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mv1simp · 3 months ago

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prompt: max finding out one of the driver's "innocent" sister actually has a secret diary/account dedicated to all her naughty desires for him

Sweet Like Candy ♥️

Max Verstappen x Camgirl!Reader

sugar coated, lies unfolded, you still lick the wrapper. its addictive, you know this (but you still lick the wrapper)

At 27, three time world champion Max Verstappen has become bored with the blinding glamour and fake crowds who try to cling onto his fame. So when you catch his interest, sparking desire for the first time in months, he quickly becomes obsessed. He just never imagined his favourite camgirl would turn out to be his ex teammate’s shy, little sister who needed to pay off her college loans.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, camgirl!reader, Riccardio!reader, basically sugar daddy! max vibes lolz, somnophilia, blackmail, filming, cheating, 3.8k WC

Max Verstappen knew he was famous - everyone wanted a piece of the most desired driver in the richest sport on earth. When he'd been younger, high off the rush of being crowned a world champion, he’d been cockier about it, too. He enjoyed the smug arrogance that came with his skill, with his million figure paycheck, knowing that most men he met wanted to be him and most girls wanted to be with him. And it certainly didn’t hurt that he looked the way he did, all 6 foot of thick, built muscle and angled jawline with intense blue eyes. He’s had more than his fair share of rolling around in the sheets (and private jets and yachts and backseats of luxury Aston Martins - you get the picture) with countless models and actresses.

Now, at 27, he’d mellowed out, being quietly assured in his confidence and dominating aura. His talent and insane track record does all the talking for him without him needing to say a word when he steps into any room. And he’d stopped his playboy ways too, now the very picture of a loyal family man with his long term model girlfriend and her child who he doted on. It was true that he didn't hold any romantic feelings for her or love her particularly - but that was rare these days, anyways, with the superficial women who constantly surrounded him. But he knew he had her loyalty and in turn, she was provided for with access to Max's fame and finances.

Sure, he’s still offered temptations of money, drugs, alcohol, and sex on the daily, with tens of thousands of people desperate to offer him something to get a taste of the famous Max Verstappen. But unlike his younger self, his self control these days was much better. He rarely found something new that he hadn’t already tried and gotten bored of in his glamorous life as a F1 driver. He’d already started planning his retirement after his Redbull contract ended, somewhere on a remote island far away from all the greedy swarms eager to sink their claws into him.

So one day when one of his mates sent him a link, and your OnlyFans page pops up as he hovered over it, Max just rolled his eyes. His friend had texted that he had to check this chick out, she was so fucking sexy. Max had almost ignored it, already being used to countless offers from insta models DMing him on the daily. But maybe he’d been extra bored that day, because somehow he ends up clicking onto your page. And everyday, he thanks whatever fucked up God was watching from above that he did. Because what he saw next quickly became the world champion’s secret obsession.

You’re a cute young 20something, the very vision of a pure angel who lusted for dirtier fantasies she was too shy to ask for in real life. Your OnlyFans feed was filled with horny thoughts about wanting to get fucked by your older brother’s hot friend or which sexy songs you liked to listen to as you breathlessly use your pink bullet vibrator. It's a new page, started only a month ago, but you already have a few thousand followers, all drooling over the innocent yet tempting pictures you post. Nothing too raunchy - but more suggestive, in tight pastel crop tops with your nipples poking through or a shot of your curvy ass in a white lace panties. Probably a college kid, Max guessed, from the fact that the corner of a textbook could sometimes be seen in your photos and that you offered more naughtier photos to those viewers who payed a little extra. Clearly not any sort of adult film actress - and Max would know, because he’d definitely had some fun with one (or two) before.

But the real cherry on top was when he scrolled across a recent video stream you’d posted. Playing it out loud in his empty penthouse, his cock immediately hardened at the sight of your petite, curvy figure dressed up in lacy lingerie. You sat on your fluffy bed, surrounded by pink fluffy cushions and throw blankets, your face hidden from your teasing smile up. Your glossy, pouting lips giggle easily as you sway your hips in the cute lace babydoll you’re wearing, excitedly chattering about some pop singer you liked or the other. You're answering prying questions viewers are asking, reading them out loud from the chat. Did you have a boyfriend, what's your ideal type of man?

Max likes the soft, playful sound of your girly voice. His mind dirtily wonders what you'd sound like moaning underneath his much larger form. You hmmm for a second, pouting cutely, before shyly admitting that there was just one guy you’d had a crush on for ages, but he had no idea you existed. A friend of your brother's, in fact, you guys probably know him, you mused. He’s pretty famous! Comments flood the chat, trying to guess if he was a singer or actor or-

Nope, he’s an athlete! You giggle, biting your glossy lip and playing with your hard nipples. Max can’t resist palming his own cock through his sweats as he hungrily enjoys the sight of your pretty brown areolas through the see-through lace. He-mmmh-he’s Dutch, you begin, suppressing cute gasps as you toy with your oversensitive, perky tits. So tall, too, and super strong, I love seeing him shirtless! I’ll give you guys one more clue…he’s the fastest man alive when you put him in a racecar.

