a way that cut all the way to his core.

How could he possibly pursue anything real with you after that? It would be a horrific conflict of interests and constantly make things unbearably awkward, to say the very least. Not to mention Carlos has no idea if you even want more than just this one night of passion between you anyway. Perhaps to you he really was just an itch to scratch, a bout of impulsive lust to take the edge off before moving on.

The thought makes his stomach churn with jealousy so potent he has to physically swallow it back. Which … is not great, all things considered.

Tilting your head back with the lightest touch beneath your chin, Carlos studies your soft features searchingly. Perhaps if he stares hard enough, he’ll find some hint of deception or shallowness there. Some glaring evidence that this insane sense of yearning he feels is all one-sided — a misguided obsession brought on by the sort of euphoric sex one can never quite recapture once the high fades. He could use that as his cue to bow out now while you’re still tangled up together so prettily.

But even as he looks, really looks, all Carlos sees is the serene picture of a thoroughly satisfied, openly contented woman. There’s no shuttered gaze or pinched expression betraying any darker thoughts and feelings. Just blissed-out joy written in every relaxed line of those lovely features.

Something in Carlos’ chest cracks wide open at the realization that this is real for you too. You’re not just some meaningless one-off fling, but a woman who seems to have had her entire world upended in the same way his has been over the span of one incredible night.

“Carlos?” You murmur then, voice husky and slurred with the remnants of sleep as your lashes flutter open. “What’s wrong, mon beau?”

Your endearment sends a shockwave of tenderness and want pulsing through him straight to the roots. Carlos shakes his head minutely, winding one hand into your hair to hold you steady so he can simply … bask in your presence for a while.

“Nothing’s wrong, princesa,” he assures you lowly, thumb stroking gently over the arch of your cheekbone. “I just woke up early and got a little lost in my head for a bit there, that’s all.”

That small, secret smile he’s rapidly becoming addicted to tugs at your lips as your eyes rove languidly over his face. Your hand comes up to rest over his thundering heartbeat with surprising tenderness.

“Well then allow me to bring you back to the present. Right here with me.”

Your tone has taken on that rich sultriness from last night that shoots straight to his groin. Before Carlos can so much as draw breath to respond, you’re rising up to seal your mouth over his in a searingly passionate kiss.

He groans instantly, every atom of his being tuned to your frequency in a way that’s swiftly becoming terrifyingly natural. Carlos’ hands roam hungrily over your naked curves of their own volition, relearning each dip and swell through the silken glide of skin on skin.

When you break apart at last, you’re both thoroughly breathless and aroused. Carlos splays one big hand over the small of your back and simply holds you flush against him, savoring the feeling of your racing heart thundering in tandem with his own. He brushes kiss-swollen lips along the line of your jaw, prompting a delicious shiver.

“Don’t think for one second that I’ve had even a fraction of my fill of you yet, cariño,” he rasps against the feverish skin just below your ear, using his free hand to tug your head back so he can access the soft column of your throat. “You’ve addicted me beyond any chance of recovery now.”

Your breath hitches as he latches his mouth just above your thundering pulse point and sucks a blatant mark. Carlos revels in the needy whimpers spilling from your lips with each pass of his tongue over the tender patch of skin. He needs to mark you, claim you, render you unmistakable as his in every possible way.

“Carlos ...” You keen, back arching like a drawn bow as he continues trailing open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your neck and over your collarbones. “What are you saying?”

He pulls back to meet your heavy-lidded gaze, searching intently for permission to continue with what he suspects you’re asking. And there it is — desire and hope and invitation burning brightly in your soulful eyes, practically begging him to put words to this singular thing blazing between you.

Cupping your face in both hands, Carlos holds your rapt stare as he slowly, reverently presses a soft, lingering kiss to your slightly parted lips. You melt into him, one hand coming up to clutch desperately at his bicep.

“I’m saying,” he murmurs against the plush give of your pretty mouth. “That I can’t simply let this be the end, princesa. Not anymore. Not after experiencing what it feels like to be so exquisitely connected with someone in every possible way.”

The smile you give him in answer is as incandescent and warm as a living flame. You don’t attempt to contain the rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. Instead, you simply wind your arms around Carlos’ neck and pull him down into a molten kiss that somehow manages to convey every single infinite feeling ricocheting between your bodies.

He suddenly feels so overwhelmingly lucky in that moment. Lucky to have crossed paths with you by happenstance. Lucky that, by some miracle, he didn’t allow bitterness or pain or preconceived notions to blind him to your kindness and warmth and inherent goodness despite how this whole crazy thing started in his mind.

Because yes, you are the daughter of the man who turned his life and career upside down. But here, pressed against you, Carlos can feel the truth resonating through his bones — you are so much more than any of that.

And for the first time in his life, Carlos cannot fathom the idea of anything frightening him away.

***

The frantic Melbourne nightlife whirls and pulsates around Carlos in a dizzying kaleidoscope of neon lights and pounding basslines. Normally he would revel in the thrum of energy and excess — drinking in the atmosphere and feeding off the infectious exhilaration. But tonight, seated alone in the VIP lounge of one of the city’s most exclusive clubs, he finds his attention utterly undivided.

You stand out like a siren among the raucous crowd, every tilt of your hips and toss of your hair captivating Carlos completely.

He tracks the line of your body shamelessly as you sway and twist to the driving beat, that tantalizing little red dress riding up to reveal glimpses of toned, silky thighs that make his mouth water. A fine sheen of sweat glistens enticingly along your collarbones and in the hollow of your throat, no doubt making your overheated skin taste like salted caramel.

The urge to slide up behind you and drag his tongue along that slender, tempting slope is damn near overwhelming. He can vividly picture himself molding his larger frame against your softly undulating form, one hand spanning possessively across your lower belly to grind the rapidly stiffening ridge of his arousal against the lush swell of your rear.

He imagines precisely how you would react — arching back against him with a shuddering gasp, fingers threading into his hair to tug his mouth down upon yours in a frantic, needy kiss. How you would whimper and writhe against him, uncaring of the very public surroundings as desire rapidly whited everything else out ...

Almost as if sensing the scorching path of Carlos’ thoughts, you glance over your shoulder and catch his eye from beneath the veil of your lashes. That sly, inviting little smile immediately kicks his pulse into overdrive and lights a slow bloom of liquid heat unfurling in his lower belly.

With a crooked finger and a subtle uptilt of your chin you summon him to your side. And like the hopeless fool he is, Carlos rises instantly and crosses the small distance to enfold you in his arms from behind.

“Having fun out here without me, cariño?” He murmurs in your ear, lips brushing the sensitive shell so he feels the full-body shiver that wracks through you.

You lean back into his embrace, all soft curves and intoxicating jasmine scent. “I’m always having fun when I’m with you, Mr. Race Winner,” you sigh as your fingers trail delicately down the solid line of his biceps. “Even if we’re just sitting around doing nothing.”

The words are simple — honest and unguarded in a way that makes Carlos’ heart seize in his chest. For two people who came together in a wild collision of lust and passion, it’s moments like these that continually remind him of how much deeper your connection truly runs. Far beyond mere physicality into some soul-binding and unbreakable place.

You must sense the shift in his energy because you turn in his arms, expression questioning but so openly caring it nearly steals Carlos’ breath away. Tenderly, you cup his jaw and search his eyes.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, hmm?”

He shakes his head minutely, leaning down to brush his lips across your forehead before pulling you snug against his chest. You settle easily into the circle of his arms like that’s the most natural place in the world, cheek pillowed over his steadily thrumming heart.

“Nothing to worry about, princesa,” Carlos assures you gruffly, stroking soothing circles over the warm bare skin of your back. “Just feeling … lucky, I suppose. To have found someone like you.”

The words seem to catch you off guard and you pull back slightly to study his face, mouth curved in that secretive little smile that always makes Carlos’ stomach swoop.

“Well, I certainly feel the luckiest woman on Earth,” you tease lightly, booping his nose in a playful gesture that somehow serves to implant roots deep in Carlos’ soul rather than make him roll his eyes.

Instead, he just gazes at you for a long, weighted moment, allowing himself to simply bask in your presence. In the soft beauties that first drew him in — that delicate blush that finds its way across your nose and cheekbones, the little crinkles that bloom when your smile widens to that mega-watt, face-splitting beam, and those soulful eyes that never fail to pin Carlos helplessly in place.

Then there are the quieter, more intimate details he’s gradually uncovered the deeper he delves into your connection. The barely-there laugh lines at the corners of your eyes when you’re feeling particularly pleased about something. The trick of tugging on your lower lip with your teeth when you’re aroused and trying not to show it. The subtle furrow that appears between your brows when you’re concentrating intently on something.

Carlos knows them all now like geography he was born to navigate.

Without conscious thought, he smooths his thumbs over your jaw and guides you up into a slow, thorough kiss that has both your pulses kicking into overdrive. You whine quietly into his mouth, winding your arms around his neck and arching against him in ways that instantaneously have him hard and aching. But Carlos doesn’t give in to the heated urgency coursing through his bloodstream.

Instead, he keeps the languid glide of his lips over yours unhurried and leisurely — savoring the sensation of you pliant and receptive beneath his seduction. You seem to shake off your initial fervor as well, melting further into the molten drag of his mouth claiming yours over and over.

This too is a geography Carlos has long since mastered. The precise angle he needs to tilt his head to slot your bodies effortlessly flush together. The soft, mewling noises he can coax out of you with carefully applied suction to your plush lower lip. The tiny shudders when he swipes his tongue in long, slick caresses over the roof of your mouth.

You’re practically vibrating with restraint by the time he finally releases your mouth with an obscene, wet pop. Your lips are swollen and glistening, glistening with shared wanting. Carlos hums deep in his chest and brushes the pad of his thumb over the slick fullness reverently.

“So impatient, cariño,” he chides with a wolfish grin that has your nipples visibly peaking beneath the thin lace bodice. “You know that’s not what I had in mind for tonight.”

With an adorable little pout, you wind your arms around his neck once more. “And what, pray tell, did you have in mind?”

A dozen filthy scenarios immediately clamor for attention in Carlos’ head. Having you right here, up against the wall of this secluded VIP area. Bending you over the sleek lines of one of the low leather couches. Finding a shadowed alcove and sinking to his knees before you, nosing aside those delicate strips of lace to ...

He banishes each carnal thought before it can take root and produce visible effect. Tangling his fingers through the soft tresses at the nape of your neck, Carlos brings your foreheads together with a soft smile.

“I thought we might enjoy a moonlight stroll along the beach actually,” he murmurs, relishing the way your disappointed huff ruffles against his skin. “Just you and me under the stars, far away from the noise and crowds for a while.”

You regard him dubiously for a moment before seeming to melt at whatever expression Carlos doesn’t realize he’s allowed to show through. As always, you give in far too easily to his indulgent whims.

With a soft, fond roll of your eyes, you press up on your toes to drop a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Of course, mon amour. Just you and me under the stars.”

Twenty minutes later finds you ambling hand in hand down a pristine stretch of beach in the Middle Park suburb. The warm, salty breeze gusts gently over your skin, carrying traces of coconut sunscreen and the briny musk of the sea. Foamy waves lap invitingly against the silvered sands as Carlos steers you towards a small, isolated cove.

He procures a large woven blanket from his bag and unfurls it in a clear spot before tugging you down into the plush nest of fabric. You immediately gravitate into his space — curling against his side and tucking yourself beneath his arm like that’s where you were always meant to fit. For Carlos’ part, he cherishes the easy affection and careless intimacy of the simple gesture more than you’ll ever know.

You spend what could be minutes or hours like that — exchanging lazy kisses and sipping from a shared bottle of wine as the moon rises ever higher overhead. After a while, Carlos sprawls onto his back and you quickly drape yourself half-atop him so he can leisurely card his fingers through your windswept tresses.

The soft, steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear combined with the soothing sounds of the lapping tide soon have your eyelids drooping. Carlos has never felt so at peace — this sublime bubble with you the single point around which the rest of the universe spins, perfectly in balance.

“Hey,” you mumble against the warm, sleep-rumpled fabric of his shirt. “Aren’t you the one always saying we should be living in the present?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, stroking one hand down the dip of your spine to rest possessively at the base. “What brings that up all of a sudden?”

You shift enough to look up at him through your lashes, eyes molten with a familiar heat that shivers down Carlos’ spine.

“I’m just wondering what’s got you stuck in your head so often these days,” you counter smoothly, punctuating the observation by swinging one leg over his hips so you can settle atop him fully, careful not to disturb his still-tender stitches. “We’ve barely been able to share … intimate moments at all the last month or so.”

Carlos sucks in a sharp breath as your weight settles over the rapidly stiffening ridge of his arousal. His hands find your hips of their own volition, squeezing reflexively as you begin moving atop him in a slow, undulating rhythm.

“Perhaps I’ve been overtly romantic,” he allows through gritted teeth, letting his head thunk back against the blanket as desire rapidly thrums through his veins. “Missing out on more … physical expressions of passion just because I wanted to remind both of us that this is built on so much more than lust.”

You hum thoughtfully, sitting up fully and swaying atop him in a way that has Carlos rapidly losing his tenuous grasp on reality beyond this blissful patch of the world containing just the two of you. He’s fully hard and straining against the loose linen of his slacks within moments.

“Then maybe we should do something about that right now,” you breathe huskily, arching your back in an inhumanly graceful roll that leaves Carlos’ mouth dry as the Sahara. His hands track helplessly up the delicious curves of your waist, bunching the delicate material of your dress around your hips.

He sits up to meet you so suddenly your foreheads nearly crack together. You release a breathless giggle that Carlos hungrily swallows with his lips, trapping you in a searing kiss filled with all the smoldering hunger he’s been studiously keeping banked for weeks now.

Mindlessly, he chases the taste of you over and over — salty and sweet and everything he’s been desperately starving himself for. His fingers fumble at the tie closures along your ribs until the bodice finally falls away, baring your breasts to his gaze and seeking hands.

You gasp softly into the heated seal of his mouth when Carlos’ calloused palms close over your soft, pliant flesh. He cups and kneads with reverent, possessive strokes that have you quickly arching your chest further into his touch and throwing your head back on a wanton moan.

“Carlos ...” You breathe his name like a prayer, riding his lap with increasing urgency and bringing your mouths back together in a clash of teeth and tongues. Your fingers slide up beneath the hem of his shirt to map the shifting planes of his abdomen, nails raking over the taut, quivering muscles. “Don’t hold back with me any longer. Not tonight … need to feel all of you.”

A shudder wracks Carlos’ entire frame at your breathy plea. He knows you’re right, can feel that same desperate yearning driving you magnified inside himself. Every cell of his body is vibrating with the need to take you fully — heart, mind, and body aligning in euphoric harmony after so many weeks of well meaning denial.

Seizing your hips in a bruising grip, Carlos surges to his feet and simply holds you against him with easy strength. Your legs immediately wind around his waist as you giggle deliriously against his lips.

“Is this what you want, princesa?” He murmurs lowly, swaying subtly to grind his straining need over the lush juncture of your thighs in counterpoint. “For me to finally have my way with you the way we’ve both been craving?”

“Yes,” you hiss out through clenched teeth, back arching as Carlos nips and sucks a path down the slender column of your neck. “God, yes, Carlos. Will you just fuck me already? Here on the sand and beneath the open sky like something out of one of those romance novels you pretend not to love.”

The easy teasing breaks through whatever lingering threads of Carlos’ control were still intact and he growls low in his chest. In one deft motion, he divests you both of the rest of your clothes and spreads you out on the blanket before him in all your unabashed glory. His gaze tracks over your form hungrily, drinking in every dip and swell as you watch him with dark, wanting eyes.

“Princesa ...” Carlos breathes, gratified to see his own desire and reverent longing reflected back at him tenfold in your heated stare. “No more waiting, no more teasing.”

His meaning is clear even without the punctuation of sinking down to settle fully over your smaller form, blanketing you with his weight and forcing your thighs apart to cradle his hips. You immediately writhe beneath him, winding limber arms and legs around him in a vice grip that sears every point of contact between you.

“Carlos, mon cœur ...” You keen breathily into the scant space separating your lips, every word punched from you in counterpoint to the sensual roll of his hips grinding his arousal through your slick folds. “Please. I need you. Need to feel you all around me again after so long.”

He crushes his mouth to yours in answer, tongue instantly delving deep to taste the exquisite velvet heat of you. You clutch him closer even as Carlos shifts his weight to one forearm so his other hand can roam freely over every inch of bare, pebbled skin he can reach. When his calloused palm finally finds your breast and gives a rough squeeze, you shudder and cry out into his waiting lips.

There’s no more waiting after that. Carlos sheaths himself in one powerful, purposeful thrust that buries him to the hilt and your gasp dissolves into a broken moan. He stills for the briefest of moments, just reveling in the unbearably tight clutch of your molten sheath, every nerve ending alight and thrumming. Then he slowly withdraws until just the swollen head remains inside before immediately surging forward once more.

Your nails score lines of liquid fire down his back at the first deep, dragging stroke. But Carlos barely notices the delicious sting. He’s utterly consumed by the feeling of finally being surrounded by you again — hot, snug, and so utterly perfect. Every sound and shudder and arch of your form against his own is like the sweetest plea washing over him.

He sets a demanding pace, relentlessly pounding into you from that first jarring thrust onward. The only sounds are your mingled cries and the wet, obscene smack of flesh on flesh echoing out over the lapping ocean waves. Carlos wants to make sure there’s no doubt in your mind how much he’s craved every inch of you.

“There’s my good girl,” he rasps hotly against the bullet-hard peak of your nipple before laving it soothingly with his tongue. You release a strangled cry, back bowing sharply off the blanket as you clench down on him in rippling, vice-like pulses. “Fuck … taking me just how you were made to. So damn perfect, cariño.”

Your garbled whimpers and keens of his name drive Carlos to new levels of feverish intensity with each hitching breath. He snakes an arm beneath your sweat-slick lower back to position your hips at a slightly higher angle, seating himself even more deeply inside.

Every purposeful thrust now grinds against that tender cluster of nerves in a way that quickly has your eyes rolling back. You go boneless and whimpering, allowing Carlos to manhandle and use your plaint and plush form in whatever way he craves.

Pressure rapidly mounts within Carlos like an incoming tidal wave as your inner walls begin fluttering around him in telltale pulses. He can feel his own imminent release building in tandem at the base of his spine, that familiar molten curl of pleasure threatening to crest.

