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rafesapologist · 13 days

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the setback ─ rafe cameron; part eight

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of infedelity

As you woke up, an unbearable throbbing ache in your head greeted you, causing you to groan in discomfort. You instinctively shoved your face into the pillow, seeking refuge from the harsh sunlight that only seemed to intensify the pain. Your body felt miserably sore, as though you had been hit by a truck during the night.

Slowly, you forced yourself to sit up, grimacing at the sharp pain that shot through your temples. Blinking away the haze of sleep, you glanced around the room, trying to take in your surroundings. As you noticed a glass of water on the bedside table, a wave of gratitude washed over you. With a sigh of relief, you reached out and grabbed the glass, feeling an overwhelming sense of thirst as if you hadn't had water in months.

Without hesitation, you chugged the water greedily, each sip feeling like a lifeline after a painfully long drought. The cool liquid soothed the dryness in your throat and helped to alleviate the pounding in your head, if only slightly.

With each gulp, you felt a renewed sense of energy coursing through your body, pushing back against the fatigue and discomfort that had plagued you moments before. And as you emptied the glass, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the simple yet profound relief that water had provided.

As you placed the cup back down quietly, you glanced around the room, your eyes widening as you spotted Rafe on the side of the room, nestled on the futon. His arms were crossed, and his head rested on a single decorative pillow.

A pang of sympathy washed over you as you observed him. You couldn't help but imagine how uncomfortable he must have been, sleeping on that futon with its sparse cushions, especially given his tall stature. It was clear that he had sacrificed his own comfort to ensure that you had a proper place to sleep.

As you nestled back against the headboard, your eyes wandered around the sunlit room, illuminated by the soft morning light filtering in through the window. Memories of your past flashed before you, each one accompanied by a bittersweet ache in your heart.

You couldn't help but think back to the times you had spent in this room with Rafe, the nights that stretched into the early hours of the morning as you sought refuge in each other's company. The countless movie marathons, the whispered conversations, the shared laughter – it all came flooding back to you, filling the room with a sense of nostalgia and longing.

As you gazed out the balcony window, lost in the silence of your thoughts, guilt and nostalgia gnawed at your subconscious. The memories of the past weighed heavily on your mind, leaving you feeling conflicted and uncertain about the path ahead.

Lost in your contemplation, you were taken by surprise when you noticed Rafe beginning to stir on the futon. His movements were slow and deliberate, as though he was gradually awakening from a deep slumber. You watched quietly as he groaned softly, his eyes fluttering open with a sense of drowsy reluctance.

For a moment, you remained still, observing him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. It had been a while since you had seen him like this, vulnerable and unguarded in the early hours of the morning.

As he blinked away the remnants of sleep, his gaze met yours, and a flicker of recognition crossed his features. You offered him a small, tentative smile, unsure of how he would react to seeing you awake.

"Morning," you greeted softly, breaking the silence that hung between you.

"Morning," Rafe greeted with a groan as he rubbed his eyes awake, his morning voice fully prominent. The sound made butterflies erupt in your stomach, a familiar sensation that brought a sense of warmth to your cheeks.

"How do you feel?" he asked, peering over at you with a hint of concern in his eyes, which squinted as they struggled to fully open.

You offered him a small smile, trying to push aside the lingering discomfort from the throbbing ache in your head. "Not the best, but I'll survive," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant despite the lingering effects of last night's revelry.

Rafe nodded in understanding, his expression softening with sympathy. "Yeah, I know the feeling," he admitted with a small chuckle, the sound melodic and soothing to your ears. As you watched him, a sense of familiarity washed over you, reminding you of the countless mornings you had spent together in the past. Despite the time that had passed, there was still a comfort in his presence that you couldn't deny.

"Thank you for the water, by the way. My head is killing me," you said, offering Rafe a small smile of gratitude.

Rafe nodded sympathetically, understanding the discomfort all too well. "Of course, I figured you might need it," he replied, his voice gentle and reassuring.

As you sat in silence, you found yourself gazing at Rafe in his vulnerable state of half-awakeness. His tousled bedhead somehow looked effortlessly stylish, adding to his rugged charm. You admired the contour of his chiseled face, the subtle lines that spoke of a life lived with intensity and purpose. And despite the disheveled appearance, there was a certain allure to him, a magnetism that drew you in and made it hard to look away.

You couldn't help but notice the contrast between his appearance now and the memories of him from years past. Time had changed him, sculpting him into a man with a quiet strength and undeniable charisma. And as you studied him, a sense of nostalgia washed over you, reminding you of the bond that had once existed between you.

With a soft sigh, you tore your gaze away, feeling a flutter of emotions stir within you. Despite the uncertainties of the future, one thing was certain – the history between you and Rafe was still as potent as ever, a reminder of the deep bond that had once bound you together.

"I can take you back to your place if you want, or I can have Sarah come get you. Whichever you feel more comfortable with," Rafe offered, his voice gentle and considerate.

"Shit, Sarah," you panicked, remembering that you left without notice last night, wondering if she knew the circumstances. "Did you talk to her?"

Rafe shook his head, his expression apologetic. "No, I haven't had a chance yet. But I can text her and let her know you're okay," he offered.

Your heart raced as you anticipated Sarah's response, wondering if she would be more upset about you leaving abruptly or the fact that you were with Rafe. You watched as Rafe typed out his message to his younger sister, your mind racing as you dreaded the worst to come.

After what felt like an eternity, Rafe finally hit send, and you held your breath as you waited for Sarah's reply. The seconds ticked by slowly, each one filled with a mounting sense of anxiety as you braced yourself for her reaction.

Finally, a notification pinged on Rafe's phone, and you both looked at the screen anxiously. As Rafe read the message, you held your breath, waiting for him to share the news.

"She said she's coming to get you," Rafe read out the text, the response simple and short.

The brevity of Sarah's message sent a pang of worry through you, and you couldn't help but feel a knot form in your stomach. Was she upset? Did she suspect something?

Rafe noticed your unease and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Hey, don't worry. She just wants to make sure you're okay," he reassured you, his voice gentle and reassuring.

You nodded, trying to push aside your fears and trust that Sarah's intentions were genuine. "Yeah, you're right," you replied, forcing a smile.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay," Rafe restated, his voice calm and reassuring as he held out his arm towards you. He placed his hand on your thigh, offering a comforting squeeze.

You felt a sense of warmth flood through you at his touch, and you couldn't help but lean into it, finding solace in his presence. "Thanks, Rafe," you murmured, grateful for his reassurance.

Rafe gave you a reassuring smile, his eyes meeting yours with unwavering support. "Sarah isn't gonna do anything. Trust me," he added, his voice filled with conviction.

With a nod, you took a deep breath, allowing yourself to trust in Rafe's words. Despite the lingering unease in your stomach, you knew that Sarah was truly the more understanding one of the Pogues, aside from Kiara. She never really held grudges and you found that you could confide in her about practically anything, even your darkest secrets. So you figured, this shouldn't be any different, right?

Your stomach churned in a nauseating way, the discomfort making you feel hot and clammy. Each passing minute felt like an eternity as you waited in Rafe's room for Sarah to arrive. Despite Rafe's reassurances, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at you from the inside out.

You had to admit, you were definitely assuming the worst-case scenario, bracing yourself for a potential confrontation with Sarah. It was a symptom of your own anxiety, the fear of what might happen feeding into your racing thoughts and escalating worries.

With each passing moment, the tension in the room seemed to grow thicker, suffocating you in its grip. You tried to distract yourself, focusing on anything other than the impending conversation with Sarah. But no matter how hard you tried, the anxiety lingered, a constant weight pressing down on your chest.

As you sat in silence, lost in your own thoughts, you couldn't help but wish for the minutes to pass by faster, dreading the inevitable confrontation that lay ahead. All you could do was brace yourself for whatever might come, hoping that you would find the strength to face it head-on when the time came.

As the minutes dragged on, each one feeling heavier than the last, you found yourself grappling with a mix of emotions – fear, anticipation, and a lingering sense of regret. The air in the room felt charged with tension, making it hard to focus on anything other than the impending conversation with Sarah.

Rafe's presence beside you offered a small measure of comfort, his reassuring touch a reminder that you weren't facing this alone. You drew strength from his silent support, grateful for his unwavering presence in this moment of uncertainty.