Ice blue eyes narrow as the comments finally hone in on just who you were talking about. So this is why his friend had sent him this, huh? He couldn’t deny he wasn’t pleased with the way you giggle cutely and confirm that your big fat crush was on Max Verstappen. I know it’s wrong, you whine, breathless as your small, manicured fingers slip down your body to play with the edge of your panties. It’s so naughty, he doesn’t know me and even has a pretty girlfriend, but every night I dream about him fucking me. He’s so hot, so dreamy, and that Dutch accent of his - you cut yourself off with a pleasurable moan, now teasing the audience as you finger yourself through your dripping panties, not letting anyone get a full view of your innocence. Let’s just say I’d let him use me anytime, anywhere, however he wants, you laugh sweetly, your voice a contrast to your dirty words.

Oh, fuck. Talk about a vixen. He hadn't seen a treasure as rare as you in a long time. And it looked like many, many viewers enjoyed your particular brand of angelic sinfulness as multiple donations flood in, begging you to finally take your panties off on the main stream. Max can't stop himself from sending a generous one himself, after jacking off to completion at the sweet sounds of you cumming through your panties. You'd eagerly humped one of your pink cushions, tits bouncing through the practically see through lingerie, moaning Max’s name as if he was right there under you when you reached your peak. Oops, sorry guys! You giggle again, your sweet voice now bashful. Got too caught up, next time I’ll make sure to say the name of the highest donor, mmkay?

It's a good OnlyFans account - no, a great one, but Max didn’t think of it much afterwards, getting caught up in his own busy life and making sure to erase his search history in case his overly paranoid girlfriend came snooping. The fact that you'd mentioned he was friends with your brother also meant very little, given his very large circle of friends and acquaintances given his fame. Everyone liked to say they were mates with Max Verstappen, F1 champion, even if the extent of friendship had been a single handshake.

To his surprise though, a few days later he received a private DM from you, sweetly thanking him for his generous donation! Curious, he opens your message, knowing you wouldn't know who he was from his generic username of CatDaddy33. He hadn't thought he had sent you much at all, maybe a couple grand? You deserved it, working so hard to dress up cutely and pay off whatever college loans you probably had.

But apparently you thought it was a very lavish contribution, because you’d sent him a very tempting photo as a thank you gift. He’d almost dropped his phone when he sees your lush bare tits, out on display as you stuck your pink tongue out cheekily, the rest of your face still hidden. Just for you. Hope you enjoy! you captioned, one small hand cupping your breasts and squeezing a pretty nipple that practically had Max salivating to sink his teeth into. Oh, he certainly enjoyed it, saving it to his private collection to jack off too later when his uptight girlfriend wasn’t in the mood - which was usually the case the majority of the month.

He ends up logging back onto your page that night to enjoy your latest steam, then another, and soon enough he had a full blown infatuation with you. Your tempting, curvy figure and your pretty lips that you bite as you keep talking about how turned on Maxie had made you in the qualifying today, looking so muscly and angry! has him downloading your naughty nudes to his phone. It’d been a long time since a girl had gotten him get so turned on, after all. You drove him wild with your girly, innocent mannerisms paired with your sexy body and filthy words as you play with yourself, always making sure to never fully reveal your face or naked cunny to the viewers with a slutty outfit covering you.

Of course, he generously tips each time he visits your page, resulting in you frequently sending him more thank you presents each time. Lately you've been asking him if he wants you to wear a certain outfit or call out his name in your next video, but he texts back that he just enjoyed watching you have fun, sweetheart. And that's true - because that's all this can be, just a private guilty pleasure for him to enjoy behind closed doors. The rest of the world wouldn't respond well to his dedicated, family man image if they knew that the Dutch champion secretly liked his girls sweet and begging for his attention on adult websites. Even though his actual relationship had become more of a PR facade, now, and had been that way for well over six months. The last chemistry fizzled out when she’d tried to wake Max up with her mouth on his morning wood, somehow trying to make up for weeks of no sex. He made up some excuse about being stressed for the race as he rapidly softened despite her repeat attempts, pushing her off him and going to shower.

But as soon as he’s under the warm steam, he’d only had to close his eyes and picture your perfect, full pouting lips on his cock instead for his impressive semi to come rushing back. As he lazily strokes himself, he wonders what your eyes looked like, still having never seen them with how you kept the top half of your face off the frame. Would you look up at him sultrily as your pink tongue darted out and licked his slit, or did you prefer having him meanly shove his cock all the way in as you gagged with wide, teary doe eyes? He guessed the second fantasy would be your pick, judging by how your breath seemed to hitch in excitement whenever a commanding order was DMed to you following a donation. The submissive type, for sure, who’d once said she’d eagerly let Max Verstappen have his way with her wherever, however he wanted her-

He came with a muffled groan, panting heavily as his release drips down to be cleaned away by the hot water. Maybe he’d finally give into your pleas to him to request something and ask you to suck a sweet lollipop for him on your next stream.

He puts his distracting thoughts about you to the back of his mind as he arrives on the paddock, camera flashes going crazy as they note the increased distance between the Redbull driver and his unhappy girlfriend as she trails behind him. Frankly, Max had stopped caring what his public image was at this point in the season, knowing it was only a matter of time before he got his PR manager involved to cook up some mutual breakup story to feed the media.

Qualifying goes well and the race even better for once, despite the shit box his car had been this season. Afterwards, he greets Daniel, who greets him excitedly and commends his race efforts. The two drivers are laughing, catching up easily in their conversation - when a small figure turns the corner to come up next to Daniel’s side. Oh! The Australian man grins, gently tugging the shy figure by his side forward. You remember my little sis, right Max?