“That’s it, princesa,” he grits out raggedly against the sweat-slick arch of your throat. He slides the hand not anchoring your hips down to toy with the engorged pearl at your apex — drawing out a stream of sobbing wails. “Take what’s yours. Fucking milk me with that greedy little cunt. You were made for this cock, made to be split open and ruined on it over and over until you’ve got no idea where you end and I begin.”

The filthy words seems to be your undoing. With a sobbing cry of Carlos’ name, you seize up — inner walls rippling and convulsing like they’re taking him for everything he’s worth. Carlos hardens his jaw and summons the last threads of his control to keep himself from shattering apart at the very first fluttering pulse.

As the shattering waves of your release gradually crest and ebb, Carlos chases them down with powerful thrusts designed to prolong and intensify every aftershock. You writhe and whimper beneath him in overstimulated pleasure, rapidly going boneless and sated.

That’s when he finally surrenders to the smoldering inferno in his belly, hips snapping forward in a few final, erratic strokes before Carlos throws back his head and allows his own orgasm to rip through him. White-hot euphoria explodes across every nerve ending as he empties himself in heavy, throbbing pulses deep inside your spasming core.

“Ah fuck … just like that, cariño,” he rasps out hoarsely, grinding himself as deeply inside you as physically possible and simply shuddering through each exquisite contraction. “Taking every last fucking drop of me right where you were made for it ...”

Utterly spent, Carlos collapses forward with the last dregs of his stamina — just barely managing to catch himself on shaking forearms so he doesn’t crush you beneath his weight. You immediately latch onto him, peppering his flushed face with sweet kisses.

For several long moments, you simply hold each other through the aftershocks, chests heaving and bodies trembling. Carlos has never felt more peaceful or completely at ease in his entire life. His every sense is utterly surrounded and suffused by you in the most blissful of ways.

When his lashes finally flutter open, the first thing he sees is your adoring smile glowing up at him in the moonlight. It nearly steals what little breath remains in his lungs.

“Hi,” you murmur shyly. Carlos huffs out a breathless chuckle and tugs you even closer until your overwarm bodies are aligned from navel to sternum.

“Hi yourself, princesa,” he replies, just as softly against your lips before sinking into another deep, leisurely kiss that tastes equal parts salt and sex and forever.

When you part again, your eyes are sparkling with so much uncomplicated happiness that Carlos nearly melts into a useless puddle on the spot. He’s drowning and he’s never felt more gloriously unmoored.

“I love you, y’know? Like … down to the depths of my soul,” your fingers trail over the sharp jaw and cheekbones you now know better than your own.

The words should terrify Carlos with their intensity and implication. Instead, they simply roll through him in a cresting wave of overwhelming tenderness and clarity.

Of course he loves you. How could he not, when his existence now seems to revolve around your presence as the only fixed point in a dizzying orbit?

So rather than balk or deflect or shove those emotions back down, Carlos allows every infinite but of love and adoration and soul-deep need to shine through unfettered. He cradles your face between his palms and simply stares, committing every minuscule detail of this moment to memory before leaning down to brush his lips over yours in the sweetest, most loaded caress.

“I love you too, princesa,” he murmurs the words directly into your mouth like a sacrament. “With every fiber of my being. You are my everything.”

You tug him down into a heated, clinging embrace, holding him like you never intend to let go.

And at last, Carlos knows without a shadow of doubt that he never will either

[spaghettiposts]

Window Crashin’

WandaNat x Spidey!Reader

Summery: Crashing into the wrong window at night proves to be the best mistake you’ve ever made.

Warnings: Very OBLIVIOUS reader, straight up stupid I can’t lie. Gay panics all around. Fluff

Word count: 1.6k

A/n: my first time officially writing for Nat and I think I’d like to continue so expect separate fics of her sometime soon.

Kraven had become an incessant thorn in your side, his relentless rampage ever since he announced “The Grand Hunt” in the heart of Central Park felt like a never-ending nightmare. One that persistently dragged on as the weeks floated by, each day a new form of tinnitus growing in your eardrums at the echoings of his horn. Falling once again into his endless game of cat and mouse.

Or in your case Kraven and Spider–with Kraven playing predator and you, the elusive Spider, trying to lure him away from innocent civilians roaming the streets of New York. 

Which wasn’t as easy as one would imagine, but you made do with what you had, brains over brawns. Clinging onto the hope that eventually, Kraven would grow tired of chasing and resign for the night, with the promise that he’d return. And so the cycle goes on. 

There were other options you could resort to, but those were last resorts, ones you only used if you were certain you couldn’t handle Kraven or in case of an emergency. In all honesty, you’re avoiding involving the Avengers, it’s really the last thing you want this to come to. A couple of broken ribs wasn’t an Avengers level threat.

You could handle Kraven by yourself perfectly fine, and nobody got hurt at the end of the day—except mainly your sleep schedule.

And now, as you swung through the thick chilling air on route to the compound; you were struggling to stay awake, the bruises littered across your body only making it harder to keep swinging. It wasn’t that sleep had ever been your strong suit, but now, it seemed like a distant luxury. The sacrifice of a hero came in many forms, and sleep deprivation was yours. 

Tony had sacrificed half his company in pursuit of a heroic lifestyle, hell, even Steve froze himself to save humanity. If humanity needed you to suffer from fewer hours in bed, then so be it. 

You fought relentlessly to keep your eyes from drooping and it only took the honking of a truck for you to jolt awake, merely missing out on the experience of being rammed by one. 

Shaking your head, you muttered words of encouragement to yourself, living on a prayer of making it back to the compound - in one piece. 

As the familiar building came into view, you let out a breath of relief you didn’t know you were holding. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you swung around towards the left block and homed in on your window, only to face-plant straight into it with a resounding thud.

You groaned against the pavement, pressing your hands on the wall to steady yourself before you could slide off. Silently thanking that radioactive spider for granting you the ability to stick to surfaces as you adjusted yourself, what the fuck?

A miscalculation on your part—or at least you pictured. Pushing yourself back from the wall, your eyebrows crinkled. Huh.

You always left your window open–had one of your teammates closed it off?

Assuming one of the guys must’ve closed it off, you didn’t question much, missing your bed and running on pure exhaustion to really assess the situation seriously. Gripping the sides of the window, you tried to pry from the outside, and after a couple of difficulties; you managed to unlock it, budging it open with a click. 

Finally, home sweet home. 

Your body toppled into the room first before the rest of your body crashed onto the floor, reaching an arm to shut the window behind you. With a sigh of relief, you picked yourself up, stretching your arms above your head, eliciting a satisfying ‘pop’ from your back, feeling all the pent-up tensions of the day leave your body. 

Pressing the button on your chest, making quick work of discarding your suit. You struggled more than you’d like to admit, having to hop on one foot to wiggle your feet out of the padding. 

Amidst your squirming, you failed to notice the crimson warps seeping from your bed, freezing mid-movement as the lights flickered on by themselves, looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You screeched, scrambling up to your feet, firmly clutching your uniform in a poor attempt to cover yourself from the two women on your bed, equally startled.

“Y/n…? What are you doing here?” Natasha says after a beat of silence, her eyes furrowing as she lowers her gun and the arm protectively wrapped around her girlfriend. Wanda mirrored her actions and let the red wisps fall before she turned to you disconcertingly.

You shrunk under their gaze, feeling your heart pick up. It was too late to salvage any attempts at running for it, so you turned away, ignoring how affected you felt by their disheveled appearances.

Instead, you focused on why they were inside your room in the first place. Not that you minded having two beautiful women in your bed but at this hour? 

“What are you doing in my room? I just got back, what’s…” Your voice trailed off, slipping on your suit, as you looked towards your dresser…was it always that color? And why was there a photo of Wanda and Natasha on your nightstand? Sure, you were hopelessly in love with the two but never to this extent.

Barely bordering on those lines. 

“Detka…this is our room,” Wanda said slowly, as to not startle you. 

You cursed under your breath, realizing your mistake. “Aw fuck, I must’ve crashed into the wrong—wall-side thing,” you explained messily, picking yourself up for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. 

“Crashed?” Both of the girls shouted and you winced, scooting off awkwardly to the side, feeling even more like an intrusion. 

“Yeah but it’s okay though, that’s nothing compared to Kraven's fists, trust me.” You meant to reassure them, but judging by the worried looks they exchanged, it had the opposite effect. Taking their silence as an opportunity to leave, you stepped back.

“Anyways, sorry for interrupting your night.” You mumbled apologetically, reaching for the window handle. “I’ll see y'all tomorrow— son of a bitch.” You grunted, banging your head against the glass for the second time this night. You were really starting to resent these things.  

And Wanda bit her bottom lip, “Malysh, it’s late and you’re…not doing well, why don’t you stay here tonight?” She suggested softly, her voice coming out as sweet as honey and you almost dropped dead there.

“Here?” You blurted out, feeling a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. “Like, with you and Nat?”

Natasha and Wanda shared an amused look, before nodding in unison. 

Your face crinkled, not really understanding what the looks were for but you assumed it was all in your head. Sparing one last glance at the two, you confirmed this was okay, searching for even the smallest bits of hesitancy or discomfort only to find nothing but welcoming smiles. 

With a small nod, barely audible, you murmured a hesitant “alright,” as you settled into the chair beside their bed, placing your feet on the small wooly ottoman.

Had your eyes been open, you might’ve noticed the way their faces dropped in disappointment. After months of obvious pining, not-so-subtle flirting thrown your way, you were choosing to sleep…not with them but on a chair.

A brief silence lingered, and you shifted in your seat. Even with your eyes closed, you could feel their eyes piercing and you were starting to sweat.

“Sorry,” You mumble, heat rising up your neck in embarrassment as you removed your feet off the ottoman, fearing you had overstepped. Still, their gazes remained unwavering and you rubbed your arm unsurely, “Is the chair off–limits too? I can take the floor if that’s better.”

“Dorogoy, we’re inviting you into our bed,” Natasha chuckles disbelievingly, fingers tracing the covers as to tempt you with the invitation. 

“Mhmm, yeah no. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” You shook your head, stumbling over your words. “I don’t do well in confined spaces with pretty women, I mean— no wait you are, both are super pretty but that’s not—“ 

Thankfully, Wanda interjected before you could embarrass yourself further with a giggle. You swore your stomach flipped. “Cute, but won’t you get cold?” She suggested, Natasha nodding and lifting the covers, adding, “It’s much warmer over here.”

Again, you waved them off and they were starting to get fed up with your excuses. “Oh nah! My suit has thermal heating installed, pretty cool right? Tony helped me insulate it–”

“Y/n, just get in the bed.”

Before you could protest further, you felt those warm red tendrils wrap around you, coaxing you into their bed, and you couldn’t even remember why you were fighting this in the first place when their arms wrapped around you. Not when their sheets were so warm, and their bodies warmer. 

Resistance be damned, as Natasha's hand ran gently through your hair, you relaxed into it, and both girls smiled. This was how things needed to be, always. 

Still, your heart was beyond nervous to even enjoy the moment but they were pushing at your shoulders to tuck you in further, getting settled themselves. They tangled their limbs with your own and it was official; there was definitely no escaping this. 

Pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, Wanda murmured a couple of words and you felt more comfortable clothes encase you. Natasha pressed a tender kiss to the shell of your ear before bidding you a good night.

You repeat her words back and they tighten their grip, closing their eyes. 

With exhaustion finally catching up to you, your eyes drooped helplessly again, fluttering shut, bones begging for sleep, and you finally surrendered to its embrace. Allowing yourself a moment of rest with the two people you treasure most in the world. 

And suddenly, crashing into windows didn’t seem so bad after all.

[maiiuelle]

the hunt

based on this post.. literally could not get this out of my head. nobody can do crazy like my man.

warnings: minors dni!! dom!rafe, chasing, pred/prey dynamic, basically breath and impact play

under different circumstances, you wouldn’t be caught dead knee-deep in the muddy swampland of the cut. but, you can’t stop moving now, the purr of rafe’s truck is growing to a roar behind you.

⊹₊⟡⋆

your legs are burning, and covered in mud and cuts from tree branches grazing by your delicate skin. you don’t know how long you’ve been running, long enough for your lungs to ache so painfully you could surrender.

you almost consider it until you realize what kind of punishment he must have waiting for you. you were bad. rafe is the cruelest man you know, and knowing that, you’d never disobeyed him in fear of how he’d react. until today.

your chest heaves as you push to keep running, each step onto the soft ground is pronounced with more dirt splattering your thighs. for a moment, you think he’s lost you, until a pair of bright LED headlights shine past your head and into your view.

he’s too close, the blood chilling rumble of his truck is approaching fast and the pain throbbing throughout your body is becoming too unbearable to keep going. you veer off of your course, weaving through trees until you find one with a thick enough trunk to hide behind. you slam your back into the wood, chest heaving as you lower yourself to a squat. you press a hand to your chest, desperately trying to catch your breath. the wheezing will only give you away.

you hear his truck stop, the humming of the engine fades out and the door slams, your whole body lurches against the rough tree bark.

rafe whistles. “babe!” he chides, the smirk on his lips clear through his voice. he’s enjoying this. “don’t play this game with me, alright? you know i saw you.”

your heart thumps in your ears, the pitter-patter taking over your senses as you try to think of what to do, but your body is frozen. whether it be from exhaustion, or fear, you’re paralyzed on the root rippled ground.

he may be having a good time chasing you around, but he’s growing impatient by the minute. “you’re really gonna make me come get you? gonna make this more difficult for yourself? huh?” the irritation lining his voice turns your stomach. you’re done for.

“what? you just wanna piss me off a little more, is that it? you like getting on my fuckin’ nerves?” he rants, twigs snapping under his feet as he stalks closer. “you’re a brat!”

you cover your mouth and suck in fresh air through your nose, the overwhelming scent of soil and swamp water fills your senses, only the unnatural sweet aroma of rafe’s luxury cologne suddenly catches in the soft breeze. before the panic can set in, a rough hand grabs your arm and pulls you to a stand, but you trip over your legs in shock and you fall right into your boyfriends chest. your face is met with the cold material of his golfing polo, one of his favorites, only now it’s stained with soot along with the rest of his expensive clothing.

“no, no! rafe!” you begin to plead, feeling guilty about what you’d done, and running. he pushes you off of him, his strong hands controlling your movements as he turns you at his will, holding you with his grip settled on your arms, using the leverage to hoist you up and over his shoulder like you’re nothing. “rafe, stop!” you hang limply, his arm coming to hold you down like he’s carrying a bundle of logs, only he holds your arms tight against your torso. with your arms trapped, and your legs already growing sore, you have no chance of escape.

rafe just scoffs, stomping through the wood back to his parked pick-up. “don’t beg now — like i didn’t just chase you down through the entire goddamn cut. you deserve what you’re gonna fucking get, know that.” he grits, and you whine out a strained cry.

once he reaches the truck, he rounds the passenger side and flicks the back door open. “y’know, at this point i’d at least expect an apology.” without warning, he bucks forward and throws you on your back onto the leather back seat. you stare up at him like a spooked doe, eyes wide as you finally get a good look at him. like you, he’s covered head to toe in mud. his sweaty bangs hang messily over his forehead as he looks down on you, nostrils flaring as his eyes watch your stiffened frame expectantly. “i’d start with ‘i’m so sorry, rafey!’” he teases, his thick finger suddenly coming up to hook under the waistband of your skirt. he invades your space, tall enough to hover over you even though he’s still standing outside of the truck. he gets so close your hands instinctively come up to brace yourself, they ball up in his stained shirt in fear, but you hold onto the slight hope he’ll have some sort of mercy on you.

“rafe — rafe, i am sorry! i just — i was..” you cry, only he smacks his other heavy hand over your mouth before you can get far. even doing what he says, he grows even angrier. he’s completely unpredictable.

“shut the fuck up!” rafe shouts, his hand on your waistband adjusts and he grabs your waist, his grip bruising. “you wanna apologize? yeah?” he pushes, and when you nod he helps you along with his palm over your mouth. “good girl. that’s it.”

warmth spreads through your stomach, pulsing in slow waves as his warm fingers trail up your torso to your tit to palm it gently like a stress ball. his eyes outline your body, while yours stay on his face, watching him take in his prey. it’s odd, you’re terrified and yet so eager to be splayed out in front of him like this.

“fuck.” he groans, the hand on your mouth pivots to your jaw, positioning your head upward to meet his lips. they crash into yours, and you’re desperate to reciprocate, grasping for any affection from him. he breaks to push his forehead into yours, hands suddenly occupied with prying off his mud-caked belt. “take ‘em off, come on.” rafe urges under his breath, clearly running low on patience. in part due to your own mounting desire, you shuffle to push your tennis skirt and panties down to your knees.

rafe forces down his shorts just enough to free himself, eyes raking over you. impatiently, he rips your bottoms right off your legs, balling them up in his palm and chucking them deeper into the backseat before he resumes ravishing you. he’s pinned you to the leather seat with the weight of his body, pressing against you as he forces his lips into yours. the animalistic, hungry way he’s handling you is delicious. your core is throbbing hot against the cold outdoor air, his cock smooths over your thigh, and your head goes blank. you can’t wait any longer to feel him push inside of you. the fear and distress you’d been filled with before has melted completely into submission.

he lifts himself up, one hand coming to position himself at your entrance, and the other pushes your fitted cropped t-shirt up over your tits. he pauses, slotting his tip between your folds, mindlessly making you shudder in need. rafe couldn’t care, he’s taking his time now, too focused on playing with your tits with his free hand, watching them peak through his fingers. imagining what he could do to you. “god, you are so fucking lucky i love you.”

his hips come flush with yours as he plunges into you. your satisfied scream is immediately muffled by his hand coming back to its place over your lips, the force pins your head to the seat.

rafe rocks into you slowly, but with a force that pushes your limp body up the seat with every thrust. you’re so full, it’s intoxicating. you’re taken over by the feeling of him, you close your eyes so there isn’t anything but him, how he’s making you feel. your hands come to claw at his arm, even in your state, you’re desperate to breathe through the hand that’s covering your mouth and shifting over your nose. he’s completely entranced, watching himself disappear inside of you over and over again. he deserved this after all you’d put him through.

but, it’s not enough. his snapping movements are slowly pushing you away, and his frustration swells. “fuck.. fuck!” rafe growls, moving both arms to wrap around your muddy thighs, hooking underneath to pull you impossibly closer to him. your ass is completely hanging off the back seat now, suspended in mid-air held up completely by him. you take the chance to sit up on your elbows, peeking down to where your bodies meet. it’s so overwhelming, you rush to catch your breath, but it’s impossible with the unrelenting pace he’s setting. your poor lungs burn as your throat forces out strangled moans, the stretch of him inside of you feels too good to stay quiet. the sound of your skin smacking together fills the truck, beautifully conjoined with the pretty sounds he’s pulling from you. “yeah, yeah. is this what you wanted?” rafe looks at your fucked out face, your lashes fluttering as you try to keep yourself together. “fucking say it.”