Finally, the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway broke the suffocating silence, signaling Sarah's arrival. Your heart leaped into your throat, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you braced yourself for what was to come.

The door creaked open, and Sarah stepped into the room, her expression a mix of concern and relief as she laid eyes on you. "Hey, there you are," she greeted softly, her voice carrying a hint of worry.

You offered her a weak smile, trying to mask the nerves that churned in your stomach. "Hey, Sarah," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe shifted beside you, his presence a silent reassurance as Sarah's gaze flickered between the two of you, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What's going on? Are you okay?" she asked, her concern deepening as she took in the scene before her.

You hesitated, unsure of how to begin explaining the events of last night and the complicated emotions that accompanied them. But before you could find the words, Rafe spoke up, his voice steady and calm.

"We had a rough night. But everything's okay now," he reassured Sarah, his tone firm yet gentle.

Sarah's eyes widened in understanding, her expression softening with relief.

"How did you end up leaving with him, y/n?" Sarah's voice was gentle but insistent, her concern palpable.

You swallowed hard, grappling with how to explain the tangled mess of emotions that had led you to make such a decision. "I... It's complicated," you began, struggling to find the right words.

Sarah's expression softened, a mix of understanding and curiosity in her eyes. "Complicated how?" she pressed, her tone encouraging you to open up.

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal, but knowing you couldn't avoid the question entirely. "I just needed some time to clear my head," you admitted, hoping it would suffice as an explanation.

Sarah studied you for a moment, her gaze searching your face for any hint of the truth. "And you thought leaving with Rafe was the best way to do that?" she asked, her skepticism evident.

Guilt gnawed at you as you struggled to find the right response. "I know it probably wasn't the best choice," you confessed, regret weighing heavily in your voice. "But in the moment, it felt like the right thing to do."

Sarah's voice faltered, her brows knitting together in confusion. "Y/n... I don't know what to say. I mean, JJ could've come and got you. I don't understand-"

Before Sarah could finish her sentence, Rafe interjected, his voice calm but firm. "Well, I was already at the party, and she wasn't feeling well, so I brought her back here."

Sarah's sudden shift in demeanor caught you off guard, her irritation palpable as she directed her gaze towards Rafe. "Yeah, well, thanks Rafe, but I've got it from here," she said curtly, her tone laced with annoyance.

Rafe's expression remained unreadable, but you could sense a hint of tension in the air as he nodded in acknowledgment. "Sure thing, Sarah," he replied, his voice neutral.

You felt a pang of guilt at the abruptness of your departure, wishing there was a way to convey your gratitude to Rafe for his hospitality. With a quick glance in his direction, you offered him a silent apology, hoping he would understand.

As Sarah motioned for you to leave with her, you stood up quickly, eager to follow her lead. With one last look at Rafe, a silent farewell hanging in the air, you turned and followed Sarah out of the room, leaving behind the lingering tension and uncertainty.

You hurried down the steps of Rafe's house, your footsteps echoing in sync with Sarah's brisk pace. The urgency in her movements matched the intensity of her frustration, and you could feel the tension radiating off her in waves.

The front door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud, the sound punctuating the gravity of the situation. You both reached John B's van simultaneously, and Sarah wasted no time in sliding into the driver's seat, her jaw set with determination.

You followed suit, settling into the passenger seat as Sarah's hands tightened around the steering wheel. Her knuckles turned white with the force of her grip, her gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead as she navigated the streets with practiced ease.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Sarah's voice was sharp, her tone cutting through the silence with unyielding force.

You winced at the intensity of her words, knowing you deserved every bit of her anger. "I don't know, Sarah. It was stupid," you admitted, your voice tinged with regret.

Sarah's grip on the steering wheel tightened even further, her frustration palpable as she glanced over at you. "Stupid doesn't even begin to cover it, y/n. You could've gotten hurt. I mean, what business do you even have with Rafe?" She scolded, her concern underlying her anger.

You nodded, unable to refute her words. "I know, Sarah. I'm sorry," you apologized, feeling the weight of your actions pressing down on you like a heavy burden.

Sarah sighed heavily, her anger beginning to soften as she turned her gaze back to the road. "I just... I worry about you, y/n. You mean a lot to me, and I don't want to see you get hurt," she confessed, her voice softening with genuine concern.

Guilt gnawed at you, knowing you had caused Sarah unnecessary worry and stress. "I know, Sarah. And I'm sorry for making you worry," you said, your voice filled with sincerity.

Sarah glanced over at you, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Just promise me you won't do something like that again, okay? I don't think my heart can take it," she said, her tone softening with affection.

You nodded, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over you for Sarah's unwavering support. "I promise, Sarah. I won't do anything reckless like that again," you vowed, knowing you couldn't bear to see her worried or upset because of your actions.

"So, on a serious note, did something happen with you and Rafe? Because... there's no way you just miraculously ended up back at his house. I mean, the other day you practically loathed him," Sarah's voice was filled with a mixture of concern and curiosity, her words cutting through the tension in the air.

Your heart skipped a beat at Sarah's direct question, your mind racing to find a plausible explanation for your sudden appearance at Rafe's house. The truth was far more complicated than you could ever convey, and you found yourself grappling with the guilt of keeping her in the dark about your tangled history with Rafe.

"I just... ran into him, I guess," you began, your voice hesitant as you struggled to find the right words. "We talked for a minute, and he gave me a ride back because I wasn't feeling well."

Your explanation felt flimsy even to your own ears, and you couldn't help but feel the weight of Sarah's scrutiny bearing down on you. The truth was far more complicated than you could ever convey, and you found yourself grappling with the guilt of keeping her in the dark about your tangled history with Rafe.

Sarah's brow furrowed in disbelief, her expression a mix of skepticism and concern. "So, what, you just happened to bump into him and suddenly everything's fine?" she pressed, her tone incredulous.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the weight of Sarah's questioning gaze bearing down on you. "It's not like that, Sarah. We just... talked," you insisted, your voice tinged with defensiveness.

Sarah's laughter caught you off guard, her tone unexpectedly light despite the weight of her previous questions. "Look, as much as I love JJ, you were my friend first. So if you think I'm gonna tell him anything, you're wrong," Sarah chuckled softly, shaking her head in amusement. "And I know when you're lying. So tell me," she urged, her tone gentle yet insistent.

You hesitated for a moment, a knot forming in your stomach as you kept your gaze down, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. You could feel Sarah's eyes on you, waiting patiently for your response as you mustered up the courage to tell her the truth.

"We... kissed," you finally confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush as you braced yourself for Sarah's reaction.

There was a beat of silence, and you could feel Sarah's surprise palpable in the air. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper, filled with disbelief. "You and Rafe... kissed?" she echoed, her tone a mixture of shock and uncertainty.

You nodded slowly, finally meeting Sarah's gaze as you searched her expression for any sign of judgment or reproach. Instead, you found only a flicker of understanding in her eyes, tempered by a hint of concern.

"Yeah," you confirmed softly, the weight of your confession hanging heavy in the air between you.

Sarah took a moment to process your words, her brow furrowing in thought as she searched for the right response. "I... I see," she murmured finally, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

"I know that sounds terrible, but it was just a heat-of-the-moment thing, and when I ran into him, all these emotions came back, and I just..." you trailed off, struggling to find the right words to explain the whirlwind of emotions that had led to the kiss.

"Y/n, it's okay," Sarah interrupted gently, cutting through your self-reproach. "I mean, I don't love the idea of you and Rafe considering he's insane, but I also know you can't control what your heart wants."

Her words offered a balm to your guilt-stricken conscience, and you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you for her understanding. "Thank you, Sarah," you murmured, feeling the weight of your confession beginning to lift.

Sarah gave your shoulder another reassuring squeeze, her expression soft with empathy. "Hey, we all make mistakes. What matters is how we handle them," she said, her voice filled with wisdom beyond her years.

You returned Sarah's small smile, a flicker of gratitude passing between you before you averted your gaze to the passenger window. The scenery outside blurred as the van navigated the winding roads of the Outer Banks, the rhythmic hum of the engine lulling you into a sense of calm.

Lost in your thoughts, you found yourself watching the world pass by in a blur of greenery and coastal vistas. The wind whipped through your hair, carrying with it the salty scent of the ocean and the promise of adventure.

Despite the weight of the conversation with Sarah, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace settle over you as you rode back to the chateau. There was something comforting about the familiarity of the landscape, the way the sunlight danced across the waves and the seagulls soared overhead.

