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hardly-an-escape · 6 months

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what's in a name? | Dream/Hob | 9300 words | rated E

this is my submission for @designtheendless's 3K commission giveaway: a Dreamling fic based on their fanart above!

tags: alternate universe - human, photographer Hob Gadling, artist Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, model Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, strangers to lovers, snowed in, only one bed, light dom/sub, oral sex, face fucking, anal fingering, anal sex, anonymous sex, Dream of the Endless is a horny little weasel, and Hob is no less of a horny little weasel, brief Princess Bride references, alcohol consumption, impulsive decision making, callous disregard for the geography of northern California, they go from 0-60 because they’re both nuts, neither of them are in a great place but they do make each other better rather than worse

Hob is on an ill-fated road trip through California. He’s making his way slowly down the coast toward Los Angeles when, trapped by a snowstorm in a small town near Mount Shasta, he meets a mysterious stranger in a diner. They share a night of anonymous passion – but when the sun rises, Hob finds that he can’t just leave the stranger behind…

this story developed partially from Picture Perfect, one of my Fluffbruary 2024 fills. I also incorporated some of designtheendless's other suggested image prompts, so do make sure you check their original post! and thank you so much for extending the deadline, it meant I had time to get my CHBB fic submitted before pivoting to finish this... and even so I'm still barely getting it done in time just because of who I am as a person :D

Hob leans forward over the steering wheel, brows furrowed as he peers through the driving snow at the street ahead. The windshield wipers are going like mad; he’s seen a plow or two out, but they seem to barely be making a dent, so traffic has slowed to a crawl. Which is, frankly, for the best, since the weather is bad enough that only a true nutter would be out in it at all.

Well… nobody’s ever accused Hob of being sane.

His GPS instructs him to take the next right and informs him that his destination will then be on his right. He can just make out the neon sign through the thick flakes: Townhouse Motel. “Vacancy,” it says below the old-timey script, blinking on and off. In the distance, the sun is just beginning to settle behind some mountains that he’s sure would be beautiful if they weren’t hidden behind such inclement weather.

He pulls in the driveway. The lot is nearly empty, so he parks right next to the office door and jams his winter cap on his head before hurrying through the flurries.

The bored teenager behind the front desk barely looks up from the reality show playing on her tablet as she runs Hob’s credit card and gives him his door key – an actual, physical key. Room 1389. He decides it’s not worth it to ask why the room number has four digits when the motel has maybe a dozen rooms total.

He does ask if there’s somewhere nearby to get a bite to eat and a drink.

“There’s a diner across the street and down a block,” the teenager says, “but they don’t serve booze.” Then, finally looking up, perhaps seeing the bags under his eyes and his generally downtrodden demeanor, she relents. “There’s a liquor store about two blocks past that. You can bring stuff back to your room, I guess. It’s not like anybody is going to ask questions around here.”

That, Hob thinks as he heads back outside and moves his rental car a little closer to his door, is obvious. There’s a general air of neglect clinging to the motel, and indeed to the whole street, from what he can see: the buildings are a little more weatherbeaten than can be plausibly explained by a cute vintage aesthetic, and at least one storefront seems to be permanently boarded up. The recession has clearly hit Northern California just as hard as it has the rest of the United States.

What a time to be playing tourist. What a time to be – well, he won’t think about that right now.

His room is clean, at least. Someone, at some point in time, has made a half-hearted attempt to decorate it with a seaside theme. The bedlinens are various shades of blue, rather than your typical beigey-white. There’s an unfortunate painting of a mermaid hanging over the outdated television, and a slightly less unfortunate painting of a lighthouse above the bed. The bathroom wallpaper has little seashells on it.

Hob leaves his camera bag on the desk and his duffel on the end of the bed, grabs his wallet, turns his collar up against the cold, and heads back out into the snowy evening.

The diner is, as promised, only a short walk down the street, but Hob is shivering by the time he gets there. The wind cuts right through him – silly British man that he is, he thought California would be warm, even in winter. He hadn’t really reckoned with unpredictable mountain weather, or with the cold front that was chasing him down through the southern end of the Cascades. The weatherman on the radio had been calling it “freakish.”

A little bell tinkles merrily when he pushes open the door. A waitress calls out a greeting, tells him to sit wherever he likes and she’ll be right with him. There’s only one other person in the diner, a slender man dressed all in black who is hunched over a cup of coffee at the counter. He glances up and immediately back down as Hob stomps the snow off his boots and takes an empty booth far enough away from the front door that he won’t feel the rush of cold air if anyone else comes in.

The waitress bustles over, bringing him a cup of coffee without even asking. Hob wraps his fingers around it gratefully. He doesn’t normally drink coffee this late, but it’s been the kind of day that calls for it: so cold, so uncomfortable and distressing, that the sturdy ceramic mug is exactly what he wants. The bitter note of slightly burnt coffee is tempered by the cheap, artificially flavored vanilla creamer he only ever uses at this kind of greasy spoon diner. He breathes deep and feels something inside him start to thaw.

When the waitress comes back with a menu, he warms up even more. She is middle-aged and comfortable, nice and no-nonsense, the sort of person with an indeterminate American accent who could have come from anywhere: Illinois, or Florida, or five minutes down the road. She recommends the olive burger with fries, and a side of fried pickles, because they’re the best in the county, and then her excitement simply bubbles over.

“I’m just so darn tickled to have two Brits here in the same night!” she enthuses. “Oh gosh, is that okay? Can I call you Brits or is that rude?”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Hob laughs. “Two of us, eh? That is a coincidence.”

“I know, right? Okay hon, lemme just get your order in and I’ll be back to warm up your coffee in a sec.”

She bustles away again, and Hob looks curiously at the man at the counter. He must have heard her comment, but he hasn’t turned around, or indeed acknowledged Hob in any way since he came in. He shrugs mentally and turns away to look out the window at the thickly swirling snow. It’s dark enough now that streetlights have come on, casting cones of light in which the flakes dance like a very slow sodium-tinted tornado.

He wishes he had a book. Or a crossword puzzle, or one of those packets of crayons they give to kids at restaurants. Something to keep his hands occupied and his mind off of everything that was threatening to consume it, off of the last few days, off of her –

Then the man from the counter slides into the booth across from him.

“Hello,” Hob says.

“Hello,” the stranger says. His voice is surprisingly deep and resonant, coming from his slim frame, and he looks to be in his late twenties, perhaps a few years younger than Hob. He is very pale. His dark hair is sticking up rather wildly and his eyes are a cold, clear blue that reminds Hob of the way the sky had looked this morning, before the clouds had descended.

“Who are you, then? Aside from a fellow Brit?” asks Hob.

“No one of consequence.” He’s lugging around a small backpack, which now rests on the bench beside him.

“I must know,” Hob says in a very bad Inigo Montoya accent.

“Get used to disappointment,” the stranger says with a smirk, and Hob laughs.

“Oh, we’re going to get along just fine,” he says, holding his hand out across the table. “My name’s Hob, yes that’s my real name, and yes, it is a long story.”

The stranger shakes his hand briefly. His palm is warm from cupping his coffee cup, but the tips of his fingers are cold. “Pleased to meet you, Hob.”

“And do you have a name, stranger?”

“I do. Several, in fact.”

“Any of them for public consumption?”

The stranger shrugs. “Will you forgive me if I maintain a certain level of mystery?”

Hob shrugs too. “That’s your lookout, mate. No skin off my nose.”

They chat. About the weather, and how odd it is, and how different to England. About books – the stranger appears to be a voracious reader, and Hob had loaded up an old iPod with audiobooks in preparation for a lot of driving, which sparks a lively debate on the merits of printed books vs reading aloud. In the midst of this, Hob’s food arrives, and he is derailed momentarily from the conversation by an overwhelming need to unhinge his jaw and stuff as many chips into his gob as humanly possible. The stranger watches in amusement.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Hob says, muffled by his burger. “Been driving pretty much all day and I didn’t really want to stop, so…”

He’s suddenly self-conscious, very aware that the man sitting across from him is slender and willowy and dressed all in black, and that he himself is very much… not that. Dressed for comfort and warmth in slightly baggy jeans and a flannel shirt and his puffy jacket balled up on the bench beside him. But the stranger seems unbothered, simply smiling slightly and snagging a fried pickle off the plate between them, which Hob had invited him to share moments after it had arrived.

They are good; crispy and salty and uniquely American. Hob is certainly prepared to believe they’re the best in the county.

“So are you staying here in town, or is that shrouded in mystery as well?” he asks, once he’s slowed down a bit.

“I’ve been staying in a cabin up the mountain, a little way out of town. With my family.” He said the word family as though it is faintly dirty. “One of my siblings thought it would be good for us to get away together. But I have found it… trying.”

“Up the mountain, eh? Are you going to be able to get back in this?”

Hob tips his head toward the window. It is very dark now, and the snow is falling more thickly and wildly than ever. A crease appears between the stranger’s eyebrows.

“To be honest, I had not thought that far ahead.”

“Do you have much experience driving in the snow?”

To Hob’s surprise, the stranger actually blushes, just a gentle stain of pink across his cheekbones. “I… walked.”

“You walked?”

The waitress, stopping by the table to warm up their coffees, echos Hob’s surprise.

“Oh, honey,” she says. “In this? How are you fixing to get home?”

“I was planning to walk back,” the stranger says with some asperity. “But I admit I was not anticipating this kind of weather.”

“Let me check on the roads for you,” the waitress says kindly. “Which cabin did you say you’re at? My brother-in-law lives up that way, I’ll give him a call. I’m sure we can find you a ride.”

She goes back behind the counter and picks up the phone.

“I’m happy to give you a ride,” Hob says quietly. “If she thinks it’s safe.”

“You do not have to do that.”

“‘S okay. I want to.”

“Bill? It’s Jan. I have a question for you,” says the waitress.

Hob realizes, suddenly and with some surprise, that it is quite true, that he is not just being polite: he does want to help this mysterious stranger, who talks like a 19th-century Byronic hero and dresses like a college goth. His stomach is doing the tiniest little swoop every time they make eye contact, and he doesn’t want it to stop.

The waitress calls over to him.

“You got four wheel drive, hon?”

Hob thinks about the little Honda Civic in the motel parking lot. Thinks about mountain roads and snow. Shakes his head no.

Scraps of the waitress’s conversation float across the diner and Hob takes another bite of his burger.

“– well they’re foreign, Bill, they don’t –”

He snickers just a little; can’t help himself, really, because the waitress is just so kind and helpful and also clearly more than a little bit befuddled by their presence in her diner. These two Brits, total strangers, so unalike one another – and yet here they are, sharing a booth and a plate of fried pickles, five thousand miles and change away from home. He exchanges a look of camaraderie with the stranger and eats some more chips. They’re good too.

“– and tomorrow? What’s the overnight –”

After another minute or two the waitress thanks her brother-in-law and hangs up the phone. Her face is serious when she comes back to their table.

“Well, boys,” she says, “I don’t think anyone is going anywhere tonight. Bill says it’s pretty bad up there, and only getting worse. The plows aren’t even going out yet on account of the snow’s still coming down so hard, it doesn’t make sense to try and clear anything. You going to be able to find a place to stay?” she asks the stranger.

He looks at Hob. “Did you mention a motel?”

“Yeah, the Townhouse?” Hob says, and the waitress nods along. “I don’t know for sure if there are rooms available, but it didn’t look like the parking was full.”

“Probably not, this time of year,” interjects the waitress. “It’s a fine place, and Paulie can certainly use the business. I’ll bring your checks by in a minute, guys.”

She leaves them again. Her sensible sneakers squeak against the floor tiles as she walks.

“Thank you again for your offer of a ride,” the stranger says quietly. “That was very kind of you.”

“Course. I’m just sorry you won’t be able to get home tonight,” Hob says.

“It is my own fault. I should not have behaved so impulsively. But my siblings…” The man frowns. “As I said, they can be difficult. I would have done something regrettable, had I remained in the house.”

Hob waves a hand. “Ah, it happens to the best of us. Especially around family. You should hear some of the fights I’ve had with my sister, we can scream the paint off the walls when we get going.”

“Indeed,” the man says darkly.

“I’m glad you did come to town, though. It’s been kind of nice,” Hob says tentatively. “Having someone to talk to tonight.”

“Indeed,” his stranger repeats. But this time one corner of his mouth lifts in a tiny smile. “It seems to have worked out in my favor.”

Hob smiles back. “So, are you really not going to tell me your name?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun, eh?” Hob glances down at his own hands, folded on the table, back at the stranger. “Is that what this is?”

The stranger smirks. He leans forward and plucks another fried pickle from the plate. He opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue just a little bit farther than necessary to pop the slice into his mouth. He chews, and smirks some more, and gives Hob an unmistakable up-and-down appraising glance, and underneath the table he presses one ankle against Hob’s instep.

Oh. Hob feels a surprising but not unfamiliar spike of arousal in his gut. So that’s where this is heading – has been heading, since he pushed open the door and the stranger had glanced up at him. Had he blushed, when his eyes met Hob’s? Or is he applying more detail to that brief interaction after the fact, now that he thinks he knows what his stranger is thinking?

And when had the man become his stranger?

“I see,” he says, and presses back against the bony ankle under the table.

Ten minutes later, they’ve settled their bills – his stranger had apparently eaten a club sandwich before Hob had arrived, and he’s weirdly relieved that the man has consumed something more substantial than coffee this evening – and are gearing up to head back into the cold. Hob is zipping up his coat when he realizes the other man appears to have only a thick black hoodie and a knit beanie (also black, of course). He glances out the window, where it’s still snowing pretty hard, and raises an eyebrow.

“You going to be okay in just that?”

“You said it is only a couple of blocks? I will be fine. I tend not to feel the cold. And,” he adds defensively, “when I originally walked down the weather was not quite so… inclement.”

“If you say so,” Hob says as he opens the door. The waitress calls out a good night and he waves to her over his stranger’s shoulder. Wonders, just for a moment, what she thinks of the fact that they’re leaving together, or if she will ever think of them again at all. They step out into the snowy evening. “The girl at the motel said there’s a liquor store down the street. Mind detouring there? I was thinking of picking up some whiskey, or something. Something to keep a man warm.”

The man chuckles and they head down the street. It’s not until they’re away from the diner windows that he takes Hob by the elbow and gently draws him just outside the circle of a street lamp.

“Surely,” he says, voice low, stepping into Hob’s space, “there are many ways for a man to… keep warm.”

And he kisses him.

His lips are warm and dry, a little chapped. It’s a simple kiss, a chaste one, just their lips touching and the barest pressure of the stranger’s belly and chest pressed against Hob’s, swathed in layers of winter gear. It lasts for a heartbeat, two, and then the man steps back with a hum of satisfaction.

“Oh?” says Hob, giddily. “It’s like that, is it?”

“Obviously,” responds his stranger.

“Well, I don’t know, mate,” says Hob as they make their way down the street. He resists the urge to link their arms together. “Maybe you play footsie with every guy you meet in random diners in Northern California.”

“Perhaps.”

The liquor store is a brief respite from the wind and the snow. Hob selects a mid-range bottle of whiskey and they trudge back to his motel room. The snowflakes and the streetlights and the swirling wind make everything feel more than a little bit surreal, like something out of a dream or a fairy tale. The two of them could be adventurers, explorers, wading through an arctic wasteland in search of shelter. The mountain looms behind them, dark and mysterious, like a great castle or some monstrous beast.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” asks his stranger, kicking off his boots dropping his backpack by the desk. “I’m afraid I did get rather sweaty, hiking down earlier. I wouldn’t mind cleaning up.” His gaze, beneath his long eyelashes, feels heavy and significant.

“Go right ahead.” Hob gestures toward the bathroom. “I’m just going to nip down to the lobby and get a bit of ice.” He retrieves the ice bucket from the desk, brushing close to his stranger as he does. The brief contact jolts him back to the real world. They’re not in the arctic waste; this handsome, ethereal man is here, in his motel room. He is pulling off his somewhat sodden hoodie and draping it over the back of the chair, and sniffing dubiously at the sweater he wears underneath it. He is real.

Hob waits until he hears the shower turn on to slip out the door.

Although he has his moments of cluelessness, Hob is not a stupid man. He knows where this is going. He recognizes the signs, the coy little dance they’ve been doing around each other for the past two hours, and no, he’s not a stupid man, but if he were a better one he might be able to resist the temptation of falling into bed with a beautiful stranger who won’t even share his name.

But there’s something about this man. Hob wants him. Already can’t resist him. Wants to wrap him up and keep him warm and kiss his collarbones and, yes, wants to fuck him, wants to feel him shudder and moan and wants to watch his cheeks flush and his head fall back in ecstasy. He hasn’t felt like this for a long, long time, and now it’s come out of nowhere to slam into him and hook into his gut, this wanting.

He throws a few scoops of ice from the machine in the motel lobby into the bucket and goes back to the room.

He’s kicked off his boots, unwrapped one of the shitty plastic cups, and poured himself a couple fingers of whiskey by the time he hears the shower shut off. There’s the usual shuffling noise of towels, a brief blast of the cheap hair dryer mounted to the wall. Then the door opens and the stranger emerges, and Hob is slammed from the real world right back into a surreal dream.

The man is even more beautiful without his clothes on: Hob would compare him to an elf or a fairy prince, but he’s too busy choking slightly on the spit that’s suddenly flooding his mouth at the sight of long, slim limbs, a narrow waist, and a temptingly well-defined Adonis belt that disappears under the cheap motel towel wound around his hips.

There’s a long moment of silent eye contact. Hob’s leaning up against the desk, cup cradled in one hand. His face heats as he watches his stranger’s eyes travel slowly down the length of his body and back up, pursing his lips slightly. His mouth is very pink, with the kind of full bottom lip that’s made for nibbling on, and the rest of his skin is as pale and smooth as… well, as snow, with just a touch of redness from the heat of the shower spreading across his chest.

Hob downs half of his whiskey without even thinking about it. He can’t look away. He can’t think, can’t even blink. He’s afraid that if he does, this vision will disappear and it’ll just be him, alone, a saddish man alone in a motel room with a bottle of booze and a bag of expensive camera equipment, and then who knows what will happen?

His stranger gives him one of those tiny half-smiles, suggestive, not quite a leer, and stalks across the room toward him.

He widens his legs and his stranger steps in to stand between his feet. He takes Hob’s drink out of his hand and tosses back the last swallow of whiskey before setting the plastic cup aside. Then he hooks one finger into the collar of Hob’s flannel shirt and pulls him into a kiss. His mouth is a study in contrasts: warm from the whiskey and cool from the ice, soft tongue and sharp teeth. They sink briefly, gently, into Hob’s bottom lip, and Hob pulls the man close against his chest and returns the favor.

The kiss is turning wet and messy when the man pulls back far enough to start fumbling with Hob’s shirt buttons. He’s pulled the tails of the shirt out of Hob’s jeans and has it about halfway unbuttoned when a phone starts ringing.

It’s not the room phone – it’s coming from a pocket of the man’s backpack.

“Ignore it,” he mumbles into Hob’s neck. “We are busy.”

The phone rings three times; four times. The stranger has finished with Hob’s shirt and is pulling the tee beneath it out of the waistband of his jeans by the time it finally stops.

His fingers are toying with Hob’s belt buckle and ghosting over the seam of his fly when it rings again.

The stranger groans audibly.

“Do you think,” Hob says with the carefully deliberate cadence of the very turned on, “that your family might be worried about you?”

“I do not care,” his stranger grumbles, and sinks gracefully to his knees.

Eventually the phone stops ringing again.

He’s worked Hob’s belt and fly open and is nuzzling into the opening of his jeans, nosing at the base of Hob’s cock through his underwear and Hob is panting, his stranger’s hot breath so close to where Hob wants him most – when the phone rings a third time.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” snarls the stranger, and stands.

He fishes a slightly battered-looking BlackBerry out of an outside pocket of his backpack and stabs at the call answer button.

“What.”

He turns away, so all Hob can see is the furious, stiff line of his stranger’s back. He can’t hear the other half of the conversation, and he doesn’t think he wants to; every fibre of the man’s body radiates anger and discomfort and perhaps a little bit of shame. Hob adjusts himself discreetly, rezips his jeans, and tiptoes over to sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Obviously I am alive. I am fine.” A pause. “I took a walk.” Another pause. “Yes. Yes, I know what time it is. No, I am assured that the roads were too bad to make it back to the cabin. I am in a motel room in…” He looks over to Hob. “What is the name of this place?”

Hob supplies the name of the motel, and that of the town as well, just for good measure. The man relays the information into the phone. There is another long pause.

“That is none of your business. Shut up. You have no idea what you’re talking about. And if you speak to me like that again I will hang up the phone.”

There is another, longer pause, during which the stranger’s face grows progressively redder. He is very deliberately not looking at Hob.

“No. I said no. I will arrange for my own transportation in the morning. I –”

The person on the other end of the phone must say something truly outrageous, because his strangers eyes bug out in a way that looks almost uncomfortable.

“Do the entirety of the known universe a favor and crawl back into whatever slime hole you emerged from and leave me alone,” he hisses. “Goodbye.”

Hob can’t quite muffle a snort at this crowning line. Siblings.

His stranger hangs up the phone with a vicious jab of a button and slams it down on the desk; then seems to reconsider, retrieves it, and shuts it off entirely before throwing it into his backpack. He sighs, a surprisingly tired sound.

“I will have another drink, if you don’t mind,” he says. “And then I would like it very much if you would fuck me. Please.”

Hob’s cock, which had been feeling distinctly neglected, gives a twitch.

“I think that can be arranged,” he says. “Are you –”

The stranger waves a dismissive hand. “I am quite sober enough to have sex with you. And I could easily afford my own room, if that’s a concern. I am here because I want to be.”

“Glad to hear it, but that actually isn’t what I was going to ask,” Hob says mildly.

“Oh,” the man says. A faint blush rises on his cheekbones. He scoops up the whiskey bottle and uncorks it, taking an unceremonious swig. The towel hangs dangerously low around his hips. “What were you going to ask?”

His stranger pauses with the whiskey bottle against his lips. Hob watches the long line of his neck work once, twice, as he swallows, and figures he may as well put his cards on the table.

“I was going to ask if latex condoms are okay. For when I fuck you into the mattress in a minute here.”

The man clears his throat. “Oh,” he says again. “Yes. Latex is fine.”

“Good. Anything you don’t like? Hard boundaries?”

He pauses. “I do not enjoy being choked. Or having my hands restrained in any way. But I like… I like it a little bit rough. It feels good. To be used.”

Hob leans back on one elbow. “Is that what you want me to do? Use you?”

“Yes.”

The word drops into the quiet room like a handful of snow might drop off a tree branch – soft and muffled and sending the same delicious shiver down Hob’s spine.

“I can do that.” Oh, yes. Hob can use this beautiful man, if he is offering himself up to be used. “C’mere, then.”

His stranger walks slowly across the room to where Hob is half-reclining on the bed, feet still planted on the floor. He kneels between Hob’s legs and runs his hands slowly up and down his thighs from knee to hip. “And you?” he asks. “Your boundaries?”

Hob considers. “I’m with you on choking, not a fan,” he says. “I’m not big on pain, generally, but I can give it to other people, if they need it.”

“Alright.” His hands are still rubbing up and down Hob’s thighs, a slow, hypnotizing rhythm. When he speaks again his voice is thick. “Would you consider the preliminary negotiations to be concluded now?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do with your mouth than spout off like a horny nineteenth century robber baron?” Hob counters.

His stranger smiles, a proper smile that crinkles the corners of his blue eyes, and unzips the fly of Hob’s jeans.

In short order he’s pulled them open and pushed Hob’s boxers down just enough that he can get his cock out. He’s not quite hard, not yet, but he gets there quickly between his stranger’s gentle, surprisingly soft hands and the way he immediately buries his nose in Hob’s pubic hair and breathes deeply as he looks up through his eyelashes.

Then he opens his mouth, and wraps his tongue around the head of Hob’s cock, and Hob’s brain makes a noise like radio static.

Oh, he is good at this. Unfairly good. Supernaturally good. He teases Hob for long, long minutes, working up and down his shaft with light touches of just his lips and tongue, ducking down now and then to mouth gently at his balls, until Hob is twitching and swearing and straining, perched on the edge of the bed. When he finally has mercy and takes Hob’s cock fully into his mouth, it is barely a relief. He is so wet, so hot, and he sinks down on Hob with no resistance, no trace of a gag reflex. Before he can stop himself, Hob’s hips jerk forward that final fraction, and suddenly his stranger’s nose is brushing his pubic bone and his throat is contracting around the head of Hob’s cock.

He’s expecting the man to pull back, to splutter in indignation, but instead he makes an encouraging noise and squeezes Hob’s thigh before folding his hands almost primly in his lap.

“Fuck,” Hob mutters. He makes an experimental shallow thrust into the tight, wet heat of his stranger’s mouth. “Really?”

His stranger can’t nod, not with Hob’s prick in his mouth, but he moans. Hob feels it vibrate all along the length of his shaft and has to stifle a whimper of his own. He sinks one hand into the soft riot of the man’s hair, still a little damp from the shower, and cradles the back of his skull. The bone feels sweet and finely formed in his hand.

“You want me to fuck your pretty face?” he asks, soft and just a tiny bit mean. “Yeah? That’s what your mouth is good for, isn’t it?”

He thrusts again, in and out, and the stranger’s eyes roll back a little in his head, so he does it again, and again. Soon he really is fucking his face, not too hard but deep, fingers tightening in his stranger’s hair as his eyes fall nearly shut, narrowing to crystalline blue crescents.

Hob pulls back briefly to let his stranger breathe. Runs his thumb along his bottom lip, dripping with spit, before he pushes back in. He doesn’t stop until he can feel the first tendrils of orgasm beckoning to him; but as tempting as it is to keep going, to empty himself into this perfect mouth, he’s made a promise. And Hob is a man of his word, so he pulls the man off his cock by the scruff of his neck. He makes an obscene noise as he goes, and another thing string of saliva dribbles from his puffy mouth. His eyes are slightly glassy as he looks up at Hob.

“Get up on the bed, baby,” Hob orders gently.

When the man stands up the towel is just barely clinging to his narrow hips, and his erection is stiff and straining against the terrycloth. He’s so hard, Hob thinks wonderingly, just from having Hob’s cock in his mouth for a few minutes, and his own prick throbs in sympathy.

“Hands and knees,” Hob says, and the man crawls up on the bed. The towel falls away as he goes, languid but obedient, so that he’s entirely naked when Hob positions himself behind him. The contrast between Hob’s clothes and the other man’s nudity is delicious – Hob’s rough denim against the man’s soft thighs, Hob’s hairy wrists poking out from worn flannel as he runs his fingernails along sharply elegant shoulder blades.

He allows himself one long, gentle caress, from the nape of his stranger’s neck down to the shallow dimples in the small of his back, before he grabs at the man’s buttocks and unceremoniously spreads him open.