“just wanted you, rafe!” you whine, your pussy pulsing around him as a wave of heat spreads through your abdomen. a moan rips from you, he knows you’re about to burst, and he’s feeling mean.

rafe’s hips smack against yours, punctuating his assault with a hard chap before he completely unsheathes himself. you’re brave enough to pout, crumbling with a whine as you clench around nothing. he grabs your jaw, forcing your attention. “you do some stupid shit like that again, i’m leaving you with the gators.”

and with that, rafe stands up straight, shifting his shorts back into place and stuffing himself inside. once he’s sorted, he plants a hand on the fat of your thigh and shoves you inside. without sparing you a glance, he runs his hand down his face, looking behind his truck to surveil the surrounding woods. he slams the back door, leaving you to stare at the leather interior bewildered. rafe reappears, tugging open the drivers side door, hauling himself inside and bringing the truck’s engine back to life. rafe doesn’t say a word to you as he drives you back to tannyhill, too busy plotting how he’s going to finish you off when you get there.

⊹₊⟡⋆

[multifandomfanficss]

Don’t Stop My Heart

Tyler Owens x Reader

Prompt: You and Tyler take a road trip up to Iowa to catch some of the last tornadoes of the season, but he takes the teasing a little too far.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, mentions of car crashes, swerving, shitty ex boyfriends. No use of Y/N.

A/N: Hello! I didn’t proofread this one as many times as I usually do. I’m coming off a 4 and a half month writers block so I really just wanted to write and post while I was excited to do it. My job has been draining me as of late, so I’m trying to write when I get the impulse. I have so many Tyler ideas and no time to write them. Crossposted on my AO3 adriansglasses.

It was still fairly early, the sun was still rising. Last night you’d planned an impromptu trip up north to Iowa. It was about a 7 hour trip from Oklahoma, so you were on the road before 6. You were hoping to get there around noon. You didn’t love getting up that early, but Tyler promised he’d drive you and you could sleep in the truck. Tornado season was pretty much over aside from an isolated storm or two, but Iowa had been having very unusual storm activity all week. Tyler couldn’t resist hitting a couple more tornadoes in late August when the season was supposed to be pretty much over with.

You stayed awake for a little bit. You wanted to watch as you crossed into Missouri.

“Missouri welcomes you.” Tyler reads out loud.

“Yes! Finally!” You giggle.

“I didn’t realize you were such a big fan of Missouri.” Tyler comments.

“Oh, I’m not.” You pause, looking out your window.

“First you’re hypin’ her up, now you’re gonna disappoint her.” He jokes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure Missouri’s fine, but I’m more excited about that.” You point to a Hardee’s down the street.

“Really? We’re crossin’ state lines and you’re gonna make me take you to Hardee’s? You can get Carl’s Jr. anytime you want back home. That’s basically the same thing.” He argues.

“Take that back! You’re just saying that because you’re a Texas boy! You’ve never had the luxury of Hardee’s.” You joke.

“If Carl’s Jr. is better, I’m not letting you pick where we eat for the rest of the trip.” Tyler puts on his turn signal and sighs.

“How is that fair? I’ve never eaten at this location. What if it sucks?” You laugh.

“You picked your Hardee’s hill and now you’re gonna die on it. Now keep your trap closed and tell me what’s good on the menu.” Tyler makes a pretend threatening face towards you as he pulls into the drive thru.

“How am I supposed to not talk and at the same time tell you what’s good?” You tease back.

“Hi welcome to Hardee’s, may I take your order?” The drive thru speaker cuts you off. Tyler shushes you and you giggle.

After getting your food you start unwrapping the straws and putting them in both drinks.

“Whatever score we give this we need to give it extra points to account for how good the curly fries would be if they were serving lunch.” You try to bargain, taking a bite.

“No, you can’t just change the rules after we already got our food, that’s cheating. Just because you’re from the north, doesn’t mean you can cheat me.” He argues. He continues driving, leaving behind the paved roads of the small town.

“You’re acting like I’m Canadian!” You giggle.

“Well, Upper Midwest is basically Canada. There’s literally a town in Iowa called Toronto!” He smirks, taking the last bite of his food, continuing to drive through the middle of nowhere Missouri, back onto the gravel roads through the soybean fields.

“Shut up!” You playfully hit his arm. He jokingly swerves and your stomach flips. You gasp air. “Tyler, knock it off.”

“You’re the one who hit me.” He pleas innocent.

“I didn’t hit you that hard.” You defend.

“I thought you were gonna sleep on the drive.” He says, smirking.

“I might later, I’m not tired.” You answer, falling for his bit. He does a big fake yawn.

“Well if you’re not tired, I might take a little nap.” He lightly swerves again.

“Tyler, this isn’t funny!” You plead.

“What? Oh. Do you mind watching the road? We woke up so early and I’m pretty tired.” He jokes before swerving again. He’s taking the joke way too far. Once was one thing, twice was too much. You start hyperventilating.

“Tyler, STOP!” You yell, tears starting to come to your eyes.

“Woah woah woah, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” He has a concerned look on his face. He knew he had taken it too far.

“It’s not funny.” You cry.

“You’re right, it���s not funny. I would never-a done it if I’d known it would make you feel unsafe. I do it all the time on chases and that don’t seem to bother you. I didn’t realize-“

“That’s different! The roads and the fields when there’s no storms are different! We’re on an actual road! What- what if there were other people?! What if you hit somebody?! What if a sherif saw?!” You say, obviously still panicking. Tyler decides to pull over.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I was way outta line, but we’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s no cars or tractors around. We’re safe.” His voice is soft. “Just breathe, Darlin’. Just you and me.” He takes your hand, rubbing small circles in it. “I feel bad. I wanted a reaction outta you, but not like this. I never want you to feel unsafe with me.”

“I know.” You were still struggling to breathe. Tyler places your hand on his chest to feel the rise and fall of his breathing. He hopes you can sync yours with his own.

“Take it easy, sweetheart. You’re okay. Feel me breathing? We’re both okay.” He places a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry… it’s not you. When I was in high school I had a crazy ex boyfriend who used to swerve in town just to scare me because he knew I was afraid of car crashes. He almost killed us a couple times, I think. I guess no matter how much time’s passed, dumb high school bullshit still affects me into my adult years.”

“Hey, that’s not okay. It’s not dumb bullshit. It’s trauma.” You lean over the console to be closer to him and he wraps his arms around you. “I would never put you in danger like that for the sake of a joke.” You could tell his blood was boiling on the inside, but he was trying to keep himself calm. He didn’t want to upset you more. He knew this was about you feeling better, not him.

“We gotta get going if we wanna try to make it by 1.” You wipe your tears.

“I don’t care how long we’re pulled over. Hell, we can even turn around if you’re not up to anymore. I don’t care about the chase. I care about you.” He moves your hair out of your face. “I can call the rest of the team and tell them to turn around right now or go without us.”

“What happened to Mr. If You Feel It, Chase It?” You joke, trying to lighten the mood. He looks into your eyes. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen him so serious.

“The only feeling that matters is the one I get when I’m with you.“

Tears start creeping up again. These tears aren’t bad, though.

“Tyler, I’m in love with you.” It just slips out, like the easiest confession you’ve ever made in your life. You both knew there was something there, but neither one of you were willing to say it. It had always been heavy flirting, awkward mornings after cuddling in the only bed left at the motel, a drunk kiss or two.

After a moment of staring in silence Tyler kisses you. Everything happened in slow motion, but in truth it was probably just the adrenaline slowing everything down. Tyler wasted no time in kissing you. It was the quickest decision he’s ever made. You don’t know how long the kiss was. Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough. You’d swear off oxygen for the rest of your life if it meant this moment never had to end. You’d been pinning after your best friend for so long and finally the moment was here.

“I’m so glad you said something because you’re one of the best navigators I know and I really didn’t wanna risk losing you from the team by telling you I was in love with you.” Tyler laughs.

“Is that the only reason you didn’t tell me?” You ask.

“No, I was scared. Losing you from the team would be a bummer, but I couldn’t lose you from my life. We see a lot of loss in this business. Whenever I thought about it, the thing I couldn’t stand to lose most was you.” He runs his fingers through your hair, moving to cup your cheek.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

It was nice to finally say it. You’d waited a long time to tell him.

“Let’s get back on the road. This time just don’t stop my heart.” You give a small laugh.

“You’re safe with me.”

“I know. You’re not like those other guys, Ty.”

You hold hands and rest on his other arm as he drives. He’s lucky he’s good at driving with one hand because he’s happy to see about 30 minutes later you’ve finally fallen asleep. Today was going to be a long day, but Tyler knew forcing the team to wake up so early was worth it. He may have had to bribe Boone 20 bucks to drive the other car up with Lily, but at least he didn’t have a third wheel sitting in the back seat. Tyler didn’t get a lot of alone time with you. Now he had 7 hours of it. It was worth it.

[whytheylosttheirminds]

I Remember Everything - Rafe Cameron (Chapter 6)

Summary: You left the island two years ago, leaving the love of your life a shattered man in your wake. Now, when you return, you find the sweet boy you once loved has transformed into a monster of a man. How can you detangle the real Rafe from the terrible things he's done?

Timeline: begins toward the end of obx season 3 and is mostly canon.

Content: this story contains sexual content, alcohol and drug abuse, and brief mentions of violence. All chapters are 18+, minors do not interact!

⯎series masterlist⯎

One Year Earlier…

The car door opened just a crack, an attempt to keep the torrential rain from getting on the nice leather interior. Your mother struggled to enter the front seat without bringing the elements with her.

“Just get in,” Ward encouraged. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t want to get an invoice for detailing,” she explained.

“What kind of person do you think I am?”

She gave him a knowing look, now fully inside the car and safe from the storm.

“I don’t think you want me to answer that,” your mother said.

The windshield wipers squeaked against the glass as they swished rapidly. Your mother folded her hands in her lap as she took in the luxurious vehicle with judgment. Ward picked up on her distaste, but simply chuckled and shook his head. He had given up any attempt on getting her to like him back when they were in high school together. She had always thought him a showman, putting on a display she wasn’t interested in watching. He may have the rest of the island fooled, but she saw straight through him.

She flinched as he reached across her, calming when she realized he was only opening the glovebox. He pulled out a stack of envelopes held together with a thick rubber band. He dropped them in her lap unceremoniously, right on top of her folded hands. She didn’t pick the stack up right away, looking down at the one on top with a deep sigh.

“How many?” She asked.

“Seventeen,” he placed his hands on the wheel as if he was bracing himself. “They’re still coming once a week, like clockwork.”

“Have you read them?” She mumbled, still staring down, her eyes running over the handwriting, a prominent frown on her face as she studied the familiar little curve at the top of each letter “a”.

Ward’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, as they arrived at the conversation he was waiting for. “No, I haven’t, and neither should you. No good would come of that.”

Faint tears began to form at the crinkled edges of her eyes. The moment she felt them she pushed them away, sitting up straight and shoving the stack of letters into her purse. 

“I don’t know,” she shook her head, clutching her purse firmly to her lap.

Ward sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t sure how many more times he could have this conversation before losing his cool completely.

“We did what we had to,” he reminded her. “Look, I don’t like it either. But it was what’s best for both of them. And it’s too late now. We need to move forward. They will, too…eventually. Trust me.”

She looked him square in the face as she grabbed the door handle, preparing herself for the mad dash back to her own car across the vacant parking lot.

“I will never trust you, Ward,” she swore.

With that, she opened the door. She had one leg out, ready to hop down from the truck bed, when he grabbed her arm aggressively, making her gasp.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” he warned through gritted teeth.

“I already have.”

Now…

Rafe looked up at you nervously, his eyes running up and down your face, looking for any reaction. He was on one knee in front of you, holding up the promise ring you were sure you’d never see again. The sight was so surreal you didn’t know how to react.

You were slowly coming back to earth after the heavenly feeling of being intimate with Rafe again. All of the emotion that had clouded your mind was clearing and the events of the past few days came back into view. Rafe spitting on the waiter he’d thrown in the dirt. The disgust on his face when you’d first said his name on the beach at the island club. The way he had pushed himself off of you just a few hours ago before sending you running out the door crying. The man who was kneeling in front of you right now was not the boy who had first presented you with this ring over two years ago.

But still, he had the same desperate vulnerability in his eyes now as he’d had then. That day you had thought surely the next time he presented you with a ring, it would have a diamond on it and he’d be asking you to marry him.

The image of you in a white dress, Rafe waiting for you expectantly at the end of the aisle, flashed across your mind. Suddenly, it wasn’t you in the white dress you saw, but your mother. Your eyes widened and you snapped back to the moment, realizing that your mom’s rehearsal dinner was tonight and you had told her you would make it. She said she didn’t want you to, but she always said things she didn’t mean, and this might be your last chance to fix things with her.

“What time is it?” You blurted out.

Rafe blinked back at you in surprise. He had prepared for either a rejection or an embrace, not to give you the time.

“I…uh, what?” 

“I left my phone at your house,” you explained. “Do you know what time it is?”

Rafe reached into his pocket with the hand that wasn’t holding the ring and checked his phone.

“It’s four,” he informed you.

“Shit,” you walked around him and headed towards the door of the lifeguard tower. “I have to go!”

Rafe stood, shoving the ring back in his pocket. “What? Why?”

He followed you out the door of the small office. Once you were on the porch of the tower, you looked around quickly for any sign of the beach patrol you had been dodging, but the coast was clear. You turned back to him, blushing slightly at the sight of him hurrying to buckle his belt.

“It’s my mom’s rehearsal dinner,” you told him. “I need to get ready, I don’t even have anything to wear. Shit!” 

You descended the steps of the tower quickly, side stepping the rotted spots in the wood. Rafe followed you down, catching up with you at the bottom and rounding you so he was blocking your path to the beach’s exit.

“You’re still going?” He asked, his tone a swirl of anger and hurt.

You blinked back at him, feeling like the answer was obvious.

“Yes? It’s my mom, Rafe,” you said defensively.

“Didn’t she kick you out?” He questioned.

“Kind of. I mean not technically…it’s complicated, Rafe. You know how she is,” you struggled to explain. 

Rafe rolled his eyes slightly before looking over your shoulder, nodding.

“Fine,” he said. “C’mon, you can come get ready at my place. You can borrow something from Sarah.”

“Thank you,” you said, relieved that his frustration hadn’t escalated any further. 

You rode back to Tannyhill on the back of his bike, wearing his helmet, relieved that your identity was shielded from the nosy looks from his neighbors as you passed. You wondered how many girls they’d seen Rafe bring back to the house on his bike over the last two years. Your stomach twisted at the thought and you subconsciously squeezed him tighter, your arms around his abdomen.

You followed Rafe into the house wordlessly, nervously picking at the skin around your fingernails, wondering what had suddenly made him go so quiet. Once inside the door, Rafe dropped his keys on the table in the foyer and walked toward the kitchen. You stood there for a moment, taking in the house. You ran your hand along the back of the couch, Rose had gotten a new one, and you hated that anything had changed, even something so small. 

After a few minutes, when Rafe still hadn’t come back from the kitchen, you took it upon yourself to walk up to Sarah’s room, searching through her expansive closet for something to wear. You settled on a short black dress with spaghetti straps. It’s certainly not something your mother would have picked for you to wear, but showing up underdressed was better than not showing up at all, right?

Rafe skulked in the kitchen for a while, slowly twirling the glass of bourbon he’d poured himself, but not taking a sip. He couldn’t believe you were still going to your mother’s rehearsal dinner. He had been naive, thinking that your mother kicking you out and the moment you’d shared in the lifeguard tower had finally sealed your return to him. Maybe you would never fully be his, maybe he would spend forever fighting to be first in your life. He hadn’t fought enough before, he should’ve gone after you, should’ve tracked you down. He threw back the bourbon in the glass and slammed it onto the counter with a sense of purpose.

As you leaned closer to the mirror to apply some mascara you found in Sarah’s bathroom, Rafe appeared in the reflection behind you. He leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms, watching you. Once you had finished applying the makeup, you stood and met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. You offered him a small smile, but his face remained still as solemn eyes held your gaze. Your smile faded when you felt the intensity of his look. You stood there for what felt like hours, just looking at each other. A look full of history, of unspoken words. The more you looked at him, the quieter the noise in your head became. All of the questions, the worry, the mystery faded and all that was left was him.

After a while, Rafe dropped his crossed arms and stood up straight, now folding his hands behind his back, emphasizing his firm chest under his t-shirt. He began walking toward you slowly, still not dropping his eyes from yours in the mirror. Goosebumps rose on your skin and your heart rate spiked, but you didn’t dare look away.

Once behind you, his chest less than an inch from your back, he dipped his head low and placed the softest kiss on your shoulder. The gesture was so tender, watery tears pricked the corner of your eyes. The brush of your soft skin against his lips undid him, and now it was him who was sniffing you, nose nuzzled into your temple, inhaling the scent he had craved so desperately for years. The glory of you invading his senses undid him and he had to place his hands on your waist to steady himself.

You leaned back into him as one of his arms snaked around you, his hand flattening against your stomach. He began peppering kisses up and down your neck, and you let your head drop back to lean into him. His other hand slowly crept up your torso until it rested over one of your breasts. It wasn’t crass or harsh, nothing like the way he fondled you on the couch just this morning. His touch was revervent, the way you hold something you lost and thought you would never find. 

You watched the embrace in the mirror and he continued dragging his lips over your skin. He was wrapped around you like a snake, completely enfolding you. Your eyes lingered on his arms, enchanted by the sight of his large, veiny hands on your body. Those hands that you knew so well, even after all this time, you could pick them out of any lineup. You never managed to unlearn him. You’d know him forever, even if you never saw him again. Your heart swelled with emotion at the thought.

The sensation of Rafe nipping at your earlobe pulled you from your thoughts and your knees went weak. You reached an arm up behind you and ran your hand over his shaved head, nails lightly scratching his scalp. 