The Dutchman stared at your blushing face as you nervously avoid eye contact with the much taller blonde. Cute, he thinks briefly, finding your brown doe eyes and Riccardio curls pretty. Sure, I remember her, we met at the Silverstone race last year, right? It had been a brief meeting, Daniel swinging by the Redbull garage to congratulate Max and you’d been trailing behind him. Max vaguely remembered you from your younger days, when you’d shyly stayed out of the older boys' way when he had visited Daniel in his Perth family home in Australia. But you’d grown up now, and had chosen to attend college overseas in London, and Max politely asks if you were still studying there. On a full ride scholarship too, Daniel confirms proudly, fondly ruffling your curls and making you protest. Still won’t accept a dime from her older brother, even with the ridiculous London rent.

Pouting rather adorably, you quickly fix your hair, glaring at your sibling as you mutter that you didn’t want his tax evasion money, thanks, you could look after yourself. Max laughs, pleasantly surprised you had some teeth behind your blushing, pretty face. You immediately look up to see his gorgeous blue eyes looking at you in interest before nervously flicking them away again, clutching onto Daniel’s hoodie as the two men resume their conversation. Later, as he watches you walk away, Max can’t help thinking about how your girly voice and pouting lips had looked so familiar. He knows many beautiful women, but there was something about your unique, natural face that made attraction swirl in his chest. He’s still thinking about it that night, annoyed about not knowing where else he’s seen you besides at your brother’s side.

And then your latest video had him sitting up straight in shock. Because he recognises the hoodie that’s draped across the back of your chair in the corner of the screen. He'd recognise it anywhere. You, of course, probably had not thought twice about the item of clothing that belonged to your brother - with it just looking like another piece of F1 merchandise to anyone watching. But Max knew that Redbull insignia on the back, signed DR3 along the logo generically but with an extra little present that Max had drawn on himself when his teammate had fallen asleep next to him on a private plane ride. The crude, cartoon dick drawing stares back at Max through the screen as he immediately recognises what he’d found funny as an 18 year old. There was only one person in the world who would own this sweatshirt personally customized by the world champion - and given the fact that you were the one who seemed to have borrowed it….the mystery of your identity finally unravels.

He sends you a private DM that very night, not wanting to play any games. He knew he had to have you, now that he knows you’re right under his nose. I know who’s little sister you are, baby.

You respond back immediately, which isn’t suprising considering how you’re in the same time zone currently. I have no idea what you’re talking about, you text, trying to deny his claim. Max smirks. He almost feels mean for winding you up but he knows you’ll be so grateful for it in the end. You’re telling me you aren’t Daniel Riccardio’s little sister? I saw you on the paddock today. No point in hiding anymore.

You seen his message for a few tense minutes, and he wonders if he approached this wrong because you could just block him. But then you frantically send back a how the hell do you know that? How did you find out?

Max chuckles as he corners you right where he wants. And an hour later you’re on a private video call with him, very differently dressed that your usual skimpy attire in a baggy t-shirt that covers all your skin as you demand to know just what he wanted. Of course, you still have no idea who he is, because even though he has his camera on, his face is well out of view. You can only squint at the image of a fit appearing guy, dressed casually in sweats but his strong muscles still showing through. You impatiently read out the next DM he sends you. I want to see your pussy, spread open for me completely-What the hell?! you shriek, outraged.

You try to get out of it, saying that was too embarrassing to do, but he makes you realise there it was futile to resist. He orders you to show your face in the video, saying there’s no point hiding it anymore since he knew exactly who you were. All over DM, of course - he couldn’t have your recognising his deep, Dutch voice that you always gushed about.

You pout cutely, lips downturned and an upset expression on your face as you slowly undress yourself for him. Then you follow his orders, gently playing with yourself as you teasingly suckle on your pink vibrator so that he could imagine what you’d look like with your lips around him, instead. Max lazily jerks himself off to the sight, enjoying how you started obediently following his instructions once you saw his hand reach into his sweats and slide his erection out. Your doe eyes went wide with guilty desire at the sight of his impressive, hard length, and you swallow back drool when you see his leaking, angry tip. Soon he had you spreading your puffy cunny lips wide for him to greedily look at, before you start sliding your little vibrator in between your achy core. He makes you call out his name like you always did, of course, and say out loud all of the dirty fantasies you’d been dreaming about lately involving your brother’s best friend. You cum intensely and Max follows shortly after, the both of you caught up in the sinful activity.

It’d been easy enough to find out the room number you’d been staying at as the Riccardio siblings were at the same hotel as him, and even easier to get the swipe card. He was Max Verstappen, after all. Leaving his bitchy girlfriend alone in his room, he makes his way to yours in the middle of the night. The hallway light briefly illuminates your peacefully sleeping figure when he opens the door, quietly locking it behind him.