His hole looks surprisingly loose and relaxed already. Hob runs the pad of one thumb over it.

“Were you prepping yourself in the shower?” he asks, delighted. He presses gently and the furl of muscle gives, just a little, pink and fluttering.

“Hng,” says his stranger, shuddering. “Yes. I thought – I thought about your hands. Oh. I liked the thought that you were just outside the door. While I had my fingers inside myself.”

“Impatient little minx,” Hob says fondly. He kisses one of the lovely knobs of his stranger’s spine and pinches his backside for good measure before pulling away. “Stay here.”

He has to dig down to the bottom of his duffel bag in order to find the box of condoms and the little travel sized bottle of lube. He’d felt a little self-conscious when he’d packed them back in his flat in London – like he was presuming something – but then again he had been preparing for a supposedly romantic road trip with his girlfriend.

He’s glad, now, that he has them.

His stranger has remained on his knees, pitched forward to rest on his elbows, face pressed into a pillow and cock hanging heavy between his legs.

“Good boy,” Hob praises, and runs his hand along the man’s flank. “Beautiful. Oh, darling, I’m going to make you feel so good. And then you’re going to make me feel so good, aren’t you? You already have,” Hob coos, drizzling lube directly onto his arsehole. “And I know you’re going to keep being a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

Before the man can answer, Hob slips a finger inside him, right up to the first knuckle. He’s rewarded with a whimper and the feeling of his stranger pushing back against him, silently begging for more.

And then not so silently. “More,” moans the stranger. “Fuck. More, please.”

Hob strokes his finger in and out, petting the velvet inside his stranger.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll get more.”

He tries to spend as much time torturing his stranger with his fingers as his stranger had spent torturing him with his mouth, but by the second finger he finds his resolve dissolving like so many snowflakes on warm skin. The man is making such wanton sounds, and his knees skid wider and wider on the slippery motel bedspread, opening him inexorably to Hob’s hungry eyes and questing hands.

“Oh. Oh,” he says. “Oh, yes, fuck,” he moans. No more well-crafted phrases or erudite words; the only thing dropping from that perfect mouth are noises, guttural and breathy by turns, only half-muffled by the pillow his face is smashed into.

“Please,” he begs, “please, in me, I – please, I need –”

Hob obliges.

He’s pretty sure he’s never been harder in his life as he shoves his jeans down around his thighs and rolls the condom on. He has to do it one-handed, clumsily, because some frantic corner of his brain is convinced that if he lets go of the stranger’s hip then the man will disappear, between one blink and the next, and this whole night will turn out to have been some snowblind fever dream.

But his stranger stays where Hob has put him, desperate and writhing, begging for Hob’s cock, and when he finally pins the man down to the mattress and pushes into him, that first hard thrust is enough to silence both of them.

The room is utterly still for a heartbeat, and then another, and then one more, until Hob pulls out in order to thrust in again and his stranger wails and then Hob is fucking into him in earnest, fucking him hard, until the sound of their skin slapping together almost drowns out the sounds his stranger is making beneath him.

Almost.

His stranger moans and pants, and Hob answers him, thrust for thrust and moan for moan, Yes and Ah and Christ and Fuck, fuck me, use me, yes. He grips his stranger by the hips, so hard that his fingers leave little white divots behind when he shifts his grip, so hard that he worries he might leave bruises, and still the man pushes back against him and begs for more.

He comes, when he finally comes, untouched, rutting gracelessly against the mattress. Hob stills, grits his teeth, not wanting to overwhelm the other man as he seizes in pleasure, but his stranger continues to move against him, if anything even more desperate, even in the throes of orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, “don’t, oh God, fuck me through it, don’t stop –”

So Hob hauls him up and pushes him down, one hand on his waist and one shoving his chest down into the mattress as the man’s hands scrabble at the sheets and he sobs and Hob pistons into him until he empties himself, until his prick is oversensitive and his stranger is twitching around and beneath him, and the room is finally quiet.

Then Hob takes the condom off, knots it and tosses it towards the wastebasket. He rolls them both away from the wet spot with only middling success, but he’s too tired to care. He shucks the rest of his clothes off. He is boneless and spent, and his stranger is inserting himself relentlessly into Hob’s personal space. They lie there for a long, long moment, sweaty and panting, until their breathing starts to even out and the desperate closeness has receded into normal cuddling. Hob presses a kiss to his stranger’s sweaty temple and marvels at his luck.

“I realize I neglected to ask you why you find yourself in Northern California,” his stranger says, tucked against Hob’s side, voice drowsy and hoarse. “Do you care to share?”

“It’s a long story,” Hob says. “I was – well, I am – on a road trip. With my, ah. With my girlfriend. Well. Ex-girlfriend, now. Actually.”

His stranger tenses slightly, and Hob doesn’t blame him; he knows how it must sound. “It sounds like there is a story there?” the man says, almost tentative.

“Yeah, we… we came over together, about two weeks ago. We flew into Seattle, were planning this whole big trip, right down the coast and all the way to Los Angeles. See the redwoods, do some wine tastings, the whole bit. I’m a photographer, I was thinking I could turn the whole trip into a photo essay, maybe even a book.” He sighs. “Then she heard about this yoga retreat, ashram sort of place. Bit culty, I don’t really go in for all that, but she absolutely had to check it out, so we did. Two days later, out of the blue, she tells me our chakras are misaligned and gives me the boot. Turns out Guru Todd Thingummy, who ran the retreat center, was very aligned with her chakras. As well as other, less… metaphysical things.”

There’s a sound from the vicinity of Hob’s armpit that he realizes with delight is a snort. The snort blossoms into a chuckle, and then his stranger is laughing, a frankly horrible honking sort of laugh, shaking in Hob’s arms with it, and Hob laughs along.

“I’m sorry,” his stranger gasps. “I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t laugh at you. It’s just… Guru Todd.”

“I know!” Hob snickers. “You can picture him, right? White boy dreadlocks and a fucking… shell necklace. Utter tosser.”

“I feel like I’ve probably met someone almost exactly like him, truly.” Eventually his stranger’s horrible laugh subsides. He shifts against Hob, playing idly with his chest hair, curling it around one finger. “In a way, I am also escaping a recent ex. She was the first person I dated after some… difficult experiences I had about a year ago. But in the end I was far more invested in the relationship than she, and she became. Uncomfortable. With my ardor.”

“She’s a bloody idiot then,” Hob says automatically, and his stranger looks up, startled.

“Do you think so?”

Hob briefly considers backpedaling. Don’t come off like a madman, he thinks to himself. Not when he’s finally talking to you. But there’s no hope for him. “Well, yeah. I mean, I’d say your ardor is my favorite thing about you so far.” He lets one hand drift down and gives his stranger’s arse a cheeky squeeze, and is rewarded with a squeak and another snort.

“You are kind to say so,” the man says, and interrupts himself with a yawn.

“It’s true. I… I’m really glad I met you,” Hob says honestly. Too honestly. He can’t help himself; the man is just so beautiful, mouth kissed red and limbs loose, fucked out and soft everywhere he’d been hard and prickly before.

Hob still doesn’t know his name.

“I’m glad I met you, too,” the man says softly.

Hob snuggles them both down into the lumpy motel pillows and pulls the blanket up firmly around their shoulders. The wind blows outside, he reaches up to switch off the lamp, and they fall asleep.

He wakes in the night and stumbles to the bathroom to take a piss. When he comes back, his stranger has starfished out and is taking up a full two-thirds of the bed, sleeping like a stone. Hob manages to reinsert himself into the remaining third and then simply lies there for a long few minutes, looking at the other man.

The skies must have cleared, at least a little, because there’s a few strips of moonlight filtering through the blinds. The pale light turns his stranger into marble, a work of art; he practically glows against the blue sheets. Hob’s fingers itch for his camera.

“You’re going to fuck me up,” he whispers. “I’m going to wake up next to you and never want to leave, and it’s going to fuck me up so bad.”

The sleeping man does not respond, of course; doesn’t even stir. Hob lies there, and gazes at him, until he slips back into sleep himself.

When he wakes again it’s fully morning. The sun is that peculiar thin shade of blue that you get on very cold mornings, but when Hob peeks out the window, the sky is clear and the snowplows have clearly been out making the rounds. He tries to tamp down a sudden feeling of disappointment.

He gets a drink of water, and when he returns to bed his stranger is stirring. First one blue eye opens, then the other.

“Morning,” Hob says.

The man hums and stretches luxuriously, rolling from his belly to his back. The sheets fall down around his hips, revealing one elegant hipbone and a tempting glimpse of dark curls. His pale skin practically glows against the blue sheets in the morning light.

“Enjoying the view?” his stranger asks, and his voice is rough with sleep and slightly hoarse.

“You could say that,” Hob says. He puts one knee on the bed, reaches out to run a hand lightly down the long, lean line of the man’s thigh. “God, you’re… you are so beautiful.”

“Come here to me,” the man says, beckoning to Hob.

Hob ducks his head and kisses up the ladder of the man’s ribs, takes one pert nipple gently between his teeth.

“Can I take your picture?” he says suddenly. “Not in a creepy way. I can even keep your face out of it if you like, I just… there’s something about you, in this light.”

“I don’t mind,” the man says.

Hob’s heart leaps.

A few minutes later, he’s gotten his camera out and adjusted. The room is so quiet, so still, that each click of the shutter sounds almost sacrilegious. He shoots in black and white. He thinks the sheets will show dark, almost black, and the man’s skin will show light and luminous against them. His stranger poses like a dream, languid and biddable, moving here and there on the bed, wherever Hob arranges him.

“You’ve done this before,” Hob accuses. He’s kneeling above the other man, shooting straight down, and his stranger has one arm thrown over his face so only one eye is visible. “Posed, I mean. You know how to move for a camera.”

“I have,” the stranger admits. “Mostly for life drawing classes, though I imagine the principle is more or less the same.”

“Incredible. Are you an artist, then?”

“I suppose.”

Hob tugs the sheet a little lower, so that it’s just barely covering the stranger’s prick, which has plumped up a little – whether from the attention of Hob himself or of the camera, he’s not sure, but it’s one of the sexiest things Hob’s ever seen. The neat patch of dark hair blending into the dark sheet. The gentle swell beneath it. His mouth waters.

“You suppose?”

“I find it difficult to call myself an artist. To claim that title. But I make art. If that is the same thing.”

“Hmm. I reckon so.”

Hob pulls the sheet another fraction of an inch lower. He can feel himself getting distracted. The itch he’d felt to photograph the beautiful stranger, now mostly satisfied, has transformed into an altogether different kind of impulse. He takes one more shot, barely paying attention to the framing. Catches himself licking his lips.

“Hob.”

“Yeah?”

“Put the camera down.”

He hastens to obey.

He’d pulled his boxers back on at some point last night, but they do little to hide his arousal as he slides under the sheets and slots himself in behind his stranger, rubbing his nose in the riotous bedhead and kissing his neck as the man tilts his head to one side to give him better access.

“I like how you say my name,” Hob murmurs. He grinds against his stranger’s narrow arse and reaches around to make a loose fist around his hardening cock. “You’re really not going to tell me yours, are you?”

“Mine?”

“Your name.”

“I –” The man’s breath hitches as Hob tightens his grip, stroking slowly up and down. “I haven’t – decided yet.”

“Well,” Hob says against the smooth skin between his ear and his shoulder. “Let me know what you decide.”

They writhe together under the sheets for a few minutes, until they’re both fully hard, until Hob’s chest is slightly tacky with sweat where it’s rubbing against the stranger’s sharp shoulder blades. He’s grunting, underwear pulled down, making quick little thrusts in the crease of the other man’s thigh, sticky and warm and so good.

“Fuck me again,” his stranger says. “Please.”

“Don’t be a madman,” Hob chides. “You’ll be so sore.”

But he doesn’t say no. And he slides a finger between the man’s arse cheeks and pets over his hole, still a little loose from the night before.

The stranger twists his neck around to look Hob in the eye. “I don’t care. I want you,” he says. “I want to feel it.”

And Hob tries his best to be a good person, he really does, but when confronted with this bald-faced desire he is only, after all, a man. So he mumbles Fuck, okay, yeah, okay against his stranger’s shoulder, and tears himself away to retrieve the lube and a condom. He fingers him open, as slowly and as carefully as he can bring himself to do it, and rolls the condom on, and he fucks him again. Face to face, this time; one knee hooked over his elbow, and long arms clinging to him like a drowning man, and panting, open-mouthed kisses that are as much simply breathing the other’s breath as they are real kisses.

The stranger comes first, his beautiful face screwed up in ecstasy, and Hob follows him over the edge mere seconds later.

The other man falls back into a doze almost immediately, drifting off as soon as Hob has disposed of the condom and wiped them down with a handful of tissues, but Hob is buzzing with too much energy to lie back down. He cleans himself up, splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth quickly, before dressing quietly and creeping down to the motel lobby to look for breakfast.

There’s a coffee machine, a few muffins – prepackaged, not fresh – and a rather sad fruit bowl with some mealy-looking apples. He assembles what he can and shoves some creamers and sugar packets in his jacket pocket. He asks the bored teenager at the front desk (a different one than the night before, although bearing a distinct family resemblance) about the weather report, and learns that although it’s supposed to stay cold, no more precipitation is in the forecast. Then he goes back to the room.

His stranger stirs again at the rush of cold air when Hob lets himself back into the room.

“I come bearing provisions,” he says, setting the coffees on the bedside table and dropping the rest of his meager bounty in the man’s lap.

“Foraging for our survival?” he asks dryly.

“Something like that. It’s slim pickings out there, I’m afraid. But hey –” he picks up a muffin and wiggles it “– chocolate chip!”

His stranger snorts and mutters something about being spoiled.

Hob is very careful not to say anything about how he’d like to spoil this man very much, actually, for the foreseeable future and possibly beyond that, because Hob has so longed for someone to care for, and because this man so obviously needs it. Hob eats his muffin, and very carefully does not say anything reckless or emotional.

They finish their motel snacks, and drink their coffees (Hob’s with a little creamer and one sugar; the stranger’s with no cream and an absurd amount of sugar). And eventually Hob broaches the subject that’s obviously hovering between them.

“So,” he says. “What do you want to do now? I’m still up to give you a ride to your cabin, if that’s what you want. The roads are supposed to be cleared by now.”

“I suppose I should,” the stranger says, fiddling with his styrofoam cup, not meeting Hob’s eyes. “I did tell my sibling that I would return in the morning.”

“Okay.” Hob clears his throat. “Alright then. Whenever you’re ready.”

It takes them another hour to leave the room. Hob showers, and then his stranger decides he needs to rinse off as well, and then there’s a frustrating search for car keys that turn out to have been kicked or dropped halfway under a bedside table at some point the night before.

Then the stranger stops Hob in the doorway with a hand on his elbow and kisses him, long and slow and wordless, before they step out into the brilliant snowy sparkle of the late morning.

The drive is very quiet. The stranger directs Hob out of town and along a rather steep road that winds up the thickly forested mountainside. It’s certainly not a road that Hob would have wanted to drive in last night’s weather, and even with clear skies and plowed roads he takes it slow, acutely aware of the grip of the rental car’s tires on the snowy highway.

Only one time does the stranger wince and shift uncomfortably when Hob cannot avoid a bump in the road. Hob smiles, and swallows his smile, and deliberately wrenches his mind away from the vivid memories of just why his stranger might be wincing and shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

His stranger is silent, except for when he briefly tells Hob when and where to turn. The farther they drive up the mountain, the stiffer he becomes, until he’s gripping the seat with white knuckles and his mouth is one firm line.

Hob doesn’t think it’s the wintry roads that are making him so tense.

They pull over, eventually, at the base of a long driveway. Through the trees Hob can see a large house – not really a cabin by any stretch of the imagination, but built of logs, and with a wisp of woodsmoke floating up from a picturesque brick chimney. They both gaze up at it through the trees. Hob puts the car in park but doesn’t turn it off.

“Well, here we are,” he says.

“Indeed,” his stranger says, and his voice sounds tense and slightly strangled. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Hob waits for him to open the door and walk away.

The man does not move.

A minute stretches by, and another, and another, and still his stranger has not opened the car door.

Hob dares to hope.

“Come with me,” he says suddenly.

His stranger looks up, startled.

“I mean it. Come with me. Go get your stuff and we’ll just. Drive away. Go down the coast, find somewhere it’s actually warm. Or don’t even get your stuff,” he adds hurriedly, aware that his voice is sounding increasingly unhinged. “Say the word and I’ll just turn the car around. We’ll go. Anywhere you want, just… come with me.”

The man looks at Hob with an unreadable expression for a long moment. “You know nothing about me,” he says finally.

“I know I like you. A lot,” Hob says. “I know last night was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time, maybe one of the best nights of my whole life. I know I’d regret it if I didn’t at least ask. So, I’m asking. Come with me.”

“I haven’t even told you my name,” says his stranger. “I could be a serial killer.”

“You could be, yeah. But I don’t think you are. I think… I think you just want someone to want you.” Hob reaches across the gear shift and briefly touches his stranger on the cheek. The man’s eyes flutter closed and Hob doesn’t think he’s imagining the way he leans ever-so-slightly into the gentle touch before he looks down. “I want you.”

There’s another long silence, punctuated only by an occasional call from the chickadees flitting through the trees.

“My name is Morpheus,” he says to his hands, clenched in his lap. “But some people call me Dream. People – people close to me. Call me Dream.”

Hob smiles. “Can I call you Dream, then?”

Dream nods. “Let’s go,” he says. Hob’s smile widens.

“Want to get anything from inside?” he asks.

“No. I think not,” Dream says. All of a sudden it’s like the tight strings of his body are loosened: he leans back in his seat, crosses his ankles, looking relaxed for the first time since they’d gotten out of bed. He lolls his head to one side and peeks at Hob and his face looks fey and happy in the afternoon light. “I believe I have everything I need for now.”

Happiness wells up in Hob’s chest, a rushing feeling like a mountain spring swollen by melting snow. He puts the car in gear and reaches over to take Dream’s hand.

“Right then,” he says. “Let’s go.”

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#dreamling #the sandman #my writing #designtheendless

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Text

Shinrei Tantei Yakumo Another Files - The Lamenting Doll - file 02

Shinrei Tantei Yakumo novel translation

Another Files - The Lamenting Doll ( file 01 )

file 02 - shadow of the departed

1 -

The window wiper moved nonstop. Despite that, large droplets of rain fell onto the freshly wiped surface and continued to wet the windshield. It almost felt like they were underwater.

The sound of raindrops violently hitting against the roof of the car irritated him. Although Gotou had started the car, he couldn’t even leave the parking spot where they had stopped due to the overwhelming downpour.

“This rain is just the worst,” he grumbled as he glared across the windshield. “If you have time to complain, you should figure out something else to do,” said Yakumo, sitting in the back seat.

He leaned against the seat and yawned nonchalantly whilst messing with his dishevelled hair. “Even if you tell me to do something...” Gotou shrugged in earnest.

Earlier, they had heard news through the radio that the Chuo expressway had been closed due to a landslide. From their current location in Yamanashi, Tokyo was roughly a hundred and thirty kilometres away.

Not an impossible distance to travel through the regular road, but it would take them longer than usual to drive amidst this pouring rain, and most importantly, the roads in this mountain were steep. Making the wrong move would only make matters worse for them. “Good grief. What a useless bear, only good for being large,” said Yakumo, mocking him.

“My bad for being useless. Besides, you’re the one responsible for this entire situation,” Gotou replied loudly until his voice echoed throughout the car. Even so, Yakumo maintained an innocent look. Instead, Haruka, who had been sitting next to him, jolted. Gotou seemed to have startled her.

He felt guilty towards Haruka, but Gotou couldn’t help complaining. They were rendered helpless in this rainstorm because of Yakumo. Besides, he was no comic book superhero. No way he had a method to stop the landslide.

Yet Yakumo spoke as if everything had been Gotou’s fault. It would’ve been strange for Gotou to not be irritated instead. “For your information, I wasn’t the one who led us into this situation,” said Yakumo, throwing a cold look towards Isshin, sitting on the front passenger seat.

Isshin’s age wasn’t too far from Gotou, yet how he donned monk robes, with a dignified expression like that of a Buddha’s, combined with the way he carried himself, made him appear more senior. He was great at taking care of others and couldn’t sit still upon witnessing those in trouble.

In the first place, everything had started because Isshin hadn’t been able to refuse the request to resolve a spiritual phenomenon at the sake factory acquainted with one of the families supporting the temple, so he had to ask for help from Yakumo. Regardless, the person with the idea to use Gotou as a driver had been none other than Yakumo.

“You’re the one who got me involved even though I had nothing to do with this!” threatened Gotou, turning towards the back seat. Such threats did nothing to shake Yakumo, who simply responded, “To think you could say something like that.”

“Ha?” “Who was it again that’s been involving an unrelated university student into all sorts of cases, countless times?”

Having that brought up was a critical hit. All this time, Gotou had been relying on Yakumo’s abilities, bringing in a variety of cases to get his assistance.

While Haruka had been the one who had brought more cases to him recently, that didn’t change the fact that Gotou himself had involved Yakumo in a number of cases. “Aah, fine. I was the one at fault.”

“Good thing you understood,” said Yakumo nonchalantly. Gotou felt like beating him, but Isshin interrupted.

“There’s a hotel about five kilometres ahead. Let’s try asking if they have any vacant rooms,” Isshin suggested as he looked at his phone. “Riverside Fuji Hotel that’s next to the Kamanashi river, right?” said Haruka, who was also staring at her phone.

Apparently she had come across the same hotel as Isshin after making a search. Saying this and that wouldn’t improve their situation.

“Anyway, let’s try heading there—” After receiving the hotel’s address from Isshin, Gotou entered it into the car navigation before starting the car.

- 2

- Upon alighting the car, Haruka was immediately struck by pouring rain.

She had known how heavy the rain was ever since she had been inside the car, but after exiting, it was worse than she had imagined, her hair was soaked instantly. “Waah,” she exclaimed whilst running into the hotel lobby.

Despite it only being a few metres away, not just her hair, her blouse was also drenched and even the insides of her shoes were wet from stepping in a puddle. “How awful,”

Even after wiping the droplets from her hair and blouse, the wetness wouldn’t go away. Gotou and Isshin were drenched as well, but they didn’t appear to pay any mind and directly walked towards the front desk.

Haruka turned towards the side to see Yakumo, shaking his head like a dog to get rid of the water clinging to his hair. Yakumo’s bed head was a trademark of his, but now that his hair was all flat and stuck together, it gave a different impression than usual.

This is not bad. “What are you looking at?” asked Yakumo, lifting his left eyebrow.

“I-I’m not looking at anything in particular…” Haruka hurriedly averted her eyes.

Her face started burning, feeling as if her heart’s contents were exposed. “This hotel seems rather old...” said Yakumo, casting his gaze throughout the hotel lobby as if he had lost interest with Haruka.

“Is that so?” Haruka responded in disbelief, but upon closer inspection, the hotel did look old. The hotel’s interior walls were white, with brownish red carpet. As Yakumo had said, the hotel appeared to have been established for a long time.

“Furthermore, it’s dark,” commented Yakumo as he lifted his gaze. Now that he mentioned it, that was probably true. The ceiling was like an atrium that extended to the second floor, which normally would’ve given the feel of an open space. Yet for some reason, it felt dark and gloomy here.

Even so, it might’ve felt that way partly due to the constant downpour outside. Rather than the hotel’s age, Haruka was more curious about how few employees there were in this hotel. There was but a single young man employed at the front desk speaking with Gotou and Isshin; beside that there was no other people in sight that could be a hotel employee.

The lobby was quiet and felt deserted. “That’s...” mumbled Yakumo as he stared in the direction of the front desk.

What is it? Haruka turned to look, finding Gotou and Isshin discussing something with the employee at the front desk.

Could it be that they weren’t able to get a room? Not long afterwards, Gotou and Isshin approached Yakumo and Haruka.

“Are there rooms available?” asked Haruka to the two men, though she already suspected the reply. The two simultaneously made a difficult face.

“There is, but there’s only one twin room that’s vacant,” said Isshin, rubbing his bald head troublingly. “One room…?”

“Well, if we’re all guys, we could’ve just squeezed in to fit into the two beds, but that’s not the case, right,” said Gotou, glancing at Haruka. I see.

Honestly, Haruka wasn’t too keen on having four people in one room either. Not that she was wary towards Isshin or Gotou. As a woman, there were things that she wouldn’t want to show.

But she couldn’t act picky in this situation. Rather than sleeping in the car, squeezing to sleep in a cramped room was still the better choice. Since she was drenched, she wanted to take a shower as well.

“It’s fine even if we’re in the same room,” said Haruka, making Isshin and Gotou look at each other in response. After a brief silence, Gotou grinned. “Even if Haruka-chan doesn’t mind, it’d be bad if something happens, right?”

“Don’t worry. I trust that Gotou-san nor Isshin-san aren’t the kind of person to do anything strange.” “No doubt about us, but we don’t know for sure about him,” said Gotou with an implied gesture as he peered towards Yakumo.

Feeling Gotou’s stare on him, Yakumo’s eyebrow twitched and he exhaled a long sigh. “Don’t tell me Gotou-san thinks I’m going to do something?” he said, glancing at Gotou.

“Precisely,” said Gotou in reply, riling him. “I have the right to choose as well. Whatever happens, I’m not touching that troublemaker,” said Yakumo, sounding fed up.

Even though he meant to refute Gotou’s accusation, it really pained Haruka to hear that. Yeah, I am in fact a troublemaker! Besides, I also have the right to choose!

While Haruka cursed in her thoughts, the young employee at the front desk ran in their direction. Seeing him up close, his face didn’t look dependable at all.

The nametag he wore said ‘Oohori’, and above his name the word ‘trainee’ was printed. Well, if he were still under training, it wasn’t surprising for him to not seem dependable.

Despite that, to think that they would make a trainee tend to the front desk alone—this hotel seemed to be more understaffed than Haruka had imagined. “Um...” Oohori greeted hesitantly.

“What?” asked Gotou. Oohori appeared to stutter briefly, but he immediately cleared his throat and said, “My deepest apologies. Upon checking again, there’s also a single room available...if you wish, I could get the room prepared.”

“Thank goodness,” said Isshin in relief. “We’re in luck. With this, we have one problem settled,” said Gotou in agreement.

Haruka stroked her chest in relief as well. Yet for some reason, Yakumo’s expression appeared complicated.

“What’s wrong?” asked Haruka. Running a hand through his hair to get rid of the water, Yakumo mumbled, “Something’s off.”

“What is?” “If I could put it into words, I would’ve said it already.”

Well, that’s true. “If it’s bothering you that much, feel free to stay in the same room as Haruka-chan,” Gotou chimed in with a grin.

“Who said I wanted that?” Yakumo glared at Gotou. “Oh, pissed off, are you?”