“Thought you hated my hair,” he chuckled into your ear.

“It’s just different,” you breathed as he squeezed you under his hands just slightly. “You’re different.”

At this, he looked up and met your eyes in the mirror, his chin rested on your shoulder. He looked bashful.

“Bad different?” He asked, an edge of vulnerability in his voice.

“I haven’t decided yet,” you admitted honestly.

“What can I do to help you make up your mind?” He teased, easing some of the intensity of the moment. 

You smiled back at him in the mirror and he ate it up, heart soaring at his ability to change your mood with just his words. Maybe if he kept talking he could convince you to stay, to ditch your mom’s rehearsal dinner and never leave his side again. 

“I dunno,” you shrugged, challenging him with your eyes, hoping he would pick up on the hint that you want him to take control of the moment.

“Would this help?” He grips your breast tighter, making you gasp at the sweet pressure, 

“Mhm, I want more,” you closed your eyes and laid your head back full on his shoulder, surrendering to him.

He pulled the thin strap of your dress between his teeth, dragging it off slowly to reveal more of you. Once the strap has fallen fully down your arm, he licks a strip up your neck. When his warm tongue filled the shell of your ear, you sighed blissfully. When he pulled his mouth away and blew gentle air against the moisture he had just left, you fully swooned, swaying into him. 

He rocked with you and started rubbing his hand over your stomach, your hips, the curve of your ass.

“You want me to keep touching you like this?” He asked, genuine interest in your answer.

“Yes, I love it, Rafe,” you said. “I need you.”

“Tell me where you need me, baby,” he groaned into your ear, your eyes now squeezed shut so you could take in the perfect sound of his voice. 

“Everywhere,” you were losing your ability to stay engaged in the banter, the feeling of his hands too electrifying.

Rafe notices how you’re fading, and decides not to ask any more questions. The hand on your ass moved further down, to the hem of your dress. He ran the pads of his fingers over the soft, plush skin of your upper thigh. He lifted the hem up until he found the edge of your panties, hooking his thumb over the waistband and leaving it there for a moment. He kissed your jaw sloppily and started dipping the rest of his fingers under the thin fabric one at a time. 

You braced yourself on the edge of the sink with one hand, while the other slid down his forearm until you found his hand, guiding it to feel the wetness now dripping between your thighs.

The realization of how wet he made you mixed with the feeling of your silky cunt hit him like a truck. He groaned and pushed the hardness in his pants against your ass. Your other hand shot to the sink edge for stability as his hand took over, his fingers beginning to dance over your clit.

“Oh my god,” you moaned.

“This what you want?” He asked, his voice huskier than it had been a minute ago, as the feeling of your soft curves pushing against his erection sent shock waves through his body.

“Baby…” was all you could bring yourself to say.

“Missed hearing you call me that,” he confessed.

You opened your eyes to meet his, but saw that his were now clenched shut as he focused on making you feel good. In the reflection, you caught the clock on the wall, your mom’s rehearsal dinner was beginning soon.

“Rafe,” you tried to pull his attention.

“Y/n,” he moaned, misunderstanding your tone.

“No, Rafe,” you tapped his arm to get him to open his eyes. “I have to go, I’ll be late.”

Rafe shook his head. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He said it a bit harshly, his fear manifesting itself into anger as it so often did.

“But-” you started to protest, but were cut off when he sped up the movement of his fingers, pinching slightly and rolling your sensitive clit between his fingers. “Fuck!” You nearly yelled as your body jolted forward.

“That’s it, just let me finish what I started,” Rafe said, his thumb taking over circles on your clit while his first finger reached down to dip into you.

You tried to talk, tried to tell him how good it felt, but no words came from your open mouth. Your knuckles were white from your tight grip on the sink. You pushed back into Rafe, wanting to share the pleasure you were feeling with him, but he pulled his hips away from you.

“Nah, not right now,” he said. “I’m on the clock here, baby, I gotta focus.”

He plunged a second finger into you and curled them upward, finally hitting your favorite spot that he knew so well. He had spent so long memorizing how to unravel you, he couldn’t forget if he tried.

Soon enough, he succeeded, and you unraveled completely. Rafe watched with unblinking eyes as your orgasm had you bent over the sink, crying out his name. He pulled you toward him, holding you up, as he whispered reassurances into your ear.

“Rafe, I-“ you cried.

“I got you, baby,” he cooed. “I always got you.”

Finally, your breathing steadied and you came back to earth. You turned in his arms and his hands rested on your lower back. Stretching up on your tiptoes, you wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a grateful kiss to his lips.

“You still my girl?” He asked earnestly.

“Always.” 

You said it without really thinking, and immediately wondered if you shouldn’t have. Rafe clearly couldn’t see the doubt on your face as his own was filled with relief and affection.

Just as he leaned forward to kiss you back, his phone dinged in his pocket. He rolled his eyes, annoyed at the interruption and you giggled, delighted that he only wanted to be with you right now. He reluctantly checked the text.

“Your car is ready,” he explained.

“Oh, good!” you had honestly forgotten that your mom’s car was even gone, the morning feeling like a lifetime ago. 

“I’ll go get it for you,” he offered. “You might, uh, wanna redo your makeup.”

You turned quickly to look at your reflection in the mirror, the mascara you had just applied was smeared from the sweat Rafe had caused you to break.

“Oh my God,” you laughed. “I look like a racoon!”

“A cute one, though,” he said, planting a quick kiss to your cheek before exiting the room. 

You blushed at the simplicity of the moment, and the sweetness of the comment. For a moment, you let your mind drift into some delusional future where this is your home, and you are his girl, and none of the past two years happened. 

But they did happen. Your bubble burst and you were suddenly back in the real world. This isn’t your house, and there were so many obstacles in the path to the future you were still inexplicably clinging to. The biggest of them being that you weren’t sure you actually knew the man you just promised yourself to. The man who yells and fights and gets arrested. The man who managed to break your heart and stitch it back together in the span of a few hours.

The man who never answered any of your letters.

It started so innocently, you wandered down the spiral stairs to the floor Rafe’s room was on. You walked around his room with your arms crossed, taking in the familiarity of it. You opened his top dresser drawer, immediately closing it again, feeling strange about poking around. But you had to know.

You began rifling, opening every drawer and digging through it, not even bothering to set them back to the way they were when you were done. You told yourself you were just looking for the letters, curious if he had read them or kept them sealed, or even ripped them to shreds. But if you were being honest, this wasn’t just about the letters. Rafe still hadn’t given you the answers you were looking for, about what happened to his dad or how he ended up getting arrested. You were too scared to bring it up again, the whiplash of his mood swings today making you dizzy. You figured if you were going to get answers, you’d have to dig for them yourself.

You made it through Rafe’s room without finding anything significant. He had a few joints rolled up in his desk drawer, but there was nothing that satisfied your craving for understanding. 

You repeated your desperate actions in his bathroom, then Ward and Rose’s room, where it appeared Rafe had been sleeping, a mystery you’d solve another time. You made your way to Ward’s office, the room you were never allowed in when you were kids. You dug through the desk drawers, the filing cabinets, the old antique hutch - nothing. Then you remembered a time in high school when you and Rafe had snuck in here, needing to find some spare cash for concert tickets you had begged him for. Rafe had snuck into his dad’s safe, behind the painting on the wall. 

You slowly walked over to the painting, wondering if this was officially going too small. You didn’t remember the passcode to the safe, so maybe it was pointless, but something in you told you to try. You slowly pulled the painting from the wall, eyes widening at what you discovered behind it.

On one side, a gun. On the other, a pile of gold, diamonds, precious stones - a real life treasure chest. Apart, they could have many meanings. But next to each other, tucked away in a manner that was clearly not meant to be discovered, they told a story. You did not know how that story began, but you had the sinking feeling it hadn’t ended yet, that it was still unfolding, and that the moment you opened this door you had unwittingly become a character in it. 

Without really thinking, you reached out and picked up the gun. You were surprised at how cold it was against your skin. Your eyes widened when you realized how strange it was that you had even touched it, and you subconsciously held it further away from you, as if it was a cursed artifact. Something about the weight of it in your hands sent a chill down your spine. You were overcome with a sense of darkness, as though something sinister had entered the room. But when you lifted your gaze from the foreign sight of a gun in your hand, you found that the only thing that had entered the room was Rafe.

(Chapter 7)

a/n: she's aliiiive!!! I'm so sorry it's taken so long, life is crazy. I missed these two so much. If you're still here THANK YOU for sticking with me!!! I know this chapter is shorter than the others, but I had to get something posted and this is what I have. The rest of the story lives in my brain, alive and well and will be posted at some point I promise!! I think I have 3 or 4 chapters until I've told the full story.

[ohbo-ohno]

run until you feel your lungs bleeding (ghost x reader)

summary: You're on the run after finally escaping from your abusive husband's clutches, hitchhiking south along California highways. A strange man in a black mask picks you up, and it doesn't take you long to realize that not every hand offered should be taken.

word count: 6.5k

cw: dark fic!, noncon somnophilia, referenced abuse from a past partner, ghost does not care about reader's feelings, mentioned drinking while driving but no intoxication

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

One of your blisters is about to burst. You’d worn through your only pair of clean socks yesterday, leaving the back of your heel vulnerable to your old tennis shoes and their vendetta against your feet. You can feel your skin rubbing thinner and thinner with each step, know it’s only a matter of time before you’ve got blood flowing freely into your shoe. 

You keep your left arm stretched out, thumb held up in the hope that someone will take pity on your limping form and give you a ride.

It’s not likely, you’ve been hitchhiking for days now and not a single person has slowed down. You’ve got no real destination, just a goal of putting as much space between you and your piece of shit ex-husband as possible. Your end goal is Arizona - you’ve got an aunt somewhere in Scottsdale, if you can get to her you can only hope she’ll help you get back on your feet.

A few people honk as they drive by. In the two days you’ve been walking, none have stopped. You take short power naps at night off the side of the road, pray to every god you can think of that you don’t get run over or eaten by something.

You haven’t yet. But you know if you don’t get a good night's sleep soon, don’t start putting actual distance between him and you, then you might not survive your escape.

The sun is at its apex when the semi-truck pulls up beside you. It’s black, the trailer attached is plain white with no logo painted on. You can hardly believe your luck, gape up at the massive thing as it slows. The door pops open a moment after the truck rolls to a stop, but it’s so high up that you can’t see who’s driving past their hand - gloved - before they pull it back.

You don’t have the luxury of asking questions. You just stumble over, flinching back with a little hiss when you place your palm on the metal of the truck and burn your hand. It takes a minute to finagle your way into the truck, but you manage it eventually, huffing and puffing all the way up. 

The first thing you notice about the man in the driver’s seat is his size - he’s big. Bigger than any man you’ve seen before. You just reach his shoulders even with both of you sitting down, his legs are spread so wide his knees nearly rest on his door and the gearshift, his head is close to brushing the roof. He’s just… big.

He’s wearing a black neck gaiter pulled up to cover his mouth and nose, which strikes you as odd considering he’s driving on his own, but you brush the thought off. His hair is blond, greasy and limp on his scalp, you doubt he did more than run his fingers through it getting out of bed. His eyes are blue, a light shade that surprises you for some reason. You don’t know a thing about this man, certainly not enough to be surprised by anything about him, but the blond hair and the blue eyes… it doesn’t quite fit with the black gloves and the mask.

He’s reclined back in his seat, one hand resting on the wheel and the other on his thigh, eyes scanning you like a king his subject. His eyes linger on your tiny shorts (sleep shorts, what you’d been wearing the night of your escape), skip right past the sluggishly bleeding scrapes on your knees and scan your ratty backpack.

You hope he won’t ask you to empty it. You’d like to keep your gun for as long as possible, can’t imagine this trucker would be ok with the hitchhiker he just picked up having a loaded weapon.

He doesn’t speak when he finally makes eye contact with you. You can’t hold it for long at all, only manage a few seconds before you’re glancing around his truck.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you.

His car reeks of smoke. There’s a beer bottle in his cup holder, open and helf empty. There are more bottles - empty - by your feet. He doesn’t have the radio playing.

When you look back at him, his eyes are already trained on yours. You can’t help but flinch - the intensity of his gaze feels suffocating, even after only a few seconds of being held under it.

You work up the nerve to speak, take a few deep breaths and a few more long looks around the truck, the space this man spends most of his days in.

There are cigarette stubs on the dashboard, which has clearly been used as a makeshift ashtray. The seats are old, the leather peeling and tempting you to pick, and the dash itself is sunbleached.

“I’m trying to go to Arizona,” you finally say, flickering your eyes quickly to his and away again. His jeans are worn - but naturally worn, like he’s had them for months and washed them so many times they’ve lost their color. “Are… are you heading that direction?”

You look at him long enough to see him incline his head a bit. You don’t think he’s blinked since you got in the car.

“Goin’ south,” he affirms. His voice is a low grumble, British accented. Not necessarily unsurprising to hear in California, but a shock from a truck driver. “I’ll drop you somewhere along the way.”

He pulls away from the shoulder with that and turns away from you, apparently finished with the interaction. 

Being dropped somewhere along the way isn’t necessarily your ideal situation, but your feet scream in relief at the lack of pressure, so you’re certainly not going to complain.

You shift a little further back in your seat, tuck the backpack between you and the passenger door. He could reach it if he wanted, but keeping yourself between this stranger and your prized possessions feels like the right choice. You think about propping your feet up on the dashboard, but decide you don’t want to seem too rude to your apparent savior.

You look out the window. You’ve never been in a car this high, and even the flat California highways look more interesting at a new vantage point. It’s easier to focus on the far-off mountains than the giant beside you.

“So,” you cough lightly, awkward in the relative silence of the truck. The engine is loud, but the driver’s radio is dead silent. “What’s your name?”

He grunts, gives no other response. You glance over to him, a little unsure of yourself. Had you made that bad of a first impression somehow?

He doesn’t turn to you, and he doesn’t answer your question.

Alright, you tell yourself. Maybe he does this all the time, maybe he’s tired of making small talk with homeless and desperate hitchhikers. That’s probably it.

You don’t give him your name. Instead, you tuck your feet up to the seat beneath your thighs, turn your body fully to the passenger window, fold your arms on the windowsill and lay your chin on your elbows.

The drive is smooth enough for you to relax, even though you know that logically you shouldn’t. You’re a young woman who’s just gotten into a car with a strange and intimidating man who could very clearly physically overpower you. Nobody knows where you are. You should have a hand on your gun already, ready for anything the driver might try.

But you’ve been walking for days, and hadn't been sleeping well before that either. You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since your wedding night. The low rumble of the engine, the heat of the sun beaming through the glass, the surprisingly gentle motions of the truck…

You don’t quite let yourself fall asleep, but it’s a near thing.

———————————————————————

The two of you stay like that for hours. Your benevolent driver seemingly comfortable in his silence with you drowsy and relaxing in his passenger seat. You don’t stay in the same position for more than an hour or two at once, shifting your legs and always keeping any pressure off your feet.

You’d like to pull your shoes off, to ask if the man has any band-aids. Maybe any food, any water. But you can’t risk pissing him off, not when your other options are nonexistent. So you settle for slow movements, trying to keep your blisters from being irritated.

He finishes his beer before the first hour has passed with you in his vehicle. Waits another two to have a second. You don’t comment on it, but the scent makes your lip curl, and you bury your face in your arms to hide the reaction. You hope he’s not a lightweight. And despite the heavy stench of cigarette smoke sunken into the interior, he hasn’t had one yet. 

He’s the one who speaks next.

It’s a quarter until 6, and the sun has started her slow journey to sleep. You’ve been watching the sight for a while, entranced by the slow process with nothing else to amuse you.

“Pullin’ off,” he grunts.

You can’t help but jerk up straight at the sound, caught off guard. You’d nearly forgotten about his accent, about how deep his voice really is.

“For gas?” You ask, turning in your seat to glance at him for the first time in at least an hour. He only grunts again, a noise you’re just going to assume means yes. 

“Alright,” you nod, letting your feet drop to the floor from where you’d crossed them beneath yourself. “Are you… do you want me to find someone else to ride with?” You cross your fingers where you tuck them beneath your thighs, pray to every god you know of that he doesn’t make that yes grunt again.

He looks over to you this time, and the two of you make eye contact for the first time since you’d gotten into the car nearly six hours ago. His eyes are brighter than you remember, and the impact of them sends a jolt up your spine.

You’re not sure how long he looks at you. You feel stuck under his gaze, a little wide-eyed prey animal spotted by a predator who can only lay still and hope they move on. You’ve never felt quite so pinned before, quite so unable to break eye contact. You don’t think you like it.

He looks away first, shifts in his seat and drops one hand from the steering wheel to lay on his thigh. You swallow at how tight his jeans are, how his thighs seem to nearly bulge from them. 

“No,” he finally answers. It takes a moment for you to remember your own question, but your sigh of relief is loud once you do.

If you’re lucky, he’ll try and drive through the night. Dangerous, since it’ll make for nearly twenty-four hours on the road, but you’d rather take your chances with him than falling asleep at the wheel then spend another night staring into a dark forest and wondering if there are wolves in this part of the country.

He turns off the highway three exits later, pulls his truck into the first reststop. It’s the only structure in the nearby area, a McDonald’s-Subway-Shell mix with ten pumps, less than half with someone using them. It’s the kind of rest stop you’ve seen on countless roadtrips, one that you know exists off half the exits in the States. The familiarity of it makes your lips twitch up in the corners.

There are several other semi-trucks pulled up getting gas, none quite the size of your driver’s. He parks quickly and easily, in one try, and turns the truck completely off. You shift a little in your seat, unsure what he’ll want from you, but he’s hauled himself up and out of the truck before you can open your mouth to ask.

You settle a bit. He’d said he wouldn’t make you leave but you still can’t fully relax for some reason, can’t bring back the looseness to your shoulders you’ve had since he picked you up. You entertain yourself by watching a middle aged couple try and wrangle six kids that look like they’re all under ten, since I’m sympathy when the littlest one’s face goes red and he starts to wail.

The door next to you opens without warning. You manage to catch your bag before it can go tumbling out of the car, can’t hold back the little yelp of surprise. Your eyes are wide, fingers holding tight to the bag, when you look up through your hair.

The driver’s face looks the same as it has for the last six hours - expressionless. Even with the mask, surely his eyebrows should move at least a bit? He looks almost like a corpse above you - pale face and flat features. It unnerves you. 