You’re deep asleep, plush tits rising and falling, dressed in a cute see through lace nightgown and matching panties. After admiring the sight for a few minutes, he slides into bed behind you, finally getting to toy with those pretty nipples and squeeze the plush ass he’d been fantasising about for weeks on end. You quietly moan in your unconscious state, sleepily grinding back against the warm, hard body holding you and arching your back into the hungry mouth suckling on your stiff nipples. Soon he’s wedges his fat cock in between your thick thighs, panting heavily as he fucks then slowly so you don’t wake up. He barely lasts a couple minutes, his head dizzy with pleasure for the first time in months as blood rushes to his already hard cock. After he’s cum copiously all over your tanned skin, he slides off your panties to take for himself, making sure to rub his creamy release along your puffy slit with his large hands. He can’t resist sliding a finger inside to get feel of how luxuriously tight your pussy feels, groaning when he feels your walls clench down on him. His cock was going to experience heaven when it finally got to sink home inside you, he was sure.

You spend your day confused the next morning, remembering hazy wet dreams from the night before but not quite being able to recall exact what you’d dreamt. And you’d never been able to find your favourite lace panties, assuming they got lost in the laundry when room service cleaned up. Until your online bully, as you’d taken to calling him, sends you a naughty photo. It’s one that he could only have had access to if he’d taken it himself, you realize with a shocked gasp, as you stare at your peacefully sleeping figure. A gigantic cock, much bigger than any of your cute toys, slides into the waistband of your pink panties - which are completely see through from how soaked they’ve become. And that was one of the tamer pictures Max took that night. He wonders how you’d react to the one he has of his drooling tip brushing against your parted lips, his sticky release from earlier now leaking into your wet mouth.

You’re even cuter when you’re not putting up a fight his message says. You freak out, of course, but he doesn’t respond to your frantic questions and instead orders you to be dressed up for him tonight in that navy lace babydoll and matching blindfold set he’s having delivered, okay?

You swallow, unable to hide the rising curiosity and desire at the rich, mysterious stranger you had drawn in. You can’t really be mad at him when he sends a $10k reward to your account after teasing you with the filthy photos he’d been taking. A girl had to pay off her college loans, after all.

Besides, a hot, muscled sugar daddy appealed to you a lot more than streaming for thousands of strangers. You couldn’t wait to meet him tonight!

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A/N: 😏😏😏 thank you so much for waiting patiently my dearest readers, work has been crazy but I finally have some time now to feed you!!! Get ready I’m about to be dropping some hot pieces for you including part 2 of earned it and haunted!!

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #18+ mdni #max verstappen x oc #max verstappen x you

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womenofwrestlingfashion · 6 months ago

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TX Wolves Gwen Cropped Crewneck in Cream from Darc Sport ($55), Lift Seamless Shorts in Grey from NVGTN ($30) & Air Max Plus Sneakers in White from Nike (on sale - $138.97)

#tiffany stratton #jessica woynilko #TX Wolves Gwen Cropped Crewneck #crewneck #top #tops #Darc Sport #Lift Seamless Shorts #short #shorts #grey #NVGTN #Air Max Plus Sneakers #sneaker #sneakers #white #nike #women of wrestling fashion #wwe

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kuloha · 2 years ago

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#womens clothing #womens leggings #womens sets #womens gym sets #crop top #sports bra #gym set #co ord sets

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bluearticlesshop · 2 years ago

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#Bras #Crop #Cute #H&M #HQuenby #Medium #Padded #PostSurgery #Sexy #Shoulder #Sports #Support #Top #Women #Workout #Yoga

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rkivedpages · 3 months ago

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❝ KISSES DOWN LOW ❞ ୨୧ SEVIKA

‎ﻬ˚౨ৎ BUT NOTHING CAN COMPARE TO WHEN YOU KISS ME THERE

‎ ﻬ˚౨ৎ AND I CAN’T LIE WHEN I LIE IN YOUR ARMS, BABY I FEEL SO SEXY

‎

PAIRINGS: TOP!SEVIKA ✘ BROTHELWORKER!R

SUMMARY: sevika is tired from a long week of work and she just needs to see the person that helps her blow off steam.

WARNINGS: 4.9k, [contains nsfw wlw content, m+mdni 18+], brothelworker!reader, black coded, smut, vulgar language, dirty talk, oral sex [both receiving], fingering [both receiving], sevika loves your boobs, clit slapping [𝑟!receiving], tribbing, creaming, neck biting and kissing, heavy eye contact, messy kissing, spit, nipple sucking, cuddling afterwards

J4Y SPEAKS — we needed this brothel scene in arcane..it was my treat.

wanna be tagged? welcome to j4y’s taglist!

‎ﻬ˚౨ৎ sevika rolled her neck around, hearing the cracks of her bones popping amongst the many people passing by while she stayed still. boot-covered feet splashed in the murky water puddles that took home in the uneven streets, you could hear the many food vendors cooking up whatever they were selling to the customers. sounds of the chewing of the food, slurping of the soups and liquids echoed through sevika’s ears.

the many sounds were tuned out of her head as her cape flowed in the cool air as the people passed her by, wondering why such a woman would be in this part of town. though it is what she knows. it’s her home, the place she grew up in. her darkened silver eyes hooded by her deeply furrowed eyebrows, she peered at the building that stood in front of her, across the busy street. it was something familiar to her, a place she’s seen ever so often if you’d ask her, but if you asked the people that walked the building’s floors—they’d tell you they’ve seen sevika so many times in a week.

she continued across the street, not paying attention to the many things happening around her, not even the people trying to sell her things.

sevika made her way to the building, watching it get larger in size the closer she stepped towards it. she cleared her throat and sniffed a bit before noticing the few women littering the corners of where she knew the people knew her very well. they began to puff y

on their cigarettes, blowing the toxic air into the already hazardous air supply that plagued the tough city. not only did the women watch her saunter in and notice her hips twisting with a purpose, they noticed the look on her face, one they’ve seen many times before.