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"Just be chill when you go in," Sarah advised sincerely as she shut the van engine off, "you know JJ can read you like a book."

"Yeah," you let out a half-hearted laugh through your nose, nodding in agreement at Sarah's point, "he's good at that. It's a blessing and a curse I guess." You sighed, bracing yourself for your entrance into the chateau while you unbuckled your seatbelt wearily, trying to stall as much as possible.

You knew that you could easily conceal yourself from JJ's inquisitions, but you couldn't escape your own guilt from what happened the night before. Despite your attempts to rationalize it, part of you couldn't shake the whirlwind of emotions that had flooded back when you ran into Rafe at the party.

As you approached the chateau, you couldn't shake the feeling of apprehension that gnawed at your insides. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of your guilt pressing down on you like a burden you couldn't shake.

Sarah walked beside you, her presence a source of comfort in the face of uncertainty. She offered you a reassuring smile, a silent reminder that you weren't alone in this.

"Just remember to breathe," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur as you reached the front door of the chateau. "You've got this."

You nodded, drawing in a deep breath to steady your nerves before pushing open the door and stepping inside. The familiar sights and sounds of the chateau greeted you, but there was an underlying tension in the air that you couldn't ignore.

JJ was lounging on the couch, his gaze flicking up as you entered the room. There was a knowing look in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken turmoil that lingered between you.

"Hey," he greeted casually, his tone betraying none of the curiosity that you knew lay beneath the surface.

"Hey," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the butterflies that churned in your stomach.

Sarah gave you a supportive pat on the back before slipping away, leaving you to face JJ alone. You watched her go with a sense of gratitude, knowing that you would need her support now more than ever.

Turning back to JJ, you braced yourself for the inevitable questions that would follow. But as you met his gaze, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could navigate this minefield of emotions without causing too much damage.

JJ's casual demeanor belied the intensity of his curiosity as he lounged on the couch, his gaze fixed on you expectantly. "So, where did you end up crashing after the party?" he asked, his tone casual yet tinged with a hint of curiosity.

You felt a twinge of panic shoot through you at JJ's question, scrambling to come up with a believable lie to cover your tracks. "Oh, uh, I just crashed at a friend's place nearby," you replied, hoping your voice sounded convincing enough.

JJ raised an eyebrow, clearly not entirely convinced by your answer. "Which friend?" he pressed, his gaze searching yours for any sign of deception.

You racked your brain for a name, any name, that might sound plausible in this situation. "Um, Sarah's friend," you improvised, hoping JJ wouldn't see through your hastily concocted lie.

JJ nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied with your response. "Alright, cool," he said, his tone casual as he leaned back against the couch. "Just making sure you didn't end up sleeping on the beach or something."

You let out a nervous laugh, relieved that JJ seemed to buy your explanation. "Nope, nothing like that," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant despite the guilt that still gnawed at you from the events of the previous night.

After a moment of silence, JJ turned to you, his expression serious yet tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "Hey, y/n, can we talk for a moment?" he asked, his voice soft yet filled with a sense of urgency.

You nodded, a knot forming in your stomach as you braced yourself for whatever JJ had to say. "Of course, JJ. What's on your mind?" you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the unease that churned within you.

JJ hesitated for a moment, as if struggling to find the right words. "I know this might sound silly, but... I couldn't help but notice that you've seemed a bit off lately," he admitted, his gaze searching yours for any sign of understanding.

Your heart skipped a beat at JJ's words, a surge of panic rising within you as you wondered what he had noticed. "What do you mean?" you asked, trying to keep your tone casual despite the fear that coiled in the pit of your stomach.

JJ sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't know, it's just... you've been distant, and I worry about you," he confessed, his voice trailing off as he struggled to articulate his thoughts.

You swallowed hard, trying to push down the rising tide of guilt that threatened to consume you. "I'm sorry, JJ. I didn't mean to worry you," you replied, your voice tinged with regret.

After a moment of silence, JJ's voice cut through the air, his tone gentle yet filled with concern. "Y/n, I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me. Is this about Rafe?"

You tensed up at JJ's question, your heart pounding in your chest as you stared at him in shock. How could he have possibly known? Your mind raced as you struggled to come up with a response, your thoughts spiraling out of control.

"Uh... I..." you stammered, your voice faltering as you searched for the right words to say.

JJ's expression softened, his gaze steady as he waited patiently for your answer. "Y/n, you can tell me," he said gently, his voice filled with empathy. "I just want to help."

You felt a surge of emotions welling up inside you – guilt, fear, uncertainty. How could you possibly explain the tangled mess of feelings that had been swirling around inside you ever since that day Rafe had shown up at the chateau looking for Sarah?

You shrugged off JJ's concern, trying to downplay the significance of his question. "Nah, JJ, you're overthinking it," you replied, forcing a casual tone despite the turmoil brewing inside you. "It's nothing, really."

JJ studied you for a moment, his gaze searching yours for any sign of deception. "Are you sure?" he asked, his tone cautious yet persistent.

You nodded quickly, plastering on a reassuring smile. "Yeah, JJ, I'm sure," you insisted, hoping he would drop the subject.

"I just... worry you have feelings for him still. I can't just forget the history you two had." He stared over at you, although you avoided his gaze intently.

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach at JJ's words, his concern striking a nerve deep within you. "JJ, come on," you replied, your voice tinged with frustration. "That's ancient history. I'm over him, I promise."

But even as the words left your mouth, you couldn't shake the lingering doubts that gnawed at you from the inside out. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself otherwise, there was still a part of you that couldn't let go of the past – of the memories, the feelings, the connection that had once bound you to Rafe.

You could sense the persistence in JJ's tone, his concern unwavering despite your attempts to brush it off. "Y/n, I just want you to know that you can tell me anything," he said earnestly, his eyes searching yours with genuine care. "I'm here for you, no matter what."

But the weight of JJ's words only served to intensify the turmoil brewing inside you, a tempest of guilt, fear, and uncertainty that threatened to consume you whole. "Damn it, JJ!" you snapped, unable to contain the frustration that boiled over within you. "I said I'm fine, okay? I don't need you interrogating me like this."

JJ recoiled slightly at your outburst, his expression a mixture of surprise and hurt. "Y/n, I'm not trying to interrogate you," he protested, his voice tinged with hurt. "I'm just worried about you."

You felt a pang of guilt shoot through you at the sight of JJ's wounded expression, knowing that you had lashed out at him unfairly. Taking a deep breath, you tried to reign in your emotions, but the turmoil still churned inside you like a stormy sea.

"JJ, you don't need to worry," you said firmly, trying to regain control of the conversation. "I appreciate your concern, I really do, but I can't function with you harping on about a relationship that doesn't exist anymore," you affirmed although you knew you were lying through your teeth.

Your words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them pressing down on both of you like a lead blanket. You could see the hurt in JJ's eyes, a flicker of pain that mirrored your own inner turmoil.

"I didn't mean to upset you, y/n," JJ replied, his voice soft with remorse. "I just... I care about you, and I don't want to lose you."

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly as you softened towards JJ's genuine concern. "I know, JJ, and I appreciate that," you said, your voice tinged with sincerity. "But you have to trust me when I say that I'm okay. I've moved on from whatever was between me and Rafe."

JJ nodded slowly, seeming to accept your words even as doubt lingered in his eyes. "Okay, y/n," he said quietly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I trust you."

As you glanced over at JJ once more, a pang of guilt washed over you like a tidal wave. You knew deep down that you weren't being completely honest with him. The truth gnawed at you, clawing at the corners of your mind, begging to be set free. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it – couldn't bring yourself to admit the tangled mess of emotions that still lingered between you and Rafe.

The guilt weighed heavily on your shoulders, a heavy burden that threatened to suffocate you with every passing moment. You knew that JJ shouldn't trust you around Rafe – not after everything that had happened, not after the way your heart still ached at the mere thought of him. But you couldn't bear to hurt JJ – couldn't bear to see the hurt and betrayal reflected in his eyes.

He was more than just a friend to you – he was your confidant, your partner in crime, the one person you could always count on to be there for you, no matter what. And the thought of losing that – of losing him – was too much to bear.