“Not really.” “Just be honest.”

“Please stop talking like I’m some kind of deviant. I’m not so starved that I’ll go for any woman whoever they are.” “Enough already,” Haruka spontaneously interrupted.

Perhaps to Yakumo, he was merely getting back at Gotou’s mockery. But to Haruka, it hurt to hear Yakumo say such things. She couldn’t stand being dragged into their unproductive conversation any longer.

After checking in and receiving their keys, they proceeded to board the elevator. The room keys weren’t the keycard type, but were instead cylinder shaped old keys with a plate of the room number.

Yakumo and the rest were on the third floor, room 301. Haruka was one floor above them on the fourth floor, room 404. The elevator door opened at the third floor and Yakumo, Isshin, as well as Gotou stepped out.

“Have a good rest,” said Isshin, waving his hand with a friendly smile. Haruka nodded, “Yes,” before pressing the close button on the elevator.

Right before the door closed, Yakumo suddenly shoved his arm to halt the door. The elevator door creaked and opened once again. “What’s wrong?” asked Haruka.

Yakumo stared at her with a serious expression. “Once you’re in the room, check places like underneath the bed, inside the closet, and the bathroom cupboard. If there are any picture frames, check behind it as well.” “Why?”

Haruka didn’t feel that she needed to go out of her way to do those things. “Just in case.”

“Hence, in case of what I have to check them?” “In case you find something that looks like a talisman pasted, let me know immediately.”

“T-talisman?” “At hotels, they tend to put talismans in places that are hard to see inside rooms that have ghosts.”

“Eh?” What’s the meaning of that?

Haruka wanted to confirm, but the elevator door had closed before she had the chance to ask. Hearing the sound of the pulley being pulled upwards made her realise how serious the situation was.

Yakumo’s words earlier signified the possibility that a ghost may be present in this hotel. Perhaps Yakumo had already seen something back in the lobby. In that case—

While she was deep in her thoughts, the elevator arrived at the fourth floor and the door opened. The corridor that extended straight ahead felt awfully long. She was aware that the glum atmosphere could be attributed to the heavy rain, yet it was terrifying regardless.

Don’t worry about it. Although she tried to tell herself that, Haruka wasn’t able to make a single step from the elevator. If she were to encounter a ghost while all alone, screaming wouldn’t solve anything.

Thinking that, without her realising, the elevator door began to close again. Haruka hurriedly slipped through the gap in the door, exiting the elevator.

With its doors closed, the elevator descended to the lower floors. She shouldn’t have forced herself to alight at the fourth floor. She could’ve returned to the third floor and asked Yakumo to inspect the room together at least. That way, perhaps she would have a better peace of mind.

But if she were to do that, Gotou would probably let the two of them be by themselves on purpose. That wouldn’t be so bad—no, that would be impossible.

Not that she disliked Yakumo, but her heart wasn’t prepared. Wait, if that were the case, that would mean she’d be okay with it so long as her heart was prepared. Haruka changed her mood and walked towards room 404.

As soon as she reached the room, she would inspect the entire room and as Yakumo had instructed, contact him immediately if she discovered a talisman or the like. Haruka convinced herself as she stood in front of the room she would be staying in.

It’s still scary after all. Why did Yakumo had to say it at the last minute like that? She felt like she’d be able to sleep peacefully if only Yakumo hadn’t said anything.

No use even thinking about it. Haruka prepared her heart before inserting the key into the keyhole.

- 3

- Once they had entered the hotel room, Gotou immediately let out a long sigh.

It was a simple room with two beds and a sofa, but at the very least he could breathe easy now. Today had been a long one.

He never would have thought he’d come all the way to Yamanashi Prefecture and had no choice but to spend the night here. All because of Yakumo.

He had a mountain of complaints, but if he were to say it aloud, Gotou was certain he would be retaliated with insults a hundredfold. Besides, their situation wouldn’t change even if he were to complain. Rather than that—

“Is it really alright?” he asked Yakumo, who was already sitting on the sofa. “About what?”

Yakumo’s expression was showing clear suspicion. “About Haruka-chan.”

“What about her?” “Earlier you spoke as if a ghost would appear,” urged Gotou.

“Oh, that,” Yakumo answered listlessly. “I never said a ghost would appear.” “That was what you said.”

“No. I only sensed something was off, so as a precaution, I asked her to do an inspection.” Now that he mentioned it, that was true. Yakumo never said a word implying that a ghost was present, just that—

“What was it that was bothering you?” “If I knew, I would’ve explained it already. As I said before, it was just a precaution—”

“If you say something like that, Haruka-chan would get scared.” “She’s not going to get scared over just that,” said Yakumo with a shrug.

That may be true. Haruka had resolved a number of cases with Yakumo thus far. She had experienced so many spiritual phenomena that she’d gotten sick of it, not to mention having seen crime scenes more terrifying than a typical police detective would.

Even if a ghost were to appear, she might get scared, but surely she’d be able to handle it calmly without panicking. Haruka used to be a frail woman who could only cry, but humans could grow stronger with time.

“Well, you’re right.” “Gotou-san, instead of worrying about others, you should worry about yourself instead.”

“Ha?” “Perhaps a ghost might appear in this room instead—is what I’m saying.”

“W-what?” Gotou frantically walked all over the room to check below the bed and inside the closet. Witnessing Gotou’s antics, Isshin complained, “What a busy man,”

It was impossible for him to stay still. There might be a ghost in this room. “If you have time to complain, come help out as well,” urged Gotou. “That isn’t necessary,” Isshin replied with a calm look on his face.

“Why not?” “There are no ghosts in this room. Right, Yakumo?”

The moment Isshin threw the conversation at Yakumo, the man simply extended his arms in a joking manner. Seeing that made Gotou understood.

If there really was a ghost in this room, they wouldn’t have to go into all the trouble of searching for a talisman as Yakumo’s left eye should be able to see it. To think he hadn’t realised something as simple as that; perhaps that was the very evidence that Gotou was the scared one.

“Dammit...” Gotou grumbled, landing his bottom on the bed right as their room door was knocked. Isshin replied, “One moment,” whilst moving to answer the door.

The employee named Oohori, who had been in the front desk previously, stood there while holding a folding mattress and a fitted sheet. “I’ve come to prepare the bed,” Oohori said politely.

“Ah, please do.” Isshin ushered Oohori into the room.

“Excuse me. I need to use the sofa, is that alright?” said Oohori. Yakumo then stood up to make room. After temporarily placing the mattress and fitted sheet on the bed, Oohori began working with the sofa. Apparently the sofa could be turned into a bed, such that the once twin room could have one more bed for a third person.

“Are there no other hotel employees around?” Yakumo asked Oohori, who was doing his work. Unlike his typically rude and roundabout manner of speech, Yakumo sounded very polite.

“It’s just me alone at the moment,” replied Oohori with a bitter laugh. He appeared to be holding back in front of guests, despite actually wanting to air his grievances.

“Are you always by yourself?” asked Yakumo again. “Not always. But today everyone’s out because of something, so I’m by myself...”

“Aren’t the rooms fully occupied? Must be tough if there’s no one else to lend a hand.” “A majority of the rooms aren’t usable as they’re under renovation. Only two groups of guests had booked a reservation, so I thought it’d be fine, but…”

Oohori stopped his hand momentarily and his face turned sour once again. It appeared that Oohori, who was still under training, had been entrusted with running the hotel since the number of usable rooms had been limited, but then Gotou and the others had suddenly arrived.

“Since the situation became like this, they said they’ll come to help, so I believe your stay here wouldn't be impacted.” As Oohori finished setting up the bed, now drenched in sweat, he spoke, “If you’ll excuse me—” as he was about to leave the room.

At that moment, Yakumo called out to stop him. “Do you need something?” Oohori turned around, still holding the doorknob.

“Pardon, but do you have any children, Oohori-san?” Oohori was stunned upon hearing Yakumo’s sudden question. “No. I’m still a bachelor…”

“I see. Sorry about that.” “Then, excuse me—”

Yakumo stopped Oohori from leaving once again. “One more thing. Have you ever heard any rumours of a ghost appearing in this hotel?“

“A ghost…?” Oohori was flabbergasted over all the questions directed at him. Well, anyone would’ve had the same reaction if they were interrogated like that.

Yakumo waited for an answer, staring straight at Oohori. Oohori appeared confused for a moment, but eventually replied, “I’ve never heard of such rumours even once.”

“I see. My apologies for asking all these questions,” said Yakumo, bowing politely. Oohori responded, “Not at all—” before leaving the room.

“Oi, Yakumo. Why were you insisting about a ghost earlier?” said Gotou after waiting for the door to close. He had mentioned that something had been bothering him, but from the way he had spoken to Oohori earlier, he now seemed certain about it.

“I know now what’s been bothering me,” said Yakumo as he brushed his bangs upwards. “What?” asked Gotou.

Yakumo placed his index finger between his eyebrows. “When we entered this hotel, I saw someone’s figure entering the area behind the front desk,” he said calmly. “What about it?”

That didn’t sound particularly strange. Gotou had seen an entrance to and from the area behind the front desk that had been covered with a curtain. Perhaps an office space was behind there. It would be normal for employees to enter and exit to and from that office.

“Do you still not realise?” “Ha?”

“Earlier, Oohori-san said he was all alone.” As soon as Gotou understood what Yakumo was trying to say, his body began to shiver.

Come to think of it, when he had been talking to Oohori at the front desk, he hadn’t seen anyone entering the area behind the front desk. In other words, that person had only been visible to Yakumo.

And they had been none other than a ghost. -

4 -

“Huh?” Haruka exclaimed spontaneously. She had managed to insert the key into the keyhole and unlocked it. Yet somehow the door itself wouldn’t open.

No matter how much she pushed or pulled, the door refused to budge. As she deliberated calling the front desk employee, for the final time, Haruka attempted to push the door whilst putting her body weight onto her shoulder.

The door opened with a creaking sound. As it turned out, the door frame didn’t seem to fit properly. Like this, she would have trouble entering and leaving the room. Haruka decided to contact the front desk later on.

Thank goodness. She entered the room feeling relieved. The next second however, Haruka spontaneously halted her steps.

This room was incredibly dark. The further it was from the door, the darkness became more intense, to the point that the furthest part of the room appeared to be painted with black ink. “What’s with this room…?”

Haruka wavered at first, but she soon discovered the cause. The windows inside the room were entirely covered by blackout curtains. Typically when a guest first checked in to their hotel room, the blackout curtains would be left open. Someone seemed to have left it closed.

Haruka released her hand from the door and began stepping further into the room. Walking in as the door closed with a thud, the room became enveloped in darkness.

She fumbled around for the curtains and opened them. Due to the rain, you couldn’t exactly call the room bright, but she could at least see the state of the room.

She wouldn’t have to go through this trouble, had she turned on the lights first earlier. Embarrassed by her poor technique, Haruka walked towards the bathroom. First of all, she needed to dry her wet hair. Otherwise, she would catch a cold.

The bathroom was in the same room as the toilet, similar to that of one person apartments. Perhaps because it hadn’t been used in a long time, the washbasin and the toilet lid was covered in a thin layer of dust.

Well, not that she could complain. “Towel, towel...”

She tried looking for them, but didn’t find any. Perhaps it could be in the bedroom?

Haruka exited the bathroom and gazed across the bedroom. There was a bed, and a sideboard with television and a telephone on top. She couldn’t find a towel anywhere she looked.

I give up. Haruka reached for the telephone handset on top of the sideboard to contact the front desk.

There should have been the beeping sound normally heard from the speaker, but she couldn’t hear anything even after putting the handset against her ear. Haruka continued to try and press the extension number written on the telephone, but forget being connected, she couldn’t even hear the sound of a button press.

It seemed that this phone was completely broken. This left her no choice but to leave the room and approach the front desk directly.

As she headed for the door, Yakumo’s words came to her mind. In case you found something that looks like a talisman pasted, let me know immediately.

He had mentioned that talismans would be placed in rooms that were haunted by ghosts. Haruka could just inspect the room upon returning from the front desk. But once it piqued her curiosity, she couldn’t ignore the thought in her mind.

No, towel comes first. Haruka told herself that.

Yet as soon as she reached for the doorknob, she felt someone’s stare from behind. Don’t turn around.

Despite thinking that, her neck slowly turned as if pulled by something. There was no one there.

Only the sound of rain hitting against the window. Perhaps her nerves were becoming too sensitive.

Haruka decided to leave for the front desk immediately. Yet when she was about to face the door again, somehow her gaze was drawn towards a shadow underneath the bed. There was nothing over there.

Although she thought as much, she still grew restless. It was all Yakumo’s fault that she felt this way. Because of all that talk about talismans, Haruka grew anxious and unable to remain composed in the room.

Surely her nerves would calm down once she confirmed that there was no such talisman sticking underneath the bed. Firming her resolve, Haruka approached the bed, went down to her knees, and crouched to peek underneath it—

- 5

- “I’m going out for a bit.”

After Oohori had left their room, Yakumo seemed to be thinking about something, before suddenly saying that and headed for the door. “Where are you going?” asked Gotou.

Yakumo stopped walking and turned. He appeared unenergetic as usual and it was impossible to read what he was thinking.

“It’s bothering my mind, so I’d like to take a brief look.” “You mean Haruka-chan’s room?”

“Why did it come to that? I saw a ghost at the front desk. It has nothing to do with her room.” “I see...”

It was true that since he had seen the ghost at the front desk, Haruka’s room had nothing to do with it. “Wait up. I’m going too,” Gotou slapped his knees and stood up.

When Yakumo had said that it was bothering him, it was possible something might happen. Gotou felt uncomfortable ignoring it. “I’ll go as well,” said Isshin as he also stood up.

“Even if the number of people increases, it wouldn’t make a difference,” said Yakumo, messing with his dishevelled hair in annoyance. Gotou could tell just by looking. Yakumo appeared slightly flustered, far from his usual self.

“This police detective will assist you. You should be thankful,” said Gotou, puffing out his chest. Yakumo burst into laughter. “Gotou-san is a police detective?”

What did you say now? “What do you think I am?”

“A bear whose only quality is his loud voice.” “You little—”

Even though someone had the intention to help him, he had to say something that made that intention disappear. “Don’t get all baited like that. Surely you’re well aware of Yakumo’s personality,” Isshin reminded Gotou so that he managed to swallow his nearly erupting anger within his stomach.

Isshin was right after all. Yakumo wasn’t the type to say things honestly and was a handful to deal with. If he got riled up over the smallest of things, his body wouldn’t last instead. “Anyway, let’s go,” said Isshin.

Once they were in the corridor, Gotou looked upwards to the ceiling. Perhaps due to having just listened to a ghost story, the whole atmosphere felt glum. “So, where do we start?” asked Gotou.

“Right,” Yakumo touched the tip of his chin. “Actually, I’d like to ask around to gather information, but Oohori-san’s the only employee around at the moment.” “In that case, just ask him.”

“Gotou-san, are you really a police detective?” “What?”

Gotou wanted to lay a hand on him, but Isshin, sensing what was about to happen, put himself between Gotou and Yakumo. “We’ve already questioned him. Even if we were to ask him again, he may not know much since he’s still a trainee,” explained Isshin.

Yakumo nodded. “Precisely.” Having mentioned that, Oohori’s nametag did have the word ‘trainee’ above his name. Knowing so, Yakumo hadn’t pried too deeply when Oohori had come to their room.

Yakumo wasn’t only remarkable due to his ability to see ghosts, the sharpness of his mind played a part as well. That was how he had managed to solve many cases thus far. Gotou understood the situation now, but the problem remained on how they should proceed onwards.

“If we can’t question that Oohori guy, who else should we be questioning?” asked Gotou. Yakumo shook his head in disbelief. “I feel like crying, thinking about all the valuable taxpayer money used to pay such a useless man’s salary.”

“This bastard! Say that once again!” Gotou lifted his fist upwards, but Isshin stopped him once again.

“Please calm down. Your brain could deteriorate if you’re so quick to get emotional.” Yakumo’s words may be harsh, but Isshin’s were just as harsh despite being spoken calmly. He really was Yakumo’s uncle after all—

“None of your business. If you’re saying that, does that mean you have any ideas?” said Gotou, attempting to pressure Isshin, yet Isshin’s friendly smile didn’t subside. “There was a convenience store on our way to this hotel, right?” said Isshin.

Indeed, there had been a convenience store about fifty metres away near here. “Don’t tell me you want to go shopping at the convenience store?”

“If there isn’t anyone we can question at the hotel, why don’t we try asking around there?” So that was what he meant.

If there was a ghost in this hotel, that meant someone had died here previously. Convenience store employees had to be made up of local residents, so they should be able to gather information by asking there. Gotou understood the fact, yet he didn’t want to agree just like that.

“Well, let’s give it a try,” he said with a sour face, and Isshin nodded. Gotou felt incredibly uncomfortable as it was like he had been caught acting all stubborn and narrow-minded. If he said anything further, perhaps he’d really be exposed.

“Let’s be on our way—” said Gotou, walking towards the elevator with quicker steps. Isshin followed suit, but Yakumo remained still in the corridor. His gaze seemed empty, as if he wasn’t looking at anything despite having his eyes open.

“What’s up? You’re not going?” called Gotou. Yakumo slowly turned. “Yes. I’ll leave it to you two.”

“What are you going to do?” “I’m going to find out where the ghost went.”

I see. Only Yakumo could confirm where the ghost he had seen had gone.

“Understood,” Gotou replied before boarding the elevator with Isshin. -

6 -

With fearful movements, Haruka peeked underneath the bed— There was nothing like a pale figure lying there in a pool of blood; only shadows were present.

As it turned out, she had simply imagined the eyes of someone staring at her. Furthermore, there were no talismans pasted anywhere.

With this, I can be rest assured. Haruka was about to stand up when she noticed an object that had dropped under the bed. Behind the bed frame leg, around an angle that was difficult to see.

That object was a red shoe. Even so, it wasn’t a size any human could wear. Around a centimetre in size, the shoe likely belonged to a doll.

Haruka extended her hand and picked up the shoe. Why did something like this drop here?

Perhaps someone had forgotten about it. An object as small as this could remain undiscovered when the room had been cleaned. Either way, she needed some towels first and foremost.

Her hair had gotten fairly dry, but having gotten rained on, Haruka would like to take a shower to feel refreshed. When inquiring about the towels at the front desk, she would hand over this dropped item as well. Haruka pocketed the doll shoe and as she headed for the door, someone called to her.

“Hey.” She turned around immediately.

And yet, no one was there. Her nerves were becoming sensitive after all. She needed to think about something else—

At the corner of her vision as she turned for the door again, was a person’s face. “Hya-!” Haruka screamed as she jumped back.

As her back crashed against the wall, the television on top of the sideboard shook. What was that just now?

With all her might, Haruka held herself back from panicking, her eyes scanning across the entire room. Then—

She spotted the face that she had seen earlier. Displayed near the bed headboard was a framed piece of painting. It portrayed a woman standing at the seashore with sorrowful eyes.

A bust-up view of the woman, its composition was similar to that of Da Vinci’s renowned painting, Mona Lisa. Due to the oil painting’s realism style, it appeared almost lifelike.

Haruka felt relief after knowing what she had just seen earlier. Yet once again, Yakumo’s words came to her mind. Yakumo had requested her to examine the back of any picture frames as well. Upon further observation, the picture frame’s placement above the headboard appeared unnatural.

There’s no way. Despite thinking so, Haruka climbed onto the bed, took off the picture frame and flipped it around.

Thank goodness. There was no talisman at the back.

With this she could really be at ease. It was only as she was about to put the frame back in place that Haruka noticed the fist-sized hole on the wall where the frame used to hang.

The painting seemed to have been deliberately hung above the headboard to cover up this hole. Could this hole be connected to the room next door?

Haruka brought her face closer to the hole. Dark—

There was no sign of a light source from the other end of the hole. Still, she felt terrified at the thought that she was being observed through this hole.

Simply putting the frame back in place didn’t sit right with her, so Haruka decided she’d bring it up with the front desk. They might not be able to seal the hole shut immediately, but perhaps they could at least cover it up. Haruka was about to draw her face away when—

Her eyes met with it. On the other side of the hole, an eye suddenly appeared, gazing intently at Haruka.

Wide open, the whites were clearly visible. In contrast, its pupil was small and the blood vessels appeared prominent and red.

Haruka couldn’t let out a sound. Her body was thrown backwards and she fell on her back. Her breathing grew difficult.

Haruka tried to lift her body and stared at the hole once more. I must’ve been seeing things. That has to be it.

Haruka tried to convince herself before she hurriedly returned the picture frame to its place to block the hole. The woman in the painting stared at her.

Haruka felt like their gazes met. The eye she had seen from within the hole earlier came back into her mind.

Had she really just been seeing things? She truly felt there had been an eye staring at her through the hole. Haruka could simply get the picture frame out of the way and look into the hole to confirm. Even so, it’d be impossible for her to peek into that hole once again.

Anyway, let’s get out of this room. Haruka got off the bed to head for the door.

That instant, her legs became weak from fear, causing her to fall to her knees. She turned to find the woman in the painting looking at her still.

That was obvious since it was a painting after all. But in Haruka’s current state, she wasn’t able to think clearly. I have to run.

Using the wall as a support so she wouldn’t fall, Haruka stood up and walked towards the door. She reached for the doorknob and pulled it, but somehow the door didn’t budge.

“Why?” Desperately, Haruka tried her hardest to pull it.

The door still wouldn’t open. You’ve got to be kidding me.

She continued turning the doorknob as she occasionally turned to look at the room. At that moment, the picture frame fell onto the bed with a thud.

The hole— The hole in the wall became visible.

And then. From within that hole—

An eye— Wide open, the eye moved from left to right as if searching for Haruka.

So she hadn’t been mistaken after all. Haruka couldn’t bear it anymore.

With lightning speed she opened the nearby bathroom door and jumped inside. Her hands were trembling.

No, it wasn’t just her hands. Her entire body was shaking nonstop that she lost control of it herself. Haruka struggled to calm her uneven breathing before contemplating what she had to do next.

That eye wouldn’t be able to find her while inside this bathroom. However, she couldn’t shut herself in here forever. That’s right, Yakumo-kun.

She could contact Yakumo to ask for help. Haruka hurriedly searched for her phone in her pocket, but couldn't find it.

She had left her phone on the sideboard. Haruka thought about retrieving it, but she immediately rejected the idea. Heading to retrieve the phone on the sideboard meant she would be seen by the eye inside the hole.

Honestly, she didn’t have the courage to do that. What should I do?

Confused, Haruka sat in place whilst wrapping her arms around her own shoulder. Gurgle—

Haruka jolted at the sound and lifted her face. “What is it now?”

Gurgle— Gurgle gurgle—

It sounded like someone coughing. Took her a while until she realised that the sound had come from the water pipes.

She didn’t know whether the pipes had made such noises merely out of their poor condition, or because of a spiritual phenomenon. Even so, perhaps the bathroom wasn’t a safe place either.

Scary— Yet in order to escape her fear, she had to open the door once more and leave this room.

Haruka gathered her strength and stood up to exit the bathroom. Right then, she spotted a black shadow standing on the other side of the frosted glass on the bathroom door.

The shadow was somewhat spread out so she couldn’t tell whether it was a male or female, but it was unmistakably the shadow of a person. “No way...”

Don’t come any closer! Haruka screamed within her heart, but the shadow came closer in her direction as if mocking her. This is bad.

Haruka held the bathroom door from the inside. She didn’t know whether such a thing would be effective against a ghost or not. Either way, she had no other ideas.

Please! Don’t go in! Haruka couldn’t even open her eyes. She closed her eyes shut, chanting those words over and over in her heart.

Just how much time had passed since then— Suddenly, she had a feeling that the shadow before her eyes had disappeared.

To tell the truth, she was scared. If the shadow were still standing where it had been once she opened her eyes, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to maintain her sanity. Regardless, standing still like this wouldn’t solve anything.

Surely it’ll be fine. Haruka convinced herself and slowly released the tension on her eyes.

Her vision gradually returned. The shadow—wasn’t there.

The shadow that had been across the frosted glass had disappeared without a trace. Haruka sighed in relief.

However, the problem was what came after this. Her courage to leave the bathroom had vanished entirely. “What should I do…?”

As she lowered her head came an unsettling click, and the bathroom lamp started flickering. “Please…enough already...” Partly sobbing, Haruka begged as she looked upwards to the lamp fixed on the ceiling.

As if signalled by her gesture, the lamp with its once flickering yellow light then went out— The bathroom became dark.

Why is it like this? Maybe the lamp hadn’t been installed properly. That had to be it.

Haruka gulped before extending her hand in the direction of the lamp. At that moment, her reflection came in the mirror.

She mustn’t look. Despite knowing that, she had already seen it unintentionally. The mirror didn’t reflect just her.

A doll with a faint smile was also reflected there. “Nooooo!”

In full blown panic, Haruka screamed until her throat felt like it would rip. -

7 -

“Anyway, this rain sure is awful,” Gotou mumbled as he turned to watch the neverending rain from the hotel lobby. The rain was comparable to a bucket of water turned upside down.

“It certainly is,” said Isshin, who stood next to him, nodding as he stared at the rain. “Like this, we wouldn’t be able to see Mount Fuji even though we came all the way to Yamanashi.”

“We’re not here on holiday. Mount Fuji isn’t going anywhere either, we can always see it some other time.” “Well, that’s true,” Gotou replied with a sigh. As Isshin had said, they hadn’t come to Yamanashi for a holiday. Besides, the downpour might subside tomorrow.

For now, it was more important for them to find the identity of the ghost Yakumo had seen. “In that case, let’s quickly head there,” he said, looking at the convenience store located about fifty metres ahead.

“You’re planning to go through this pouring rain without an umbrella?” asked Isshin. The rain was so heavy that it would obstruct one’s line of vision. Gotou would’ve liked to use an umbrella, but unfortunately he didn’t have one with him.

“Let’s just make a run for it.” “That’s not necessary—”

Isshin was about to say something, but Gotou had ignored him and dashed outside. Obviously he got drenched in an instant, but if he sat still worrying about the fact, he would only get even more soaked.

Gotou crossed the road that had practically turned into a river and ran for the eaves of the convenience store. He took deep breaths upon reaching. He was drenched until water dripped from his hair. His socks were completely soaked as well.

“This rain is really…” Gotou wiped the droplets off his jacket as he turned towards the road he had just passed earlier.

He thought Isshin would’ve followed right after him, yet amidst the rain, the monk’s figure was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t able to see clearly thanks to the rain, but Isshin was probably still inside the hotel, hesitant to go outside.

Geez, Gotou grumbled on the inside as he lit a cigarette. Surely Isshin would give in soon enough and come over here. Even if he didn’t, Gotou could simply gather information all by himself.

As he had that thought, he saw Isshin walking over towards him. The entire opposite of Gotou, Isshin calmly walked through the heavy rain.