“ugh, she’s so lucky.”

“nobody in zaun could get me to explain what i’d do to that woman.”

“ 𝜗𝜚 doesn’t deserve such a woman like that.”

the women scanned her body, getting worked up from just looking at her thighs and the visible muscle tone on her right arm, crossing their legs and continued to smoke down their cigarettes.

her ears perked up with the things the women were spewing about her, saying that they could do the things her heart desired. she could only chuckle as her large hands peeled back the large detailed door that opened up to the place she would kill to be in over and over again. the feathers and beads strung from the ceiling, the dark red curtains hanging from the curtains in the corners of the rooms she prance into, her eyes set on the desk in the waiting room. her hands balled and unballed, looking at her surroundings before perring down at the person standing behind the edge of the metal desk who was too busy staring down at a nudy magazine in his hands to notice sevika’s large frame.

half of her body covered by her darkened red cape, a peek of her toned stomach showing from the cropped shirt she sported. sevika cleared her throat, moving her flesh arm to retrieve a sack of money from her back pocket, plopping it down on the surface of the desk to grab the attention of the attendant. dark eyebrows furrowed even more when he moved his eyes only to see who was in front of him. he perked up really quickly, his eyes widening at sevika towering over his small physique.

“s-she said you don’t have to pay anymore.” he stuttered, pushing the sack of coins back towards sevika. her eyebrows finally softened since she’s walked into the place as she reached for the money, taking it in her soft hand again, grunting.

her boots clicked against the floor, the coins in the bag scraped up against each other while she twisted her arm to place it back in her pocket. still, her cape flowed in the air filling the building as sevika made her way to the room she’s seen a thousand times. one more look around at her surroundings, sevika slipped through the soft curtains that hung in front of the doorway, sniffing the burning incense that produced slow smoke. the deep umber smell covered her, sevika’s body relaxed a bit as the incense crammed her nose.

for the first time of the week, sevika’s eyebrows relaxed, finally unfurrowing until they straightened out on her forehead. her hand fell from the ball at her side, the mechanical sounds from her tech arm hiding underneath the cape ticked and the gears moved around.

sevika walked around the table covered in fruit, foods and other assortments that made her stomach rumble a bit. she quickly tore the cape from around her neck, flinging the piece of fabric onto the arm of the couch just before her ass hit the plush couch cushions. resting her arms over the top of the couch.

the mechanical fingers on her left arm tapped the material with impatience.

only a couple of minutes had passed since she walked into the building and sat down in the all too familiar room. peering around the decorated space, the things covering the walls and the touch of your presence was made known. sevika felt a little more at ease just seeing the things that you’ve touched littering the room you own in the building. she fell deeper into the couch cushions, adjusting her hips numerous times, her fleshy fingers digging further into the soft item.

her patience was very low when it came to you.

when she came, she expected you to be in the room already waiting for her. maybe even waiting on your knees, looking so pretty as always as soon as she walks through the curtains.

but, this has been the first time since she started seeing you that she was the first one in the room, and she needs you to be in here.

now.

when sevika first began to see you, it would be a week maybe even a couple of days before she saw you again. then, you did such a big number on her that sevika realized that she couldn’t go more than two days without coming to visit you. it started off as a week, then it went to three days, then fell into every night. if she was feeling a bit alone, she’d come to see you twice a day. but ever since silco had her under his hold, the visits became even more sparse, last week had been the longest it’s been since she’s seen your face.

sevika threw her head back against the couch, her fingers balling up the cushions and releasing it, over and over again. her eyes closed with anticipation, growing more and more impatient by the second. she mindlessly reached in front of her, grabbing one of the many fruits that sat on top of the table and pushing it past her dark lips. the flavors danced on her tongue, swirling over them inside of her cheeks, she moaned just a little bit. overly missing the flavors from a week ago.

“you look tired.”

you voice spilled into her ears, like chocolate spreading on a fresh strawberry. sevika lifted her head up, slowly opening her eyes to see you wrapped in a finely made robe, a small bit of fur lining the ends of each opening. finishing up the food that was in her mouth and quickly swallowing it. her chest heaved some, repositioning her hips in her seat.

sevika cleared her throat, mentally rolling her eyes at the fact that it should be obvious. “i am tired. why do you think i’m here?”

you pushed away from the closed curtains, making your way towards the couch with an irritated look on your face. sitting down on a cushion away from her, you grabbed a piece of fruit to pop in your mouth and leaned back to cross your leg over the other. you shook your head a bit, chewing the fruit and clutching at the opening of your robe. rolling your eyes and moving your leg side to side. sevika sighed, realizing that whatever goes on at work shouldn’t be taken out on you.