So you pushed aside your guilt, burying it deep beneath the surface where no one could see. You plastered on a smile, hoping to mask the turmoil that churned inside you like a stormy sea. And as you sat beside JJ, surrounded by the warmth of his friendship and the comfort of the chateau, you couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness wash over you – a sadness born of the secrets you were forced to keep and the lies you had to tell to protect the ones you loved.

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wardenparker · 6 months

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Red Lipstick

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 8.8k Warnings: Ghost!reader, drug use (cocaine), mentions of murder, mentions of past adultery, dirty talk, hair pulling, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, fingernails/scratching, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sex while high. Summary: When Dieter moves into a new house, the last thing he expected was to end up with a sultry new roommate. Especially one that died almost a hundred years ago. Notes: Blessed Samhain and Happy Halloween everybody! Let's celebrate by having Dieter get both high and nasty.

"I think you're going to be really pleased with how things are set up, Dee." As his personal assistant, Kendra has spent the last month getting her best and only client packed up, moved into his new house, and unpacked again while Dieter Bravo has been overseas filming. He had decided that the mansion he had been living in, in Malibu, just wasn't doing it for him anymore and she had been dispatched to fix the problem.

This art deco colossus in the Hollywood Hills was her answer — supposedly having belonged to some long forgotten starlet back in the silent era. Poor thing was poisoned by her husband's mistress, if the rumors were true. But Dieter didn't need to know that. Instead, Kendra sweeps him inside the door with an encouraging smile on her face and tries to get him to look around. "If you want anything moved around, you just say the word," she promises him.

“It’ll be fine.” For all his bullshit, Dieter isn’t actually as fussy as a lot of people might believe. He just wants a comfortable, vibey place to relax, do drugs and fuck. He looks around and nods, impressed with how quickly they’ve set everything up. “Kinda creepy. I like it.”

"I found some of the original furnishings in the attic and had them cleaned up. Reupholstered as necessary. I thought you'd like them." Extremely pleased with herself, Kendra looks around the large front hall and smiles. "There is food in the fridge with reheat instructions and plenty of things in the pantry if you want to eat without fuss. Your chef will be coming by every other day like usual. Would you like a tour?"

“Sure.” Maybe it’s a little odd that he’s needing a tour for a home he now owns, but he couldn’t be bothered to actually look at the listings that Kendra had sent him. She knew what he liked and what he didn’t, and he had trusted her to pick the best one for him.

The first floor has all the usual rooms, and considering the place was built in 1920 it has some unusual ones, too. A library and a dining room make perfect sense. The sitting room has been transformed into a relatively normal living room. The conservatory with all the plants Kendra could reasonably cram into it has a big table for playing games at and a bunch of places to sit for when he has people over to work but they want something nice to look at. The former ballroom? She left it sparsely decorated so he can decide what he wants to do with it later. Upstairs, the five bedrooms all have walk-in closets and their own bathrooms, and the largest one has been turned into his new bedroom. The giant brass bed in the attic was way nicer than his so she topped it with his mattress and covered the whole thing in his favorite sheets, blankets, and pillows. His other furniture is all set up, and his assistant has set up all the other guest rooms to be ready to go. “What do you think?” Kendra asks, leading him into the room with dark green wallpaper and mahogany wainscoting.

Dieter frowns and tilts his head at the ornate bed. “Did– that’s not my bed, is it?” He asks, pointing at it. “I would remember being tied to it, and I – I’ve not done that yet, I don’t think.”

“I found it in the attic,” Kendra tells him, passing by the comment with just a half-smirk. “I thought you’d like it.”

"It fucking cool." His eyes are positively excited as he rushes towards the bed and caresses the brass scroll work on the bed. "It's mine? It came with the house?" He can't imagine that someone would leave this badass bed, he wouldn't. It's orate and beautiful, drawing him to it in a way he can't describe. Imagining amazing sex in this bed and the flash of a woman. Just a glimpse as his hand wraps around one post.

“It’s yours.” She’s pleased with his reaction and smiles as he inspects the looming piece of furniture. “I know you have a few favorite booty calls in town if you want to try it out tonight.”

He chuckles and almost agrees but he doesn't. Deciding he wants to spend his first night in the house alone. Settle with it and figure out what kind of vibes it's giving him. "Maybe," is all he says.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” She nods when he looks back at her and heads for the stairs, leaving Dieter alone in his new house. He has the keys, he has his bearings, and he has dinner already made. She’ll be back tomorrow to check on him.

"Hello?" He calls out, just for fun even as the door has closed behind his assistant minutes ago. He's a firm believer in spirits, knowing that his aura projects out into the universe. It's why he doesn't like things messing with his brain waves like the bluetooth headphones.

“Hello sweetie.” From the doorway of the bedroom that once was yours, you place your hands on your waist and practically hum at the man standing near your bed. He doesn’t have that slick, smooth, buttoned-up look that men of your era did, but he has an undeniable appeal all his own. Not that he can see you — oh no — but at least you’ll have something nice to look at. The last family to own the house your fortune built was rather…unfortunate looking.

There's something. Dieter's skin tingles and he hums as he looks around the room. Swearing that he had felt something. "I'm– uh, I come in peace." He tells the room.

“Aw, sugar…” Tutting, you saunter into the room and cross your arms over your chest. The dressing robe you’ve worn for the last ninety-five years still gives you the feeling of swishing around as you move even though that’s now impossible. “You can’t see me, handsome. Or hear me. Nobody can.”

"Whoever you are..." Dieter's brows lift and he gives a sympathetic expression. "I feel you. Just know that I'm here to live beside you. And get really high."

“Feel me?” It would be too much to ask for it to be true, and you tilt your head at him curiously. “Sugar, I’d let you feel me in a heartbeat.“

"Can spirits get high?" He asks, mostly to himself and he chuckles. "We can get faded together."

“Guess we’ll have to find out.” You laugh softly to yourself. “Might be fun.”

"I'm hungry." Dieter groans, rubbing his stomach and then scratching it. "Gonna go down to the kitchen and get something to eat." He looks around the room. "Don't like– throw a knife at my head or anything, okay?"

That makes you laugh, a deep sound that is unpretentious and unexpected, and you decide to follow him down to the kitchen. The blandness of the last owners had been absolute, but this one is fun. And at least not a stick in the mud. Maybe his food will be worth smelling as well.

Rambling down the stairs, Dieter starts to hum a little tune. One that he doesn't recognize but he swears it from some old black and white movie.

“Now how do you know that?” The sound of the tune makes you hurry up, floating alongside this new man on feet that no longer touch the ground. You’d know it anywhere. The theme from a movie long gone and long forgotten — but that you’d sung yourself into that big studio microphone to be recorded and played for your first ever ‘talkie’. If only you hadn’t died first, you might’ve made a go of musicals.

"What movie is that from?" Dieter loves to get stoned and watch old movies. Having hundreds of channels that include a lot of classic movies, black and whites and even the great era of silent movies. There was something about that time that just appeals to him, the art of acting without saying a word. It took a lot more skill to portray emotion and your intent when you cannot say anything. "I'll have to look it up."

“Bernice Bobs Her Hair…” The film had been full of dances and a few good songs, all wrapped around that darling story by F. Scott Fitzgerald. It was supposed to be a breakout. Reignite your star. Instead you were dead on premiere night. “It was called Bernice Bobs Her Hair.”

“B something,” Dieter frowns, cocking his head as he reaches for the fridge. “The chick who was in it died the night it came out.” He snaps his fingers and yanks the door open to see what Kendra had left for him, “Ohhhhh Thai!”

"Thank god I looked good, at least." You huff, crossing your arms again as you try to figure out what he's tying as he takes things out of the icebox.

“Peanut sauce, fuck yes!” He could kiss his assistant, knowing he’s been on a Thai kick lately and she has put all his favorites in there. “I can reheat the samosas in the air fryer. That will be good.” He talks to himself. “Pad Thai, that omelet thing I can never say right. Fuckkkkkkk, she got me the green curry. Imma get fucked up and munch.”

He's got a boyish kind of charm to him as he zips around the kitchen, and if you could you would be leaning back against the counter to watch. As it is, the small sound of your laughter and the smile on your face is private, but you find yourself hoping he might continue to speak to himself out loud from time to time. It's nice to be able to pretend that he is actually talking to you.

Dieter straightens up and looks towards the counter near the fridge. “Oh shit. Forgive me. I don’t know how to live with a – a spirit.” He shrugs. “Do you want to join me? Can ghosts eat? Probably not right? Fuck. That would suck. I’m sorry.”