“Gettin’ food. You got money?”

You hesitate for a moment - you do have money, small bills you’d snuck from your husband’s wallet that you’d planned to use for a bus ticket. You’re not starving yet, the few granola bars you’d taken in your escape will tide you over for a little while longer.

You shake your head.

He nods, like he’d expected that, and glances over your form from head to toe again. “Alright. You want somethin’ to eat, now’s your chance. We’ll be back on the road for another few hours before I stop for the night.”

With that he turns away, jumps down to the parking lot and stalks off toward the McDonald’s. It takes you a minute to follow him, still a little shocked that you’d gotten multiple sentences from him at once.

The thought of free food is far too tempting to let you linger for too long, though, and you’re throwing your bag over your shoulders and scampering after him only a moment later. You have to trot a little awkwardly to keep up with his long strides. He doesn’t hold the door open for you, but you catch him glancing over his shoulder to see if you’re there.

The teenager working the register looks like it’s their first day, and you assume a middle-aged man leaning against the counter beside her is meant to be showing her the ropes. He’s far more occupied with whatever’s on his phone screen, leaving the cashier to stare up at your driver with wide eyes.

You get it. Standing next to him now, you decide he’s not big - he’s huge. Has to be at least six and a half feet tall, and at least a foot taller than you. Combined with his muscular form - another odd thing for a truck driver - and his all black attire, he seems almost like some sort of monster or omen come to warn about the future.

You step up to the counter beside him, give the cashier your best reassuring smile when she glances at you. It gives her enough courage to stumble over, “Welcome to McDonald’s, what can I get you today?” after only a few stuttering starts. You’re quite proud of her.

“Five Big Macs and fries. No drink.” The man rumbles, his mask umoving. He glances down at you, finally cocks an eyebrow (an expression!) for you to order.

“Uh, just… just ten nuggets for me,” you smile at the cashier, glance up at the driver to make sure you haven’t somehow ordered too much. “And, uh, a Coke?”

“Will that be all for you today?”

“Make it a twenty nugget meal,” your partner corrects, then pulls a worn leather from his back pocket and pays with a shiny card. You can’t help but eye the many bills folded neatly in the wallet.

“Thanks for the upgrade,” you say as the two of you slide onto a pair of stools to wait for your food. “I really appreciate it. I, uh, I can’t pay you back, though.”

He glances at you again, holds you pinned under his gaze and kicks your heartbeat up a few notches. It becomes a conscious effort to keep your breathing steady when he spreads his thighs enough to brush against yours. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Your meal is largely silent. He all but inhales three of his five burgers, leaves the other two wrapped up presumably for later on the drive. You try and eat all of your nuggets and fries, but your granola bar diet of the last few days means your stomach feels stretched to his limit only a few bites into the meal.

After your fifth nugget, you tuck the little box closed. Shift towards your driver and glance up from the window you’d been staring out to see him already looking down at you.

You clear your throat, take a little sip of your Coke. “I’m done.”

He shakes his head once, reaches forward to pop the little box back open. “No, you’re not. We’re not getting back on the road ‘til you eat at least half.”

You can’t help but blink in surprise at him, not moving to take any more food. He won’t tell you his name, won’t make any small talk whatsoever, but he will worry about how much you’re eating?

He grunts when you don’t make a move to listen to him, pushes the little brown box closer to you. “C’mon. Eat.”

You get through another five under his eye. He doesn’t look away from you, and now you know about the stare. It feels heavier now, like every little twitch from you is catalouged by him. It makes every bite difficult to swallow.

He nods when you tuck the little box closed again, glance a bit wearily at him to make sure he’s content now. He picks up your tray, tucks his two sandwiches in one hand, and leaves. You scramble to keep up.

His strides are a little shorter in the parking lot this time, and the slower pace keeps your blisters from further irritation. You’re not sure it’s intentional, but you’re thankful nonetheless.

The truck is still difficult to get into, but the worn leather seats are a familiar comfort now. This time, your driver flicks on the radio as he pulls out of the rest stop.

For some reason, you feel like maybe he likes you. There’s something in the line of his body that feels a little softer now, the tension in the truck feels a little drained. It could be the music, but you prefer to think that he’s taken a bit of a liking to you. It means he’s less likely to end up hurting you, means you're less likely to have to rely on your non-existent shooting skills.

With the sun nearly fully set and the soft music from the radio, it’s much harder to keep yourself awake. You curl up in the seat, lay your head down on folded arms, and try your best to keep your eyes open.

———————————————————————

You don’t know how long it’s been when you wake up.

The truck is silent now, no engine and no radio, and the world outside is pitch black. You jerk up at the realization, quickly lay a hand on your bag and turn to your driver.

He’s staring at you. You nearly yelp in surprise, bite your tongue so harshly to keep the noise back that you taste the tang of iron.

He looks nearly inhuman in just the low light of the truck. Pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, a dark black mask obscuring half of his face. His body is turned towards you, black shirt and dark pants making him look almost like the top half of his face is just… floating. 

“I need to sleep,” he rumbles, keeping you held captive in what almost feels like a staring contest - like if you look away now, you’ll lose something. “You can take the bed in the back.”

That gets your heartbeat quickening, the thud of your pulse loud in your own ears. “Oh… I thought…” you swallow, finally tear your eyes from his to look around. You seem to be at another rest stop, this one a small dark building with two bathrooms and a few vending machines. There aren’t any other trucks parked around you. “I thought I might try and find a motel or something.”

“With what money?”

He’s got you there. You work your tongue against the roof of your mouth, clear away the blood and try to make your mouth not so bone-dry. “Yeah,” you nearly whisper, eyes darting back to his before away again. He hasn’t moved. You clear your throat before speaking again. “But, uh, I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I can sleep up here.”

“You’ll take the bed,” he reaffirms, with no room for argument in his tone. You can’t help but feel like there’s something more here, like you’re missing something. You don’t feel safe anymore, not like you had after the McDonald’s. Why did you let yourself fall asleep? You could have pressured him to pull off somewhere with a motel, tried to finagle or scam yourself into a room with a lock on the door.

Now you’re stuck in this dark truck, no one else but the driver around for miles.

You swallow again, force down a cough.

You don’t want to sleep in his bed. But a glance over at him tells you that’s what’s going to happen. Your driver doesn’t seem the kind of man to take kindly to disobedience.

“What’s your name?” You ask again, voice weak and quiet. For some reason, this feels important. Like a name will make him more human, easier to swallow.

He only tilts his head a little, face still stoic. “Get in bed. We’ll drive again when the sun rises.”

“Please,” you try, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice. You can’t explain it, but you need his name. Need some evidence that he’s more man than he looks. This moment feels pivotal, and there’s a little voice screaming at the back of your head that things are going in the wrong direction.

“Sleep, doll,” is all he says. His voice isn’t softer, but it’s quieter, like maybe he understands the fear coursing through you.

You squeeze your eyes shut a moment before pushing yourself up, both hands holding onto your bag - your literal only possible defense againt this man - like a lifeline. You know they’d shake if your grips was any looser.

It’s too dark to make out much in the back of his cabin. The bed is a decent size for you, but you wonder if he’s able to stretch out fully on it. You think you can see the outline of a minifridge and a few books resting on the floor. 

He’s still watching you as you sit on the bed, his body unmoved but his head turned towards you. You try to keep your breathing steady as you toe your shoes off, tuck your feet up to the bed with you and curl up on your side.

The bag doesn’t leave your arms. His eyes don’t leave your form. He makes no move to stretch out and sleep like he’d said he would.

You force your eyes closed, no matter how wrong it feels. You try and will yourself to sleep, tell yourself everything will be fine. If he tries anything, you’ll shoot him.

You can still feel his gaze on you when you finally slip into unconsciousness.

———————————————————————

You wake slowly to movement behind you. 

You blink heavy eyelids open, let them fall shut again when there’s no difference in what you can see.  You feel cloaked by sleep still, like your brain has been held underwater and everything moves a little slowly, a little muffled.

The bed dips behind you, and there’s a warmth behind you. A hand at your waist. The top of a foot against the sole of yours. A chest against your back.

Your eyes stay closed, but your brows furrow a bit. Your husband has always hated the idea of cuddling, slept like a corpse on his back and berated you if you dared to touch him in your sleep. You nearly roll over, but figure that might set him off. Your arms still ache from the last argument you’d had.

The hand slips beneath your shirt, rough palm against your waist, thumb smoothing in little circles.

That catches your attention, too - your husband’s hands are soft. He’s never done a day of work in his life, the only job he’s had is some fake title made up by his father at his company. The hand on your skin isn’t soft at all, it’s rough with big, thick fingers that rest heavily on you.

The realization comes to you in pieces.

Your master bedroom was never this dark, the large windows always left wide open to allow moonlight into the room. Your ex-husband’s hands are smooth, boney and nearing on frail. The foot brushing against yours triggers a burning sensation in your blisters.

You keep your breathing even - an effort that feels impossible. 

It’s not your husband at your back, it’s the truck driver.

He’s silent as he tucks himself fully to you. His breath is damp against your neck and you fight down a shudder at the sensation. 

Your bag isn’t in your arms, which means you don’t have your gun. Whatever happens, whatever he does to you, you have no way of defending yourself.

The only reason you don’t cry at the thought is because you don’t want him to know you’re awake. It’s pure self-preservation that keeps your breathing even, your limbs loose, and your breathing slow.

He brings his head closer, his breathing loud in your ear. Every part of him is pressed against you, and you can’t help squeezing your eyes shut more tightly at the hardness poking into your back.

He’s silent as he sets his chin over your shoulder. His groin is tucked right beneath your ass, his knees behind yours and his feet benath yours. He’s just… spooning you.

It feels like an eternity passes just like that. Your heartbeat pounding in every bone, the heat of the driver’s body against yours. His breath is the only noise you hear, ghosting over your ear, heavier than your own.

Eventually, he starts to move. You almost whimper when you realize what he’s doing. 

He’s humping you.

His movements are slow at first, just a little rock of his hips against you. But as the minutes pass he becomes more incensed, his thrusts harder against you, his breathing heavier. He grunts at one point, and it takes everything in you not to flinch away.

You want to scream. You want to open your mouth and shout, to roll over and make him stop.

But you don’t have your gun. And he dwarfs you, every inch of your back covered by him and then some. You can’t stop him.

So you let it happen. You keep your eyes screwed shut, try desperately to go anywhere else in your head and pretend you don’t feel how quickly his hips begin to rock.

His hand moves from your hip to your stomach, his pinky resting on the waistband of your sleep shorts. You don’t think you could stay quiet any longer if his fingers slipped beneath the hem, and you let out a near silent breath of relief when his palm continues up instead of down.

He almost rolls you onto your stomach, angles you so your front is closer to the mattress and he can grind more on you than beside you. His hand slips further up your shirt, and you bite your tongue at the feeling of his rough palm against your nipples.

That gets another huff from him, another low sound that could almost be a moan. You feel him shift again, his hips working a little more roughly. You’re not sure how he possibly thinks you’re still asleep, but you pray he doesn’t take it any further as long as he does.

He doesn’t pinch, just softly strokes over one breast. His hand engulfs it fully, fingers wrapping all the way around the little mound of flesh. The calluses on his palm send little sparks down your spine, and you curse your body for the buzzing sensation between your thighs.

His breath gets heavier in your ear, he’s nearly panting over you. If you weren’t wearing shorts and he wasn’t wearing jeans, he’d be fucking you. His thrusting almost feels like he is. The… thing grinding against you is clearly large, even through all the layers of clothing, and you say another prayer that he doesn’t do more than this.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his chin pushing hard into your shoulder. You almost jerk at the sound of his voice, the evidence that this is real and not some horrible nightmare. 

You wish you could fall back asleep.

You don’t know how long the whole thing lasts. The pitch dark, the driver’s oppressive weight against you, it makes time feel liminal. You’re not sure if he lasts for five minutes or five hours.

But eventually his hips slow, give a few harder thrusts before he goes completely still and lets out a loud groan. Again, you wonder how he expects you to have slept through the noise. 

He shifts back a little in the aftermath, rolling you back to your side with a heavy hand on your stomach. You try to keep yourself as limp as possible, try to make your face go slack.

He lays with you for a while, breathing even and slow. You wish he would leave, wish he would let you start pretending this never happened. His hand stays on your stomach, and you can feel the other crossed over his midsection at your back. His feet hold your ankles to the bed. You hope he can’t feel that you’re squeezing your hands into tight fists where they rest against your thighs.

He doesn’t leave. Instead, he shifts his own thick thigh between your own, the rough denim of his jeans irritating the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He tucks his leg up, settles it right against your core.

You can’t help the way your breath hitches at the sudden pressure. You hold it immediately after, then try to breathe normally again when you realize how obvious the sudden change sounds. He doesn’t react, though, so you think you’re safe. 

The pressure increases a bit more before stopping. You’re almost propped up on his thigh, your pussy pressed against him through your shorts. It’s hard not to open your eyes, to look down and see what’s happening.

His hand slips down from your stomach to the waistband of your shorts. You can’t keep yourself from moving this time, already knowing what he’s going to do. You shift your hips a little, make a tiny noise in your throat that you hope comes off as a normal still-asleep sound. The movement only presses you closer to him.

He hums lowly in your ear, fingers stroking across the waistband of your shorts before dipping inside, then past your little gray panties. You can’t help the little squeak you make, the way your hands twitch before you force them still.

The sound he makes is almost a laugh, too low and quiet to really be one though. He hushes you softly, pushes on the meat of your most vulnerable part to still you. 

You don’t know if he thinks you’re awake. You think he must, there’s no way you could have slept through what he’d just done, and you’ve moved twice now. But he doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t become more aggressive.

You debate putting up a fight when his fingers sink lower, his palm resting heavily over your cunt. But the thought of him becoming rough, of him restraining you… it makes bile churn in your stomach.

You resign yourself to waiting until it’s over, go limp against the bed again.

Another hum, and his free hand moves beneath your body to grasp your hip. He moves you slowly, little grinding motions over his thigh. The hand over your heat uses two fingers to spread the lips of your cunt, tucks the gusset of your underwear and the fabric of your shorts to the side so your clit makes direct contact with his jeans.

You keen quietly at the sensation, a little animal noise of fear, of pain. You wish you had your gun, wish you could make this man stop.

But you can’t. So you bear it.

He doesn’t touch your clit with his fingers, doesn’t touch any part of your pussy but to spread you wide. His thigh moves along yours, his hand grinding you against it. You hate the slickness gathering at your hole, hate the way your nipples tighten, the way your breaths become heavier.

You bite your tongue to hold back any other sounds, that tang of blood returning after only a few seconds.

“C’mon,” he says into your neck, his voice a low whisper. “Come f’r me, doll... be good.”

You don’t want to be good, can’t suppress the little whine you make at even the thought. He rumbles low in his chest in response, pushes against you a little harder.

You can’t stay quiet through your orgasm. It’s a slow thing, rolling and deep. You feel it in your toes, in your scalp, and in every vein between. Had you been willing, been with a partner of your choice, you may have thrown your head back and cried out. But here in the truck, with this man you can’t believe you were stupid enough to trust, you squeeze your eyes so tightly shut that tears eek out the corners and bite your cheek until there’s a sore. And still, a moan vibrates in your chest.

He stops grinding you against him when your orgasm is finished. His finges slip from you slowly, tuck your panties back over your mound and give you two little pats before he fully pulls his hand away. 

Both of his hands slip back up your stomach, grab a handful of your chest and massage you there for several moments. Your breathing gradually slows as your body comes down, your limbs going limp again despite the fact that his hands are still on you.

He rolls you to your back when he’s finished. You feel his lips press against each of your eyelids, squeezed shut no matter how hard you try to force your face to relax. Another tear slips down the side of your nose, and he kisses it away before it can reach your lips. You feel his tongue stroke beneath each eye, know that he’s cleaning away your tears. He gives you a final, chaste kiss on your lips before pulling away.

He’s gone a moment later, and you’re left cold and alone in his bed.

———————————————————————

He smokes a cigarette while he watches you sleep. Your nose twitches at the first hint of smoke, and he almost smirks at the expression.

He can’t believe he found you. A perfect little doll of a girl, limping all filthy and sad along the side of a highway, just waiting for someone to scoop you up. God truly does have a sick sense of humor, gifting a bastard like Ghost a gift like you.

He hadn’t planned to keep you at first. He figured he’d ride with you for a while, fuck you a few times to have a warm place to dump his cum before dropping you off at a rest stop for another driver to scoop up. But no, that won’t do now that he’s felt your cunt against his hand, watched you try desperately to hold back every expression because you thought it might keep you safe.

He’ll have to find out where the finger-shaped bruises on your arms are from. After this trip, he’ll find whoever left them and take care of them. He’ll be the only one hurting his little doll, no one else. Might even win him a few brownie points with you, if he’s lucky.

Your feet probably need bandaging, too. He’d seen the redness at the back of your ankles when you tucked your feet up on his seats, felt the blisters against his own feet when he laid with you. He’ll make sure you stay off your feet for a bit, give them time to heal.

That gets another smirk. You won’t be leaving the truck for a long time, there’ll be no need to worry about your blisters after tonight. He’ll keep you off your feet. Maybe have you thank him for taking such good care of you.

He’ll try your mouth next. He bites back a moan imagining your face pressed against his crotch, knows already that the difference in size between the two of you will be absolutely pornographic at that angle. Can’t wait to teach you to deepthroat him, salivating at the image of you holding him in your mouth on the road.

He’d already wasted one load, it’s only right you take the next. You’re his now, which means he shouldn’t have to come in his fucking pants like a teenager ever again. 

But he’d gone easy on you, hadn’t made you take him in any of your holes this first night. Even let you pretend to sleep through the whole thing, though your shifting hips and little scrunched up face gave you away as soon as he pressed himself against you.

It was endearing, really, the way you tried so hard to pretend it wasn’t happening. He can still taste your tears on his tongue, mixing with the acrid taste of nicotine. He can’t wait to learn what your pussy tastes like.

He takes a long pull from the cigarette and considers your little shaking form.

You won’t need much now that you’re with him. Only a few outfits in case he needs to bring you in somewhere, but you’ll be kept naked when in his truck. He’ll have to find a motel sometime soon, get all the grime washed off your skin and the grease out of your hair. He’d like to see it brushed out, see how you might style it for him.