“i…i’m sorry. i’m just really, really tired.” she reached over to rub at the exposed skin on your thigh with her metal hand as you looked at her again. huffing and puffing you gave her a little smile knowing that she is really exhausted when she arrives to see you. so you have to let it go sometimes, if she doesn’t get too rude. she rubbed her mechanical pinky against your thigh, brushing away your robe a bit to touch more of your skin, though she couldn’t feel it.

sevika snaked her arms around your waist, pulling you into her lap and resting your thighs on either side of her hips. she couldn’t take her eyes off of the fact you had nothing covering your chest. no bra, no shirt, no nothing. the robe peeled open a bit, revealing the soft cleavage you wanted her to see.

her mouth watered at the sight of your boobs, nipples becoming hard under the silky material from the rushing wind coming from outside the room. she gulped down the lingering taste of the fruit that was in her mouth. both hands, mechanical and flesh, rubbed the skin on your thighs, digging her fingers into your own flesh. remembering how soft you were from a week ago that she saw you again.

a shudder ran down your spine from the mere two seconds you made eye contact with sevika, her silver eyes burning into yours, never once looking away until she saw fit.

you’ve looked into her eyes many times before, but every time you did, it still felt like the first time she walked into your room. just wanting to relax.

her stare made you wet in the little piece of clothing you had on, pooling through your painties and probably painting the pants she wore. sevika moved you higher up on her lap, her hands now resting on your ass just to move the robe some, watching as the silk opened up more to brush over your chest. sevika took her bottom lip in between her teeth, adjusting her hips underneath you, feeling like she could explode. she pushed on your back, pushing your chest closer to her mouth. her lips parted, ready to have your nipple resting in her mouth. you sucked in a sharp breath when you felt her tongue touch your nipple first, swirling it around the tip just to watch your face contort. her eyes couldn’t tear away from your face, watching your eyebrows knit together. sevika pulled away, with a sound off pop. you rubbed your hands over her clothed chest and up her neck to push her attention to your face. “did you miss me?”

you started grinding over her pants, heavily breathing at the feeling. she groaned at your little sounds, nodding her head at your question, but hating that you started to move backwards on her lap. as you could see the disappointment written all over her face and the little whine in her throat. “be patient, sev. you haven’t seen me in a week.”

sevika then sighed, her eyebrows rested when she felt your hands starting to work at the sturdy belt twisting through the loops in her pants. unbuckling the buckle and pulling the belt from the loops, you dropped it on the floor. you then reached for the button on her pants, not knowing she spotted the wet patch that you’ve made a little bit ago. “by the looks of it, you missed me too.”

you looked down at her and then down at the spot over her lap, a little embarrassed that she saw and hoping that she wouldn’t see the one you made on her thigh. brushing it off, you reached for the extravagant buttons on her cropped shirt she wore as sevika rubbed higher up your back. “how much did you miss me?”

there was a lump in your throat when she looked up at you, a mixture of neediness and want filled her eyes when she first got you on her lap. now, that look is filled with more want than ever. you hands still popping the buttons on her shirt and busting it open to see the wraps that usually bound her chest were not there tonight. a shudder ran down your spine, with her hands still caressing your skin, but her hands growing heavier and heavier by the second you didn’t give her an answer.

“a lot, sev.”

the right side of her mouth perked up into a smirk. a quick look down and sevika was drooling at your slightly exposed nipple, reaching up to swipe the robe off your shoulder. the sounds of her mechanical arm came into play as it moved in the comfortable silence while she looked you up and down. “so much that you can’t wait to taste me again?”

you whined when sevika whispered to you, the tip of her mechanical finger rubbing over your nipple. “yes, sev.”

throwing your head back, sevika took the opportunity to latch her lips onto the side of your neck, dropping spit over your skin and you threaded your fingers in the hanging hair on her head. she pulled back, bouncing against the couch to let you slip off of her lap and onto the floor on your knees. the zipper being pulled down on your way before you hooked your fingers in her waistband. sevika lifted her hips from the cushions to allow you to do the rest of the work of undressing her. the pants reached her knees just as she moved her upper body forwards to tease her dark lips over yours, finally after mere seconds she rested them against your lips harshly. quickly, going to slip her tongue past the opening of yours.

just as she was attacking you with her thick tongue, sevika was slipping her pants the rest of the way down her calves to the top of her boots. forcing the rest of her clothes off of her body, the thud of her hard shoes hitting the floor rung in your ears. her hands slithered around your jaw, both resting on the back of your head while her mouth bruised yours. sevika pulled herself away from you, she licked her lips to just remember the taste of you. she went back to resting her back against the couch again, spreading her thighs to allow you to see her glistening pussy. “go ahead, doll.”

you rested your arms over her thighs, mouth watering at the sight of a week of her being untouched and mindlessly licking your lips. your hands slid towards her inner thighs, close to where the heat emitted from her aching cunt. sevika moved herself closer to the edge of the couch when she saw the hunger fill your eyes. her hand rested on the back of your neck, bringing you closer as you flattened out your tongue to lick up from her clenching hole to her clit. a breathy sigh left from sevika’s lips, her mechanical fingertips dipping into the couch. you wrapped your lips around her clit, sucking softly to earn a buck from her hips against your face.

sevika huffed, gathering all of your hair in the palm of her hand, her fingers wrapping around like a ponytail holder. her hips began to rut at your mouth, her juices rubbing all over the bottom half of your face and rolling down your chin to reach your chest. she pulled your back just to see how much she covered you and to grow even more horny at the sight of her dripping over your bare boobs. your eyes pleaded with her to let you finish and she smirked again, realizing that you wanted it. “you like when i treat you like a slut, don’t you?”