When he looks right at you, you feel your mouth fall open and your eyes double in size. "You— can you— see me?" It's just a coincidence. It has to be. He can't possibly be looking at you, right? Just...in your general direction...

“I swear to fuck you are right there.” He points at you and sighs. “Or you’re so goddamn lonely you’re inventing ghosts to have someone to talk to, Bravo.” He blows out a breath, wondering when he lost his fucking mind.

"I am right here." Moving away from the counter, you get closer to him and closer, wondering how it's possible at all for him to sense you. If he has any idea who you are. "I'm right in front of you..." you murmur, wondering what would happen if you reached out to try to touch him.

“Right.” Dieter drops his head and reaches up to rub his neck. “Time to do some cocaine.” He grunts, sure that he’s answered his own question. “Or maybe that new shit Kevin brought me.” It amused him to no end that his regular supplier’s name was Kevin. He had him in his phone as ‘Home Alone’ for kicks.

"Ooo, cocaine. How darling and nostalgic of you. I miss cocaine." When he walks away you can't help but sigh. Or you would, if you still drew breath. Instead you occupy yourself in the most entertaining way currently at your disposal: following around the living person in your house.

There's a reason Dieter loves to have ornate or even simple flat mirrors around his home. One, it reflects light and brightens any space up. Two, it's great for setting up a line for coke. Making him think of those 80's parties every time he uses his credit card to line one up to snort, he giggles. "Too bad I don't have one of those fancy rings where you open the little compartment to take a bump." He grunts, knowing he would always have that thing loaded.

“Find my jewelry box in the attic and you’ll find a few beauties.” You hum, setting yourself on the nearby chair to lounge. That’s all you can do these days and it’s terribly annoying.

Once the line is as perfect as he wants it, Dieter rolls up a five dollar bill and bends over the mirror. It's quick, the pain of snorting something up his nose long since faded, and he throws his head back at the rush of pure endorphins. Eyes closed as the feeling settles over him like a warm blanket and he groans, dropping his head back down and opening his eyes.

Only to give a yelp when he spots a woman lounging on one of his living room chairs. "What the fuck!"

“You can see me!” This time there is no mistaking it, and you practically bounce and clap your hands with glee. “Sugar, that magical white powder of yours is a little more magical than you think!”

"Who the fuck are you?" Dieter stumbles back and bumps into a table behind him, rocking the lamp but he doesn't pay it any attention. "How the fuck did you get in. I– look, I don't want a crazy fan in my house. I'll call the police!"

“Call the police all you want, handsome. They won’t be able to see what you’re so worried about.“ It had happened with the last owners — when you had gotten fed up with being ignored and invisible and dead you had gone on a good old fashioned haunting spree that resulted in everything from police being called to exorcisms being performed. The family finally moved out in a rush and the house had been empty for almost ten years. “And darlin’?” You drawl, delighted that he can actually hear you. “You’re the one in my house.”

"Your house?" Dieter shakes his head and blinks again. Swearing that he's on a bad trip, but there is a shimmeriness around you and your hair is very styled. Despite the fact that you are wearing a vintage dressing gown, with the feathered sleeves that seemed to be in every old movie from the classics. He frowns, blinking again and then it clicks. "Oh shit. I know who you are."

“Oh, really?” Practically preening at the idea that he might recognize you since he clearly has seen at least one of your films, you instinctively strike a pose in the chair. “Guess I just have one of those unforgettable faces,” you purr.

"You're dead though." He shakes his head again and throws out a lopsided grin. "But you look really good for a dead broad." He says your name and then pauses. "Right?"

“Right as rain.” You chirp happily. It’s been so long since you’ve even been seen that being recognized again seems like a faraway dream. “But who is this handsome fella that’s in my house with my bed in his room?”

It can't be real. It can't be. You died. A fucking long time ago. Dieter hums, realizing he must be in another one of those hallucinations of his. They are getting more and more vivid the longer he uses. Maybe his agent was right and he needed a stint in rehab. For now, he shrugs and introduces himself. "Dieter Bravo. I'm an actor too. Oscar winner." He adds.

“Oscar winner, huh?” The brag isn’t lost on you, and you bat your eyelashes at him in your old accustomed way. “A big shot.”

"Maybe." Despite his air of arrogance that he wears, Dieter is like most actors. Neurotic and craving validation and love. "To some."

“I would’ve had one,” you toss one hand in the air flippantly, delighted that he can actually see you do it. “But they didn’t start those things until after I died.”

“Really?” He hums and tilts his head. “What year?”

“What year did I die, you mean?” A dramatic sigh from you is an effort since you don’t need breath anymore, but it’s so fun to play. “I died October 27, 1928, sugar. Right here in this house.”

“How?” He asks with a frown. “I mean, you look great. You don’t look dead.”

“Well, aren't you sweet?” A girl does like a compliment now and then. Especially when she hasn’t had one in almost a hundred years. “It was poison, sweet thing. Should’ve known better than to let someone else mix my drinks.”

“You were poisoned?” Dieter looks alarmed, too alarmed for a death that happened nearly 100 years ago, but he’s looking around like the murderer would pop out at any moment.

“Tale as old as time, handsome.” You shrug your shoulders, having had plenty of time to process the betrayal. “My best friend was sleeping with my husband and they wanted me out of the way. Don’t know why he didn’t just ask for a divorce…probably so he could keep my money.”

“Fuck.” He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m sorry. Want a drink?” He asks, feeling comfortable enough to offer a ghost a drink. “Oh shit– no, you wouldn’t want me to pour you a drink. I’m an idiot.”

“If I could have a drink, I’d let you pour me one.” He seems sweet. A little lost. Maybe abandoned. But sweet. Like a puppy that needs to be pet more often.

“I can see you.” He reasons. “Maybe you can. After all…” he shrugs. “Ghosts can’t sit and you're lounging on my chair, sprawled theatrically.”

"Oh sugar, I can assure you that ghosts do sit. We do a hell of a lot of it, in fact. Or else we'd do nothing but float around or stand all day, and variety is the spice of...well...death."

“What else can you do?” Dieter latches onto the conversation with an eagerness that surprises him but it’s not everyday he converses with ghosts.

"I can push things over sometimes." You have managed that early on. Scaring the devil out of your husband and his plaything so frequently that they had abandoned the house and sold it as quickly as possible. "Flicker the lights. Cause breezes. You know...ghostly things."

“Hmmmm.” Dieter moves over to the bar and pours a glass of whiskey. “Come see if you can drink.” He urges you.

"I seriously doubt it, darlin', but why not." Shrugging your shoulders, you lift yourself up from the seat you had been lounging in and saunter over to the bar. It's been a hell of a long time before you were able to do anything at all, and this man – Dieter – is the first person who has been able to do as much as sense you in decades. Why not have a little fun? Once you're standing beside him you reach out, waggling your bejeweled fingers a little before attempting to wrap them around the glass. As hard as you can possibly concentrate, your hand slips right through the glass and the liquid inside, coming up empty.

“What if I hold it for you?” The rational part of his brain is screaming that it won’t work, but there’s this voice that keeps telling him to try.

“Why the hell not?” It won’t work, but it seems to amuse him to try, so you sway closer and tilt your head expectantly.

He's nervous, not because he needs to step closer to you, but because – what if this works?. He might be able to do something no one else has been and thats pretty fucking cool.

You really hate to see him get his hopes up, but indulgently tilt your head back for the liquid to – as expected – pass right through you to a puddle on the floor. “It’s alright, sugar,” you croon softly when he looks disappointed, and ingrained instinct makes you reach like you could somehow pat his face even though you’ve just proven the opposite. Imagine both of your surprise, then, when your cold hand neatly cups his burning hot cheek.

"OH SHIT!" Dieter jumps, nearly pulling away from your touch because of the temperature difference, but then he manages to keep contact. "Oh shit, you're– how? I thought you couldn't– what the fuck?"

“I don’t know— I don’t know!” As panicked as he is, you reel back instantly and stare at your hand, cradling it like it might combust. “I don’t know! That’s never happened before!”

"You touched me! Quick, do it again!" This time Dieter is reaching out for you. Seeing if he can touch a ghost and he yelps again when his fingers connect with you.