To no one’s surprise, Isshin’s hand was holding an umbrella. “If you have an umbrella, why didn’t you say so earlier?” protested Gotou after waiting for Isshin to arrive.

Gotou disliked the idea of a pair of uncles walking around sharing an umbrella, but it was a better option than getting drenched from running through the rain. Isshin went underneath the convenience store eaves and said as he folded the umbrella, “I told you so.”

“I didn’t hear anything.” “I said let’s borrow umbrellas from the front desk, but you had run off by yourself.”

“Ugh.” Come to think of it, when they were about to leave the hotel, Isshin had been saying something, but Gotou hadn’t listened and ran off alone instead.

“Don’t go running into things without considering the consequences. It’s better if you stop for a moment and use your head.” “Shut up. I don’t need an umbrella with this much rain.”

“As expected, wild bears sure are tough.” “Who are you calling a bear?!”

“Anyway, let’s hurry up and ask them,” Paying no attention to the irritated Gotou, Isshin entered the convenience store.

Gotou felt annoyed, but as Isshin had said, they better settle matters quickly. Gotou threw the cigarette he had been smoking to an ashtray in front of the convenience store, and followed Isshin inside. “Welcome,” greeted a woman who seemed to be in her fifties, with a voice so devoid of emotion.

It left Gotou to wonder, shouldn’t it be written in convenience store employee handbooks that the employees should greet customers full of emotion? “Excuse us, but we’d like to ask something...” said Gotou, approaching the female employee tending to the store.

“Yes?” replied the woman with a confused look as she took a step back. A drenched man suddenly walked towards her. Her response was understandable.

“Actually, this is my job,” said Gotou, showing his police badge. “A police? Really?”

The woman’s voice became guarded. Furthermore, her hand was already reaching for the emergency call button underneath the counter. “A real one, of course.”

“From which department? Is there an ongoing case?” said the woman, bombarding him with questions. He was being heavily suspected. Did he not look like a detective all that much?

“No, that's why…” “He may look like this, but he’s the real deal,” said Isshin to help. “Although he looks like a bear with a scary face, he’s cowardly and gets lonely easily like a rabbit.”

Acting familiar, Isshin patted Gotou’s shoulder. Who’s a lonely rabbit around here—!

Gotou really wanted to protest, but held himself back. Saying the wrong things now would only raise further suspicion on them.

Isshin displayed a friendly smile, softening the woman’s expression in response. “What a strange combination,” said the woman as she stared back and forth between Gotou and Isshin.

Certainly, a police detective and a monk standing next to each other might be an uncommon scenario. “I think so too. The truth is, we came here to ask about something—” Isshin said in a polite tone.

“About what?” “Actually—we’re staying at that hotel over there,” Isshin pointed at the hotel.

“Yes.” “As I said earlier, this man is a coward and he made a ruckus saying he’d seen a ghost at the hotel. I’ve told him that there’s nothing to worry about, but being a coward, he said he wouldn’t believe it until he knew for certain.” Isshin explained while looking at Gotou, acting like he was in disbelief.

You’re joking me! The person who had made claims about the existence of a ghost hadn’t been Gotou, but Yakumo. Aside from that, he wasn’t that much of a coward to be complaining simply because there was a ghost.

He had a mountain of things to say, but decided to stay quiet to avoid overcomplicating the conversation. “It felt rude to ask hotel employees whether there were any rumours of the place being haunted, so we decided to ask local residents while going shopping,“ Isshin continued politely.

Gotou couldn’t accept that the story placed all the blame onto him, yet he was also impressed that Isshin could make up a story as smoothly as that. “Did you really see a ghost at that hotel?” The woman asked Gotou, her face filled with suspicion.

Gotou hadn’t actually seen a ghost, but explaining the real situation was too much of a trouble, not to mention it would go against Isshin’s story. “I did.” Gotou gave her a short answer.

“Was the ghost of a little girl?” said the woman as she lowered her voice. Come to think of it, he had forgotten to ask Yakumo what the ghost had been like. But based on her response, it might be better for him to align the conversation.

“Yes.” “So it was true...” said the woman, reaching for her mouth.

“Do you know anything about it?” “Please don’t mention it elsewhere that I’m the one who told you this.”

“Understood,” Gotou replied with a nod. The woman glanced at the hotel across the rain before she began her explanation—

- 8

- “Nooooo!”

Haruka screamed to the point that her throat felt like it would rip. Strength left her knees and they trembled, making her fall sitting down in place. Haruka covered her face with both hands and closed her eyes shut.

Even so, she was well aware that the entity she had seen wouldn’t disappear just from her doing that. The reflection on the mirror returned to her mind once again.

This bathroom was cramped. There shouldn’t be anyone else but her in here. Nevertheless, she was certain that she had seen the shadow of a person standing behind her when she had been looking at the mirror. The shadow was black, so she hadn’t been able to see its face clearly. Yet she had felt as if the shadow had faintly smiled at her.

Haruka kept still for a while. The next second, something suddenly grazed her nape— It made her jolt and stood up.

Out of reflex, the mirror that she had been avoiding came into her sight. However—

Reflected on the mirror was her face, tense out of fear, and nothing else. The shadow she had seen earlier had already disappeared. Was I mistaken?

No, that couldn’t be it. She was certain there had been a shadow reflected in the mirror. If it had been a ghost, perhaps the ghost was still inside the bathroom. Waves of terror washed over her.

Let’s get out of here quick. As she touched the bathroom door, there was a thud and the room shook lightly.

Surprised, Haruka halted her movements. She had forgotten all about it from panic, but she now recalled the reason why she was in the bathroom.

In her room was a hole in the wall, and someone had peeked at her through said hole. Scared, she had evacuated into the bathroom to escape from that eye. Thinking about how she might get stared at again by the terrifying eye after getting out of here made her body paralyse in fear.

Despite that, she couldn’t stay inside the bathroom forever. She wanted to leave the hotel room, but the door wouldn’t move even when pushed or pulled. She’d like to ask for help, but her phone was on the sideboard next to the bed.

What should I do? Haruka sat down again and covered her face with both hands.

“Yakumo-kun...” she whispered a name as she held back the tears that welled up. Along with that, she remembered the line that Yakumo had always said.

Spirits of the dead were no monsters or a new kind of entity, they were clusters of emotions of humans that had passed away— Yakumo, with his red left eye and its ability to see spirits of the dead, had been able to understand the feelings of wandering ghosts and had resolved various cases based on that theory.

Nothing could get solved by sitting around in the bathroom. Following Yakumo’s theory, she might be able to resolve this situation by finding out the reason why the ghost had been wandering.

Haruka firmed her resolve. She took her hands off her face, stood up, and faced the mirror. She would be lying to say that she wasn’t scared.

Her knees were still shaking and her breathing was irregular. Regardless, there was nothing else she could do now. Things wouldn’t sort itself out if she were to sit around hoping help would arrive.

“Hey, are you there?” Haruka called towards the mirror. No response.

“Who are you? What’s the reason you’re wandering around?” Haruka asked once more. The silence continued.

Unlike Yakumo, Haruka couldn’t see ghosts. Occasionally she could, but only partially, like the eye and the shadow from earlier, not to mention unstable. She had doubts on whether she’d be able to clearly sense what they wanted.

But she couldn’t think of any other way besides this. Haruka gulped until her throat made a sound, and stared back at the mirror.

She nodded firmly at herself, tensed up from fear. “Hey, why are you wandering around? Can you tell me?”

As if answering Haruka's call, the bathroom lights that had gone out began to flicker. Then—

Within the dimness, a dark shadow emerged behind Haruka’s reflection in the mirror— -

9 -

“Two uncles sharing an umbrella together, how gross—” As Gotou and Isshin returned to the hotel lobby, they were greeted by a mocking smile from Yakumo.

“Not that we’d like to, more like we had no choice,” They only had one umbrella, so they had no choice but to share during their return trip from the convenience store.

“Seems to me that you liked it though,” Yakumo grinned and sat on the lobby sofa. “There’s no way.”

“I wonder.” Gotou had a lot to say, but he had a feeling the more he denied it, the more he’d get cornered. He swallowed his anger and sat on a sofa across from Yakumo. Isshin sat next to him as well.

“So, did you two find anything?” asked Yakumo. “Before that, how are things on your end?” asked Gotou in return.

Yakumo said he had been searching for where the ghost had gone. Prior to sharing the information he had gathered, he would like to hear Yakumo’s side of the story. “How are what?”

“You were looking for the ghost, right? Did you find it?” “No,” Yakumo shook his head.

“What? You were speaking so arrogantly, yet you turned up with no results, huh,” cursed Gotou. Yakumo blatantly scowled. “I never meant to say it arrogantly, and although I couldn’t find the ghost, I did get some results.”

To Gotou, his words had merely sounded like he was trying to act tough. “What kind of results?” “A number of things.”

“That’s why I’m asking, what are those things exactly?” urged Gotou. Yakumo laughed bitterly with a troubled gesture before he began speaking. “I told you that the ghost I saw had entered the area behind the front desk, right?”

“Yes.” He had certainly said so.

“Since the ghost had gone there, there had to be something there. So I went to check for myself.” So that was how it was.

“You asked that trainee employee Oohori to let you get inside?” “No.”

“You just went inside as you liked?” “Yeah. Since that person wasn’t aware of any ghost story here, I thought it’d be troublesome to ask for his permission, so...”

As it turned out, Yakumo had stealthily sneaked inside while Oohori was away from the front desk. Gotou glanced at the front desk, unable to spot Oohori’s presence there.

“Don’t act too reckless. What would you do if you were discovered?” If Yakumo were caught trespassing into the area behind the front desk, he might get reported to the authorities.

“I’ve got that taken care of,” “Taken care of?”

As Gotou questioned him back, Yakumo turned in the direction of the stairs. There, Oohori could be seen descending the stairs, walking towards them. He held a lightbulb in his hand. “Apologies for the inconvenience. I’ve replaced it, so it should be fine now—” said Oohori, bowing politely to Yakumo.

“Thank you.” Seeing Yakumo respond to him with a smile, Gotou could hazard a guess as to what he had done.

Most likely, Yakumo had deliberately sabotaged the light bulb in their room and had requested Oohori to replace it. That way, he could freely get into the area behind the front desk. “Ah, could I ask you one thing?” Yakumo stopped Oohori who was about to leave.

“What is it?” “Is Oohori-san really the only one working today?”

“Ah, yes. What about it…?” “No. I just thought it must be tough…”

“Thank you for your concern—” Oohori made a business smile before returning to the front desk. “Is something bothering you?” Gotou asked Yakumo after waiting for Oohori to be some distance away.

“When I went to the area behind the front desk earlier, I found a strange object,” said Yakumo, narrowing his eyes. “A strange object?”

“A shoe.” “A shoe?”

“Yes. A red shoe that was probably a woman’s shoe, and it was missing the other half—” said Yakumo, with a face as if he had known everything. A single lone shoe was indeed peculiar, but someone could simply have forgotten it in the hotel room and the front desk had been holding on to it.

Or perhaps, it could belong to another employee that had forgotten the shoe there. “Did that shoe have anything to do with the ghost?”

“I have no idea,” said Yakumo, full of confidence. “You have no idea…? How careless of you…”

“I refuse to accept being told that by a clumsy bear like Gotou-san.” “Bear this, bear that, you’re so noisy!”

“What’s wrong with calling a bear, a bear?” This bastard!

Gotou was at the limit of his patience. He wanted to beat this man even if just for a single punch. He raised his fist, ready to land it on Yakumo’s face, but Isshin immediately caught his arm and calmed him down. “Now, now.”

The bug in his stomach wouldn’t sit still, but Gotou knew more obviously than seeing fire that if he were to hit Yakumo, he’d be retaliated constantly afterwards. Gotou clicked his tongue and cooled his anger.

“So, did you two get anything on your end?” asked Yakumo, as if the conversation earlier had never happened. “There weren’t any stories in particular about a ghost in this hotel,” said Gotou.

“I see...” Yakumo responded with a slightly disappointed look. “However, there was a case that took place in this hotel one year ago.”

“A case?” “That’s right. Once, a woman and her four-year-old daughter stayed in this hotel previously.”

“Then?” “When the mother left her child inside the room to go shopping, an incident happened—” said Gotou, pausing his sentence to observe Yakumo’s expression.

“Cut the suspense and continue the story.” It was blunt of him, but perhaps Gotou was acting a little too dramatic. Gotou cleared his throat and continued.

“The girl, who was left alone in the room, fell from the window—” Putting it into words, Gotou felt a squeezing pain in his chest.

He had to deal with all sorts of cases on the regular and he should’ve gotten used to handling tragedies with fatal casualties. Even so, the deaths of young children had always left an unpleasant feeling in his chest no matter how many times he encountered them. After a moment of silence, Yakumo muttered, “Rather than a case, that was more like an accident.”

“I thought so too. But from what we heard, something was amiss,” Isshin added. “What was amiss?”

“Apparently, the window that the girl had fallen from should’ve been out of reach for a child of her height.” “And yet, she fell from it...?”

“That’s right. According to the person who discovered her, there was a chair under the window.” “A chair that was part of the hotel room?”

“Uh-huh. Judging from the circumstances, that meant the girl had shifted the chair all by herself, climbed on top, and fell from the window—” “How did you find out about the situation to that level of detail?”

It was understandable for Yakumo to question that fact. “The husband of the convenience store employee that we visited to gather information from had been working in this hotel when the incident happened.”

“I see...so what I saw...” Yakumo mumbled as if talking to himself whilst folding his arms. Gotou couldn’t clearly grasp what he was saying as his voice was too quiet.

“What? Say it clearly.” said Gotou. Yakumo grimaced in displeasure. “No need to make a ruckus, I’ll explain eventually.”

Yakumo shook his head in disbelief, throwing a sharp gaze on Gotou before he continued, “The ghost I saw at the front desk was of a little girl around four years old—” “In that case…”

“We still have no evidence, but I think it was unmistakably her since the girl in that story died a year ago here.” “The problem now is why the girl is wandering in this hotel,” said Isshin as he rubbed his bald head.

Certainly, that was the most important point. According to Yakumo’s theory, ghosts linger in this world due to some unfulfilled desire. In other words, the ghost of that little girl had lingered for a reason.

The local police had closed the incident as an accident, but Gotou had another thought. “Seems like you have something in mind, Gotou-san,” said Yakumo who was able to guess what he was thinking.

“It’s my own instinct talking, but—” Gotou said before he continued, “perhaps the girl didn’t die from an accident, but was murdered.” “That’s an unpleasant line of thinking. Do you have any basis for it?” Yakumo threw him a look full of doubt.

“I told you it was just my instinct.” “Like this, Gotou-san is a police officer after all, right? Surely you’re not so stupid as to carelessly say things according to instinct without some kind of basis.”

“That first part was unnecessary.” “Save the complaints and get talking,” said Yakumo, lifting his left eyebrow.

Geez. What an unendearing guy. “However you look at it, I felt the part about a chair being moved under the window was off.”

“Well, that’s true.” “If she was older, there’d be a possibility of it being a suicide, but for what reason would a four-year-old child deliberately move a chair under the window?”

“Perhaps she wanted to climb to play? Nao often does that too. She’ll climb onto a chair and then jump down,” interrupted Isshin. Having no children of his own, Gotou had no opinion, but as Isshin had spoken from experience, such a thing might be possible after all.

Despite this, the odd feeling within Gotou didn’t go away. “Suppose she did want to play that way, she wouldn’t jump out the window, right?” Children had very little sense of danger. Particularly once they were fixated on something, they had the tendency to not pay attention to their surroundings.

Even knowing that, it felt impossible for the girl to have played by climbing onto the chair and then jumping out the window. Isshin also responded, “You’re right...”

“What do you think happened, Gotou-san?” asked Yakumo. His gaze was as if testing Gotou.

“I’m thinking the girl might have been pushed out the window by someone.” “Pushed out...”

“Yes. After pushing the girl out the window, the culprit placed the chair next to the window to make it appear like an accident.” “Interesting analysis coming from someone like Gotou-san, but the basis is still weak,” said Yakumo.

“I’m well aware that the basis is weak. It’s just that, if she had died from an accident, there’d be no reason for her to be haunting this hotel, right?” If she had died from being killed and now held a grudge towards the person who had killed her, that would be reason enough for her to still be lingering about this hotel.

“I’ll take Gotou-san’s analysis into consideration for the time being. Rather than that, do you know where the girl had fallen down?” Yakumo asked as he stood up. “Yes. I’ve asked about it.”

“Please take me there.” “Got it,” Gotou stood up in response, before walking outside. Yakumo and Isshin followed behind him.

Once he had passed the automated door at the hotel lobby entrance, he stopped. Large droplets of rain were still pouring just as hard as before.

The spot where Gotou and the rest stood had a roof so they weren’t hit directly by the rain, but it was almost like they were being sprayed with water because of the raindrops blown by the wind. “I was told she had been lying there—” said Gotou, pointing about 10 metres in front of the hotel lobby entrance.

“From which floor did she fall from?” asked Yakumo. “The fourth floor,” replied Gotou, starting to feel uncomfortable.

It was about fifty metres above ground. If only there had been shrubs underneath to cushion the fall, yet the ground was made of concrete instead. The moment she had fallen, she’d already be beyond saving.

“Hold on. Which room number was she in?” asked Yakumo, frowning with a serious expression. “If I’m not mistaken...404.”

As soon as Gotou said that, Yakumo reached for his phone and called someone. Watching him made Gotou come to his senses.

The room from where the girl had fallen was the same room Haruka was currently staying in. Looking from outside, the room lights weren’t on. It was incredibly dark outside from the rain, so it was unnatural for her not to have the lights on.

Yakumo clicked his tongue as he ended the call. “How is it?”

“She’s not answering,” said Yakumo, gritting his teeth, Gotou then shouted, “Let’s go!” and started running.

- 10

- Suppressing her fear, Haruka stared intently at the reflection in the mirror.

Its face was indiscernible, but based on the stature and hairstyle, Haruka could tell that she was a little girl. Why would such a small child be wandering?

As Haruka questioned that fact, her chest stung as if she’d been stabbed. Haruka had no idea what had happened, but since this little girl had emerged as a ghost, that could only mean she was already dead.

Why did this little girl had to die— The fear that had once enveloped Haruka’s entire body disappeared at the thought.

Perhaps this girl was carrying a deep sorrow. Haruka couldn’t understand the feelings of ghosts like Yakumo could. Yet even if just a bit, she could sympathise with this child’s feelings and wanted to do something for her.

“Please. Tell me, why are you in a place like this?” asked Haruka to the shadow on the other side of the mirror. The girl gave no answer.

Perhaps she had actually said something, but Haruka couldn’t hear her. In times like this, Haruka became incredibly envious of Yakumo.

If only she had an ability like Yakumo’s, she’d be able to respond to the reflection in the mirror— “I’m sorry. I can’t hear you properly…” said Haruka without realising.

Tears welled up in her eyes. Not out of fear. A mixture of sadness, frustration, and disappointment overflowed from her chest. Seemingly out of pity for Haruka, the girl in the mirror appeared to be saying something.

“Hey, what should I do to break your attachment to this world?” asked Haruka to the girl as she held onto the mirror. No reply.

In exchange, the girl pointed in the direction behind Haruka. Following the girl’s fingers, Haruka turned around.

There was nothing but the white bathroom walls there. Could there be something on these walls? Haruka felt around the wall and tried examining it, but she didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.

“What’s the meaning of this?” asked Haruka, turning towards the mirror again. The girl kept pointing behind Haruka.

Sorry, I don’t see anything, Haruka mumbled in her heart, when a thought emerged in her mind. She had assumed that this girl had been pointing at the bathroom wall, but perhaps she had instead been pointing at the room on the other side of the wall.

“There’s something in the room?” Haruka’s question made the shadow in the mirror nod.

So that was it. Due to her panic, she hadn’t looked at the room interior closely, but perhaps therein laid the reason that this girl had been wandering.

Haruka touched the bathroom door. The image of an eye came to her mind.

The eye that had watched Haruka through the hole in the wall— She’d be seen by that eye once again if she returned to that room.

Haruka briefly had that thought, but she got rid of it immediately. Surely that eye had really been the girl reflected in the mirror.

There’s no need to be afraid. Haruka firmed her resolve and slowly opened the bathroom door.

Its hinges creaked and the door eventually opened. The room was dimly lit and quiet.

She could see the door leading to the corridor. Earlier, the door hadn’t budged at all, but if she were to try again, perhaps it would open. Once she escaped from the room, she would ask Yakumo for help—

She considered the idea for a moment, but Haruka shook her head, attempting to rid herself of said thought. If the door still refused to open after she tried again, she would remain trapped in this room.

Furthermore, the girl in the mirror might become angered if Haruka tried to escape, and could make her go through something even more terrifying. Most importantly, her desire to help the wandering girl was stronger.

Why would the ghost of a little girl be wandering in a hotel room? Even if just a little, she wanted to understand her feelings. Haruka drew her breath, gathered all the courage in her stomach, and walked out of the bathroom into the bedroom.

The painting had fallen on top of the bed. Then, a fist-sized hole where the painting had used to hang.

Earlier, an eye had been staring at her from that hole, but now there was nothing there. Haruka sighed in relief before scanning the entire room and turning the gears in her head. What exactly was the girl trying to show her?

No matter how hard she thought, she couldn’t come up with an answer. Haruka was about to give up when at that moment, she remembered something.

Back when she had been searching for any talismans pasted under the bed, she had found something. Haruka had picked it up and kept it in her pocket. She hurriedly shoved her hand into her pocket and took out the item.

A red shoe that seemed to be that of a doll’s. Perhaps the reason why the girl had been wandering was because she had been looking for this shoe.

For little girls, losing such an important doll shoe full of memories would be considered a huge problem. If she were to return this, the ghost of the little girl might be able to rest in peace.

Haruka firmly held onto the red shoe. She felt someone staring at her back and slowly turned around— A girl was standing there.

Her face had been blurred when she had appeared in the mirror, but now it was clearly visible. She was an adorable girl with a round face and big eyes.

“Is this yours?” Haruka handed over the red shoe she’d been holding on towards the girl.

In an instant, a smile formed in the girl’s face. Seeing her overjoyed face made the tension Haruka had been feeling this whole time disappear without a trace.

She even had to hold herself together so she wouldn’t collapse on the spot. However, that sense of relief was short-lived.

The girl made a terrified expression and pointed behind Haruka. What is it?

Turning around, Haruka’s eyes widened. Once again, an eye peered from within the hole in the wall—

Was I mistaken? Was what the girl had been looking for not this shoe? The eye—

Its appearance red and angry, the eye glared at Haruka. Haruka couldn’t act calm anymore.

She then held her head and screamed— -

11 -

The moment Gotou stepped out of the elevator, he heard a scream. After briefly exchanging glances with Yakumo and Isshin, they sprinted as fast as they could towards room 404, where Haruka was at.

“Oi! Haruka-chan! Are you alright?” he called out whilst banging on the door, but there was no reply. A terrible premonition passed through his mind.

He turned the doorknob, trying to open the door, but the door wouldn’t move an inch even when pushed or pulled. “What are you doing? Open it quickly!” urged Yakumo.

Yakumo was usually composed, but he must’ve grown restless after hearing Haruka’s scream. “I know,” Gotou responded. With his entire strength, he slammed his body against the door until it opened with a bam. Gotou nearly got knocked forward.

“Move out of the way,” Yakumo shoved Gotou to the side and went inside the room. They immediately found Haruka there.

Sat in the middle of the room, her body was shaking violently. “Are you alright?” asked Yakumo.

Haruka, who couldn’t grasp the situation at first, gradually showed an expression of relief and hugged Yakumo as she shed her tears. She had to have gone through something terrifying.

Gotou understood how she felt, but somehow he felt embarrassed watching them instead. Yakumo stayed quiet for a while, and only spoke after waiting for Haruka to calm down. “What happened?”

Haruka nodded quietly upon hearing Yakumo’s words, wiped her tears, and began explaining after she stood up slowly. Occasionally she would sob as she hadn’t stopped crying completely, but the gist of the story was conveyed.

As it turned out, Haruka had experienced a spiritual phenomenon in this room. Despite that, Gotou was impressed that she had continued to deal with the situation by thinking about the reason why the ghost of the little girl had been wandering, and had subsequently taken action.

All that remained was to leave the rest to Yakumo. “Yakumo, did you get anything?” asked Isshin after Haruka finished her story.

“Wait a moment,” said Yakumo, stepping away from Haruka and walking further into the room. Gotou and the others couldn’t see anything. But such wasn’t the case for Yakumo.

Gotou, Haruka, and Isshin waited as they stared at Yakumo’s back. Yakumo’s red left eye would surely discover something unbeknownst to the three of them. “So that was how it was...” muttered Yakumo shortly after.

“What did you get?” asked Gotou eagerly. “Please calm down a little,” grumbled Yakumo before facing Haruka. “Your analysis was half correct.”

“Eh?” Haruka exclaimed in surprise. “Firstly, the ghost of the little girl that you saw was of a child named Mahiro-chan that had died a year ago.”

“The girl whose story we heard at the convenience store?” asked Gotou to confirm. Yakumo nodded. “When her mother had gone out to shop a year ago, Mahiro-chan had been playing with her doll in this room. Unfortunately, the window was open at the time.”

The tone of Yakumo’s voice instantly turned depressing. Without needing to mention it, Gotou could more or less predict what came afterwards.

“Don’t tell me, Mahiro-chan accidentally dropped the doll through the window?” said Gotou. With a gloomy expression, Yakumo nodded. “That’s right. She had been throwing it upwards, imitating how adults would play with young children the same way, but the doll had gotten thrown out the window. It would’ve been better if the doll had fallen all the way down, but it had gotten stuck on the awning below the window instead.”

“So Mahiro-chan had fallen over whilst trying to retrieve it—was what you meant,” said Gotou. Isshin closed his eyes with a pained look on his face, while Haruka pressed her hand onto her chest as if holding back something.

Gotou himself couldn’t help but feel suffocated. Surely Mahiro had wanted to retrieve her doll, but since the window had been out of reach, she had moved the chair inside the room under the window and had climbed onto it.

Then, she had lost her balance and fell down. Unfortunate was the only way to describe it. If only she had been slightly older, she might’ve been able to realise the danger of the situation, but Mahiro hadn’t had such an awareness.

Her mother probably hadn’t thought that her daughter would move a chair next to the window and climb it in the few minutes she had been away. They had finally discovered the cause behind Mahiro’s death, yet on the contrary, it made Gotou understand less as to why Mahiro would be wandering.

As Gotou raised that question, Yakumo narrowed his eyes. “I’ve said this earlier, but only half of her analysis was correct.” said Yakumo, turning towards Haruka. “What do you mean by half?” Haruka looked back at Yakumo, demanding answers.