she pushed your face against her pussy again, your tongue rubbing against her clit and hand creeping up to let your fingers make out how much she leaked from having you on your knees and face mushed in between her legs. your own cunt dripped with her words mixed with the euphoric taste of hers, you could help but to grind over the heel of your foot to relieve some of the pressure on your clit. sevika could feel you bouncing and moving under her, she looked down to see your eyes glued to her face and eyebrows screwed together. “you do. you like it when i treat you like this, you nasty girl.”

your face washed over with relief somehow, sevika getting a little more rougher with her ruts, her teeth gritting together and her breath picked up. it grew ragged, your fingers dipped in her hole, slipping in easily due to the slipperiness. sevika clenched on your middle and ring finger as it pumped slowly in and out with the feeling of your swollen lips wrapped around her clit. “ugh, fuck-you’re so good to me, doll.”

sevika’s breath shaky, her head rolling back to rest on the top of the couch. her mechanical arm grasping at the couch as her thighs were threatening to shut around your head. the openings of her shirt flailed around, her tits bounced a little bit.

she couldn’t do it anymore, she needed to taste you.

sevika popped your head off of her, pulling you away from her to glance at the news she’s made of you. she stood up from the couch, pulling you up with her to stand you up from your knees. before you knew it, her hands were all over you again, her lips covering yours and tasting herself off of your lips and chin. she reached up to slip the rest of the robe off of your shoulders. now slipping her thick fingers under the band of your panties, pushing them down your thighs with her mouth still attached to you. sevika turned the two of you around, you towards the couch before she pushed you over it, watching your body bounce before she dipped her knee into the cushion.

“a week. i’ve been waiting a week to taste you again,” her arms set on either side of your head, you reaching up to grab at the flaps of her open shirt. sevika began to push herself further down your body, placing open mouth kisses over your soft skin and witnessing your thighs pressing together. she then reached the place you needed her mouth most. “i don’t think i’ll stop.”

she rested on her knees, pulling your legs up from the couch and resting on her shoulders while she laid her body flat over the rest of the couch. sevika pulled your body closer to her mouth, hungry at what was to come. then proceeded to push your legs up off of her shoulders, sliding her hands underneath your bended knees, pinching the little bit of skin to distract you from the feeling of her warm tongue rolling over your drenched cunt. a deep, guttural groan emitted from her lips from the small but long lick, the vibration going right through you. you latched onto her arms, hoping to hang on for the ride as her face got deeper, drowning in your leaking juices.

the mechanical sounds of her gripping fingers and the sloshing of her tongue swiping over your wet folds filled the room, hitting and bouncing off every wall of it. sevika’s grip wrapped tighter, her hold pinched your hot skin while her moved side to side. both of her hands released from their tight grip, the slight red marks left as a result as sevika repositioned to different spots on your body. the warming touch of her copper hand wrapped around your boob, twisting your nipple around and squeezing hard enough to where it was enjoyable for you. her lips still brushing your clit when you felt the thick stretch of her two fingers pressing through your hole, already knowing you were on edge. “oh, baby, you taste s’good. clenching my fingers like the slut you are.”

the walls couldn’t stop the throaty moan you let out, already knowing the people outside could hear what was happening in the room. you held onto the metal reaching over your torso and fondling your tit as her fingers sped up, making you bounce as she pressed against your spongy walls. “sev-!”

“what, baby?” her silver eyes peered up at you, her pussy leaking over the couch cushions just at the look of your face mixing with the taste of your own.

her eyes bored into you, her fingers pumped harder and her lips sucked harder. sevika looked down for a bit to witness the white ring forming at the base of her two fingers. “fuck.”

a muffled word came out of her mouth, so infatuated with your sounds, your taste — you. the grip, once again, grew tighter around your bruised tit, her arm holding you down in your place. you hands weaved through her black and short hair, messing it up and reaching the small ponytail on the back of her head, pulling on the rubber band. releasing her pulled back hair into her face.

“please, sev!” sevika pulled from your clit, looking at you through the strands of hair as her fingers continued to pump and slosh your wetness around.

“what? you wanna cum?” she smashed her lips against your inner thigh, sucking and biting in random spots on your skin. “you can take it.”

“i can’t!” you tried squirming, tried to pull your body away from sevika’s mouth and fast fingering. your toes curling in the air and your eyes screwed shut, your hands everywhere.

“yes you can.” her tongue licking the bitten spots on your thigh, smirking at your whining.

you could feel her fingers at the bottom of your stomach, tempting your body to cum all over her fingers. just as you could feel the build up, sevika slipped her fingers out of you, her metal hand still wrapped around your red tit. your eyes popped open, whipping your head down to see what she was doing. sevika slithered her tongue around her own fingers, heavy breathing at the sweet taste of your wanna be cum covering her fingers and making sure each finger was sucked clean. you just watched her get up on her knees again, pushing her hair back from her eyes and shaking the open shirt from her shoulders, letting it drop over the edge of the couch. you saw where the metal met her flesh, her dark nipples hardening under the air, her very toned abdomen tight with muscle and glistening sweat.

the sight filled your mouth with drool, sevika fully naked in front of you — it was a rare sight and you didn’t want it to end.