“How in the world?” It shouldn’t be possible. It doesn’t make sense. And yet— it’s happened.

"Oh god, are you sure you're a ghost?" Dieter frowns, fingers curling around your jaw, making sure it's not one of those celebrity masks things people sometimes wear. That you aren't tricking him even if he had just watched your drink pass through you. "You feel real."

“You’re the first person to have a feel in ninety-five years, darlin’.” And that in and of itself is why you’re sure this is actually happening. You were there — you remember every single one of those ninety-five years’ worth of days.

“Oh fuck, this is, this is so cool!” Dieter groans out with an ecstatic expression on his face.

“This is unbelievable.” Never in your entire afterlife have you ever tried to touch a living being. When Reggie and his trollop were still in the house you had haunted them right out into the street. The second owners could not have been more oblivious to your otherworldly presence if they had been doing it intentionally. The third had simply bored and annoyed you so deeply that you had spooked them just out of sheer habit. You had lost your zest for haunting for a long, long time. But this? This is utterly remarkable.

“This shouldn’t be happening, right?” Dieter asks, as if being a ghost makes you an expert on them. “What’s different? What’s making this happen?”

“Damned if I have any idea, sugar.” It’s almost too exciting to bear, but you test the thing by flexing your fingers against the rasp of stubble on his face. “But it’s never ever happened before.”

"Is it because I'm high?" He wonders. "My mind is just....in tune with the spirit world?"

“Maybe?” It’s impossible to know for sure, but your hands are making his face with enthusiasm because you’re afraid to touch his clothing and lose this magical ability to touch again.

Dieter reaches out and touches you again. "You feel so soft." He hums. "You've got a hell of a skincare routine."

“Being dead seems to have its advantages.” You joke with a wink. “Can’t wrinkle if you can’t age.”

"So you look like you did when you died?" He asks. "You were fucking sexier than the screen made you look."

“Why, Mr. Bravo, you flatter.” Even though your instinct is to close your eyes against the searing heat of him and how solid he feels against you, you’re fully afraid that if you do, he’ll disappear. And true to form, instead of facing fear, you continue to joke. “But really, gray makeup does no one any favors.”

"It had to be like that, right?" He asks curiously. Remembering the history of cinema classes that he had taken in college. "Because it would show up on film better?"

“Just so.” His hand is so broad it feels like it spans one entire half of your face. “But I always preferred red.”

"Red lips are always sexy." He murmurs, licking his own lips and glancing down at your painted red lips.

“Always?” The question hangs — if he’s going far enough out on that limb to actually be considering what he seems to be considering. And if you’re far enough out on that limb with him to go along.

"Always." He agrees, rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip. "Should I– would it be weird if I kissed you?" He asks. "For science?"

“Depends.” If you still had a heartbeat it would be frantic — excitement and nerves crawling up your spine. “Ever thought of kissing a woman born before 1900?”

"Am now." He admits with a self deprecating shrug. "I don't know if it counts, but I had a crush on Greta Garbo when I was a boy."

“Good taste.” You hum, chuckling from somewhere deep in your chest. “She was a hell of a woman.”

"You knew her?" He asks in surprise.

“Knew her?” You demure, all amusement and sly smile. “She was a remarkable kisser.”

"Really?" Dieter's eyes blow wide and he glances down at your lips again. "Are– were you– uh, lovers?"

“One or two parties that got a little out of hand.” A chuckle grows from your chest and you nudge his chin up to close his mouth, delighting in the not so simple act of touching him. “My husband wasn’t the only one dissatisfied with our marriage, I suppose.”

"So you're bi?" It's a fucking interesting development in the conversation and a fascinating one at that. “Uh, bisexual?” He isn’t sure if that phrase was used back then. “You like both sexes?”

“I used to just say ‘adventurous’.” You have heard the term, though. Through the decades you have learned a whole lot about the world.

"Adventurous." He chuckles quietly and smirks. "Then I guess I'm 'adventurous' too." He admits. "But I want to kiss you."

“We can try.” His hands on your skin feel burning when you didn’t think you could ever feel anything again — so wouldn’t it be foolish not to try?

“Let me know if you– uh, feel anything.” He’s honestly not sure if he’s so high he’s imagining things, or this is real, but it feel like the greatest fucking high of his life. Holding onto the silky waist of the dressing gown and leaning in to press his lips to yours ever so gently.

The last fading memory of a kiss that you have is from the night you died, and it is one of the most melancholy things to have past those lips of yours that you can still remember. This, comparatively, is like being set on fire even when it only lasts a second. The sound of a gasp comes from one of you — likely him, all things considered — but you could swear the world has turned on its axis just a touch, in letting the living and the dead collide like this.

Your lips are cold and yet the reason Dieter shivers isn’t because of that. It’s from the tingling, the way that his hair raises on the back of his neck and his cock starts to harden. He’s kissing a ghost and he likes it.

“Impossible…” Yet it’s undeniable. It happened. You both experienced it. A living man and the ghost of a woman long dead, sharing a kiss.

“Again.” Dieter demands, taking a step closer to you and sliding his hand down to your waist. “I want another kiss.”

There shouldn’t be any way in hell this is possible, especially with him now touching your robe instead of your skin, but you can feel him. The breadth of his hand on your back, his chest presses against yours, hot breath fanning over your face and the hardness against your hip. It’s all real. “Happily.” You hear yourself groan out, diving back into another impossible kiss.

This time there is tongue. Making him groan into your spiritual mouth and tighten his hold on you. Unable to believe this is happening and not another hallucination, he pulls back. “Pinch me.” He demands. “Scratch me, something.”

It should surprise no one that the shade of deep red on your lips matches your nails, and even though your eyebrows pinch with the same disbelief and confusion as his, you rake your nails down his forearm and gasp when they leave behind a trail of equally red marks in their wake. “How?” Is all you can ask, knowing that neither of you has an answer.

“I don’t know, but goddamn that felt good.” Dieter moans quietly. He slides his hand up, cupping a breast and pinching your nipple through the silken material of your dressing gown.

The gasp you let out shouldn’t be possible either, but the fact that you seem to be solid under his touch and him solid to yours is exquisite. Coupling that with an arousal like you haven’t felt in almost a century and you’re dragging him back to you by the fabric of his shirt, willing to live in this miracle for as long as it lasts. To feel alive again.

Making out with a ghost isn’t something that he could have imagined when he arrived at his new house, but he’s enjoying it. Backing you up, he presses you to the wall as he continues to kiss you.

It pulls another gasp from you, shocked when you don't instantly evaporate through the wall like normal. Somehow – some way – in touching and being touched by him, you are solid again. You can swear you almost feel your heart beating. Racing out of time as you start to pull at his clothing and he blindly attempts to untie the sash holding your robe in place.

“What the fuck?” Dieter hisses, breaking away from the kiss to look down at the knot on your robe. “Who the fuck tied this?”

"I did." But now, in retrospect, you huff about it along with him. "To discourage my louse of a husband."

“Fuck.” He grunts, shaking his head. “We need– fuck, the bedroom, we need to go to the bedroom.”

"Afraid to let go–" You admit, fingers still tangled in his shirt as you both pant for breath. To pant is such an exquisite sensation that you cannot possibly describe it and you must look positively ecstatic in the moment.

“Then don’t.” Dieter chuckles, deciding that he will be putting the weight training for his last film to good use when he pulls up your dressing gown and grabs your thighs to lift you up. “Fuck, you feel heavy for a ghost.” He grunts as he picks you up.

"Rude." A single swat at his chest is nothing, and you rope your arms around his shoulders to press hot kisses along the column of his neck while he moves down the hall.

Dieter groans, hands cupping your ass he stumbles towards his new bedroom. Trying to remember the way when half the blood meant for his brain is operating his cock. Realizing that you are no longer cold, but almost scorching hot in his arms.

"Your left! Not my left!" You mumble against his skin, giggling and trying to give him directions when you refuse to detach yourself from kissing any part of him that you can manage.

“Fuck. Fucking new/old house.” He grunts. “Fuck, you’re so sexy. You know that? I bet you had all your co-stars wanting to fuck you.”

"A few of them did." His fingers digging into your ass brush perilously close to your pussy and you moan. "But you've fucked some of yours, too, sugar."

“Yes.” He groans, pulling you against his cock. “Fucked them, ate them out, sucked them off. Whatever we felt like doing.”