He’ll take good care of you. Feed you when you’re hungry, maybe get some little toys or books if you’re good, fuck you whenever you - or he - needs it. 

It’ll take a while for you to settle, he knows. You’ll spend a bit looking for that girly little gun you’d been keeping tucked away in your bag. But that’s okay. He already knows he’ll enjoy training you, showing you just how to be the perfect little doll for him.

He stubs the cigarette out in an ashtray, climbs back into bed with you and tucks you tight to his chest. Your little sniffling breaths draw another little twitch of the lips from him, and he buries his nose in your hair before shutting his eyes.

Yeah, you're going to be perfect for him.

[acapelladitty]

`♡° kinktober 2024! ---

☆ kink: costume sex

☆ pairing: Year One Scarecrow/Reader

☆ summary: Arriving at a Halloween party to score some drugs for his experiments, Jonathan Crane finds himself in quite the compromising position as he's pulled into a supply closet.

kinktober '24 ☆ main masterlist ☆ ao3

Surveying the gaggle of college students as they drunkenly stumbled around in costumes which bordered on utterly indecent made Crane appreciate that his own college days were much less degrading as he had concentrated his focus on his many studies and interests. The sorority housing was not too dire, a direct yearly contribution from the Wayne Foundation ensuring cheap accommodation for prospective students as they maintained their studies.

It was a luxury he himself was never afforded and one which sparked only a little resentment as he pulled the cheap burlap mask which covered most of his features tighter to his face and slipped within the front door.

Necessity had forced him here, forced him into an illicit meeting with a known drug dealer who lived on campus in order to score some ecstasy for one of his private experiments. The boy in question was not one of his own students but he had an awareness of him from complaints which others had made in their shared staff room.

He had used an alias, of course. He had chosen a name designed to ensure that the young man would never know that he was selling drugs to one of the strictest professors on campus and the additional use of Halloween night as a meet time had been necessary to provide him with an alibi for hiding his identity through the use of a costume.

A cheap and simple Scarecrow costume, purchased from a local store.

The irony was not lost on him.

“Hey! C’mere? I need help.”

As far as his dealings went, his exchange with the boy was painless and he emerged from the upper bedroom with his secured ecstasy in less then two minutes. All that remained was to weave past the throngs of drunkards and then he would be free to return to his office and pick up some last minute papers to take home to his apartment.

His musings were cut short as he found his path blocked by a young woman, her hands splayed wide on her hips to prevent him from walking around her.

Her loud voice attracting the attention of several partygoers, Crane scowled beneath his mask as he found himself forced into helping her to avoid further attention. She was dressed as a devil; the majority of her costume being limited to a sheer and very short red gown which was hemmed with cheap feathers. Red thigh-high tights and devil horns completed the ensemble and, despite himself, Crane felt a twinge of arousal at her state of dress.

A fuller figure than many of the other girls who flittered about in various states of undress, her ample chest filled the gown beautifully and he couldn’t help but glance down at it, the skin there looking soft and warm to the touch.

Grabbing at his hand, he allowed her to lead him through the corridor until they reached a door. Pushing it open, she revealed a fairly small laundry closet which housed two sets of shelves which were filled with various towels and replacement beddings – the space between the shelves only enough to house maybe two people as they folded and ordered the items within.

Only now truly realising the situation he had allowed himself to be placed in as her intentions hit him like a truck, Jonathan felt a swell of panic in his chest – the feeling so unfamiliar that it also sparked cold embarrassment that he was thankful for his mask to hide it away.

Shutting the door behind them quietly as Jonathan gazed at the bare, hanging lightbulb which sat perfectly at his eye level, the girl giggled quietly as she turned in place with her back to the door.

“You’re very tall. I like that,” she muttered, reaching her hand out to place it on his chest and glance up at him with fluttering eyelashes.

“I am.” Jonathan replied, a little pathetically as his panicking mind couldn’t think of something more interesting to say. Glancing at the door behind her, he could see his escape as clear as day and the ecstasy which sat in his back pocket felt as though it was burning against his skin as he plotted out how to leave without drawing more attention to himself.

“I really like that. When I saw you walking past in this silly costume I couldn’t help but want to drag you away and see if it’s true what they say about tall guys.”

Bold as brass, her fingers dropped to his thighs and massaged the fabric there – her chest jiggling with deliberate intent as she pawed at him.

Concealing his voice as best he could as he added an unfamiliar lilt to his words, Jonathan splayed his fingers on her upper chest as he ignored the definite twitch of his dick at her boldness and kept her at a safe distance.

“I am old enough to be your father.”

“Are you?” She purred, placing one of her hands atop his own as she stroked along his fingers, “That’s kinda hot, mystery man. Maybe you could show a poor little girl like me the ropes then, huh? You must have lots of experience.”

She couldn’t have been out of her early twenties, less than half of his age.

He was not a man of impulse.

He was a man of reason and careful consideration.

But as her other hand slipped higher to ghost along his half-hard cock with a firm determination, her expression wicked in its innocence as she glanced up at him and pressed her chest to his own, Jonathan supposed that a little holiday indulgence wouldn’t kill him.

Bolstered by his anonymity, Jonathan slipped his hands within the cups of her costume and pulled her tits free to hang in the warm air. She gasped at the feel of his cold fingers and responded immediately as her hands slipped higher to pull at the waistband of his slacks, unzipping them and pulling his cock free with a giggle.

“Wow, you really are older than me.”

Glancing down through the holes in his mask, a slight irritation at her words flushed through his chest and he responded by pushing at her shoulders roughly – forcing her to drop to her knees and work at his cock. A task which she took to with immediate enthusiasm as she wrapped her lips around his cockhead, her tongue warm and so deliciously wet that his hands gripped into a nearby shelf as he fought the urge to fuck himself into her mouth.

Jonathan groaned as he leaned against the shelf, enough to allow him to crane his neck down and watch her as she sucked him off. With one hand wrapped around his outer thigh to steady herself, her other hand had disappeared between her legs as she pleasured and prepped herself for his cock. A boldness which snatched the breath from his lungs as he pushed into her mouth and tried to steady his breathing.

“Do you want to fuck me?” She asked, her sweet voice a little hoarse from her previous partying.

Wordlessly, he pulled her to her feet and spun her in place, her tits bouncing at the swift movement as he pressed his body against her own. Her chest pushing into the nearby shelving unit, Jonathan slipped one hand beneath the hem of her ‘dress’ and groaned into her neck as his fingers quickly sank themselves into the wet warmth of her cunt.

She had prepped herself well, it seemed.

Panting and grinding her ass into his cock, the bold little devil that had ensnared him mewled something about being ready and Jonathan fisted his hand along his cock – feeling the drying saliva of her messy blowjob – as he lined himself up against her hole. The height difference was impressive and it forced his legs to spread a little wider than he was comfortable with to allow him to line up correctly before slamming his hips against her ass.

He greeted her with a quick, brutal intrusion and he growled as she buried her pleasurable scream into the flesh of her forearm – her cunt wrapping around his cock like a glove. Almost painfully tight, but so fucking good that he momentarily lost himself in just how nice she felt.

It was a mess of a fuck. The tiny closet leaving no room for anything outside of sloppy thrusts which she seems to appreciate as her theatrical grunts and moans spur him on to fuck her with a greater ferocity, the adrenaline of the encounter giving him a stamina that he didn’t want to waste.

She was just as enthusiastic in her movements; her plump body pushing back on him in such a way that he found himself having to slam one hand against the nearby door to steady himself as his other hand wrapped around her waist to pull her against him. Her nails dug into the back of his hand and he hissed as she pulled his hand free to instead drag it up to her chest – forcing him to delve his fingers within the cup of her gown and squeeze at her breast.

Her warmth and the way that her soft skin filled his hand made him groan and he picked up the pace of his sloppy thrusts as he adjusted his fingers enough to pinch at her hardened nubs. A move that made her keen out something messy as her walls squeezed his cock in kind.

His release caught him a little by surprise, the franticness of their movements making his balls tighten and his cock jerk in warning as he quickly pulled free of her cunt – instead plastering her ass with his release as he grunted like an animal and his knees shook dangerously. Groaning in disappointment, his little devil didn’t hesitate to grind her ass into his cock, encouraging him to keep going.

“I’m close, c’mon guy, just a little more-”

Catching his breath, Jonathan complied with her wishes and slipped his free hand up between her thighs as he jerkily shoved two fingers within her dripping cunt; his arm angled in such a way that he left his thumb free to press against her clit and get her to her own release. Again, given how wet her cunt already was, he wasn’t too surprised when her little moans increased in pitch and her slit ground hard against his hand as she came.

Not bothering to hide her whimpered cries, a slight worry entered Jonathan’s mind as he imagined some passerby overhearing her and so he tilted her body slightly further away from the door – allowing her to ride out her high on his hand as he fumbled with tucking away his own cock.

Both satisfied, they collectively took a moment to compose themselves as the scent of sex and cheap perfume hung heavy in the air between them. Still a little shell-shocked from how his evening had developed, Jonathan allowed her a gentlemanly moment to right herself and her outfit as he patiently awaited for her to make the first move.

“That was great.” She giggled with a very flushed expression, her hands pulling free a nearby cloth to wipe the mess from between her thighs. Using a shelf to steady her body, she gathered her mess and wrapped the cloth carefully to be dropped in the nearest bin. “So, can I see the face of my mystery man?” She asked, her hand creeping towards his mask.

Panic seizing him once more at the thought of the scandal his identity would spark, Jonathan snatched her wrist in a firm grip as he lowered her hand back to her side, “Some things are better left a mystery, little devil.”

“Little devil? That’s also kinda hot. You sure I can’t have your number, baby?”

Baby.

Absolutely not.

“No.”

“Oh, well,” she shrugged, adjusting her devil horns as she smoothed out the front of her costume, “I guess I’ll catch you later then.”

And with that she tugged the door to the closet open, allowing the rancid beat of whatever hellish music they had moved on to playing to pulse within, before slamming the door shut behind her and disappearing just as quickly as she had appeared.

Left alone, his cock soft and sated and the shame of his weakness creeping into the cracks of his psyche, Jonathan stood with his hands on his hips as he took a moment to process what the hell had just happened.

[almostempty]

the meet ugly (javier peña x f!reader) 

WC: 1.6k | Other fics | Rating: it’s ? fluff? No smut

last one for today, sry for spamming anyone, it was an all-or-nothing scenario in my mind 

Summary: your bad day gets worse when a trash bag spills on you. your neighbor javi tries to help but you both get stuck trapped with him and a dumpster. 

Note: this was for the meet-cute, but i had to do something nobody asked for aka make it gross ??? it’s my clown blood idk 

Tags/warnings: au modern javi lives in your apartment complex, description of cold leftovers from your garbage spilling on you, it’s just flirty peña idk it was an exercise for me to write something short and without smut, i’m assuming that dumpsters locked behind fences are relatable enough for all, no y/n, reader is able-bodied, all mistakes are mine just pretend like you didn't see them, i think that's all ty <3

 

You groan as you wrestle with the trash bags, their weight pulling on your arms while you trudge down the cracked concrete stairs. The holly bush at the bottom catches on your shorts again, its spiky branches scraping across your leg. Mocking you. You bite back a curse. The day has been a disaster from start to finish, and now you’re hauling half your apartment’s trash to the dumpster, trying not to lose your temper.

Why does this apartment complex even have holly bushes? It’s like someone got paid just to make everything as inconvenient as possible. Whoever designed this must have never experienced the luxury of hauling garbage bags between two overgrown defensive security bushes. 

You’re still fuming about it, whoever designed this hellscape of an apartment complex, when you reach the gate for the dumpster. One of the trash bags, full of leftovers you’d rather not think about, digs painfully into your fingers. You adjust your grip, unaware the straining plastic is a ticking time bomb. 

You trudge toward the dumpster enclosure, spotting your hot neighbor rounding the corner of his SUV, cigarette between his fingers. Of course, he would be out here to witness your personal walk of garbage shame.

He glances up, and you catch the moment his dark eyes land on you. His gaze sweeps over the bags, then to your face, a smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t say anything, but his look is enough to make your face hot. 

Damn him.

"Rough day?" he asks as you approach the dumpster, his deep voice laced with amusement.

"You could say that," you mutter, already feeling defensive. He’s really the last person you want to see while you’re sweaty and cranky. 

With a huff, you push the gate open and step into the dumpster enclosure, tossing the first couple of bags into the bin. The smell is overwhelming, but you just want to be done with it. You lift the last bag, but just as you hoist it up, the thin plastic rips apart, and cold, week-old pad thai leftovers land on your chest, feet, and everywhere but the dumpster. 

You freeze, mortified. Of course.

Before you can even process what just happened, you hear boots scuff against the pavement. Javier’s already hustling over, cigarette still between his fingers, that damn smirk still in place. 

"Need a hand?"

"I’ve got it," you snap, despite the fact that you aren’t moving. Unsure what’s going to make the situation any worse. 

It’s hard to focus on the mess when he’s standing so close. His presence makes your embarrassment worse. Like, you could climb into the dumpster yourself and wait until the garbage truck picks you up on Thursday and takes you away. 

"You sure about that?" He doesn’t move to help—just watches you with a look that’s far too amused for your liking.

"I’m sure," you grumble, tossing the ruined bag into the dumpster. "I don’t need your help." You commit to the mess, peeling cold noodles off of your chest and tossing them into the bin. You frown deeply, fishing out the leftovers that made it down your shirt. The smell and the texture make you nearly gag. 

Javier steps closer, chuckling under his breath. "Right. Because you’ve got everything under control."

You glare at him, wiping your hands on your already-ruined shorts. “I think you’re a little late to be a hero. I’m already wearing the leftovers.”

"Never said I was a hero," he replies smoothly, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Just trying to be neighborly."

As you turn to face him, the gate behind him swings shut with a loud clang. He tries to shove it open, but it doesn’t budge. His expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a flicker of realization in his eyes.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “We’re stuck?” 

He tugs at the gate one more time before turning back to you, that smirk still in place. "Looks like it."

You stare at him, your frustration mounting. "You aren’t even going to apologize? How are you calm about this?” 

Javier shrugs, leaning back against the gate and taking a long drag of his cigarette before acknowledging your question. He’s like the opposite of an anti-smoking campaign. You want to be the cigarette. 

"Not my fault the gate’s a piece of shit. And I’m not in a hurry."

"You closed it," you counter, flustered and looking for someone to blame.

But even as you glare at him, you can’t help but notice how infuriatingly attractive he looks, the way his leather jacket pulls tight over his shoulders, the way his dark eyes glint with amusement.

Javier catches your gaze and quirks an eyebrow. "You’re staring."

You roll your eyes, heat flooding your face. "I’m not."

"You are." His voice is low, teasing, and the way he looks at you—like he knows exactly what he’s doing—is making it harder to keep your composure.

You step back, trying to regain control of the situation and you catch him laughing to himself. 

“I really don’t see what could be funny about any of this,” you wave your arms, gesturing to your ruined clothes and the small space you’re both trapped in. 

“Could be worse ways to spend the evening,” he drawls, taking a step towards you. 

You pick another piece of rice noodle out from between your tits. “Yeah, like if the dumpster was on fire?” 

You’re too aware of him. Of how his voice gets lower and rougher when he’s this close.

He chuckles, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. "I’ve been in worse places. With worse company."

You swallow hard. The way his eyes flicker over your face, how his smirk never fully fades–it’s maddening. He knows what he’s doing to you. It feels like a sick joke. 

"Yeah?" you mutter, your voice sounding breathier than you’d like. "And what makes me such good company?"

Javi’s eyes darken, and he takes another step forward, close enough now that you could smell the leather of his jacket, the faint tobacco on his skin if it weren’t for the foul stench of all of half the apartment complex’s trash in the container behind you.  

"You’re more fun to argue with."

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. “Don’t fuck with me, Javier. I’m already having a day from hell.” 

He gives you a pouty look that makes you want to scream. “Why would I be fucking with you?” he asks quietly, almost sounding hurt. 

You snort, incredulous. “I’m wearing last week's lunch and the only clothes that weren’t in the laundry. Don’t act like you’re flirting with me.”

He steps closer until there’s barely any space left between you. His voice drops, smooth and dangerous. "What if I am?"

For a moment, you forget where you are. 

“What if I think you look good? Even with a garnish?” he asks and pulls a piece of cilantro off of your cheek. 

All you can focus on is how close he is, the way he waits like he’s daring you to make a move. There’s no way he’s serious. He rarely says more than a curt hello, even though you walk to your cars in the parking lot at almost the same time every morning as you head out for work. Sometimes, he’ll wave if you pass him on your walk to the corner store. 

You only knew his name because of the time he caught you trying to drag a dresser you’d scored at an estate sale up the stairs to your apartment on your own. He’d helped you carry it, despite your protesting, all the way into your bedroom.

“I’d say you’re literally stuck in here with me for the foreseeable future, so of course you’d say that.” 

He sighs heavily, muttering under his breath at you, “Tan terca.” And in a move that makes your jaw drop, he turns away from you, stalking towards the fence with a fluid arrogance. Like an oversized cat in a leather jacket, he leaps at the chain link fence like he’s done it a hundred times. He hoists himself up, swinging over the top and dropping onto his feet on the other side. 

He’s grinning at you when he unlatches the gate and swings it open, but you snap storming towards him. “How long were you gonna wait to let us out?” 

He shrugs, “I thought Randy would’ve been out for a smoke before we had to wait long. Don’t exactly enjoy having to climb over a fence.” 

“Right.” You slip out of the gate with a thanks, but when he says your name, you feel like your whole body is drawn towards him.  

He eyes you, leaning in just close enough to make your pulse race again. “And if I were to flirt with you now?” 

“I’d question your judgment,” you point to yourself, “I’m still in desperate need of a shower.” 

His eyes lift, looking just past you, before he grins. 

“Oh my god,” you cut him off before he says a word, “were you about to tell me I could use your shower?” 

Everything about his mockingly sheepish look says you are right. You shake your head at him in disbelief, but you can’t stop the smile that spreads on your face. It takes all of your strength to walk away but head towards your own apartment. 

You make it to the top of the stairs before the sinking feeling hits. You deny it until you check the door for yourself. Of course. After everything that went wrong today, it only makes sense that you would lock yourself out of your own apartment. 

You berate yourself all the way to his door. It swings open after the first knock, and he gives you a look that has your cheeks burning. His eyes gleam, and you just know he’s going to enjoy this before his smoky voice even reaches your ears. 