sevika crawled over your body, dropping down some to ghost her weight over yours, her nipples traced your own, a little whine spilling past your lips. sevika dropped kisses over your face, over your cheeks, over your chin before reaching your swollen lips. her hand slipped under the back of your neck to deepen the kiss she slipped you into, smacking and exchanging groans between the two of you. saliva covered your lips, even some in your chin from how messily sevika kissed you, covering your tongue with the remnants of you on her tongue and lips. you rested your legs over her hips, rubbing one of your hands over her back, drowning in the mesmerizing sensation of her mouth in yours.

feelings sevika spread her legs a bit, she dug her knees into the cushions below, feeling you gasp with her mouth still on yours when she rested her puffy clit against yours. shuddering as she laid her body weight on you, now her hand tangled in your hair and the metal entangled with your free hand.

sevika pulled away, looking your face over as she tutted her hips, grinding your clit together and watching your face. your eyebrows slanted, a look of tenderness filled her eyes as she looked at you but disappeared as soon she rutted again. another rutt and a grip on your hair tightened around her fingers, her hips found a steady speed, grinding in between yours. “shit.”

the dripping wetness flowed down sevika’s cunt, over your folds just indicating how wet she actually was. sevika rested her face in the crook of your neck, opening her mouth to nip her teeth at the skin. your back arched into her, opening your legs more to feel even more of sevika humping away. unbeknownst to you, sevika’s face contorted and twisted up at the pleasure of feeling your clit against hers.

“fuck, sev.” your voice above a whisper, your nails digging into her skin and scratching down towards her bare ass. you could feel the simultaneous bucking of both of yours hips smashing together as sevika grew tired of the slower movements.

her mechanical arm worked overtime, the fingers wrapping tighter around your own just so she could stay grounded of course. in your ear, sevika’s grunts turned into deep moans, almost overshadowing the ones you belted out. you opened your eyes multiple times, but all you could see was stats and little white dots in your vision made you dizzy. you tried desperately to claw at any and everything on sevika’s body that you could reach.

“sev, harder!”

she smirked in neck, grounding her knees into the couch once more and hardened up her grip on both the back of your neck and your hand. your legs rested and dangled on her hips, toes curling at the long awaited sensation. more of sevika dripped down your pussy, mixing with the wetness of yours. “harder, you say?”

“yes please.” it was almost like she took your breath away, you couldn’t talk too loudly but those moans you provided said otherwise.

your eyes popped open when sevika’s grind slipped your clits together even harder, letting you feel the tight ball that formed in your stomach. then, your toes uncurled, needing to feel the couch underneath them, you set one of your legs down. still bent at the knee, your leg cramped just to keep up with hoe sevika was fucking you into the cushions. “ah-shit, i’m gonna cum.”

the hand that held onto sevika perked up, rushing your fingers through her loose hair and to bring her face closer to yours so you could witness the expressions she made. the black hair on her head fell into her face, still able to see your beautiful face through the threads. she dropped her head down, craning her neck to press her lips over yours again, both of you mumbling and moaning incoherents into each other’s mouths.

“cum with me, baby.” you nodded against her, mouth open wide to let the whines slip out.

sevika’s hips wouldn’t stop at nothing to say the least. she wanted to make sure you were right there with her. you couldn’t handle it anymore when she continued to slip her wetness around with you. your hips bucked up, contributing to the pleasure for both of you. your stomach grew tighter with your release and you didn’t want to hold it anymore. “sevika. . .”

“go ahead, i’m right b-behind you.” her eyes, again, bored into yours with so much lust it was crazy. you knotted your eyebrows together just as she did the same thing as she knew you were both about to cum.

there was a flash of white with the last buck of sevika’s hips, going straight to your head. her guttural moan filled the room, intertwining with yours while you released a high pitched pleasure-filled scream. her hips slowed in movement, while yours continued to buck at the sensitivity of your puffy, swollen fucked-out clit. sevika dipped her head back down, covering your lips and face in more hot kisses before dropping her complete weight over you.

your hands threaded through her hair, brushing it out of her face as her eyes fluttered shut, her head rubbing against your chest.

you shared the intense silence. the room is stuffy and sweaty, and sevika nustling away at the warmth of you.

“you don’t want me to pay you anymore?”

your lips tightened, knowing she was going to bring this up, you shook your head side to side while your eyes almost dared to close. “why not?”

shoulders shrugging, “i don’t think you need to.”

sevika’s eyes opened for a moment, looking over the parts of your body that she could see without moving her head. blinking a couple of times, she pursued her lips out, kissing the tender skin on your boob before sneaking her right arm under you to keep you pressed to hers. “okay.”

#♱ 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐨’𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 ౨ৎ 𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒊.#sevika arcane #sevika smut #black y/n #sevika x fem!reader #sevika x blk!reader #lesbian #wlw smut #౨ৎ˚★ 𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 #⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 𝓂𝓎 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓀𝓈

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e1dritchjackal0pe · 16 days ago

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𝔚𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔗𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔥

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You try to do the same.

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

"Nice choice."

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

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

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

You don't believe him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And has it ever actually worked for you?"

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

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

"Damn, shot down already."

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

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

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

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

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

Odd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry about your luck."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh, yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nah. I steal shit all the time."

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you waiting for?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, my god - Paul."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Paul - I - "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's like a nightly thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I think I might keep you."

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