"Bet you want to add me to that list right about now, don't you, sugar?" The nickname has stuck, and you've decided you like it. Leaning back in his arms and finding both your body and clothing have returned entirely to the corporeal plane, your eyes find his with the same fire he is feeling now. "I can feel how much you want me."

"Fuck, do I want you." He groans, unable to believe that he's ever wanted someone this bad, but how do you explain the attraction to a 100 year-old ghost? "I'm going to strip you down and bury my tongue and cock in your ghostly cunt. See what filling it with my cum looks like." At least here, he's almost certain there's zero chance of catching something or a pregnancy scandal.

As soon as he sets you down on the bed he’s diving into it after you, covering your body with his and drowning in kisses that make your head spin as you tug at the knot you tied in your robe. It is amazing how your skin has warmed up. Gone from being a muted color to technicolor. Like you are being brought to life by his touch. His mouth drags over your shoulder when the silk slips down and he bites. Chuckling in absolute delight when he leaves behind imprints on your skin.

With your head tossed back on the blankets you revel in a moan, looking up at him with eyes that feel hazy but have not seen this clearly in years. “If we only get tonight, let’s make the most of it. Sound good, sugar?”

“Absolutely.” He moans in agreement, ecstatic that you seem to be on the same wavelength as he is. Maybe that’s why this is happening. Your spirit is touching his. “I’ve never eaten haunted pussy before.” He jokes as he kisses down your body and pulls the gown down over one breast to latch onto it.

“Can’t say that again passed tonight.” You chuckle, gasping at the searing heat and eager grasping of his mouth on your flesh. It is electric in a way you have never been able to describe and adds to the incredible miracle that is tonight. “Good thing about being dead is that the pussy stayed shaved.”

“Very good thing.” He mouths from around your breast, hands pulling open the dressing gown when you finally get the sash untied.

The last time you felt a breeze on your skin was so long ago that you moan at it, back arching into him as he exposes your body to the bright electric lights and air from the open window. The fingers of one hand are in his curly hair and your other is pulling at his shirt, wanting him as bare as you are for everything that is to come.

He’s reluctant to let you go, but he has to. Has to hurry to pull his clothes off so he can have the wildest encounter that he could probably never even talk about.

Soft and strong is always how you’ve liked your men, and the corded muscles in his arms and back — when you catch a glimpse — that give way to a soft middle and full cheeks are just your type. When he’s entirely bare and pushing your silk robe away from your body with every ounce of concentration he has, you instinctively spread your legs wide for him to take his place between them.

“Fuck, I’ve never – fuck.” He groans, knowing that you will understand what he’s meaning. It’s not like you’ve done this either from what you’ve told him. Kissing and nipping down your body, it’s interesting to hear you moan at the sensation. “Here goes.” His eyes flick up to your face before he dives into your cunt.

The moan you let out is deep and unbridled, as earnest as you are eager to watch every single moment. You lean up on one elbow to prop yourself up, raking the fingers of your other hand through his hair to get yourself the best view possible. He’s gloriously messy — enthusiasm over technique — and it makes it all the more hedonistic to moan and sigh at the sensations you know are coming from the deepest depths of desire.

You feel real, you taste real. There’s nothing about this that would indicate that there’s nothing beyond a gorgeous, horny woman in his bed and Dieter is here for it. Moaning into your damp folds as he tries to find which flick of his tongue drives you wild.

Everything feels good, and if you weren’t always a ‘the deeper the better’ kind of girl in life, you certainly are in your afterlife. Simultaneously too much and not enough, the not enough side is winning a little more every second. Dieter pushes your thighs wider with his shoulders and shoves a hand up, desperate to feel himself deep inside you, even if it’s just his fingers. Wanting to see how high pitched your breathy moans can get.

"Fuck–fuck–right there, baby. Oh god–" When he finds that perfect place it has your hips rolling and your back arching off the bed, chasing every pump of his fingers and flick of his tongue. The sensations are divine combined with your own hand pinching and pulling your nipples to add another lick of sharp pleasure to the symphony. Even touching yourself feels amazing after so long with nothing at all.

Dieter groans, soaking up the praise, the moans. Doubling down and flicking his tongue even faster as his jaw works open and closed. Despite being dead, your cunt is dripping for him, coating his fingers in slick that makes it easier to push them deeper, curl them up more as he works you open.

Rambling praise takes over, your mind finding a measure of ecstasy in the ability in the simple fact that he can hear you while he is feasting on your pussy and fucking his fingers as deep inside you as they will go. It's only when your scrambled, breathy monologue starts to stutter and break that he knows how close you are – that, and the tight grip you have on his curls as you start to shake beneath him.

Panting, he grinds his hard cock into the mattress. Moaning as you tug on his hair, making his scalp burn and continuing to affirm that this is not a dream. Curling his fingers up one last time and sucking your clit into his mouth as your body bows up underneath his touch. The moment that snaps the thread of tension in your body is when the fingernails of his free hand bite into your thigh at the same point he curls the fingers of his other hand and barely scrapes his teeth along your swollen clit. The force of all three sensations makes your vision go white, and for the first time since all of this began, your eyes fall blissfully shut while your body shakes with the force of your orgasm.

He feels the way your entire body relaxes, slumping down into the bed. Humming to himself as he slowly works you through that blissful high. Keeping his fingers buried inside you as his tongue licks up every drop of your pleasure.

"Hell in a handbasket." Sighing out, you soothe your fingers against his scalp and grin down at him when he licks the last drop of cum from your cunt. "Get up here, sugar. Let me ride you."

“You want to ride?” His head pops up in surprise. He had expected you to want to be treated after so long, but he can’t deny the idea of a ghost riding his cock is appealing.

“Not very fair to make you do all the work, handsome.” Your smile is lopsided instead of pointed now, lazily drawn across your mouth like the human iteration of a contented house cat. “And I wouldn’t want to be rude to my new house guest.”

“Aren’t you technically my guest?” He lets you pull him up and roll him over onto his back. “Since it’s my house now?”

“Semantics.” Once he is on his back, you pin him down with one knee on either side of his thighs and wrap one hand around his cock to pump his length a few times experimentally. The precum beaded at the top is pearlescent and musky, the scent of sex from your own climax filling your nostrils and giving you the thrill of yet another sense coming back to life.

“Oh shit.” He grunts out, twitching in your hand. “I– fucking hell, please, please, put your mouth on me.”

“Ooo, he begs.” It’s a delightful discovery, and you obligingly bend over to kitten lick the tip of his cock just to see how beautifully he’ll groan.

Dieter is a whiny, spoiled little bastard who is given everything he wants because that’s how you treat celebrities, but he will beg. He will beg for anything and everything in bed. Slightly more submissive than most people expect. He moans your name loudly and closes his eyes as his hips rock up.

“Watch, sugar.” Something about it, the magical quality perhaps or what feels like literal magic, makes you want to keep him in this bubble with you. This state of hyper awareness. Your mouth hovers over the tip of his cock and you give it a long kick to get his attention. “You’re gonna watch me just like I watched you.”

Dieter whimpers, opening his eyes obediently. As soon as he sees the length of his cock disappear down your spectorly throat, he moans, twisting his fingers into the sheets under him. “Fuck, fuck, I’m getting my dick sucked by the hottest fucking ghost I’ve ever seen.” The fact that you’re the only ghost he’s seen is a moot point.

You chuckle low, deep in your throat, and it vibrates around his girthy length as you start to bob your head deliberately. Slowly. Wanting to savor every second of this for as long as it lasts. If you didn’t have a mouth full of him you’d be teasing him about the other ghosts he’s seen to compare you to, but you just don’t care. Not right now. Not with him at your mercy.

"Holy shit." He hisses, moaning loudly. "You're so good. Did you just– fuck, spend the last hundred years practicing on a ghost banana?"

It makes you chuckle again, and instead of answering you take him that much deeper. If he thinks you were showing off before? Just wait.

His toes curl, scrunching his feet up as you apparently have every intent of sucking his soul out through his dick. Could he die from a blowjob? It seems possible. “Fuck, baby doll.”

He wanted your mouth so he’s going to get every benefit of your focus right up until he can’t stand it any longer. He throbs against your swirling tongue, twitching in your mouth and against your fingertips where you are stroking the last few inches of his length that don’t easily fit in your mouth — there’s no way you’re ruining your vacation from ghost-hood by accidentally choking on a cock.