“Changed your mind?” 

divider @cyberangel-graphics

General tags 💗:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange

[stanart4clearskin]

marrying art donaldson

- when art proposes to you, he has this whole plan on how he’ll rent out this beautiful beach side restaurant and it would be sooo romantic

- but then art sees you doing something that’s so utterly domestic (it could simply be just you making dinner or just picking up his shit off the floor or even just getting his mail for him when you come over) that it hits him like a truck about just how badly he needs to marry you

- he tells you to sit down in the living room while he rushes back to his room to get the ring

- he starts rambling on and on about how much he loves you and how much he cares for you and it’s just so much blabbering that you have to remind him what the whole reason for sitting you down was for

- he regains his senses and proposes and apologizes for it not being picture perfect and that he’ll stage another proposal for you if you want so that you can get pictures and everything because he’s just caring like that

- and of course with art being a professional tennis player, the wedding is fucking massive. everyone from both of your families are invited plus any dates they wanted to bring. lots of friends of course and a fair chunk of tennis players that art knows.

- it’s held at your dream venue (he’d give you the fucking moon if you wanted it) and it has every little last detail you could want

- art let you pick out everything and refused to let you take his wants into account because sure you’re both getting married but art wanted this to be your day because to him, he’s the one who got lucky here

- the wedding is beautiful and perfect and everything goes according to plan (maybe expect art trying to pull you into an empty bathroom because he’s just so needy)

- the honeymoon of course is a long and luxurious trip across the globe, visiting all the places you and he have wanted to visit

[seat-safety-switch]

Well, it's been a good run, but they've finally done it to me. My home province has, at long last, and after many years of threats, made truck-owning a mandatory part of citizenship. All those impoverished small-car freaks can't vote anymore. Which is good, since they were just voting for things like "bike lanes" and "turns" that were hampering the economic productivity of the right-thinking, truck-owning majority.

At first, I was very upset. After a traumatic formative experience around the Ford Courier, I had sworn off truck ownership forever. When I was searching my backyard, though, I found that I apparently own an old '76 International 150. Don't know where it came from: I'm operating on the assumption that someone was driving by, saw a whole bunch of cars in my yard, and decided I wouldn't get upset if they dumped one in there. Was it used in the commission of a crime? Not with that asthmatic rattletrap V8 under the hood, that's for sure. Or at least not successfully.

Back to it, though: now, with proof of ownership, I could regain my lost citizenship. I could access health care and have running water, again, and even visit the Home Depot, which now has so many trucks in the parking lot that the depreciation curve on their leases can be seen from the International Space Station. Despite the fact that my truck is "small," it still counted as a way to hobnob with the hoi polloi and not be sent directly to a re-education camp, as they had done to all the undesirable "van people." Turns my stomach, the idea that vans are often built on a truck chassis. Disgusting propaganda.

Anyway, as we've learned from so many other economic and political crises, the only solution is to vote our way out of it. When it comes time for the next election, I'll come pick a few of you "regular people" up at a time and drive you to the polling place. That ought to fool the guards. It's going to cost you, sure: hope you have some old Plymouth parts in your garage. All worth it, though, to wrest control of the apparatus from those who would do us harm, and return our country to the way it used to be, where kids could go to school even if their parents only owned a luxury crossover.

[lesservillain]

strange lights masterlist

summary: new faces, old home.

wc: 7.8k

“I’d never given much thought to how I would die. But dying in the place of someone I love sounds like a good way to go.”

Hawkins is cursed.

If the countless murders and freak accidents over the years weren’t enough to convince a person, the perpetual overcast that deprived most of the town’s occupants of proper vitamin D should be enough to keep anyone out. The stark contrast in the sunny sky as you pass the Welcome to Hawkins sign would probably unnerve anyone traveling through. But you knew better, having lived here for the first 10 years of your life.

“Well, this is it.”

After driving what felt like an eternity into the woods, your father pulls up next to his police truck at the cabin that he calls a home. It was pitiful, but you could tell where repairs had been made, or rather an attempt was there. You wondered if they were rushed at the news of your arrival. You felt bad for only giving your dad a two week notice, but to be fair, so did your mother when she told you that her new husband was being stationed in Japan at the beginning of the month. David offered to let you move with them, but you’d declined, even if you weren’t too terrified of being in a plane over the Pacific ocean for any amount of time, you’d rather stay in a place you had somewhat of an attachment to. And if your dad had any objections to you coming to live with him he never made them apparent. 

Climbing out from the beat up two seater truck, you stretch wide, twisting at the waist to loosen your joints after the long car ride. “Wow,” you swoon sarcastically, pointing a thumb over your shoulder, “didn’t know you could afford such luxury on a police chief’s salary, Hopper.” 

“Har Har,” he says, pulling your bags from the back of his truck. He walks past you, voice echoing into the open woods surrounding you, “It’s got air conditioning and I pick up dish out here, so it’s good enough for me.” 

It doesn’t take long to get the little luggage you brought with you into the empty room. Well, it was almost empty, say for a punching bag hanging in the corner. 

“Thought you might get bored,” your dad laughs to himself, lips tugging at the corners on your own face as you shake your head. Before getting into your bags, your dad insists on going into town to eat. “Benny said he’s excited to see you.”

“Whose Benny?” you ask, brows pinched. 

“He owns the diner in town. Do, uh, do  me a favor and pretend you remember him, okay?” 

You shrug nonchalantly, “Sure. Anything I need to pretend to remember?”

He just laughs, pushing at your shoulder playfully. Once at the diner, it’s not only Benny who remembers you, but apparently half the diner knows you. Guess it comes with your dad being the police chief, and you did your best to fake interest in what every other party had to say to you. When you finally got to take a seat, you looked at your dad with wide eyes, mouthing “what the hell?” He gave you an innocent shrug, attention being taken away at the sound of the diner door opening.

Loud laughter disrupts the atmosphere as a group of four younger adults enter the building. You crane your head around to get a look at them. Three of them were well dressed, two guys and a girl, looking like they had just come from a golf course. Their fourth member stood out in the group, plain clothes and quiet disposition a stark contrast to the others. You turn back around, rolling your eyes trying to avoid the group. However, your dad had other plans, waving them over to your table.

You look at him bewildered. “Dad,” you whisper yell, “Stop it!” But he ignores you, continuing until the four of them are standing at the end of your table. You keep your eyes down, trained on the mustard yellow colour of the table top.

“Hey, Harrington, you remember my daughter right? You two were at the same elementary school. Sweetie, you remember Steve.” You give him a look of annoyance before looking up at them. The one your dad says is Steve is standing front and center, clearly the leader of this little group. His hair is done perfectly, blue striped polo looks like it was ironed before leaving the house, and his slight tan tells you he’s probably part of the uber wealthy country club built on the edge of the town in Loch Nora.

“Hey, Hopper,” he says, greeting your dad with a handshake. He looks smug, like his dad has probably paid yours off once for stupid things he’s done in his high school days. When he finally looks at you, you’re fully expecting him to only spare you a quick glance. Instead, he freezes in place, hazel eyes fixed on yours. You squirm a bit under his stare, clearing your throat.

“Uh, I don’t know if I remember,” your tone is unsure as you try to read him, “I went to Center, not Loch Elementary.” When you look at the other members of the group, you notice that they are all looking at Steve with wide eyes. Then they all look at you. Frankly, it’s very unsettling and you really wish they would go away.

“Oh, well, maybe you remember Jonathan then,” Your dad leans back to catch the attention of the shyer man, “Joyce had you at Loch, right Johnny?” 

When you make eye contact with Jonathan, you notice Steve step between the two of you, looking back at Jonathan. You couldn’t see Steve’s face, but it must have been scary enough that all Jonathan could do to respond was shake his head.

“Hey, Tommy, didn’t you say you had a thing you needed to do,” Steve says, not taking his eyes off Jonathan.

“Uh, yeah, Carol and I need to get to, uh, a dinner with her parents. Right, Carol?”

“Yeah, we better get going. Nice to see you, Chief Hopper….”

The four of them hastily exit the diner. “Oh, yeah, see you around!” His face goes from bright to confused as he watches them leave through the window. 

“What the hell was that?” you laugh, ducking your head into the table. Your dad does the same, eyes as big as yours, “I have no idea. I was just trying to help you make some friends.”

“I think I’ll pass on them, Dad.”

When you return to the cabin later, your dad steps in front of the truck, leaning against the hood. Watching you as you get out, you hesitate, getting out of the truck slowly. “Whaaaat’s that face for?” you ask, suspicious of his glare.

“Oh, you know, I was just thinking that you’re gonna get awfully bored sitting in the cabin all by yourself all day,” he straightens up, rubbing his hand along his stubbly chin.

You’re really confused now. “You said you get TV out here, right? I think I’ll be okay.”

He lifts his hands up in defense, “Alright, alright, you’ve twisted my arm. No need you yell at me and make me feel bad. Here”

You almost miss when he tosses the keys to the truck your way. Looking between him and the keys, you can’t help how wide you smile at the gift. “Dad, oh my god, are you sure?”

He nods his head, mozing a few steps to stand in front of you. “Of course. It’s not a nice new car, but I figured it would help you get around until you could find something you really liked.”

You do a little happy dance before launching yourself at him, giving him a big hug as you thank him over and over. “Thank you so much, dad,” you say, looking up at him. He gives you a good squeeze before you pull away.

Rain pitter pattered softly against the row of windows behind you. Today has been slow, much like the other four days since your first day at Barnes and Noble. Wanting something slow as you get used to being in Hawkins, your dad suggested the bookstore, saying that it wasn’t the most popular place in town. The manager, Bob Newby, hired you on the spot, stating he needed someone over eighteen to train as a manager since the old one left for college. He offered above minimum wage so you accepted. 

While you stood at the computer working on some modules, three teenage boys ran into the store looking like they were on a mission. 

“Hi, I’m Dustin,” one of them greeted you, offering you a hand shake. You oblige, taking his hand in yours as you introduce yourself. “And are my friends Lucas and Will,” he points his thumb over his shoulder to two boys his age. They both wave, looking at you with anticipation. 

“Nice to meet you. Is there something I can help you with?” you look between the three of them.

Dustin perks up, “Ah, yes. As a matter of fact there is fair maiden.”

You physically cringe at the pet name, trying to hide the pain in your face. 

“Oh, sorry,” he corrects, “yeah, we’re looking for the new D&D starter set? It says online that it’s supposed to come out on the 15th, but some Barnes & Nobles have it in stock already.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “A whaty-what set?” you chuckle. The boy's shoulders deflate at your words.

“Never mind, thank you ma’am,” Dustin says, turning to the other two. 

“See, told you they wouldn’t have it yet,” Lucas says to Dustin, “Let’s just try again in a couple days, man.”

“It was at least worth a shot,” Will says shrugging. 

You watch as they make their way towards the exit, feeling bad seeing them so dejected. They’re about to walk out, but stop when a man enters through the doors. Their faces light up, and they greet him with hugs. You don’t mean to eavesdrop, but they’re the only patrons in the store at the moment so it’s pretty much impossible not to hear them.

“Hey, man, welcome back,” Dustin squeals, bouncing with excitement, “How was the trip with the family?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you take in the person they are talking to. The first thing you notice is his hair, a straight out of the 80s Van Halen wannabe cut that you’re sure stopped being in style by the 90s. His outfit seems inspired from the same era as his hair; Leather jacket paired with a denim vest covered in patches and pins reminiscent of metalheads from years ago. The tight, black ripped jeans paired with black combat boots seem to be the only articles of his clothing that were current with today’s fashion. You couldn’t exactly make his face out from the distance, but you could admit that his voice had a certain silkiness as he talked.

“Henderson, Sinclair,” he pauses for a moment,” Byers. Good to see you boys,” the words fell off his tongue, affecting you in a way that they honestly shouldn’t. “We had a pretty good time. Saw some family friends and got to try some good food.”

“Nice, nice,” Dustin nods. He straightens up for a moment, “You’re not here for the starter set are you?”

“I am,” the man responds.

“Shit, so were we. They don’t have it though. The girl doesn’t even know what we're talking about,” he responds defeated.

This is when you get to see the man’s face. And, oh no, he’s hot. Big brown eyes meet yours as he turns in your direction. He’s smiling at first, but the longer he looks at you, the more…confused his face becomes? He fully turns away from the boys, making his way towards you, eyes not leaving yours. The counter being the only thing between you as he leans forward, his eyes flickering between yours. Why the hell does this keep happening?

“Can I help you?” you ask, leaning back a tad. He blinks, straightening up again. 

“Yeah,” he draws out, “I’m looking for a new dungeons and dragons module. It’s a set that comes with a book and a few other items. Have you gotten anything like that in stock recently?”

You go to open your mouth, but his head suddenly snaps to the side. Following his line of sight, you see your coworker, Eden, making her way back from the break room.

“Oh, hey, Eden,” you call, getting her attention. She does a fast walk over to you, giving the man in front of you a once over as he takes her place next to you. “Hey, these guys are looking for something and I don’t really know what they’re talking about.”

She sighs, “What do you want, Munson?”

The man smiles cheekily, “Oh, you know what I’m here for. Just another recommendation for a My Chemical Romance CD to listen to.”

“Fuck off, what are you really here for,” Eden snaps. You let out a giggle at the interaction unfolding in front of you. The man's eyes look to you, and his smile widens to his eyes, showing off his dimples. 

“There’s supposed to be a new Dungeons and Dragons book coming out. Do you have it? Please say you have it,” Lucas steps in front of the man, clearly exasperated as he places his hands on the counter. 

“Oh, yeah your dumb nerd game,” you catch her looking at you before subtly rolling her eyes, “We got a box in the back yesterday but we’re not supposed to put it out until, like, Friday or something.”

She might as well have told them they all won the lottery the way their faces lit up.

“Please, Eden, you gotta let us get one,” Dustin begs, pushing Lucas to the side.

“Yeah, pleeeeeease, Eden,” Will joins in now, pushing between the two other boys, “We promise we won’t tell Bob.”

Eden looks at them for a moment. She looks at you, clearly annoyed, “What do you think?”

Now all eyes are on you, making you feel like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Uh, I mean, one book isn’t going to hurt, right?” you look to Eden, hoping that was the right answer and that this wasn’t a test to keep your job. Her expression is deadpad, until a smirk grows on her face.

“Okay,” she says simply, grabbing a box cutter from under the counter and making her way to the back room. The boys all whoop and holler, following her to the door to wait. 

That leaves you with the man from earlier. With the stress out of the way, you’re able to really take in his features. He was even more attractive up close, impossibly beautiful if you think too much about it. His skin looked smooth, like stone, the sprinkle of little freckles here being the only indicator that he’s not the statue of Adonis dressed in punk attire.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” his head rolls as his attention is returned to you, a knowing smile plastered across his face.

Blush dusts your cheeks when you realize you've been caught ogling. Trying to hide your face in embarrassment, the carpet between your feet is suddenly very interesting. “Sorry,” you say to the floor. There’s a beat of silence. When you look up again, he looks perturbed. “I mean it, I’m sorry for staring…”

Brown eyes lock with yours, features softening as he speaks, “No, no, you’re good, I, just…” he trails off for a moment. Shaking his head, his curls bouncing with the movement, he takes a step closer to the counter. “Sorry, I should probably introduce myself. Name’s Eddie.”

You introduce yourself to him and he playfully looks you up and down, “Shit, you’re Hoppers kid? Probably best if I stay away from you then.”

“Why’s that?” you tilt your head, matching his playful tone.

“I’m not exactly the most favored in this town,” he leans into the counter, and you catch the glint of the ringed fingers on his hand, “Whole family isn’t really cared for. But, I tend to make things worse.”

“Why, do all of you refuse to leave the 80s behind?” you ask as you nod at his hair. He runs his tongue in his bottom lip in an attempt to keep himself from smiling, failing miserably as your eyebrows raise at his silence.

“No,” he taps a finger against the counter before standing up again, “Because they think we’re “freaks” for keeping to ourselves most of the time. Apparently it's a crime not to participate in small town drama.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s like, the first rule of small towns,” the corner of your mouth quirked, “If you don’t wanna be part of the drama, you’re just going to be the drama. Those are the rules.”

“Ah, I see, I must have missed that part of the book when we moved here. My bad.”

You go open your mouth, but Dustin suddenly runs into Eddie at full force with what you presume to be the desired book in hand. 

“Ooowwwwww,” Dustin says rubbing his arm, looking at Eddie with a grimace, “Sheesh, are you wearing armor under your jacket or something?”

Eddie scoffs, moving away from the boy, “No, you’re just soft compared to me, Henderson.” Eddie raises his arm to flex, and you swear you hear a seam burst somewhere in his jacket.

While you ring the boys out, they spend the entire time trying to explain the game to you. There’s an attempt to recruit you into their club, but you decline their offer.

“I promise I would not be fun to play with,” you reassure them.

“Mmmm, I doubt that,” Eddie chimes.

“Don’t listen to him, his only goal is to make us die in the game,” Lucas says.

“That’s not my goal. You guys just always manage to get yourselves killed.”

“Okay, okay,” Eden waves her hands around to get their attention, “I’m tired of hearing all the dork talk. Take your nerd book and go before I change my mind.”

“But I already paid--” Dustin starts.

Eden gives him a look, pointing for the door. The boys jump, scrambling for the door as they say their quick goodbyes. Eddie chuckles as he watches the boys go, turning back to you once they’re out of sight. He goes to say something, but Eden speaks up before he can. 

“Hey, you should probably go take your lunch break now,” she says to you with arms crossed. Her eyes shift over to Eddie, giving him a look.

“Oh, okay,” you nod. Before you go, you turn to Eddie, giving him a warm smile, “It was nice to meet you.”

He returns the sentiments, “Same to you.”

When you walk towards the break room, you look back at the counter, seeing Eddie and Eden talking.

“Hey dad,” you greet as you walk through the front door of the cabin, kicking off your shoes.

“Hey, how was work?” Your dad stands in the kitchen, wearing a pink apron and blaring hard rock from the little radio that hung on the underside of the cabinet. You gawk at him for a moment, before collecting yourself.

“Uh, it was good,” you place your bag on the coat hook, walking over to where he stands in the small kitchen, “What, uh, what are you doing, pops?”

“Oh, I invited the Byers over for dinner,” he said as if it was obvious. Your nose scrunched up at the smell of something burning.