“The girl called Mahiro became a wandering spirit because she was looking for her red doll shoe—” said Yakumo. Haruka stared at the one half of a doll shoe pair in her hand. “But…when I handed this over to her, the eye over there…” said Haruka as she gripped the red shoe tightly.

“That’s why I said you were half correct.” “Eh?”

“Mahiro-chan had in fact been haunting this hotel looking for her doll shoe. But now, she’s trying to convey something else.” “Something else?”

“That’s right. I first saw her at the hotel front desk. Why was she in such a place?” “So why was she?” asked Gotou in place of the dumbfounded Haruka.

“The shoe. That was the hint.” “The doll shoe?”

“No, not that. The single lone red shoe that I found in the area behind the front desk.” Now that he mentioned it, Yakumo had definitely said something like that. The problem was—

“What does that have to do with this?” “Instead of explaining it with words, it’ll be faster to see it for ourselves. Things should be reaching its limit—” said Yakumo before exiting the room.

Just what did he mean by all that? Gotou exchanged glances with Haruka and Isshin.

No one seemed to know the answer. Despite their dissatisfaction, they could only follow after the man. Nodding to each other, the three left the room after Yakumo—

- 12

- Haruka followed Gotou and Isshin out of the room.

Yakumo, who was already in the corridor, stood in front of the door next to Haruka’s room. “Is there something in that room?” asked Haruka, swallowing her fear.

Right now, Yakumo was standing in front of the room at the other end of the hole that was in her room. “Yes. To be more precise, this actually isn’t a guest room.”

“Is that so?” “This is a linen room,” said Yakumo.

Looking closer at it, there was in fact a sign indicating that it was a linen room, and a plate declaring ‘staff only’ was also stuck there. Linen rooms were dedicated rooms meant to store fitted sheets, pillow covers, towels, and the like.

She had initially thought that this had been a guest room, but since this turned out to be a linen room, what was that eye from earlier? “Is there something in that linen room?” asked Gotou.

“Yes. Gotou-san, please open this up,” Yakumo pointed at the door. “Even if you say to open it…is it alright for us to enter as we please?”

“It’s fine since this is an emergency.” Despite his words, Yakumo’s voice didn’t sound urgent one bit.

Confused, Gotou grabbed onto the doorknob, pushing and pulling it. The door appeared to be locked; there were no signs of it opening. “It’s not opening.”

“Don’t you carry any crowbars with you or something?” “No way I have something like that,”

“Then it can’t be helped. Let’s ask him to open it,” said Yakumo, looking at the stairs. Who did Yakumo mean by him? Pondering that fact, Haruka turned in the direction Yakumo was looking to find Oohori there.

“What are all of you doing?” asked Oohori. His voice was trembling a little.

“Actually, we’d like to open this door. Could you lend us the key?” said Yakumo, displaying a faint smile. “Why do you want to open it?”

Oohori’s question was to be expected. There should be no reason for hotel guests to open a linen room. Even if he was still a trainee, there was no way he would lend the key to them. “Surely you know the reason, Oohori-san,” Yakumo spoke as if he had known everything, and large droplets of sweat began forming on Oohori’s forehead.

There was no mistaking it, Oohori was hiding something. “There’s nothing but fitted sheets and towels inside,”

He was trying his hardest to hide his panic, yet his voice was shaking entirely. “Is that really true?” Yakumo urged him.

“Really.” “It’s best if you stop lying.”

“Lying?” “From the beginning, I’ve felt odd.”

“I’m saying, what’s so odd?” “Although you’re still under training, you didn’t know whether a room was available. It’d be understandable if the hotel was larger, but at this scale, don’t you think it’s odd?”

Certainly, at first they had been told that there had been one room available. Moments later, they had been told again that apparently there had been one more vacant room, and that room had then become Haruka’s room.

“That was merely my mistake...” “Is that so? Then, what do you have to say about this?” Yakumo handed a single shoe that appeared to be a woman’s—that he had seemingly taken out of thin air—to Oohori.

“W-where did you…” “In the employee rest area behind the front desk.”

“You went trespassing inside?” asked Oohori in an accusatory tone. “Please don’t redirect the conversation,” said Yakumo, glaring at Oohori.

“I’m not redirecting...” “In that case, please answer. Who does this shoe belong to?”

“This was, um...The morning shift staff forgot about it...” “Oh? How strange. In the middle of a rain as heavy as this, would anyone go home forgetting their shoe?”

“What nonsense have you been rambling about? With what authority are you doing something like this...” “We do have authority,” interrupted Gotou.

“Eh?” Oohori exclaimed with a surprised look on his face. “Despite his looks, this guy’s a police officer,” Yakumo clarified.

That instant, Oohori turned his heel and quickly ran away while screaming. “Gotou-san! Catch him!”

Even without Yakumo shouting at him, Gotou had already gone after Oohori. Oohori ran down the stairs intending to escape, but Gotou tackled the man’s back and he fell rolling down the stairs.

Gotou then held him face down. Everything happened so quickly that Haruka had no idea what had happened and was left agape.

“What’s the meaning of this?” asked Isshin, who couldn’t grasp the situation either as he shook his head and reached for his chin. “Before I explain, Gotou-san, please get the linen room key from him,” ordered Yakumo.

While restraining Oohori, Gotou removed the bundle of keys from Oohori’s pants before throwing it to Yakumo. “Here.” Yakumo skillfully caught the throw, separating the linen room key once he had singled it out to open the door.

Just what on earth lies within that room? Haruka peered into the linen room through Yakumo’s back and her eyes grew wide.

Inside there was a woman. Strangely, the woman’s hands and legs were tied with duct tape, while her mouth was taped shut.

“Well, this is how things are,” said Yakumo as if they could understand everything just by looking. Haruka didn’t understand a single thing.

- 13

- Half agape, Haruka sat on a sofa at the hotel lobby.

Right at that moment, Oohori was being dragged away by uniformed policemen. The woman that had been trapped in the linen room had been carried to the hospital as well. Yakumo had just finished explaining Oohori’s actions.

As it turned out, the woman who had been trapped in the linen room had been Oohori’s lover. The night before, Oohori had suspected her of cheating and they had had a huge fight. Oohori hadn’t believed his girlfriend. Because of that, he had suspected that she would meet up secretly with her cheating partner while he had been at work.

He had then come up with the idea of locking up his girlfriend. However, if he were to lock her up in his apartment, the door could easily be opened from the inside.

Hence, he had decided to drag his girlfriend all the way to the hotel where he worked and had locked her in the linen room. This hotel’s linen rooms only locked from the outside, so he could easily lock her up.

It was raining heavily today with strong winds, there was renovation work on some of the hotel rooms, and he was working alone; all those factors had supported the execution of his plan. Furthermore, luckily, the room next to the linen room had been vacant, to Oohori’s relief.

Yet suddenly Haruka and the others had arrived because of the rain. Oohori had wanted to send them away by saying that there was only one room available, but had reconsidered as it would be bad if other employees found out, and therefore had intended to get another room ready—but he had made a miscalculation.

Due to ongoing renovations, the number of usable rooms had been limited, and he had been left with no option but to use room 404. He had planned to take his girlfriend out of the linen room before other employees arrive and lock her elsewhere, but he had gotten discovered by Yakumo beforehand.

“Good grief. Causing nothing but trouble for other people,” Sitting in front of Haruka, Gotou grumbled as he looked outside. “Well, don’t say that. This time, Haruka-chan was troubled the most,” said Isshin, smiling softly as he sat next to Gotou.

“No, I...” Haruka shook her head, but to be honest, she had been so terrified when she had been trapped in the room, that she had thought she wouldn’t be able to come out safely. It turned out the door wouldn’t open due to the poor fitting of the door frame, and the lights had been flickering because it hadn’t been installed properly.

Meanwhile, the room wall had a hole in it because a drunken guest had punched through it about a month prior. As a temporary measure, they had hung a painting to cover it up.

However, the painting had fallen down as the woman trapped in the linen room had been thrashing around. Unable to make a sound as her mouth had been sealed shut, the woman had peeked into Haruka’s room through the hole, seeking for help.

After having it explained logically like this, it may not sound like it was a big deal. Yet Haruka had been panicking at the time.

“Well, either way, this was all thanks to her,” said Yakumo, who had been sitting next to Haruka as he slowly stood up. Standing at the end of his sight had to be none other than that girl called Mahiro.

Haruka had thought Mahiro had been trying to tell Haruka about her red doll shoe, but she really had been telling her about the woman that had been trapped in the linen room next to Haruka’s. Mahiro, who had been searching for her red doll shoe all this time, had witnessed a woman wearing red shoes being forcefully dragged and locked up, and had desperately tried to deliver a message to help her.

Yet Haruka had grasped the message incorrectly. “I get it. I’ll make sure to deliver it, so you can go ahead—” said Yakumo, half crouching to meet the four-year-old girl’s height. His gaze then travelled to a distance.

He must’ve been discussing something with Mahiro. “What did she say?”

“She wanted us to deliver her doll’s red shoe to her family,” Yakumo explained. Haruka stared at the red coloured doll shoe, still within her hands.

“Is that so...” Mahiro had already passed—such was the reality that just hit her, making Haruka struggle to breathe.

Mahiro had fallen because she had wanted to retrieve her doll— She must have been sad, but her mother must be carrying a deep sadness as well, alongside the guilt of causing her daughter’s death by leaving her alone in the room.

“Also, she wanted us to send her thanks to her mother,” said Yakumo, straightening his posture. No matter what, they had to convey Mahiro’s words of gratitude to her mother.

Haruka felt it was the only thing that she could do. “Don’t tell me you guys are planning to go visit that Mahiro girl’s mother?” asked Gotou, frowning his forehead.

“Of course. Any objections?” asked Yakumo, glancing in Gotou’s direction. “No,” Gotou shook his head.

Looking out the window, the rain had stopped for some time before they realised it.

#shinrei tantei yakumo #psychic detective yakumo #shinrei tantei yakumo translation #psychic detective yakumo translation #yakumo saitou #saitou yakumo #manabu kaminaga

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cellythefloshie · 11 months

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;; meant for loving Dedicating this one to @hockeyboysimagines

Summary: Desperate to relax on the final long weekend before he has to return to St Louis, Vince and his best friend, Miles head out to the cabin for the weekend. Waiting in their tranquility, is Miles' baby sister, Samantha who keeps Vince on the verge of chaos as he has desperations of her own: to love her virginity before she goes off to university. Kinks & TW: male pov, original character, age-gap (5 years), situation ship, brother's best friend, virginity trope, teasing/banter, breast play (mild), missionary, protected sex, (i probably missed something here so please be sure to yell at me if I did) ABOUT THE OC: Face Claim: Sydney Sweeny Name: Samantha aka “Sam” aka “Sammy” aka "Princess". Is the little sister of Vince's friend Miles. Sam is 18 and is set to go off to college come fall while Vince is set to report to training camp. Word Count: 14k+

Listen to their playlist while you read.

Taglist: @starshine-hockey-girl @mp0625 @misunderstoodwerewolf @callsign-denmark @puckmaidens @xciciix @cixrosie

There were two things people knew Vince Dunn for and they were hockey and his love to party in the off-season. What they didn’t know, however, was that Vince loved to escape the chaos. He always had, ever since he was a kid, growing up back in Lindsay. There was a certain peace in it all. From the way the tall, green coniferous trees towered high into the gray and stormy skies, to the way the rain hit the windshield with its soft hollow drum, it all drew him away from the city. The cabin was one of his favorite places to escape before the hockey season, especially with the right company.

Vince could have invited anyone to go with him, a teammate or the girl he was casually fucking ‌and they would have come. But he only invited one person, his best friend, Miles. The pair had grown up playing hockey together - sharing toothless grins back when you gifted them to the tooth fairy instead of going to the dentist and hoping they could splint it back into place. And while their careers had taken them down separate paths, they had always made the summer theirs. Together, at the cabin their families used to vacation at when they were kids, Vince knew he could relax and rejuvenate - and maybe pick up a hot chick at the beach - before the season began.

But there would be no trips to the beach today. Not with how the rain was pouring down, leaving the cold wet rubber of his tires to slide over the winding Canadian highways that would narrow into roads of gravel and dirt. The slippery conditions left Vince gripping his steering wheel tight, but he wasn’t tense. He welcomed the calm that came with the rain, even if it wasn’t too kind to the car.

He could always buy another one.

The drive to the cabin was long, and he spent the entire time in silence. Vince listened to the rain as it fell, growing harder, then softer and harder again. Only for it to be drowned out by the rocks as his tire kicked them up and left them to scrape the paint on his car as he rolled to a stop in the driveway. The windshield wipers made their awful screech against the wet glass as he undid his seatbelt and leaned across his center console to look at the car parked beside him. The water against the glass distorted its body, but he could tell it was some kind of sedan in a color he didn’t like. And he knew it didn’t belong to Miles. He didn’t know whose it was, but he was going to find out real quick.

Reaching into the backseat, he fisted the handles of his duffle bag. He lifted it with ease - he only packed enough for the weekend - and lifted it up over his head to keep his hair from the rain. But it didn’t stop the icy rain from soaking into his t-shirt and sending chills down the length of his spine. It left him dancing through the front door with zero consideration for knocking. This was like a second home to him. He didn’t need anyone’s permission, and he was curious.

Miles didn’t mention that anyone else was coming when they had made the plans. And the last time Vince checked, Miles wasn’t seeing anyone.

Tossing his duffel bag on the floor, he looked over the living room. No sign of life.

“Mom?” He called out, knowing he wouldn’t hear his own mother calling back to him. Miles’ mother had been just as much a mother to him as his own, so it all slipped off his tongue with ease.

“Dad?” He called out again as he kicked off one wet sneaker and then the other - still nothing.

There was nothing in the kitchen either, as he walked on through. Vince even opened the fridge. Nothing. Whoever was there didn’t plan to stay long.

His every footstep was quiet as he moved through the main floor and up to the spiral staircase that led up to the second story. There, he looked up and down the hall and didn’t notice a thing out of place. That was until he took a single step down and his bright eyes caught the familiar glint of the tarnished metal door handle in the sunlight. Peering up over the top step, he noticed every single door on the second floor was open, except for one.

Samantha’s door.

Little Sammy Fraser. Though she probably wasn’t so little anymore. He hadn’t seen her since St. Louis drafted him, and that was five years in the past now. She had been only thirteen then. And through Miles, she was the baby sister Vince had never wanted but would torment all the same. And after so long, it was due time he caused a little trouble again.

Vince’s lips pulled back in a too-perfect troublemaker’s grin as he cracked his knuckles and took the quick steps onto the second-floor landing. It only took a single stride from the top of the stairs to reach for her door, his large hand gripping the cold handle and pushing it open without a single thought in his brain about why he shouldn’t. And then he saw the very reason he should have knocked.

Samantha sat on the bed, once propped up against the pillows, she sat completely upright now. Her expression, mortified. Vince had caught her in nothing but a tight pair of denim shorts and a bright pink lace bra. The color alone would have been enough to make him stare. Her heavy cleavage - that he didn’t quite remember her having before - was the fixation of his stare. Even as she tried to cover herself with her arms, Vince’s gaze didn’t break. That was until he realized she wasn’t alone in the room.

Beside the bed, half dressed though, Vince was sure that wasn’t always the case, was some lanky teenager. The guy couldn’t have been older than nineteen, his hair a mess, and his shirt lost somewhere in the room. It only took a second for Vince to conclude what was happening there, especially when he watched the panic on the kid’s face melt into relief when he realized that they had not been interrupted by her parents or Miles.

“Who’s this?” the young man, if Vince would even call him that, questioned as he looked up from where he fastened his belt around his middle.

It was a valid question. Vince wasn’t her brother, and he sure as hell wasn’t her parents catching them alone in her room. If it had been, the kid would have been as good as dead. Though, with Vince, he still might be.

“I could be asking you the same thing, dipshit,” Vince shouted back as he stepped into the room with no hesitation or regard for the fact that Samantha still sat nearly petrified on her bed. He didn’t dare look at her, not wanting to remind himself just what state of undress she was in. That was until he heard her broken words pierce the air. It drew his gaze up to her as he stepped towards the bed and fisted the young man’s t-shirt in his hand. Then, he threw it at him.

“Vince don’t-” Samantha had said.

Vince was quick to answer. “I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

But his firm words felt soft against his tongue. It felt swollen in his mouth at the sight of her sitting there on the bed, her blonde hair a mess that framed her features and hung over her bare shoulders. Vince held his breath, his eyes burning in their socket as he desperately fought to keep his eyes fixated on her face. On how her wide eyes were glassy with the threat of crying, and how her full bottom lips seemed to quiver. But he was but a man. A man with eyes that could clearly see all that tempted him.

Samantha knelt on the bed, her shirt still lost. She was still bare from the waist up, except for the bright pink bra that he could only see glimpses of from behind her arms as she crossed them over her chest. It was her attempt at modesty, but it only emphasized her already eye-catching cleavage. The mere weight of her breast alone left the fabric looking flimsy as Vince’s bright eyes flickered over each swell.

Vince had to choke out his next words. “Put a goddamn shirt on.”

In the time that Vince was staring, Sam’s guest had pulled on his shirt, but he had yet to make any attempt to leave. Vince’s skin went hot, his jaw going slack as his head leaned back on his shoulders. His shoulder rose and fell in a heavy sigh, and then as Sam groaned out his name in protest, Vince lurched at him. His hand fisted around the guy's shirt collar, his knuckles white as he tugged on the fabric and‌ pulled the lanky trespasser towards the bedroom door.

Leaving Sam and her harsh words behind him, Vince moved back down the path he had come. Down the winding staircase, and through the kitchen before he came to the front door. The young man stumbled behind him. He tripped on the stairs and then his own feet, but Vince didn’t slow down. Vince would have dragged him all the way to the front door if he had to, and he only stopped when he came to the door. It was a brief pause, just long enough time to step into his sneakers before his free hand reached for the door handle and he stepped outside.

The rain filled the gravel driveway with murky puddles that soaked into white socks as Vince shoved the uninvited guest out towards his car. He hadn’t given him the time to put on his own shoes, and for a moment Vince considered making him leave without shoes. It would have been a cruel thing, but only a small punishment for trying and failing to get into Samantha’s pants. But then, he would have to make up an explanation for the random, too-small pair of shoes to Miles. And he wasn’t going to rat on Sam. The embarrassment of him catching her would be punishment enough for her.

Reaching back inside, Vince hooked his fingers around the shoes and tossed them out the door and into the driveway. It was a shame really, he had good taste, but it was satisfying all the same as he shouted, “If I see you around her again, I’ll kick your ass, kid.”

He scrambled for his shoes, but the rain had already soaked through his socks, and for a moment Vince met his eyes. They stood in the rain. Vince’s confident stare met the teenager’s terrified as they were both soaked by the downpour and then the man ran. He took off through a puddle with complete disregard for how wet he became and moved straight for the sedan, which Vince only saw now was some kind of Subaru. As he expected, the kid took off down the driveway like some kind of idiot and disappeared down the road before Samantha could reach the doorway behind him.

“What the fuck? Vince!” was how she greeted him.

Turning in place, Vince smiled, even if he knew he shouldn’t have. If she hadn’t been upset already, his smile was sure to do it as Vince turned in place to face her.

Sam stood in the doorway, fully dressed now, which brought on a sigh of relief - even as she stepped out into the rain with him and placed both hands on his chest. She shoved him firmly, her soft features twisted into a scowl as the cold rain hit her. But she didn’t seem to care. She stood there, away from the cover of the awning, and let the rain soak her. Her straight blond hair began to kink and curl as it dampened, and her white linen blouse became damn near see-through as the rain sent it to cling to her curves.

Again, Vince struggled not to stare.

“I’m doing you a favour.”

“A favour? You just stranded me here!”

One of her arms reached out wide, gesturing to the now empty spot in the driveway, but Vince’s eyes fixated between her lips and her collarbone and glanced so subtly down to her breasts.

“He was your ride, huh?”

“Ah yeah!” Her attitude only left him grinning further, and any guilt he might have gotten hearing he had gotten her stranded at the cabin with him and Miles for the weekend was gone.

Vince took a step forward, his body nearly colliding with hers as he towered over her. He looked down, smirking as his dark, wet curls hung down into his eyes. “I’m your ride now.”

He watched as her hardened expression wavered. Sam was trying too hard to be tough. It was almost laughable. “You can’t just walk in here and-”

“And what?” He interjected, challenging Sam. It sent her face flushed with colour, but the rosiness of her cheeks paled with his next words. “You’re lucky it wasn’t your brother that found you.”

“Fuck,” her bright blue eyes shot open wide, “he’s on his way?”

“Should be here soon,” Vince spoke, his words kept their cockiness as one hand reached up to push back his wet curls, “he would have kicked that guy's ass, and you know it, Sammy.”

She could only nod as they stood there, so wet that the rain no longer phased them. Sam was stubborn and always had been. She was not ready to concede to him. And Vince? He liked to stir up trouble, even with his best friend’s sister.

“What were you thinking coming here with a guy like that?”

“Guy like that?” Sam scoffed in return, offended.

The pout that took her features brought Vince to laughter. She couldn’t be serious, right? It was clear just by the car he drove and the shoes he wore, what kind of guy he was. Someone who was superficial, materialistic even, and put the thrill of his ride before the safety of his passenger. Vince didn’t like it, and Sam, well, she didn’t like what Vince was implying. That was clear in how her arms came up to cross over her chest. He knew it was something she did to show him just how unimpressed she was with him, but all Vince could focus on was her breasts. He could see them through her shirt. From the bright pink lace to each swell and the cleavage in between.

“Believe me, I know the type,” Vince told her, his voice firm as he looked down at her.

Her cheeks had flushed a brilliant shade of pink as embarrassment consumed her, and silence hung between them. Vince didn’t need her to say it to know that he was right, and she didn’t want to tell him. His smile only grew as they stood there, getting drenched by the rain.

“That’s why you had him drive you all the way out here, didn’t you?” Vince had a bit of a laugh in his words. “So the guy could get in your pants without your parents getting in the way. I’d say I’m sorry, princess, but as I said, I did you a favour. The guy couldn’t find the clit if you drew him a map.”

Those should have been the words that ended the conversation. That brought Samantha to the silence of her shame and embarrassment and left Vince with a cocky smile as he took his stride towards the front door. Towards dryness and warmth.

But Samantha was quick to stop him in his tracks with a soft scoff. “As if you could do any better.”

It’s a weak, unexpected jab that left Vince laughing in the door frame. “Damn right, I could.”

Vince would never admit it, not to Sam and not to anyone, but he had taken more women to bed than he would ever want his mother to find out about. He couldn’t define what a serious relationship was because any attempt at a relationship he had didn’t last more than a series of late-night fucks. But that left him well-practiced and confident in his abilities in the bedroom.

He had no doubt in his mind that he could leave Samantha satisfied, but the thought alone should have been enough to leave him choking. He had never thought about her like that before - well, before now.

There would be no ridding his mind of the vision of her back in her bed with her body so freely accessible to his gaze. And now, as they took in the rain so completely soaked that her clothes clung to every curve of her body.

It should have left him feeling dirty. Samantha was Miles’ baby sister. His best friend’s baby sister. But she wanted so desperately to be fucked. Vince could hear it in her strained words as she challenged him, and in her stare as she held his, her wide blue eyes glassy and hopeless. She was practically asking her to fuck him with so few words, and he was so close to caving.

Vince cussed under his breath as he reached out to her, a single hand finding her back and pressing against it firmly. “Get in the house,” he told her and let the gentle guidance of his touch usher her back inside the cabin and out of the rain.

Together they stood in the narrow entryway, so close he could feel her warmth cut through the cold air as he reached into his back pocket for his phone. While he dialled, he held her gaze, silently telling her that their conversation wasn’t over. Then he brought his phone up to his ear, and her face fell. “Hey buddy, I just arrived. How far out are you?”

He was talking to her brother.

Sam inched closer to him, her expression soft as she tried to make out what her brother was saying, but Vince only let her hear what he wanted her to hear.

“You haven’t left yet?” His brow raised up as he looked at Samantha, her panic only growing as he spoke. “Nah, it’s all good. You’ll never guess who’s here…”

Vince has to look away as he trails off. It’s the only way to keep himself from smiling. His eyes fixated on the window, watching as the raindrops fell over the cold glass as he answered, “Yeah, your sister.”

The mere mention of her left Sam lurching for his arm. Both of her hands found one of his forearms, clutching to him with her desperation and drawing his gaze from the rain and back to her face. She didn’t have to say a single word. Her eyes did all the pleading for her. Still wide, still glassy, but begging. Begging him not to tell Miles what he had caught her doing up in her room. And he wouldn’t, Vince liked the leverage.

“One of her friends dropped her off,” he paused, listening to Miles as he listed off some of her friends' names as if it mattered who left her there, “yeah, that’s the one. She’ll keep me out of trouble until you get here.”

Or they would get into some trouble of their own. That fate still was yet to be determined.

His thumb stroked over the screen of his phone, ending the call and sending it to darkness before he placed it face down on a nearby console table. Vince thought the simple action would get him off the hook, that Sam would back off and let her guard down, relieved that he didn’t let her little secret slip, but she remained, her hands on his forearm as they stood in the entryway.

“He’s going to be a few hours,” Vince told her.

And her brow raised up with her sweet and simple, “So?”

“So,” he hesitated for a moment, his tongue dragging over his lower lip. His body rocked with a careful sigh, unsure if he should entertain the dangerous temptations in his mind, but he did it anyway. “So, you want to lose your virginity as desperately as I think you do?”

Her hands fell from him, her jaw slacked, “I’m not-”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Vince interrupted her firmly, his cold eyes hardening, “Couldn’t get it done on prom night, so you sneak out here the summer before college just to get it out of the way? I got that little fantasy, right?”

Samantha’s face faded free of any expression, shock consuming her. And Vince can only smile. Fuck, he loved being right.

But Sam didn’t answer him, so he pressured her further. “So you don’t go in all prudish and innocent?”

“Vince,” she spoke his name so slowly, so meekly, it gave him goosebumps.

“Did you even bring condoms?”

She paled.

And he laughed.

Of course, she hadn’t come prepared.

With a careful tug, Vince was out of her grasp and moving towards his bag that he had discarded on the floor. He had only packed enough for the long weekend, but what he searched for, he kept buried at the bottom. It was half empty, crushed by the weight of his belongings, a box of condoms. Vince always carried some with him, let it be in his car, in his bag or in his pocket. He was always prepared. Unlike Sam, who watched him from her place in the entryway as she chewed at her bottom lip.

At the sight of them, her eyes lit up like he had some sort of prize in his hands. Any worry she had seemed to fade with her offering, a thank you on the tip of her tongue as she reached out for the box, only for Vince to tug it just out of her reach with a smile of his own.