"Fuck, do you swallow?" Dieter moans. "You should swallow, I want– oh fuck." You keep sucking, pulling him closer every heartbeat until his vision blacks out, the hoarse cry ripping out of his throat.

Spurt after spurt of hot cum jettisons down your throat as his body bares down on itself, muscles tightening and extremities curling. The man is a geyser and every time he pumps more cum into your willing, waiting mouth you groan loudly and swallow around him. The feeling of being truly alive is not one that you are going to take for granted tonight and he is making it all the more memorable by just giving in to those most basic of human needs. There is nothing sexier than a person who has completely given themself over to the feeling of pleasure, and by the time you lift your head from Dieter’s cock, he has absolutely done that.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" Dieter yelps the last curse, feeling like you are sucking so hard it's to the point that it hurts, keeping him hard. He must have snorted that batch of coke that he had mixed viagra in, because he normally is a one and done for at least an hour kind of guy.

When he doesn’t soften at all after cumming your throat in cum, you pull off of him with one raised eyebrow and smirk. “You still alive there, sugar? Can’t have both of us dying in this house.”

He pants out a laugh and manages to lift his head to look down at where you are grinning up at him, your hand still wrapped around his hard cock. "Not dead. More alive than I've ever been."

“That makes two of us.” Giving his cock another few strokes, you shift forward and comb your fingers through his sweat-damp curls. “You want more, handsome?”

“Want everything.” He groans quietly. “You want to ride me, or you want me to fuck you?”

“Want everything.” You echo him with a sly grin and shift forward. “I’m gonna ride you to the edge and then you’re going to fuck me as hard as you can. Got it, sugar?”

"Fuck, I didn't know people were so fucking dirty back then." He groans, twitching against his stomach as you drag your wet cunt over him. "I think I would like it back then."

“The Kama Sutra is hundreds of years old,” you remind him with a throaty chuckle. “So is pornography and promiscuity.” Positioning yourself over his cock, you start to sink down slowly and sigh out in absolute bliss. “Humans have always loved to fuck.”

“Ghosts too, apparently.” He moans, grabbing onto your very solid hips as you settle down on his cock. “Fuuuuuuuuuck.”

“Least ghostly I’ve been in ages.” It’s also the first time since death you’ve experienced something as human as being aroused and it’s entirely liberating. “Maybe this thick cock is magic.”

He starts to giggle out of a groan when you clench around him. "Magic stick." He grunts, rocking his hips up. "It attracts allll the ghostly nymphos." He jokes, sliding his hand down to press against your clit.

“They can line — oh, baby — up.” You let your head drop back but your eyes are still open, arms raised up to let your tits bounce as you start to ride him in earnest.

He's never had someone ride him so fucking enthusiastically. It might be because it's the first time you've been able to feel in a hundred years, but he will take what he can get. Unable to fucking believe that this is happening, although the pressure around his dick and the way the bed creaks and groans proves that it's real.

The slight change in the angle of his hips when he plants his feet on the mattress has you crying out again and nearly growling. “That’s it, sugar.” And “Oh Fuck!” And “More, baby.” Echo through the room with the slap of skin on skin. The volume seems to rise along with the pleasure you’re both receiving, so it is nothing short of a beautiful noise the more you ride him.

Breaking in the new bed in his new house is an experience he could never, ever top. His hands slide from your hips up to the headboard and he wraps his fingers around the scrolled metal. Hanging on and using it as leverage to thrust up into you harder.

He propels you forward, losing your balance slightly so that you end up having to brace yourself with both hands on his chest and your tits bouncing in his face, but you really don't think that either of you minds. Instead, your fingertips instinctively dig into his chest, biting half-moon marks into his skin. Leaning forward changes the angle of his thrusts, letting him strike against entirely different places inside you, and you whimper softly without even realizing it when he scrubs against that perfect spot inside you to make you see stars.

“Right there?” His pants, recognizing the glazed look on your face. “Yeah, fuck, that’s the spot.” Despite the drugs that are pumping through his system, or perhaps because of it, he is attuned to the way you react.

"Right there." It has you breathless, how good it feels and how solid and real the feeling is.

"Holy shit." The feeling of you around him has him rolling his eyes back, your cunt even better than your mouth if possible. "Want to see you cum."

It certainly won't take long, not with the way his cock is shredding up inside you, and your previously loud moans are quickly being replaced with high pitched pants the closer you get to your own climax. Having the breath fucked out of you is such a stark difference from the existence you've been leading for the last many decades and it's such a welcome change. It takes barely another minute – maybe two – before you're sobbing out filthy praise and clenching down on his cock to wrench every last drop of pleasure from the moment that you can.

There's nothing sexier than a woman cumming, but you? You take his breath away. Steal it from his very lungs as your lusty sobs reverberates through him. Taking control and rocking up into you, working you through the most intense orgasm of your existence.

“Fuck.” Breathed out shakily as you let yourself fall down to his chest, your fingers comb through his curls and tug on the strands sharply as you’ve found that he likes.

He moans quietly, twitching inside you and humming as he lets go of the bed to wrap his arms around you to roll you under him. Eager to find his own release again and see how it looks dripping out of your cunt.

“That’s it, sugar.” Sprawled out on your back underneath him, you wrap your legs around his waist and tangle your hands in his sheets. “Take what you need.”

Dieter is normally not aggressive but there is something about your tone, your words, that spurs him on. Setting his jaw, Dieter starts to rock into you, keeping his pace harsh. Thrusting deep and moaning when you roll your hips.

Unconsciously mirroring him from just moments ago, you reach above your head and grasp the bars of your headboard. Every time he thrusts into you he shakes the whole frame, bouncing your tits and his curls and everything around you. The bed creaks and threatens to give but you know it won't – this one single piece of furniture is as sturdy as the whole house. It was made for you to fuck in.

"Fuck baby, fuck." Dieter growls, jack hammering his hips as he fills you again and again. Unable to brace his body above yours any more and dropping down to his elbows. He can't believe that he is still going, but he can't stop. He won't stop.

As much he wants to give or take, you are here for every second of it. With his head buried in your neck and the rhythm of his hips starting to stutter, your moan and whimpers are a symphony mixed with his own.

It flashes through his mind that this is some sort of sick hoax, that you are and have always been real, but he can’t worry about that right this second. The second that his mind goes blank to everything but his body’s needs and he thrusts deep, slamming his hips forward and groaning your name as a prayer.

“That’s it, sugar,” you croon again, this time cradling him close as rope after rope of hot cum fills you to the brim.

“Oh God.” Dieter pants, snuggling deeper and not sure if or when you might disappear, so he holds on tight.

“Hardly.” Your typical, throaty giggle rides through your body and you stroke his back gently. “But I’ll take the praise if that’s the mood you’re in.”

“Hmmmm.” He hums and shifts so he is not weighing you down, rolling to his side and bringing you with him. “I’ll give it.” He murmurs, suddenly sleepy after the vigorous sex and starting to come down from his high. “Stay.” He mumbles quietly, rubbing your back this time.

“You’re in my house, remember?” This time your laugh is a little less indulgent, tinged with worry as you wonder how much longer you’ll be able to feel him. Speak to him. Have him see you. “But I’ll try.”

“That’s right.” He smiles, turning his head and pressing his lips to your sweat damp hair. “But this is a spirit friendly bed.”

“I hope so,” you murmur, watching as he snuggles in next to you and lets his eyes drift close with a sigh. “I truly hope so, sugar.”

******

Dieter opens his eyes, slowly peeling them apart and blinking to try to get rid of the gritty feeling. “Baby doll?” His voice is rough with sleep and he had expected you to be weighing him down. “Where are you?” For a moment, for a split second he had thought he dreamed it. His gaze finding its way to the picture on the wall that he hadn’t noticed last night. A portrait of a woman, of you, gorgeously sprawled on a chaise with a sultry smile and ruby red lips.

He is almost convinced that the best night of his life was a figment of his imagination as he moves. Until it catches his eye. Red. More specifically, red lips. The sight of kisses scattered over his body and down under the sheet. Making him lift them to see lipstick wrapped around his cock, hard this morning and it makes him grin.

It hadn’t been a dream.

______

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My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #Dieter Bravo x female reader #Dieter Bravo x f!reader #ghost reader #The Bubble #Spooktober #sexy and spooky #haunted sex #drug use

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