“That’s supposed to be edible?” you ask, peering into the pan, unsure of what you were looking at exactly.

There’s a pause, both of you standing there for a beat. Then he reaches forward to flip off the oven. “I’ll order a pizza.”

The Byers car pulls up just as the pizza guy leaves. You watch as your dad runs around like a mad man picking things up around the cabin. You stop him mid step, grabbing the apron and pulling it over his head. He nods in a silent thanks and continues to run around. The knock on the front door breaks him of his frenzy, practically running to get to the door. It’s actually cute to watch your dad light up when he greets his friend. 

When Joyce lays her eyes on you, she’s instantly squealing and throwing her hands out for an embrace. You wrap her up in a hug that hasn’t changed since you were little. One of the only adults you remember, Joyce was a staple in your life even when your parents were going through their divorce. 

“Oh my god, look at you,” she does that mom thing where she puts her hands on your arms and gives you a good look over, “Goodness you’re so grown up now! I remember watching you when you were just a tiny little girl. Oh, here, you remember Jonathan,” she turns and places a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. He gives you a one sided smile, not looking at you directly.

“Uh, yeah, we already ran into each other,” he says with a nod.

“And you might remember Will. He’s changed since you’ve seen him, though. He was just a toddler back then.” She moves over to let her other son in, and you’re almost as shocked as he is when you see one of the boys that came in the store earlier. You both give each other a look with a grin.

“Yeah, we’ve ran into each other already, too,” Will says. 

“Oh, good,” Joyce beams, “I guess that means we can save some time and go ahead and eat. Hop, I got some soda on sale at work. Jonathan, do you have the bags?”

Jonathan lifts two bags that have clearly been in his hands the whole time, Will and him looking at each other with a snicker. “Here, mom.”

Dinner consists of Joyce asking you all about living in Arizona, how your mom is, if she likes traveling with her boyfriend, if you’ve made any friends.

“Jonathan, you should see if Steve will let her come to one of your little get-togethers.”

“Mom,” he his brows raise into his bangs as he looks at her, “You know why that’s not a good idea.”

“Oh, come on, you guys can keep yourselves under control for one night,” she says, taking a bite of her pizza slice.

“No, it’s okay,” you chime in, “I don’t want to make anything weird. I don’t think I made a very good first impression with Steve when I first met him.”

Jonathan and Will both sputter out a laugh, and Joyce gives them little smacks on the arms to get them to stop. 

“What’s so funny?” Your dad chuckles with the boys.

“Nothing,” Will says, looking at you, then back to his pizza.

Jonathan straightens up, grin on his face as he speaks, “Um, just want to say Steve, like, doesn’t hate you. He just…ate something bad for breakfast and was in a bad mood or whatever.” 

Will is physically shaking in silent laughter and you feel like you’re missing out on some inside joke between them. Joyce just rolls her eyes, smiling as she mouths a sorry to you. You shake your head, letting her know it’s fine.

“So, Jonathan, Dad tells me you’re getting pretty good at photography?” 

He looks at you surprised, “Y-yeah, yes, yep.”

“Jonathan, tell her about the magazine! Jonathan’s picture was in a magazine,” Joyce gushes.

“One of my pictures is in a magazine,” he says to appease his mother. She grabs his arm and shakes it giddily. 

“It’s actually really good,” your dad says in agreement. Jonathan gives him a quick tight lipped smile, before his eyes meet yours. You mouth sorry and he smiles, eyes shifting down.

“So, Will, did you guys get to play that game,” you change the subject. He looks excited that you asked.

“Oh, no, we didn’t get the chance today. But we’re going to get together this weekend,” he shifts in his seat to face you. 

“That’s cool,” your head bobs cooly, “Does, uh, does Eddie play with you guys?”

There’s a sudden tension in the air, thick enough that a knife could cut it. The Byers are looking between each other, you don’t know if you’ve ever seen Joyce so serious. After a beat, it’s your father’s turn to giggle.

“Awe, come on. Don’t be like that you guys,” he says to the three of them. They remain hard as stone, Will tucking his head into his shoulder. Thinking back to the interaction at work the other day, you realize that Will had never directly interacted with Eddie, sort of standing back as Lucas and Dustin greeted him. 

“What? What is it?”

“Oh, Joyce has some weird beef with the Brenner’s,” your dad dismisses. 

“Ugh, Hop you know that’s not — it’s more complicated than that,” she looks to you. “Just,” she squeezes her eyes shut, breathing out of her nose, “it would be best if you just…don’t get involved with the Brenner’s, okay? Trust me.”

Eddie’s words about the town not being fond of his family came to the forefront of your mind. It had you intrigued as to how bad his family must be if Joyce Byers doesn’t like them. Though you want to press for more, you decide to put a pin in it for now to keep the peace. 

Once it’s just you and your dad again though, you’re immediately pressing him for questions. 

“Okay, so what is this “beef” you said Joyce has with the Brenner’s,” you shout from the bathroom, mouth full toothpaste as you brush your teeth. 

“Honestly, I wish I could tell you,” your dad yells from the front porch as he smokes, “They moved to Hawkins two years ago and Joyce, her boys, and half of Loch Nora seem to hate them. Sure, Eddie can be out of line at times, but the rest of them are tame.” He puts out his cigarette and walks back into the cabin, “ Dr.Brenner works at the hospital practically non-stop. Someone swore he was there for 3 days straight when this bad flu was going around last year. The rest of the family keeps to themselves for the most part. All adopted. Two of them are home schooled, the other two and Eddie are grown. I think one of ‘em is writing for a newspaper or something?”

Spitting and rinsing, you hop over the back of the couch, landing next to your father as he talks, “Half the town ignores them, and the other half claim that they’re monsters or supernatural.”

“Why?” you scrunch your face.

“Depends on who you ask,” he shrugs, sipping from his beer, “According to Joyce they shouldn’t be here. I’ve asked her plenty of times to give her side of the story, but she won't budge. I really respect Brenner, personally. Single guy, adopting and raising five kids on his own, working hard as a doctor to make sure they are taken care of.”

“You’d think Joyce would think highly of a guy like that,” you look up to the ceiling, trying to see what could possibly be the problem that Joyce would have. “Maybe he did something to her and she doesn’t want to say. Or maybe one of the kids did something to Jonathan or Will?”

“If they did something to the boys I know she would tell me. I guess I could see him saying something to her and her maybe taking it out of context. I don’t know, I just do my job and try and stay as unbiased as possible.”

You nod your head. You’re mind is still swirling with questions that you want to ask. But as your dad turns on his trash TV, you know he’s not going to be paying attention to anything you’re asking. So you decide to wait and ask him later.

Finding parking at work today was a nightmare. The entire parking lot in front of the Barnes & Noble was FULL of cars, a mix of classic and sport cars taking up several rows in the normally bare parking spots. Having to park in the very back, you cut through the crowd of people on the way to the building. It was busy, and making your way around ended up being worse than finding parking as half of Hawkins was packed into one place to fawn over cars. There was a bit of a flow that you’d caught on to, so you stuck through it, getting stopped occasionally as the group in front of you paused to gander. 

In one of the stalemates, you looked around for a way to get past the congestion, only to spot a familiar pair of brown eyes looking straight at you from across the lot. He looked exhausted, and you could only assume that he probably didn’t want to be here either. You gave him a small wave, and the frown carved into his face flipped, returning the gesture. You were about to try and make your way over to him, when the sound of a loud engine and horn honking had you turning your head, eyes blinded by light coming straight towards you.

The next thing you knew, you were on the ground, a pain in your rib confirming that you must have been hit. But when you open your eyes, you’re faced with the grill of a car being completely crushed by a…hand? In your shock, you follow the hand, up the arm, and into the same eyes you had seen just a moment ago, suddenly dark, almost black in appearance. Except they weren’t looking at you, they were looking down. Down at the open gash on your arm from the way you’d hit the pavement. 

Taking in a breath, you wince at the pain in your side. You’d expected to have hit your side on the pavement as well, but when you crane your head down, you see Eddie’s other hand gripping right over the pain. 

“Ow,” you say, sucking in a breath as you move slightly. His head snaps, looking up at you when you speak, and the look on his face reads concerned, but he seems frozen in place.

“Holy, shit dude,” a girl appears from behind Eddie, but the way he’s hunched over you obscures your view. You don’t miss the car suddenly moving over a few inches, though, Eddie’s grip loosening at the motion. When your eyebrows knit themselves together, trying to figure out what the hell was happening, Eddie suddenly starts yelling. “Hey, we need an ambulance over here!”

When you arrived at the hospital, you were surprised when the doctor that was assigned to you introduced himself as the infamous Dr. Brenner. He was a grey haired man, most likely in his late 50s or early 60s, with skin like porcelain and a reassuring smile. And most importantly, he had your x-rays in his hand.

“Good news, you’re going to live,” he laughs, flipping all the papers back on your chart, “Bad news is you’re going to live with a rib fracture. I would suggest taking it easy for the next six to eight weeks, take something for pain as needed, and don’t be afraid to slap on a lidocaine patch if it helps. As for your arm,” he looks at the bandage, a little blood soaking through the white, “Clean it well and keep it wrapped. A little antibacterial ointment should do the trick.”

“Thanks Brenner,” your dad sticks out his hand to the man, “I appreciate you getting here to look at her so quickly.”

Brenner takes your dad’s hand, shaking it in return, “Of course, I couldn’t let the police chief’s daughter sit in pain.” He looks over to you, brows creasing slightly before speaking up again, “The two of you are free to go whenever you’re ready. If her pain gets worse or if she hits the rib again, feel free to call me at home and I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“Wow, thank you.” You’re taken aback at his generosity, looking over to your dad as he gives you a “see I told you he was a nice guy” look. While you gather your things, your dad tells you he’s going to grab the car and meet you at the front doors. 

As you leave the room, you look down the hall and see Eddie leaning up against the wall, chewing on his thumb nail deep in thought. Taking in a deep breath in preparation to approach him, you grab your side, wincing in pain. “Shit,” you breathe out, keeling over a bit. 

A pair of doc’s enters your vision. You lift your head, taking in Eddie’s figure as he’s now stood before you, hands hovering as he looks you over. 

“Are you okay?” his voice sounds panicked, his face twisted as he waits for your answer.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m good,” your voice strained, but you give him a weak smile in reassurance. He nods, hands lowering to disappear into his pockets. His mouth opens and closes a few times, his eyes looking anywhere but directly into yours as he fidgets about. You laugh at his nervousness, deciding to speak first.

“Thank you for saving me.” 

This gets his attention and he’s all teeth as he smiles, “Yeah, of course. I’m, uh, glad you’re okay.”

“I wouldn’t be without you,” you tilt your head, looking at him. You suddenly remember the events that unfolded. Eddie was on the other side of a line of cars, surrounded by droves of people and cars. The smile drops from your face. “How did you get to me so fast?”

“What are you talking about,” he shakes his head, “I was right next to you?”

You look at him incredulously, “What? No you weren’t. You were-”

“No, I was right next to you. When the car came at you, I grabbed you and pulled you out of the way.” The way he spoke to you scared you; a veiled threat with every word. But you wouldn’t let him get away with it.

“Eddie, I know what I saw. The way your hand crushed the front of that car and -- and then it moved-”

The feeling of ice on your lips shocked you, sending goosebumps across your body. Once you registered that the cold sensation was coming from Eddie’s hand over your mouth, an uneasiness takes over your whole body. It felt like he’d been standing in the winter weather, which would be understandable if it was, say, January, and not early August. 

Your hand flew to his wrist, the one attached to your injured arm. His eyes widened, focused on the wrap around your forearm. His throat bobbed, swallowing thickly. Then, he pulled his hand away as quickly as it landed on your lips. Backing away, he looked at you like you were the one to be afraid of. His eyes darted to your arm once more, then back to your eyes before taking off down the hall. He was fast, making a sharp turn at the end of the hall, but you ran after him, determined to get answers. Only, when you reached the turn he was gone.

That night is when the dreams started. Standing in an opening, trees surrounding you at every corner. The constant feeling of eyes on you made you feel small, vulnerable out in the open for the predator to attack. And when it does, all you see of it is its brown eyes.

You wake up in a cold sweat, breathing heavy, you frantically feel around for your phone. The bright screen blinds you when you tap it, through squinted eyes you read 4 am. A knock on your door has you jump.

“Hey, you okay in there?” Your dad’s voice fills you with relief. 

“Yeah, Dad, I’m good. Just a nightmare. Sorry to wake you,” you call to the barely visible door. He gives you an okay and tells you goodnight. You lie there awake until the sun comes up.

“Oh my god, that’s crazy!” Heather’s hand flies over her mouth as she pushes your cup across the tiny counter. “So you think his hand, like, broke your freaking rib?”

“I don’t know,” you grab the cup, taking a small sip, “It may have been a coincidence, but I could feel his fingers digging into my side, so it definitely wasn’t from hitting the pavement.”

“But you said he was all the way across the lot, that makes no sense,” Barb questions, wiping her hands on her green apron. 

You flail your arm up in an exaggerated shrug, “I know! He said he was next to me the whole time but I know he was over in G4 and I was in the F5 section. You guys saw all the people from in here, there’s no way he should have been able to get to me that quickly.”

“Ooohh, maybe the rumours are true then,” Heather wiggles her fingers at Barb, eliciting an eye roll from the red head. 

“You just want the rumours to be true because you’re obsessed with that True Blood show,” Barb says with a snide, teasing tone.

“What does True Blood have to do with the rumours?” When you ask, the two of them look at each other with  knowing grins.

“Oh you haven't heard?” Heather starts. “Everyone thinks the Brenner’s are a bunch of vampires or something.”

“Or something,” you parrot back, looking at her through squinted eyes. You knew most people in the midwest believed in some kind of cryptid or skinwalker, so you’d learned to take everything with a grain of salt when it came to small town gossip. 

“I keep telling her they come out in the day so they can’t be vampires,” Barb explains, “but she won’t believe me.”

“Okay, but, like, have you seen them?” Heather looks at you with raised brows. 

“I’ve only seen Eddie and Dr.Brenner,” you rub your hand over your still bandaged arm.

“Girl, okay,” Heather starts, placing her hands on the counter to lean in closer to you, “so like Eddie. Super hot, obvi. Dr.Brenner? Hot for an old dude, right? And I don’t even swing that way, but the two girls, Nancy and Robin, they’ll have you questioning things. They’re dating though from what I’ve heard,” she sighs, cheek landing in her palm. 

“Wait, the sisters are dating?” You looked at her, appalled by the insinuation of her words.

“They’re not siblings?” Heather looks at you funny. “Well, Nancy and one of the younger ones apparently are blood related. I think someone said that Robin isn’t adopted and that she just lives with them. Like a live-in girlfriend or whatever.”

You nod, trying to make sense of the weird family dynamic. Before Heather can continue on, the chime of the entrance door opening alerts you to a customer entering the store. Even though you were on your break, muscle memory took over as you turn on your heels to greet them, “Hi! Welcome to Barnes and…”

Eddie Munson himself walks in through the door, booking it straight for the games section without a passing glance. You stand there in dumb struck silence. When you look back at Barb and Heather, they give you “shit we were almost caught” looks on their faces, and it has all three of you laughing. 

“Oh, hey,” Heather motions you closer, “There’s gonna be a big party at Lover’s Lake on Friday. You should totally come. It’s on the Loch Nora side, but you can park by the lake houses and walk over.”

“Um, sure,” you accept, feeling excited at the prospect of making better friends with some of the people in town your age.

“Great,” Heather claps, a mischievous smile on her face. She wiggles her brows at you suggestively, “Make sure you bring your best swim suit, there’s going to be lots of Loch Nora boys there. I heard Steve Harrington is single again-”

“Small black coffee, please.” All three of you jump. Eddie was standing at Barb’s counter. None of you heard him walk up, as if he had appeared out of thin air. “Can I pay for this here?” He shakes a book that says something about monsters, a large creature on the front with a big eye. His face is stone, almost annoyed as he waits for Barb to ring him out. When he pays, he finally looks over at you, and you realise you’d been staring at him the whole time. 

You almost miss the way his eyes flash to your arm as he passes by. His intense stare makes you turn to hide your arm from his view. His nose flares when you do, brow creasing. But when his eyes meet yours, honey brown as if being hit by the non existing sunlight, his face softens. An almost pleading look to him. Like he wanted to talk to you, but wouldn’t. And as soon as Heather places his coffee on the counter, he’s booking it out the door. 

“What was that-” was all you heard Heather say, your feet moving on their own as you stepped out into the humid August air. He was already in the middle of the parking lot in the time it took you to get out the door.

“Eddie, hey! Wait a minute!”

He stopped in his tracks, back still turned to you. You stare right into the monster on his “Dio” patch as you approach him. Grabbing his arm, you go to spin him around but find it hard to get him to budge. Instead, he turns to you on his own, stone faced, waiting for you to speak.

“What the hell was that about back there?” You pant as you try to catch your breath. “Are you avoiding me or something?”

His body stiffens at your words, eyes narrowing, “What if I am?”

You blink at him, “I — I just want to know why, I guess?”

He stands there in silence, statuesque with an inhuman stillness. Getting tired of the stare off, you decide to just say your peace. “Listen, I know I’m not crazy. I don’t really care at this point the how or the why of what happened that day. Whether it was adrenaline, my memory being foggy, or-or whatever. You saved my life, and…and that’s what really matters. So, thank you.”

You watch his face ease into amusement, apples of his cheeks pressing lines into the creases of his eyes at your words. God he has a cute smile. 

“Okay,” is all he says, his eyes look you up and down. He seems to open up, body fully facing you now. 

“Okay,” you say with a smile. There’s a pregnant pause, the two of you just looking at each other for a moment until a drop of rain hits your nose. 

Both of you look up, and you can tell rain is about to fall. 

“Hey,” you try and talk quickly, wanting to get the words out before it starts pouring, “my coworker, Heather, she, um, said there’s going to be a party at Lover’s Lake Friday. N-not like a date, or anything. Uh, just, maybe we could start over. Trying to be friends…” You were kicking yourself on the inside for being so lame, “It’s on the Loch Nora side, but she said it should be easy to find. You, um, you should come?”

His head drops, shaking back and forth, but his smile remains. 

“I’ll think about it,” he says when he looks at you again. Taking a step back as the rain begins to fall, he nods towards the building behind you, “Better get inside, don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“O-oh, right,” you look behind you, and then back to him, but he’s already gone.

thank you for reading!