“I’ll give them to you, on one condition,” he told her, only for her brow to raise in a silent question. He answered, “I’m the one who fucks you this weekend. Not that idiot kid, not some lifeguard, me.”

Vince didn’t know what to expect when he had made the proposition, but he hadn’t been expecting for her to take a step towards him, a cocky little smile on her own lips. He was struggling to accept that she may not be the timid teenager he remembered. Samantha was very much all grown up now, and she knew exactly what he wanted from her now.

“And what makes you think I’d want it to be you?” Sam’s question was slow as her large blue eyes looked up at him through thick lashes.

And Vince laughed.

It was a low rumbling as he smirked and cocked his head to the side slowly. “You wanted it to be him?” His arm raised lazily, gesturing to the door that he had forced her little friend through.

They both fell into silence, their smiles small and their stares unbroken until she backed off and moved for the spiral staircase to begin her ascent.

“I’ll take that as a no?” His words are a question, not a statement that had her freezing halfway up the staircase to look back at him as he remained in the entryway.

Her smile remained small, a cocky troublemaker’s grin that told Vince that he just might have gotten himself in over his head with her and her words only confirmed that for him. “It’s an; I’m thinking about it.”

It rained all day, and into the night, trapping Vince inside the cabin, awaiting an answer to the proposition that hung too heavily in the air. The longer he had to wait, the more conflicted he felt - the more stupid he felt. He should have never put Sam in this position. He should have never, so bluntly, asked to fuck her. Yet, she was considering it. Considering him. She was interested, maybe only a little or greatly, and it was a weight that hung over him as he lounged in the living room and waited for the rain to pass. For an answer. For Miles to arrive.

Miles arrived before the rain could stop, and before he could receive an answer from Sam. She had remained up in her room, hidden away until her brother arrived. Vince almost wished she had stayed there. Seeing her in her little shorts that were made more for sleeping than covering anything up and her sweatshirt left him near choking on the fact that their window to do anything had closed.

Vince wasn’t all that mad about that fact. It would save him the headache of having to deal with the consequences later. But that didn’t mean the idea of it all didn’t linger. Samantha’s exposed body was all he could think about when she was in the room, even if she had covered herself up. The worst part was what she did with the knowledge of him wanting to fuck her. When she could have told her brother about the pass he had made on her, she withheld it from him. Much like Vince, it gave her leverage.

If he told Miles about the guy he had caught her with, she would tell him that Vince was all too willing to take on the responsibility of taking her virginity himself. So they both remained tight-lipped and casual, but Sam teased him.

Every playful glance she gave him, every moment her hands had been so casually placed on him, stewed in the back of his mind and his needs were desperately close to boiling over. The thoughts left him tossing and turning in bed at night. The rain was gone, and the hollow sound of the drops hitting the window couldn’t drive each forbidden thought from him. They couldn’t drown away the thought of what it might feel like to touch the smooth skin of her waist, or what she might sound like when he made her cum. They were thoughts that ran rampant, leaving his body shimmering with sweat and his cock raging so hard it ached.

Vince needed a distraction, and he found it out on the back porch where the silver moonlight glistened off the lake water in the distance and the cold autumn air that threatened the last few days of summer left him shivering. Any other night, he would have retreated inside, but he needed the chill. It raised goosebumps over the flesh of his arms and his chest as he stood, leaning against the porch railing, in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. And while it was cold and uncomfortable, it calmed him.

The crest of the water against the shore freed his mind, and the ache slowly faded. It all lulled Vince into thinking that he just might get to go back up to his room. That he might just be able to get some sleep.

That was until he heard the open and shut of the flimsy screen door behind him. A heavy sigh shook his shoulders, and for a moment he thought he might just see his breath in the air as he let it go. Then he let himself look back, hoping to find Miles, but the sight of Samantha was what greeted him. He almost cursed and knew he should have gone back inside at that moment and left her alone. But his eyes fixated on the hem of her oversized sweater and how it crept up the skin of her thigh with each stride. It left him convinced she was wearing nothing else and forced him to look back out over the lawn and down to the lake water that he suddenly felt like he was drowning in.

“Sneaking out?” Vince asked, his brow raised up even though he wasn’t looking up at Sam for her to see it.

“I just wanted to get some air,” Sam answered him simply, and while he didn’t look at her as she spoke, he felt her warmth as she leaned up against the railing beside him, “can’t sleep.”

“Yeah, me either,” Vince sighed and reached a hand up to knot in his curls.

“Got a lot on your mind?” Her sweet question left a smile on Vince’s lips.

She didn’t even know the half of it, and he knew better than to indulge her. It would only get them both into trouble.

“Something like that,” Vince sighed, his head turning to give her a quick glance.

He regretted it in an instant. Samantha was petite, standing there at his side. He towered over her by seven inches still - maybe more. And while her hooded sweatshirt consumed much of her, there was no stopping his eyes from dragging down the angles of her legs and back up again The simple movement of resting her chin on her arms raised the sweater up inches on her body, the hem resting on the curve of her ass and confirmed that she was wearing nothing else but a pretty pair of panties.

Vince cleared his throat.

“You really should put some clothes on if you’re going to be prancing around here.”

“Prancing?” Sam asked him, her words sweet as she cocked her head to the side. She seemed so innocent, so naïve, but she knew exactly what she was doing.

Toying with Vince.

Tempting him.

“I’ve seen that little hop in your step since our little conversation earlier-”

“Oh, have you?” Sam cut in, “Maybe I’ve always had that little hop in my step. You’ve just never cared enough to notice.”

“Of course, I care,” Vince’s eyes rolled as he stepped in closer to her, sighing under the feeling of her warmth as he was so close to touching her body as he had wanted to all night, “that’s why I never let myself notice.”

“So what changed?” Sam asked him slowly, leaning in and looking up.

She looked so pretty there in the moonlight. The pale silver light illuminated all of her features, and for a moment Vince found himself distracted, staring. Samantha’s skin had been kissed by summer, giving her this warmth that Vince wanted to lean into. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of blue, so bright beneath stray blond locks that the breeze tossed into her face. And her lips, so pink, pouted and kissable, he was one mere temptation away from taking her face in both hands and drawing her in for a self-indulgent kiss that would answer so many of the questions that plagued her.

But his silence didn’t lure her in. It left her fumbling with the sleeves of her sweater as she sought any semblance of clarification. “I mean, I know why you wouldn’t have before, but I’m still my brother’s baby sister…”

That would never change.

Samantha would always be Miles’ baby sister. 5 years younger than both of them. The kid they were stuck babysitting for years - but she wasn’t a kid anymore. And he couldn’t offer her a more complicated answer, even though he wished he could. This wasn’t some love story of a lifetime in the making. This wasn’t some kind of connection he had felt for years, just waiting for the right moment to act on it.

No, this was primal. Selfish.

When Vince had found her in her bedroom, so vulnerable and leaving so little to the imagination, she showed him almost all of what she could offer him. That enough was enough to catch his attention, to plant that nagging thought of wanting to take her to bed. Then he learned she was still untouched. A virgin. And it only made her more desirable.

All he could think about was her tits, and now her ass as it peeked out from what little coverage her cotton panties and her sweatshirt concealed from him. It leaves his mouth dry, his tongue licking over his lips to moisten them.

Then, he doesn’t answer his question and instead asks one of his own.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Samantha narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re dodging my question.”

He nodded. She wasn’t wrong. But his mind was clouded, focused on her body, not her words, and he didn’t think he could string together an answer she deserved, never mind an answer she would want to hear.

“I respect your brother, but-”

“But?” Sam interjected, and she inched so close to him he had to shut his eyes to keep himself from temptation.

A low groan vibrated through him, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, knowing all too well he might regret what he was about to say. “Your first time should be something special.”

Her scoff was just short of a laugh and left Dunn’s stomach heavy. He was right. He regretted saying that.

“Your ego is, wow-” He could hear the smile in her voice as he let his eyes open to take in the darkness. Vince watched her as she stepped away from him and the railing and spun around as if her laughter was sweet music. When her feet stilled, Samantha leaned up against the screen door. It was then she spoke again, a smile in her words, “What makes you so special, Vince?”

“I know what I’m doing-”

She barely let him answer before she laughed again. Mocking him.

“Do you? On whose word, your own?”

Vince’s jaw set as he turned to face her fully, his eyes dragging over her features that were alight with amusement. She was playing a little game with him, and he was letting her.

“You want testimonials?”

“I don’t need to hear shit from the bunnies you fuck.”

There was a bit of harshness in her words, and Vince couldn’t tell if it was judgment or jealousy because she wasn’t wrong. Vince couldn’t even count the women he fucked since being drafted in 2015. Hell, even before that, he had developed a reputation for sleeping around. From the OHL to the AHL and the 3 seasons in the NHL that included a Stanley Cup Win - Vince had many options when it came to which women he took to bed. He had one in every city he played in and knew that the moment he sent that all too typical “you up?” text, they would be catching a cab to his hotel room. Because he was just that good in bed.

“Sounds like you’re jealous.” His words were a baseless accusation, but they challenged her in a way that left her confidence wavering for a moment before she found her words again.

“Jealous? No,” she hummed, her chin tilted up so she could meet his eyes. Samantha didn’t shy away from him, and Vince both loved and hated that. Part of him wanted her to be meek, to both accept the imminent collapse that would be her in his bed or go to the opposite extreme and reject him so harshly that he never contemplated the thought of being between her thighs again. Yet, she continued to toy with him just as he toyed with her.

“But I know you. I’ve known you for a long time. You’re hot, don’t get me wrong. But you’re also filthy rich. An athlete. I’d fake it too if that meant I might get a piece of that life. Fuck, some might just do it for the bragging right alone,” there was a humour in her voice, one that dropped into a low hum as her lips curled with her next words, “but I’d bet you couldn’t find the clit if I drew you a map.”

It was Vince who laughed as he took his lazy strides away from the porch railing. Bare feet stepped over wet wood, the chill coursing up the length of his now heated body. He felt on the verge of sweating as he came to stand toe to toe with Samantha, towering over her and trapping her with her back against the door. As if he could risk getting any closer to her, he took in a steady inhale as he braced himself against the screen door, giving her nowhere to run.

He stared down at her, and her up at him as they stood in silence. The only sound around them was the water of the lake in the distance crashing against the rocks on the shore and the trickle of water down the eavestrough as the remnants of the rain slowly faded into the night. Then, so faintly, yet so loudly in his ears, he heard Samantha take a quivering breath.

He was so close to her, and her to him, that he could feel the night’s chill on her body, and he was sure that she could feel every breath he took on her cheeks as he stared down at her.

“Let me warm you up a bit?”

Full pink lips parted to speak, but she found no words. His mere proximity had rendered her to silence, and he hadn’t even touched her yet. Samantha could only nod as she looked up at him, her hands fisting the too-long sleeves of her sweatshirt.

If he had wanted to be cruel, he would have pulled back and went up to bed. To leave her standing there until she realized just how close he was to kissing her, to touching her. He would have loved to tease her, leaving her craving his kiss on her lips when she was just a breath away from having it. But not even Vince could deny himself of just a simple pleasure when he had gone through the entirety of his day at the cabin thinking about it.

Vince leaned in nice and slow, almost waiting for Samantha to speak a single word. To tell him to stop before he could even taste her, but that moment never came. Instead, he watched as her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted in a subtle breath as she welcomed the caution of his kiss. Her lips were smooth against his own, so soft and plush that Vince’s hand which had lain flat against the door gripped into a fist. Samantha returned his kiss, easing his cautions, and what little restraint he had was quickly dwindling.

His tongue ventured out through parted lips, coaxing her lips into parting and giving himself a taste of her. Vince’s tongue stroked against her own, and he heard the softest of moans as she let it slip into his mouth. She tasted sweet, like strawberries, and was only beginning to ease the hunger that consumed him.

It was a hunger that had him throwing all caution away now that he had gotten a taste of her. His body pressed firm into her while one hand remained up above her against the door. His other hand explored. It found the curve of her waist, craving so desperately to travel upwards to grope at her breast, but Vince’s touch travelled down. Down along the curve of her waist and over the swell of her lip before stroking over the skin of her exposed thigh and settling between her legs.

Samantha quivered as her breath hitched. Vince’s fingers had stroked over the thin cotton of her panties and dipped down just low enough to rest just over her clit. Then his hand stilled, and his kiss halted. Vince just stood there, his fingers a ghost of his touch over her clit without giving her the satisfaction of pressing into it.

Vince just wanted her to know that he knew exactly where it was.

Drawing back slowly, Vince smirked down at Samantha, who looked to be on the verge of collapsing if it wasn’t for the support of the screen door against her back.

“You should go back up to bed before we do something stupid,” Vince tells her slowly, and she still can only nod.

She took a moment to find her composure there against the door before she fixed her sweater and pushed off of it. She didn’t have to go far, taking only a mere step before she turned around and pulled it open to let herself inside. But he wasn’t following her, and it left her lingering in the doorway as she spoke. “You’re not coming?”

“I’m going to need a minute,” Vince admitted, stepping back to lean against the porch. The moonlight caught him just right and cast the shadow of his own erection against his thigh. He didn’t hide it. He wanted her to look. To see the effect she had on him, and what he can offer her in return.

And she noticed. It was clear in how red her cheeks became, and how quick she was to look away when he caught her admiring the outline of his cock. Samantha’s hair fell down into her face in a golden curtain that hid her bashful smile as she retreated through the door with nothing more than a simple, “goodnight”.

It shut hollowly behind her, leaving Vince to stand on his own. He welcomed the breeze, and he welcomed the quiet, but calm did not come as easily. Vince has to fight off every corrupt thought, the feeling of her skin that lingered on his fingertips and the taste of her on his tongue. The mere essence of her remained with him even after the night’s cold shocked Vince back into a calm, and as he returned inside. Samantha was a lingering thought as he moved through the main level, up the spiral staircase, and when he stopped just outside her door.

His eyes dragged up and down the door frame, fixating on the tarnished handle as he stepped a little closer, his hand outstretched, only for it to ball into a fist before he could take it in his hold. He shouldn’t. He couldn’t. And he sighed as he took a step back and retreated into his room for a restless night of sleep.

Come morning, Vince did what he should have done since he caught Samantha in her room. He kept his distance. After a restless night, he woke up with the sun. It was barely cresting over the horizon when he had pulled on his sneakers and went for a run through the familiar trails that wound through the trees that surrounded the cabin. When he returned, Sam and Miles were both making breakfast. And while his stomach growled with hunger, he made his excuses and disappeared into the bathroom for a quick, cold shower. It was only when the kitchen was clear; that he stood at the counter and ate breakfast alone. Strawberries, eggs, and toast. The strawberries were all that remained on his plate when he was done, knowing he could not last a day where the taste of them lingered on his tongue.

Then Vince spent his day away from the cabin, out on the water. Unlike the day before when the rain left it feeling more like autumn than the last long weekend of summer, the sun was out in full force before noon. He enjoyed every moment of its warm embrace as he whipped around the lake on the back of a jet ski.

Out on the lake, it was just him and Miles. The perfect distraction from the temptations that waited for him back at the cabin. But it didn’t keep his mind from wandering, wondering. When the warmth of the sun met the chill of the water and didn’t shock him, Vince thought about Samantha. About what happened the night before, and what she might be doing. He hadn’t seen her since he had given her the cold shoulder at breakfast, but it didn’t stop him from hoping that she was staying out of trouble.

Vince got his answer when he pulled up at the dock behind Miles just after noon. Samantha was down by the edge of the water, her body glistening with water as she climbed out from a swim. Even from a distance, he could see how it glimmered like glitter as it travelled down her curves as she made no effort to dry off. She had pulled her hair up in a claw lip, giving him a better view of her body than she had unintentionally given him the day before. And her blue and white gingham bikini was too tiny, leaving very little to the imagination. She might as well have been standing in front of him naked.

Vince had to bite his tongue as he threw his life jacket down on the dock. He wanted to desperately to tell her to go inside, to put some clothes on, but he couldn’t give any suggestion that his view of her had changed. Vince needed to be unbothered, even if the mere sight of her made his skin crawl in the best of ways. Especially as Miles led the way back up to the cabin.

With his eyes fixated on the ground, Vince followed Miles’ path with no guidance beyond watching his ankles. It was the only way he could keep himself from staring at Samantha as they walked up the dock - but the moment Miles called out to his sister, Vince’s eyes strayed from his hollow steps on the dock and found their way back to Samantha.

She had settled back in a lounge chair at the edge of the water, her petite body sprawled out in a way that almost looked staged. Like she was waiting for someone to take her picture. Sam wanted him to look at her. And in her hands, she held a book. Not that Vince cared to notice it as his eyes dragged up the length of her legs. It was her brother who made him aware of it in the cradle of her hold.

“Good book?” Miles’ words were simple as he approached his sister, Vince following in his shadow.

“Very. I’m almost done,” Samantha held up her book with one hand, and let the other fall on her sunglasses to push them back up into her hair, “just started today.”

“You’ve been out there that long?” Miles asked, and Vince almost groaned. He just wanted to get back in the house, but he wasn’t about to push past Miles to do it.

It would beg too many questions if he didn’t loiter. If he didn’t wait for the two siblings to finish whatever mundane conversation they were having.

“Yeah,” her answer was slow as she looked past her book, and to her brother and for a moment Vince was sure her eyes flickered to him. Just to make sure he was looking. And he was. So shamefully, he was.

“Did you put on sunscreen?” Miles' question left both Vince and Samantha groaning, and he could only hope that Miles didn’t notice.

“Of course,” Sam sat up, almost offended by the accusation, and her breast seemed to bounce at the motion. Testing the flimsy hold of her bikini and catching the stare of his eyes as they settled.

“Recently?”

“You sound just like mom,” Sam tossed back at Miles and set her book down on the chair beside her and she reached for her sunscreen.

It was the end of her conversation with her brother, sending him up the path back up to the house. And Vince moved after him, but Samantha wasn’t done with him yet.

“Vince, hey,” she called out to him, stilling his steps and drawing his gaze back to her as she sat in her chair, “can you help me get my back?”

Sam wore a devilish smile on her lips as she held out the sunscreen to him, wiggling it silently as if her body alone wasn’t enough to entice him.

“Sammy,” Vince sighed, his jaw slack as his eyes rolled.

She shouldn’t be asking him to do these things, but she knew that.

And he should have said no and gone back up to the house with Miles, but he couldn’t. She knew that too.

“Please,” she pouted her bottom lip out at him, and it had him backtracking.

The smile Sam gave him was one of triumph as he took the sunscreen from her hand and sat down on the chair next to her. He kept his eyes fixated on the bottle and the lotion as he squeezed it out into the palm of his hand. It was all he could do to keep himself from staring, but he regretted it the moment he looked up.

While he had been distracting himself, Samantha had reached back with both hands and unknotted the back of her strapless bikini. Vince had looked up just in time to watch as the wet bathing suit fell away and he panicked.

With one hand full of sunscreen, he dropped the bottle that he held in the other and reached out to her. It was a reflex that fried his every thought process. One moment, he was telling himself he needed to stop the fabric from falling away from her body. He needed to stop Samantha from exposing her breasts. And the next, he froze, mere inches from her body at the realization that if he stopped that fabric from falling, he would have a hand full of her breast.

His hand flexed as he flinched back, his eyes narrowing as the fabric fell, but her arms came up to cradle her breast in her hold. He wanted to curse at her, to shout for being so reckless, but he didn’t want to draw in any unnecessary attention.

Vince could only sigh.

“Jesus, Sammy. What are you doing?”

Her smile was unwavering as she sat there facing him so confidently with her smile. Not even the risk of her own breast spilling over the hold of her arms had her shying away from him as she innocently answered, “What? I don’t want to get tan lines!”

And he almost believed her. Almost.

If it weren’t for the testing twinkle in her eyes, he would have thought it was an innocent thing. But paired with her little smirk, Vince knew she was teasing him.

He watched as she turned in place so that her back was to him. A heavy breath caught in his chest when he thought she might have to reach a hand up to hold her hair away from her back before his eyes flicked up to the clip that held her hair in place. The clip alone helped put him a little at ease, even if his body was rigid as he reached out to spread the lotion over the flesh of her back. His hand moved in gentle strokes as his eyes looked up at the cabin to ensure her brother had gone inside before he let his eyes return to her.

Before he could see it, Vince could feel Sam’s reaction to his touch. She was melting beneath his fingers, her shoulders falling forward and her head lulling back on her shoulders. Vince watched as the tension of her muscles disappeared and he smirked as she leaned back into the caress of his hands.

“I think you’re just making up excuses for me to touch you,” his words were a low growl as he leaned in to mutter them in her ear. There was a long moment of silence that fell between them, and he waited for her to deny it, but she didn’t. “You like how my hands feel on your body?”

His words hit her in a breath, and she refused to answer him with words. But her body was all he needed to know about the effect he was having on her. He noticed how her toes flex in anticipation, and how her hips angled her pelvis down. Vince couldn’t see what exactly Sam had angled herself into, but he was sure she was one touch away from grinding against the lounge chair.

“My offer still stands,” Vince told her as his hands settled on the curve of her waist and gripped her flesh carefully. It’s a touch that leaves her glancing over her shoulder at him, her face-framing strands falling into her eyes as she bites at her lower lip.

There was no more wonder. No more contemplation. She wanted him and Vince could only wish that he could take her right then and there, but it was too risky. Too stupid.

“Tonight?” she offered in a quiet yelp as Vince guided her hips in a careful roll that sent her cunt grinding against the lounge chair.

“No, we can’t do it here, not with your brother around,” Vince sighed, leaning forward to place a careful, reassuring kiss on her shoulder, “I have an idea, but you’re going to have to follow my lead. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “okay.”

With her answer, Vince left her there, out on the lawn in the embrace of the sun, and didn’t see her again until dinner.

The three of them sat around the small dining table, the sound of forks scraping against glassware filling the silence between mouthfuls and casual conversation. It was with them, all together, that Vince could put his attempt of a plan into motion.

“Hey, man,” Vince nodded to Miles across the table casually, “can I take your truck into town in the morning? Early. I just want to grab a few things, and I don’t think my car will handle the back roads.”

His eyes glanced over at Sam as he spoke. This is it, princess, he thought as she watched her straighten up in her seat, her fingers toying with the drawstring on her sweatshirt hood.

“Yeah, go for it,” was the answer Vince expected, and the one that Miles gave to him.

“Thanks man, I-”

“Vince,” Sam cut in, and Vince had to try not to smile. “Do you mind if I tag along? I, ah, I need a few things.” The way she emphasized the word, things didn’t leave room for Vince or Miles to question it.

All Vince needed to do was accept, and he did it with a look of annoyance to hide the satisfaction that had him melting back into his seat. “Yeah, that’s fine. Just be up on time or I’m leaving without you-”

On the cold morning, the truck’s windows were fogged, and the cab left chilled even as the motor ran. Vince’s stiff, tired fingers toyed with the dials of the air conditioning that was left on. He was quick to turn it off, replacing the cool air with a gust of warmth that left him leaning back in the driver’s seat. Beside him, resting on the bench seat, was a pile of heavy blankets and on top of them was the box of condoms. He couldn’t hide the crooked smile that consumed him at the sight of the tattered cardboard as his head leaned back against the headrest. He had waited all weekend to get to use them. His original intention was to pick up some random, desperate woman from the beach, but his plans quickly changed because of Samantha. And while it left a heavy feeling in his gut, his cock was already half-hard just waiting for her.

Watching through a patch in the window that he had wiped clear of the fog with his fist, Vince waited. For how long, he didn’t really know, but it was long enough that doubt crept in. His hot breath mixed with the cold air, and would fog up the window once and then again as he watched the front door. There was no sign of life. No light. No movement. No Samantha.

Eyes dropped to the bright, blue-green glow of the digital clock. It was still early. Earlier than he told her, but even he got nervous when the stakes were high. The minutes ticked by and Vince began making excuses as to why he didn’t make it into town after all for when Samantha didn’t join him - but then the front door opened and a wave of relief hit him.

Samantha left the house as if her brother didn’t know that the two of them had plans to run into town. Her every moment was slow, deliberate and careful, and she had the hood of her zip-up sweatshirt pulled up over her head as if she needed to conceal who she was. It left Vince chuckling as she climbed into the seat next to him, her blonde hair framing her face and the bright blue of her eyes as she looked at him.

“What?” she asked him slowly, a weakness in her voice that sounded more like insecurity than sleepiness.

“It’s nothing,” Vince assured her slowly, his hand reaching up to throw the truck into reverse before Sam could put her seatbelt on, “you’re just a dork. Sneaking out like that. Your brother knows we’re going out.”

“Yeah,” she breathed out, her hands reaching up to push her hood back, “right.”

Together, they sat in the truck cab in silence as they drove down the road. The fog beaded into drops of moisture, streaking down the windows as the heat cleared it away. On the horizon the sun was only just rising, flooding the dark skies with the many shades of sunrise. It was a beautiful sight, even with heavy tired eyes, even if they wouldn’t be able to see it for long as he turned down a back road that was smothered by the overgrowth of towering trees.

Thin branches reached out over the narrow road, their baring branches hitting and scratching at the truck as it passed. The tires kicked up the dirt, and even while he slowed, it left a dust cloud in their wake. It wasn’t an unfamiliar road. Miles’ dad had taken them all fishing when they were kids, just beyond the dead end. Where the road met thick brush, and beyond it the water. But the paths once taken had long since grown over, and there were no other vehicles parked along the edge of the road. There would be no one to interrupt them for now, but Vince knew they would have to be vigilant.

“Alright, get in the back,” Vince broke the silence, his hand reaching out for the pile of blankets.

He tucked them under his arm, and in his hand, he carried the box of condoms in his firm grip as he slid out of the driver’s seat and rounded back to climb into the truck bed. The truck bed was cold and it wouldn’t be the most comfortable of things for her, but Vince was going to do his best. Tossing the condoms down, he unfolded one blanket and laid it out, then another. The third he would use to keep them warm.

Samantha stood at the end of the bed, watching him with curious eyes before letting herself climb up into the bed with him. He watched her as she crawled up the length of it. Her black leggings hugged her body with each movement, right down to her chunky white sneakers on her feet. She looked like she was going for a run more than she looked to be going to a dick appointment. But she was comfortable as she sat down at his side - a little nervous, but comfortable all the same and it left Vince smiling.

“Come ‘here,” he coaxed her as he reached across the little space between them for her hand.

He held it carefully in his hold, giving it a careful tug to draw her in close, only to drop it when she was near enough to place his hands on her hips. His hold on her was gentle, his thumbs stroking over the swell of her hipbone as he guided her down to straddle his hips. Vince could feel her warmth on every side of him, bleeding through the thick fabric of his black hooded sweatshirt and his grey sweatpants as they warmed between her thighs. With her there, he took a moment to admire her, his bright eyes flickering over her softened features. She was doing a good job of hiding her nerves, but he could still see it there in her eyes, as she couldn’t quite meet his own.

When he spoke, his hand moving up and down over her thighs in a soft stroke as he did so, he only made it worse. “Alright, Sammy, tell me what I’m working with.”

Her gaze shifted from where they seemed to stare at his lips to the trees beyond as she chewed at her bottom lip, “I, um.”

She was hesitating. Unsure of what exactly he was asking, or too nervous to tell him the dirty little details he didn’t know, he encouraged her all the same. “How far have you gone before?”

Sam blushed, her eyes coming to find his face again, and only for a moment did he meet his eyes. “Over the clothes.”

“And what do you do when you’re by yourself?”

“Vince!” His name was soft on her tongue, her eyes wide as her mouth full agape. She hadn’t been expecting him to ask her that.

“Hey,” he met her, his own voice dropping to her softness as he reached his hand up to caress her cheek, “You don’t have to worry with me, okay? I’m not here to judge you,” she relaxed into his touch, a heavy sigh rocking her body, “and if I’m going to fuck you, Princess, I want to know what you like and what you’re going to be able to handle-”

Her insecurity broke, her lips spaying into a confident smile as she leaned in to challenge him. “I can handle anything you give me.”

There she was. The Samantha that was so eager to toy with him.

“Humour me then?” His head cocked as his hand left her cheek and traced the outline of her curves. It ghosted over the swell of her breasts, and his hand hesitated there for a moment. Vince craved to grope a handful, but his touch travelled over her waist and settled on her hips once more. He gripped them tight and guided them into their first gentle roll over his cock.

Sam’s eyes fluttered shut at the friction. Her lips parted in a silent gasp before she could bite down on her lower lip.

“How often?” Vince asked.

“Often,” was her simple, feeble response.

A smile grew over Vince’s lips as she crumbled for him. He sat up from where he leaned against the back window of the truck and leaned in. She had found her rhythm, her lips rolling over his slowly, but not enough to tease him. She, much like him, was too eager to wait. Vince’s eyes shut as he fought off a groan of his own, his face finding the warmth of her neck just below her ear. It was there he kissed her, his hot breath warming her skin as he muttered, “Fingers or toys?”

“Fingers.”

His lips dragged over the smooth angle of her jaw in a slow kiss before he spoke again, “Clit or-”

“Vince-”

He kissed down her neck, his teeth grazing over her flesh as he tried to coax an answer from her. “Sam.”

She hesitated, and it had Vince leaning back to look up at her. No answer. No sex.

Pouting in his lap, Sam let out an embarrassed huff. “You know the answer.”

“How many fingers?”

Her face was bright red, her skin so hot that Vince forgot that he had been cold. And while she hesitated, she answered him, “Two.”

Vince’s hands left her hips and took hold of one of hers. He drew it up so she could see it in front of her. There, his palm met hers and they compared how much bigger his hands and fingers were to hers. He let her stare, her eyes wide as her tongue stroked over her bottom lip. He knew exactly what she was thinking about at that moment without her needing to say a word. Vince had planted the very thought of wondering what his fingers would feel like as they plunged into her core. And he felt her shudder.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised, “but you have to promise me that if it becomes too much, or it hurts, you tell me to stop. Got that?”

Samantha nodded slowly, her teeth biting her lip before she let it fall with her words. “I promise.”

“Good girl,” he praised her, and she shuddered again.

She liked praise. And he noted it.

“So,” she hummed slowly, “where do we start?” Vince could only hush her as his hand reached up to stroke through her thick blond hair. His fingers toyed with her soft strands as he pushed them away from her face before they came to rest at the nape of her neck. With that hold, he guided her in and met her lips in a kiss.

There was no caution between them. No hesitation as their lips fell into that same hunger that they had fought back on the porch during the night he had let his desire to fuck her swelter cloud every bit of her better judgement. Her tongue was in his mouth, her hands were in her hair. Tangled in each tendril as he held her head in his hands. Thumbs coaxed her carefully, guiding her mouth open further. The kiss became sloppy, saliva-coated chins and teeth clashed in the desperation of it all. And then his hands dropped.

Samantha had maintained the careful roll of her hips over his raging cock, so she didn’t need his help there. Now, he got to explore.

There was no stopping how his smile splayed over his lips as his hands found the swells of her breast and brushed over them in a feather-light touch. Vince had wanted to indulge himself in them from the very moment he had spotted her there in her bed, and now he was finally going to get the chance. A single hand found the zipper of her sweatshirt, and he pinched it between his thumb and forefinger before dragging it down. It took all of his willpower not to break the kiss and not to look down to see what she wore beneath her sweater. His hands got to do all the exploring as he pushed the sweater open, but not off of her. And he let out his first audible groan when he felt what was beneath.

Samantha wore nothing but what felt like a lacey bralette beneath her sweater as the delicate fabric that dropped off to her smooth flesh greeted Vince’s fingertips. His hands moved blindly, stoking over soft skin and fingers hooked on the flimsy fabric that concealed her breasts and pulled it down. There was no holding back now, not as he could feel the heavy weight of them spill over the excuse of a hold that was the bralette. He needed to see them.

Strong arms embraced Sam around her middle, coiling around her as Vince broke the kiss in a desperate gasp. So selfishly, he housed her up to sit just a little high on her hips so that the very swells of her cleavage were in his sight. His lips came together in a satisfied hum, his hands gripping at the bralette in both hands to fully rid her chest of it before taking a breast in each hand. Large hands kneaded at her flesh, groaning when Samantha’s breasts seemed to overflow from his hold.

They weren’t better than he had imagined. So full, so soft, and so tempting to his mouth as Vince leaned in to place sloppy open-mouthed kisses over the swells of her breasts. Then his lips travelled down, his tongue lapping over a single pert nipple before he was taking it fully in his mouth.

He wasn’t sure if it was the warmth of his mouth, or the stroke of his tongue that coaxed it out of her, but with his mouth consuming her breast, Samantha’s lips parted in a soft sweet gasp. It had Vince smiling against her flesh. But what he liked more was how her hands stoked up the back of his neck and found his curls. He could feel the gentle scratch of her manicured nails over his scalp as her fingers knitted and tugged carefully at his locks. It sent a hum of pleasure buzzing through him, one that had his hands drop to her hips to get a good grip on her. And then he flipped her, her breast falling from his mouth as her back hit the truck bed, and quaking with the impact.

A heavy breath left him as his eyes fixated on her breast again, watching them bouse as they settled and a groan ripped up the back of his throat. Selfishly, he wanted to fuck them. To press them together with his hands and thrust his cock between them until he came. And he would unload all over them and watch it drip down over each swell.

The thought alone made his cock throb.

But that’s not why they were there - and he was done holding back.

“You’ve got such a great body,” he complimented her in a rush of words that sounded more like one as his hands traced the curve of her waist and settled at the top of her tight black leggings.

He gripped the fabric in his fists and tugged them down the length of her legs, only to hit her sneakers. Two kicks of her feet and they were gone, leaving her in her panties and her unzipped sweatshirt beneath him. Then, he reached up, pulling off his own sweatshirt, baring his chest to her, and shivering in the breeze. Vince’s mouth opened to apologize for the cold, but his words were unspoken as Samantha leaned forward, her lips kissing over the toned muscles of his abdomen.

And he just smiled.

That was the beauty of sex. It didn’t need to be learned or taught. It was all instinct. Once he had gotten her caught up in the moment, in the rush of the feeling, Samantha knew exactly what to do. Biting his lip, Vince’s head lulled back. He relished in the feeling of her sweet pink lips against his skin, and every breath that washed over him. But there was a risk in taking his take with her. At any moment, another truck could roll up, and he intended to get back to the house long before Miles woke up.

Reaching out with one hand, he took hold of the third and final blanket while the other stroked back Samantha’s hair from her face. “Lay back, Princess.”

She didn’t hesitate, and Vince positioned himself fully between her thighs. His hands made quick work of the blanket, draping it over his back and leaning in close so that it fell over them both to give them some semblance of warmth. Then his hands were on her body once more. He stroked down over her thighs before dipping down into the heat between them. The skin of Samantha’s inner thigh was so delicately soft that Vince was almost worried that the hardworking callouses on his palms might hurt her. But any thought of worry was gone the moment a single finger stroked over the damp fabric at the crotch of her panties.

“You’re so nice and wet for me,” his words were a growl as his fingers settled on her clit. This time, he didn’t just tease her with the very knowing of where it was. Vince pressed into the sensitive nerves, stroking her slowly and coaxing her into a heavy breath and the careful buck of her hips.

“Would you like me to take these pretty little panties off?”

Nothing more than Samantha’s desperate nods met his question, and Vince didn’t make her wait. The careful rise of her hips helped him as his finger hooked along the thin fabric and dragged it down. She was already such a mess for him, and he’d barely touched her. Vince could see it in how her face softened for him and felt it against his fingers as he slipped her panties from her ankles and took them in his fist. He gripped them tight for a moment before he shoved them into the pocket of his sweatpants.

As to not to lose them - or maybe to keep them as a souvenir.

He smiled at the thought of getting to keep them. Of getting to bring them back to St Louis and keeping them in his own drawer. And it had fully consumed him as he leaned in close and let his hand settle between her legs again. Bare for him, he could feel everything. From her clit to the slickness of her core, he stroked her with a single finger. Gathering that sweet arousal around his index finger before he eased it into the tightness of her cunt.

His thrust was slow, careful as he eased into her inch by inch until he was knuckle deep.

“That’s it, princess,” he encouraged her in a hit whisper that washed over her face as she let out a silent moan, “doing so good for me, you want another?”

He met her eyes that seemed to flutter with every careful pump of his fingers, earning a sweet, “Yes, yes, Vince, please,” from her lips.

“Ready?” he asked her, his words as slow and agonizing as his last thrust with his single finger. And before she could answer, his middle finger had joined in on the plunge, stealing her words and sending a moan into the air.

Birds in the trees above flew in a flock from the treetops, startled by the noise. “Easy there, Princess, it might not just be me and you out here,” Vince cautions her, his eyes meeting hers and he feels her core flex around his fingers. “Oh?” his head cocked. “You like that? The idea of being caught? That someone could walk out of the trees or drive in from the main road and catch us here. My fingers knuckle deep in your pretty little pussy.”

Each word coaxed out a heavy breath, and her walls squeezed around his fingers in a warm embrace that left Vince salivating. He was so close to making her come already. And it was a good thing too. The tension between them over the last two days had left him on edge. Once he had her, he knew he wouldn’t last as long as he would like to with her.

“You ready for my cock, princess?”

Samantha let out a weak hum and reached out her hands to tug at his sweatpants that already hung low on his hips. The tips of her fingers grazed over his flesh, tracing over the angles of his toned body as she brought them down just enough that his cock sprang free. Vince had half hoped to see a shocked expression take her features, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think his cock wasn’t the first she’d seen. He had been one or more unsolicited dick-pic away from that honor, but he was going to be the first of what really mattered.

Vince reached out for the almost forgotten box of condoms, crushing the already battered cardboard in his hold as he fished for the foil package with two fingers. Securing it, he tossed the box aside again, spilling the contents in the truck bed, before ripping open the package and working the thin latex onto his cock. Choking back a groan at the stroke of his own hand, Vince asked, “You watch porn?”

She didn’t shy away from answering him now that her mind was dizzy with lust. “Yeah,”

“Forget everything you’ve ever watched for a second, and just enjoy the moment, the feeling.”

Vince had pressed the top of his cock to the narrow entrance of her core before he could finish speaking. The very pressure of the tip punctuated his words as it eased his way into the embrace of her walls. She was warm, warmer even as Vince leaned in to press his body flush against hers. All the morning cold seemed to disappear around him, the warmth of her body all so consuming as she entwined herself with his by body and limb. He could feel all of her, from how her feet dragged down the length of his lengths before hooking behind his knees to how one hand knitted in the curls of his hair while the other scratched and gripped at his back. But her hold on him, and the slow, steady and deep thrusts, were not enough to keep them anchored in place in the back of her brother’s truck.

Reaching his hand out, Vince pressed it firmly against the cold glass window. The temperate sent a shock right through him. It was such an intense contrast to her warmth, to the pulse of her core around his cock with every one of his thrusts. He fucked her good and slow, kissing her slowly just to feel her sweet moans against his own lips as if he could taste them. And then her climax hit her, so hard he could feel every wave as it consumed her. Vince could feel her legs weaken and tremble, and her grasp on him only grew tighter, as she didn’t quite know yet how to handle the intensity of the pleasure he had brought her.

The pulling on his hair, the coaxing of her core and the squeeze of her legs around his tights brought his own soft groans as he fell into the chase of his own high. His every movement that followed was primal. The sound that left his lips uncontrollable as his thrusts hastened, and his cock twitched against her core’s insistent grasp. Pleasure strangled his final moan as his hips crashed into hers and Vince kept himself buried deep inside her cunt as he unloaded. It left him panting, sweating, groaning, relieved as he had finally gotten what he had been craving the entire long weekend.

Yet, he felt a sense of disappointment. He wished he could have been able to take his time with her. To really enjoy her and teach her a few things outside of being a pretty little pillow princess.

“Fuck, I could have so much fun with you,” Vince told her in a low muttering that he was sure would become lost in the wind. And it was the truth. She had the perfect body, and Sam was still so impressionable in the bedroom. Vince wanted to be the one who walked her through all of it. To be the one who ruined every single other man for her. But she would be off to university in a few days, and he had to report to training camp. Even if he wanted her, there would be too great a distance between to satiate and desire that took him.

Drawing out of her, Vince eased the condom from his cock and pulled his sweatpants up quickly. Fingers knotted up the end, and with little regret, he tossed it into the grass beside the road before he hunted down his clothes. The two of them moved around the truck bed, gathering their things and shrugging into their clothes in silence. That fact left worry hanging heavily in Vince’s stomach. By now, women would have complimented him on anything, everything, desperate to get inside his head after a hookup. But Sam had barely met his eyes as he stared at her breasts one last time before Sam zipped up her sweater.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed out, coming to stand in front of him, but she didn’t offer another word to him. Instead, she leaned in and pressed up onto her toes to place a simple kiss on his cheek, “but you might have to help me down.”

“I can do that,” Vince grinned and made that his priority.

He jumped down from the truck bed and reached his arms out to her. Hands settled on the curve of her waist and lifted her down with ease. But he didn’t stop there. Vince wrapped one arm around her and watched her with soft eyes and an amused smile as she walked to the passenger side on weak legs. Her strides had been slow and careful, and he had been the one who did that to her.

“Get in. I’ll take care of the rest.” Vince helped her into the passenger’s seat before closing the door firmly behind her.

Then, he made quick work of the mess they made in the truck bed. Vince folded the blankets in on one another, hiding the stray condom that had fallen out of the box, and any traces of sex they may have left behind. They ended up in more a ball than nicely folded, and he tossed into the backseat before Vince found his seat and started up the engine just as another truck pulled into the end of the road.

The driver, an old man, his face thick with wrinkles and his smile friendly, so Vince rolled down the window and offered a friendly wave.

“Any luck out there this morning?”

His mind was cloudy, stuck in a bit of a daze of his own, and left confused by the stranger’s question before he watched him reach into the back of his truck for an old fishing rod.

“No, nothing for us, though we weren’t out long,” Vince upheld the friendly conversation as he reached his arm up to stretch over the back of the seat of the truck. He patted the soft leather of the bench seat, coaxing Samantha over to lean into his side casually. His hand stroked over her arm as he spoke to the man, the conversation falling on the nice weather the day was supposed to have for fishing, but it wasn’t long before he was wishing the man luck and Vince was putting the car in reverse.

With Sam pulled close to his side, he drove into town on the back roads in silence. Not that they really needed anything from the store, but Vince knew if they didn’t return with anything, Miles would get suspicious.

When they arrived, Vince left Samantha in the truck and went into the store alone. He grabbed odds and ends of things. Items that he could have easily forgotten to pack for the weekend, and he even bought Samantha a box of tampons just to cover all the bases before he returned to the truck. She had turned the music on and eased back into her place by his side on the bench seat, but they continued to ride in silence.

Vince could hear her every tired breath and the music that was just loud enough to hear but not loud enough to make out the lyrics. And when she rested her head on his shoulder, he almost groaned. The silence was getting to him, his own curiosities now eating away at him. Vince wanted to know what she was thinking, what she felt. But he was only a quick glance in the mirror from seeing that her eyes were softly closing, sleep threatening to take her as they travelled down the final stretch of road before they were back of the cabin.

He let her flirt with the idea of sleep, but the moment he pulled into the driveway his touch had found her face. He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head just enough to look up at him. Her eyes fluttered, and her smile pulled at her lips as just how close they were. And he smiled too as he whispered, “You still upset with me for scaring away your little friend?”

Her head shook slowly as she tried to look away to hide the smile that played on her lips, but his hold on her kept her in place. Days ago, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had screamed at him for what he did. Shouted, hell, he wouldn’t have put it past her if Sam had told him she hated him for what he did, but it was all very different now.

She had no frustration in her eyes. No anger.

“And how do you feel right now?”

Glancing back at him, Samantha could only shrug as her cheeks were the faintest shade of pink. There was a dreamy look on her face, one that Vince had seen so many times before. One of peace, one of calm and adoration.

Lust.

Longing.

Love.

“That’s the endorphins.” His words were soft, a long hum as his hands cupped her face in his hands. “You see, this is the shit they don’t teach you about sex in school. When I fucked you, made you feel so good, it fucked with your brain chemistry. Releases Oxytocin or some shit during orgasm.” His thumb trailed down her cheek oh so slowly, drawing her into a heavy breath that left her bottom lip quivering. Vince stroked it slowly. “Fucking dangerous thing it is. It’s why every time a man touches you from here on out, and he doesn’t get you there, you’re going to think of me. When you touch yourself, you’re going to think of me. And when you do, fucking call because I want to see the mess I’ve fucking turned you into.”

Samantha’s features softened, her eyes wide and her mouth agape in awe at his words. There was nothing she could say to change the effect he would have on her for the rest of her days. A little piece of her would always belong to him. It went beyond the physicality of it all, and Vince fucking loved that.

His thumb stroked over his lower lip one last time, knowing that just touching like that in the driveway was too great a risk, but he wanted more. Vince leaned in and kissed her hard. He wanted to taste her tongue later in the day when he wanted to fuck her, but could only reminisce about the feeling. His fingers nearly knotted in her hair. So close to drawing her in and fucking her in the truck cab, but the possibility of being caught by Miles there left an uncomfortable knot in his gut. Yet, he didn’t pull back until he knew her lips would swell from the kiss. But it might have been too late.

The front door was the first thing he looked at when Vince pulled back from Samantha, his hands still cradling her face. And his body flooded with panic when he saw the door wide open, and Miles making his way out the door, his eyes fixated on the gravel beneath his feet. The truck cab filled with a series of rushed curses as they rushed to put as much distance between themselves as possible. Samantha went as far as to press her back against the passenger side door. There the both of them stayed, panting, watching as her brother looked up towards the truck and he smiled.

Miles hadn’t seen a thing.

#vince dunn #vince dunn fanfic #vince dunn x original character #hockey rpf #hockey imagines #hockey romance #hockey smut #nhl fanfic #nhl rpf #nhl fanfiction #;; { i've been working on this for weeks it feels like }#;; { it may not be edited as well as some of the other fics }#;; { but it's long and i really wanted to get it out today }

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lovelytsunoda · 2 years

Text

yule shoot your eye out // lance stroll

summary: it was supposed to be a relaxing getaway. instead, a snowstorm traps y/n ocon and lance stroll inside the mount tremblant cabin they had rented, and strands esteban and his girlfriend at the airport. so until the snow melts, she's trapped with her brother's best friend, and forced to reckon with her feelings.

pairing: lance stroll x female ocon! reader ( forced proximity, brother's best friend )

warnings: sexual tension, smut scene that really does nothing for the plot but i wanted to put it in there anyways, super brief mention of masturbation (one sentence), drinking, discussion of kinks (or lack thereof because y/n is like me and needs to constantly know she's loved and desires closeness and intimacy-), mentions of poor mental health, half-assed love confessions where they somehow both know exactly what the other was going to say, esteban walks in on lance and y/n making out on the couch. i use too many romance tropes.

mount tremblant, quebec.

y/n ocon had never seen snow this bad. and she considered herself a country girl through and through. or at least, as close to the countryside as one could get in normandy. she drove at a cautious pace, a sharp detour from the way that she normally drove, in an attempt to keep control over the rented toyota.

"lance, i can't even see three feet ahead of me." she huffed, phone resting in the cupholder at the highest volume. lance stroll, her brother's best friend of over a decade was on the other end of the line, chuckling to himself as he tried to calm the girl down.

"calm down, y/n. you should be almost there, if the find my friends app is working the way that it should."

"that doesn't instill me with a lot of confidence, sir lancelot." she rolled her eyes, taking a turn far too cautiously for it to have been safe if there were any other cars on the road.

it's not her fault she's never experienced a proper canadian winter.

"just take one more right turn, you're almost there. do you not see the road signs?"

"i can't see through the fucking snow! i don't understand why we decided to come up here instead of going down to dallas with mick."

"you're the one who wanted a proper winter getaway."

"i meant the swiss alps!"

lance laughed down the phone before redirecting the conversation. "okay, i can see your headlights, you're at the bottom of the driveway. give me like, ten minutes and i'll meet you in front of the cabin. why are you using your windshield wipers to fend off the snowflakes?"

the aston martin driver did nothing to hide the laughter in his voice.

"fuck off, stroll."

lance tried to stop laughing, but y/n could still hear the joking tone in his voice. "just park near the top of the driveway, i'll come out and help you with your stuff."

"you're an angel, lance. and when i say 'angel' i mean the fucker from buffy the vampire slayer."

"duly noted." the canadian laughs, tugging on his parka before stepping out of the cabin and making his way down the steps. "where's your brother?"

"we weren't on the same flight. no, dear old estie decided not to come and visit if we were all going up to the cabin together." she rolled her eyes as she hung up the phone, watching as lance braved the snow, stumbling towards the rental car.

y/n had been studying at the university of manchester for the last two years and was almost done her program. staying in continental europe had allowed her to stay close to her family, and kept her close to racing, which had always been her passion. she was studying mechanical engineering, with a student placement at carlin. of course, her ultimate goal was to be the first female race engineer in formula one, and being able to get in at alpine wouldn't hurt.

esteban and elena would be flying out of paris, but their flight was supposed to leave an hour ago and she hadn't heard anything. no confirmation that esteban had boarded the plane, no word on any delays.

she tried not to think about it as she stepped out of the car, the hood on her puffy white jacket pulled up against the harsh wind. "let me give you a hand."

lance shook his head. "you've been driving for hours, and your flight was what, six hours long? no, i am carrying your bags."

"at least let me take the suitcase, it's heavy." she insisted, although there was a fuzzy feeling in her stomach at the stroll boy's enthusiasm to help her out.

lance had always been a sweetheart, and she'd be lying if she said that in the last three years, she hadn't felt warm and fuzzy around the aston martin driver. he always went out of his way to make her feel comfortable and included, make her laugh when she felt down. when she had been having a hard time at university, lance had come up to visit her when esteban couldn't, or when she didn't want to worry her parents.

she'd be lying if she said that picturing lance stroll in her bed was the only thing that got her off when her hand was between her thighs. that the reason she was probably still single was because she never made it past a second or third date because she kept comparing every single suitor to her brother's best friend.

"absolutely not." lance insisted. "but you can take the backpack."

"all the backpack has in it is books, a travel pillow and a fucking water bottle. come on, i feel bad." y/n insisted, making grabby hands towards her hard-scheel suitcase, backpack slung over one shoulder. "lance."

"y/n. stop arguing with me, it's cold out here. let me help you."

"fine." the ocon girl caved, locking the car and trudging her way up to the front steps of the rented vrbo cabin.

the two stumbled inside, dropping bags in the foyer and stripping out of snow-covered winter coats.

lance would be lying if he said that his line of sight wasn't immediately drawn to the tight holly-green sweater that y/n was wearing, and the way it made her curves look perfect in the warm led lights.

"i haven't heard anything from esteban since i left manchester. has he called you at all?"

"i'm sure you're overthinking, y/n." lance tried to placate the girl in front of him. "he'd call if anything was wrong. i haven't heard from chloe and scotty either."

y/n laughed, slumping down on the faux leather couch. the cabin was cozy: all cedar wood and plaid accents, shockingly Canadian in the sense of décor. fairy lights hung from exposed timbers and she tried to allow herself to relax, tucking her feet underneath a thick plaid blanket.

"i guess that's typical younger sibling bullshit, isn't it?"

lance laughed, taking a seat on the couch next to the young woman. it was all he could do to keep a respectful distance, knowing that if he was any closer, he'd probably do something stupid.

like kiss her.

"i'm sure our siblings are fine." lance reassured, thinking about his own sister and her fiancée.

"hold that thought." y/n said, sitting up straighter as her phone began to ring, esteban's name flashing across the screen. "estie? where are you?"

"we're still in paris. our flight just got cancelled because of the storm. the airline moved us to a flight two days from now, so we're going to stay down the road from the airport." esteban sounded exhausted, his voice far off as it flooded through the small speakers at the base of her iphone. "they said they'd call if anything changed. did you land okay?"

"the flight was rocky, but i made it in one piece. lance and i are at the cabin now. there's still nothing from chloe and scotty."

"putain. listen, as long as you're with lance, you're safe from the storm. just hang tight and i'll call when i have more news."

"okay. estie? stay safe. i love you."

"love you too." the phone began to crackle, her brother's next words getting lost somewhere between phone lines.

"esteban? esteban?" the three beeps from her phone indicated that the lines had gone down, the simple 'no service' icon appearing in the top right hand corner.

y/n groaned, leaning further back against the couch, knees drawn into her chest as she dropped her phone on the cushions. "the lines are down."

she knew what this all meant. she was stuck in a log cabin with lance stroll and every fond feeling that she had ever harboured for the aston martin driver. she'd either lose her mind or do something freakishly stupid.

"is esteban all right?" lance asked quietly, gingerly moving closer on the couch. y/n took that as a cue, falling straight into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. breathing in his cologne.

she'd always loved that fucking cologne.

she sighed, closing her eyes. "his flight got cancelled. they're trying to get him on a flight in a few days, but he's not exactly hopeful. it's a miracle that i got here alive, if i'm being frank."

"it's not all bad. we may not have cell signal, but we do have heating, and there's a fridge full of food and wine. a dvd player and a stack of christmas movies."

"alcohol sounds great right about now." y/n agreed, pulling the blanket further over her body.

"red wine or white?" lance asked, getting to his feet and crossing over to the kitchen. "i've also got my mom's sugar cookies."

"red, please. and bring the cookies. tell claire-anne i think she's a bloody legend."

the canadian laughed, popping the cork as he switched on the small radio on the counter, oldies christmas music flooding the open concept main floor, elvis crooning about how he'd have a blue christmas without the one he loved.

me fucking too, mr. presley.

"don't worry, she already knows." lance beamed, coming back to the living room with two wine glasses and a tin of cookies shaped like christmas trees. "have you been doing all right lately? i never felt right about heading back home after that one weekend."

the french girl knew what weekend lance was talking about. she had been in a bad place that entire week, and esteban was worried about her. he was too busy with sponsorship events and couldn't catch a flight out of france soon enough, so he had called lance. the strolls had been at silverstone that week running simulator time at the aston martin factory. lance had driven the four hours from towcester to manchester, and had stayed with her all weekend. as soon as lance came inside the apartment, she had broken down crying in lance's arms. all she had been able to say at the time had been 'i want my mom', repeating it in both english and french while lance held her, whispering that everything would be okay.

"they've been getting better. the semester ended and think the break has done wonders for me. winter semester starts up in january, and my schedule is a little lighter. i'll be working with carlin again, so once the season starts, hopefully i'll be able to get out a little bit more. i'm supposed to be back at the factory three times a week after christmas." y/n started, taking a sip of her wine, still curled up in a blanket. "i'm thinking about getting a rabbit or something. just so i'm not alone in the apartment all the time."

lance nodded along. "that might be nice. how many years do you have left?"

"two years. stephanie carlin is actually really excited about signing me on full time. just as a junior engineer, not a race engineer, but one day i'll get there."

"i have full faith. you'll be coming for brad's job in no time."

y/n laughed, the sound bordering on a snort. "what, so you can tell me that you know the car is already on fire, or that i don't know that the 'pit confirm' and 'ok' buttons are the same thing?"

"you love listening to me and brad and you know it. you think it's charming."

she raised her eyebrows, taking another sip of her wine. "charming isn't exactly the word that i would use."

the duo didn't realize how fast time would fly. conversation flowed comfortably, the wine bottle already halfway empty, the tin of cookies now reduced to a few small crumbs at the bottom of the metal container. they were now sharing a blanket, their legs resting on top of each other.

"this is going to sound completely absurd, but i need to know." lance laughed.

"it's twenty questions. nothing is too absurd." y/n laughed back. "hit me with your best shot, pat benatar."

lance cocked an eyebrow "are you wine drunk?"

"maybe." she giggled, taking another sip. "was that your absurd question?"

"no, not at all. this is: what are you into? like, in bed? because i walked in on your brother and elena once right before a press conference, and i cannot unsee that shit.”

“try hearing him through the walls. our house was small as hell, lance. imagine hearing your older brother have an orgasm. it’s traumatizing.”

“come on, you have to be into something. stop avoiding the question.”

“lance stroll, you don’t ask a woman about her kinks before a first date!”

“what are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything!” she managed to say through laughter. “really, I’m not. I don’t have any kinks.”

lance raised an eyebrow. “everybody has at least one, come on now.”

“really, I don’t. my roommate in freshman year made me take an online bdsm test, and it came back a hundred percent vanilla.”

“a kink is anything that turns you on during sex, y/n. there has to be something.”

y/n rolled her eyes, staring at her almost empty wineglass. “there is not enough red wine in the world for this conversation.” she reached towards the coffee table, pouring the last dregs of the deep red liquid into her glass.

lance looked at her intently. “now I’m curious. what secrets is little miss perfect hiding?”

“I suppose if I had to pick something, because you seem so desperate to embarrass me today,” she rolled her eyes dramatically. “I would say that my kink is romance. some girls want to give up control and have someone tell them what to do during sex, or be tied up and shit, and that's perfectly fine, for them, but I just want to be loved and cared for. I want grand gestures and rose petals and hand holding. I want to be called sweetheart, and darling, and pretty girl.”

lance raised his eyebrow again. god, he shouldn’t look that good when he looks at me like that, she thinks to herself. “that’s it? that’s what you’re so ashamed of?”

“grand romantic notions get you nowhere in the real world. I know that men are going to get bored with me real quick that way.”

“I wouldn’t.”

her heart stopped beating for a fraction of a second, her breath caught in her throat. it’s the alcohol talking, she tried to tell herself. there’s no way he just said what he said.

“I’d call you ‘pretty girl’ all night long, fuck you as tenderly and lovingly as you wanted, and I’d hold your hand the entire time, as long as you wanted me to.”

she couldn’t form a proper response. her mouth had gone dry. she stared at the beautiful man across from her, blinking rapidly as she tried to comprehend what was happening.

“uhm, y/n? hello…earth to y/n?” lance said, confusion in his voice as he looked at her. “are you okay? I think your brain kind short circuited there-“

she cut him off by planting her lips on his, practically jumping into his lap. the driver gasped in surprise before gripping her hips and holding her close. her hands flew up to cradle lances face, moaning into his mouth at the rush of sensations, the buzz that she felt throughout every nerve ending in her body.

she was kissing lance stroll.

“that’s my pretty girl.” he mumbled between kisses, pulling the blankets around their bodies.

at the sound of the pet name spilling from the canadians lips, the lips she had dreamt would someday be spilling that same praise for her in a much more intimate context, she thought she would crumble under his touch, moaning faintly as she tried to press herself up against him. she was sitting on his lap now, legs hanging off the side of the couch and lips against his, her fingertips dragging through his hair as he gripped her thigh tightly.

“lance…” she breathed heavily, the french accent in her voice wavering as the driver began to press sloppy, open mouthed kisses to her neck. “lance, baby, please don’t stop.”

lance grinned against her skin. he wanted this as much as she did, if not more. “anything for my pretty girl.”

the driver leaned back on the couch, pulling y/n's body flush against his, sliding his warm hands up the back of her sweater. she shivered under his touch, only spurring him on more.

until the lights went out with a high pitched beeping sound, the entire cabin plunged into darkness as the battery-operated radio continued to eerily play 'baby it's cold outside' as y/n jumped, tripping over lance's legs as she slid off the couch.

"jesus christ" she groaned, leaning back against the couch, the floor a piercing cold through her jeans. "what happened to the lights? even the fucking string lights are out."

"shit. the storm must have taken the power lines out." lance groaned, pulling the blanket over his lap to hide the growing tent in his jeans. "so now we have no cell phone signal, and no power."

"fucking hell." she mumbled, getting to her feet. "and no power also means no heat. esteban and elena are going to find our frozen corpses huddled for warmth in front of the fireplace."

"you're so overdramatic." lance laughed, getting up from the couch and reaching out to stop y/n from picking up the empty wine glasses. "sit down, y/n. let me handle this, pretty girl."

he said it with a grin and a wink, an overall sense of cheekiness that sent shivers down y/n's spine. she was still struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

she had made out with lance stroll, and she was about ninety eight percent certain that he enjoyed it, if the tent in his jeans was anything to go off of.

"do you have any candles or anything?"

three hours later.

the power still hadn't come back on. neither had the heat, and the fireplace couldn't warm an entire cabin. a cabin intended for six that was currently only occupied by two. a bath and body works candle that smelled scarily like a christmas tree sat on the dresser, dimly lighting up a small circle against the wall that allowed her to see just enough to pull on her plaid victoria's secret pajamas. but the flannel fabric wasn't nearly warm enough for a cabin that was rapidly losing heat.

a shiver wracked her body, goosebumps sprouting all along the hairs on her arms as she reached for the plush blanket at the foot of the bed, draping it around her body before blowing the candle out and edging the door open.

she crossed the hallway, her hands shaking from the temperature drop as she knocked on the door. she could feel heat from inside the room, indicating that lance had somehow managed to get the old woodstove in the corner working.

she hadn't bothered to try with the one in her room.

"lancelot?" she said quietly, playing into the nickname she had always used for him. "can i come in?"

the door creaked open. a loud sound against the rusted hinges. nothing wd-40 couldn't fix. "is everything okay, y/n?" lance asked, a confused and concerned look on his face.

"i'm fucking freezing. and you managed to get a woodstove to work." she shrugged, laughing softly as she gestured at the blanket she was wrapped in.

lance opened the door wider. "come on in. i've got piles of blankets, and probably some body heat."

"how reassuring." she said sarcastically, crossing the threshold into lance's room. crossing a line that could never be uncrossed as she dropped the blanket, tucking herself into the left-hand side of the bed. lance followed shortly after, draping himself over her, his arms securely around her stomach as they spooned.

"lance?" she said softly, as they lay there in the quiet and the dark. "i'm in love with you."

lance inhaled, and she could feel his entire body shudder behind her as he leaned in the whisper in her ear, his breath hot on her skin. "i've been in love with you almost since i first saw you. when my dad was first thinking about buying force india and we walked in the garage and you were there arguing with otmar in that cute little top with the bell sleeves, insisting that you knew more than the team fucking principal." he laughed, his chest rumbling against her back. "you were such a little firecracker, you know."

"and i was on a gap year as well. i took time off to help my dad with the garage. god, i thought i knew so much. i wasn't even in university yet."

"otmar followed your strategy calls that race, you know. he was unsure at first, but he got on the phone with vijay and vijay told him to go for it."

"i know. otmar told esteban afterwards, told him to give me a fucking pandora gift card."

lance laughed, trying to hide a yawn. "sounds about right. get some rest, pretty girl. see you in the morning."

eight hours later.

the room was still dark when y/n ocon woke up. she could still hear the howl of the wind outside, but the room still felt cold, the piles and piles of blankets still pulled over her shoulders. she rolled over, eyes still closed as she nuzzled into lance's chest. the aston driver groaned, one of his hands slipping down her back to cup her ass gently.

"mornin' beautiful." his voice was husky and seductive as he leaned in to kiss her.

"good morning, handsome." she said softly, her face breaking into a smile as she kissed him.

their lips moved in tandem, the air punctuated with soft giggles and wide smiles as she threw her leg over lance's thigh, trying to pull him as close as she could as he playfully smacked her ass, rolling the pair over so that he was on top.

her hands slipped up the back of his heather grey t-shirt, sliding the fabric over his head while the canadian trailed kisses down her neck, the stubble on his chin grazing the delicate skin. she moaned underneath him before he pulled away briefly to get the shirt the rest of the way off his body, casting it aside before kissing her again. her arms came up to loop around his neck, his fingers dancing across her stomach as he slowly undid the buttons on her pajama top.

"lance," she breathed. "is that. . . "

"my hard cock against your thigh?" lance winked with a sly grin. "you bet. see how turned on you make me, pretty girl? if you had said something sooner, we could have been doing this for years now. maybe i'd have even managed to put a ring on your finger."

"i guess we'd better make up for lost time, then." she grinned, helping lance take off the remainder of her flannel shirt before urging lance's head towards her rapidly hardening nipples.

"you're so beautiful, darling." he crooned, kissing and caressing as much of y/n's body as she could, her fingernails lightly digging into his upper back as he swirled his tongue over her breast.

they easily could have wasted the morning away like that. in lance's arms, y/n felt safe and secure. she felt loved, and it all felt right. something that her mother said to her when she was eighteen stuck out in her mind: when you know, you'll know.

and as she and lance shed their flannel pajama pants, his arms around her, his hands in hers as he began to thrust into her, she knew.

but she had a feeling that she had known for a lot longer than that.

"that's it, pretty girl." lance groaned, thrusting deeper and drawing a loud moan from the girl underneath him. "tell me how good i make you feel, hey? i want to know that you feel just as good as i do right now."

"yes, god, yes." she whined, eyelids fluttering shut as she watched lance bring her knuckles up to his mouth, pressing kisses to each knuckle before trailing the kisses down her arm until he reached her neck, the pace of his hips never faltering. “oh, lance, you feel incredible, love.”

"yeah? yeah, you look so pretty like this, beautiful. my pretty girl."

"oh, god! i think i-"

"are you going to come for me, pretty girl? i've got you, baby, you're safe, let go for me. milk this cock."

"oh, lance!"

as they were laying together, a tangled mass of limbs and hair, fingers still pressed to skin, sweaty bodies pressed up against one another, the power came back on, dim lights filling the bedroom as lance kissed her gently.

"i love you, y/n."

she smiled. "je t'aime aussi, lance."

four hours later.

they'd wasted the day away in the shower (having more incredible sex while they were at it), cooking together and watching christmas movies on the vhs player in the cabin's living room ("who even uses vhs tapes any more!" "people who live in cottages, babe!")

as the end credits to 'deck the halls' played on the big screen, lance and y/n softly made out in the dim light of the string lights hanging from the ceiling, curtains still pulled shut.

neither of them heard the door creak open, but they all heard esteban ocon's disgusted shout.

"what the fuck!"

"esteban, i can explain." y/n tried to reason with her brother, aware that lance's hands were in a very compromising position on her body

the alpine driver stood in the middle of the living room, snowflakes melting on his parka as he blinked, trying to make sense of why his sister and his best friend were heavily making out on the sofa.

"are those hickeys on your neck? y/n ocon-khelfane!"

"lance!" she hissed, looking over at the boy. "really? how old are you, seventeen?"

"you didn't notice when you got out of the shower?" the driver asked, trying to avoid making eye contact with esteban. "i thought you said his flight was delayed two days!"

elena shrugged. she had been standing behind her boyfriend, making the conscious choice not to get involved. "we got an earlier flight last minute. we did try to call."

"phone lines are down." y/n said apologetically. "power was out all last night, too."

"and i bet lance kept you warm, didn't he?" esteban glared at lance, ready to destroy their friendship to protect his baby sister's honor. "you have until the count or three, strulovich."

lance's eyes widened. "count fo three for what?"

"one."

"lance, run."

"he's my best friend, he's not going to hurt me. estie, come on!" lance laughed nervously. "let's talk this out."

"two."

"i think she's right." elena piped up. "you can talk it out later."

"three."

lance was off the couch in a flash. "okay, running now!"

they did, in fact, talk it out later.

but not before they wrestled each other and esteban made lance swear not to break y/n's heart.

Tags: @magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @daydreamingleclerc @flannel-cures @sidcrosbyspuck

#lance stroll #lance stroll x y/n #lance stroll x reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #aston martin f1 #the christmas collection 2022 #Spotify

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secretconstellations · 6 months

Text

Rain (Reader x sad!Nat)

pairings: Reader x Natasha Romanoff

warnings: existential topics, slight mention of death, slight swearing

summary: reader is content. they know their place in the world, and that's with the avengers. so when nat comes back from a mission lost and drained, the reader takes it upon themself to comfort her and impart some advice. hurt/comfort!

a/n: hello loves! i hope you're having a lovely day :) this is my first fic so i'd really appreciate feedback as i'd really like to grow my account and cater my work better to you. i hope you enjoy it!! also, requests are open!

Rain hit the car windows. The dim street lamps bore into my retinas, disfigured by the streaks of rain my windshield wipers were struggling to wipe away. I had always liked the rain - that was, from a distance. From the warmth and safety of my car, I sat in silence, soaking in the gentle murmur of the rainfall. Specks of rain peppered my windows, each droplet configuring itself into a unique constellation of water on my window, only to be wiped away seconds later. It was a microcosm of life, I suppose. Beautiful and vibrant for a moment, only to disappear without a trace in the blink of an eye.

In an odd way, it made me smile. No one wants to live forever. Forever sounded so overwhelmingly long. I was okay with life being short and vapid. In a way, that's what gave it meaning. Somehow some form of cosmic junk had become this solar system, my planet. Had become me. And I would live and die and leave no real mark on the universe. And I was okay with that. It gave me the agency to choose my own meaning. And the meaning I chose was the Avengers. My family. A series of calamities had somehow given me the best family I could ask for after twenty-something years of living borderline alone, and the thought took my breath away every day. They were mine and I was theirs and we were okay.

Kind of.

Nat and Tony were due to come back from a week-log mission that evening, and by the sounds of it, they were pretty banged up. Nothing too bad, but they wouldn't be in the best shape. One never was following a mission, after all. I had left to pick up something to cheer the both of them up, and had settled on getting a whole lot of takeaway for the whole team. Nat's favourite restaurant was only maybe a half hour drive from the Avengers Tower, and I couldn't find it on any food delivery platforms so I went there myself and got us a great deal of food, all Nat and Tony's favourite meals. They would need it after a long week in the field.

My car came up to the driveway, the rain still falling in heaps. It was so loud now that I was sure it would punch a hole in the roof of my car. Through my foggy window, I could make out the silhouette of the Quinjet on the roof. They were back already! I was practically jumping out of my seat to see them. I collected all the food that I could carry without dropping and ran to the door, trying my best to shield the food from the rain. FRIDAY opened the door without me asking, and I practically sprinted up the stairs to the common room.

"Y/N! I was just about to ask where you were." Nat gave me a worn out smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she made her way over to embrace me, Tony following suit.

"Hello, my loves." I beamed as the two of them attempted to hug me despite my busy arms. "How are you doing?"

"Y'know. Fine. But I would be a lot better if you let me know what the hell that divine smell is, Y/N." Tony smirked, eyebrow raised.

"Oh, I got takeout!" I sang.

At this the whole team began chattering, practically tripping over themselves to grab a bag and eat whatever was inside before I shooed them away to go wash their hands, as did I. I made my way to a nearby bathroom as the kitchen sink was crowded enough as it was and I didn't feel like waiting.

"Nat..."

Much to my surprise, Nat sat on the floor of the bathroom, knees to her chest in an almost fetal position. She looked so tired. I could hear the rain pattering against the window above her. The storm was gentler now, taking its final breaths. She looked up at the sound of my voice, her tired eyes struggling to focus on my face. Her characteristic, firey self-confidence had dissipated and she just seemed so... tired. It wasn't her.

"Nat, my lovely, what's wrong?" I caught myself using the little pet name someone some lifetime ago had called me. Maybe it would be of some comfort to Nat. "Nat?"

"Uh, I'm just tired, Y/N. It's nothing for you to worry about. Go eat. I'll be there in a minute."

"I'm here to help, love, I can't just leave you. Please tell me what's wrong." I said, keeping my voice as calm and reassuring as I could as I made my way to sit beside her.

She opened her mouth as if to protest, but crumpled as if she were carrying the weight of the heavens on her shoulders.

"I'm just tired of everyone dying." She croaked, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's so fucking pointless. We put our asses on the line every single day for people who just end up dying anyways. There's literally no point to any of this. We're just gonna die anyways, wouldn't it all just be better if we never existed? Yeah... It's all pointless, meaningless shit. I'm so tired of it!" Her voice had risen to an almost shout by this point.

"I know, I know..." I mused as I took her in my arms. "I know, Nat. It's so hard to see meaning sometimes, and that can be scary and tiring. We're on a floating rock and we'll die and be forgotten by the universe eventually, but Nat, that's okay. It doesn't mean there's no meaning. You mean so much to me and to the team, and everyone we save means something to someone. That matters. We have the freedom to choose our own meaning for our own little world. The universe can go fuck itself because the universe is what doesn't matter. Your meaning doesn't need to come from some cosmic overlord. For me, it's you all that gives me meaning. You are my world, my reason, my purpose. You just need to find yours."

We sat in silence for a bit, listening to the hiss of the rain and the echoes of our friends' laughter in the common room. I could feel every inch of her skin touching mine, each vibrant intricacy fighting for my attention. Her calloused fingers were cold, but her palms were sweaty. I didn't mind, though, I counted myself lucky to even be in her presence. Her red hair fell down about her waist, some getting caught in our embrace.

"Sorry." Nat finally spoke, as she pulled herself from me. "Sorry, this is so stupid. I'm being stupid. The mission was just harder than expected."

"Nat, you aren't being stupid at all! It's completely okay to feel this way, okay?" I turned her face in my direction. Her cheeks were soft, save for the little cuts that peppered her porcelain features. Gosh, looking at her felt like falling into bed after a long day of fighting and missions. She felt like home. "Okay?"

She nodded, a smile forming on her chapped lips.

"Let's go eat before the others finish all the food. I bought your favourite! Unless you want to sit here a while longer, that's okay too."

"Shit, I'm actually really hungry!" She giggled. "Yes, let's go eat. I'd like to see the others."

With that, I got up to wash my hands, and we made our way towards the sound of sweet laughter. Nat smiled at our friends. A real smile, this time. She smiled the smile of someone finding their purpose. Finding their meaning. Finding their home.

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 9 months

Note

How does Yves react to jealousy? Wether it is him being jealous or his s/o being jealous…. Cause I mean Yves must have his share fair of admirers

tw: cheating mentions

Part 1/2

It depends on how the relationship between the two of you is defined. He knows he has no right to feel jealous if the two of you haven't officially met or you still see him as an acquaintance. Yves won't stop you from dating others, as long as you're not doing that while in a romantic relationship with him. Because that means you would be breaking the boundaries and promises established, there are close to none if you haven't consented to be his partner.

He knows you more than enough to predict if you want him as your husband or a lifelong platonic companion. There are vastly different rules for either role:

If it's the former, polygamy is a no-go. He will lay his needs on the table on the very first day and the first thing on the list is that he is strictly monogamous, asking him to open up the relationship or for a threesome in the future will hurt him badly and is akin to cheating. Obviously, excessive physical contact with anyone else is considered infidelity, though he allows you to receive hugs and kisses from friends and family members that he trusts, and his trust is not easy to earn. No emotional cheating, he does not want you to have such an intimate connection with anyone else. Yves will express his disapproval if he catches you watching porn or gawking at attractive people on the internet, but he can fix that by making it subconsciously 'boring' for you.

He has no problem with you obsessing over fictional characters, Yves knows that they're not real and he sees them as mere toys for you to play with. He has major issues if you try to turn him into one of your fictitious crushes or your obsession has gotten so severe that it affects your life.

Whereas if you wish to remain friends, or something more special but within the realm of familial, Yves would not interfere if you're involved with someone else. Well, he wouldn't 'interfere' to a certain degree; he wouldn't beg you to leave them for him, he wouldn't try to tarnish their reputation in front of you, he wouldn't even cause a scene at your wedding no matter how much he wanted to shoot your spouse dead. Yves would just watch with an unreadable expression, elegantly crossing his legs and resting his palms on his lap. He would still do something behind the scenes if he thinks you're taking him for granted.

Before even dating your current partner, Yves will ensure that he is the person who is closest to you. He will be the one you would call if things go rough and the first one to know of any major changes in your life, good or bad. You would call him for advice on anything, from something as small as changing the wipers on your car to legal advice. Yves will be your safe space and no one can replace him, ever. Not your parents, your siblings, and definitely not your romantic partner.

You're most likely roommates with him, given the economy now. Living in a jarringly rich neighborhood with him. You feel out of place sometimes, because you're probably a university student struggling to get by or a salary worker living paycheck to paycheck. Yves is kind enough to offer you to stay at his place indefinitely with rent that you can afford.

Perhaps you have your own place, or you live with your parents instead. Or frustratingly, you live at your partner's.

Regardless of your sheltering situation, Yves will more likely act like a monster in law. Arriving uninvited, side-eyeing your spouse for not taking good care of you, every compliment about them is backhanded, bringing in meaningful gifts (i.e., flowers, groceries, freshly baked bread, dinner, food that you have been craving) to outshine your partner's goodwill of the day, subtle jabs that greatly bother your significant other but you don't see a problem with.

You would find yourself defending Yves despite his actions degrading your beloved's self-esteem.

The more serious the relationship, the colder he will be towards them. He will not be aggressively antagonistic, but there is an undeniable air around him that feels like spikes down your partner's throat. He is apathetic to temporary flings and one-night stands, though. Unless he knows they can cause grievous harm to you or carry a disease, Yves will work behind the scenes to eradicate them.

Your partner is afraid of him, and rightfully so. Yves warned him once that he would ruin everything they had if you ever got hurt, either due to direct abuse or negligence on their part. The way he delivered it sent a chill down their spine that they will never forget.

Hurting you includes breaking your heart; so your partner can't leave you without Yves skinning them alive. They can't change their behavior to forcefully make you leave them. God have mercy on them if they ever decide to cheat. Yet, they're subjected to constant terror from this man whom you call your friend if they stay. They're caught between a rock and a hard place. If they're just a regular person, they would have gone clinically insane and Yves takes this chance to wean you off them.

Thankfully though, most of them would be scared off by Yves during the dating phase or your standards became so high that you won't bother losing sleep over another person.

There is an interesting outcome if you happen to be with another Yandere. Again, it depends on their personality.

If they're one of those careless fools who keep you captive, kill your loved ones, and only care about their needs, not your happiness; they're dying of "natural causes" as soon as possible.

Those who are Yves wannabes that stalk you and steal your underwear irks him. He appreciates that they share somewhat similar flavors of love for you, but they are pathetic. They think they know you, but they're not even close to scratching the surface. It's laughable as they try to threaten him behind your back, all Yves would do is stare through them. Ten times out of ten, they would back down out of fear, because they could feel the eldritch horrors writhing under his calm facade.

Pathetic, so pathetic. Yves knows a thousand guaranteed ways he could make them disappear by lunch without any lasting consequence, yet his cheap imitation doesn't even know where Yves is at any given time. They can't even tell that Yves is standing next to them at the bus stop, he just puts his hair in a different hairdo and tries a new makeup look. How are they going to protect you if they're this stupid?

He wouldn't off them immediately though, as long as they're relatively harmless and you're happy, he will let them be.

If it's a rich one with non-negligible influential powers, Yves would keep a closer eye on the both of you. They're certainly a lot more dangerous than the first two, but nowhere near as bad as him. It annoys him that your spouse took up a sizable chunk of his library, but it was necessary to find all their weak points and predict the trend of their behavior. They might have an inkling of who Yves is, but he is still an enigma, the information they have on him is either insufficient or false. They're just as blind as everyone else and Yves always have the upper hand.

They generally wouldn't back down threatening him, though. They think they have their finger wrapped around the world just because of their wealth and connections. Yves was young once, he knows how arrogance flows through the blood of the youth. And so did prideful ignorance.

He would let them think they're winning, their immense big boy/big girl powers are sending Yves running with his tail tucked between his legs. Then, when they least expect it, Yves will scare the crap out of them through various methods. Leaving clear-cut evidence that the entirety of their party is actually working for him, having career and life-ending pieces of information, or simply bypassing all his security and meeting them in their so-called surveillance room.

They would find that all their firearms were unloaded and emergency protocols non-functional. Even the ones that no one else but your spouse knows. Yves knows how to fight, he scoffs at their setup for being so primitive. He would even be offended that your spouse couldn't get your information right.

He would dish out the most ego-wrecking insults while gracefully blocking and dodging their attacks, pointing out their incompetence at gathering data.

Yves would let your spouse exhaust themselves to unconsciousness, deriding them for their terrible physique. Then, he would leave, putting everything together back to normal. He left no trace of him ever being there as if your spouse hallucinated the entire encounter. But they definitely didn't.

He successfully sent a message that he wasn't to be underestimated. They have no idea who they're up against and he will be diplomatic only if they stay in their lane, take good care of you, and make you happy.

However, meeting someone exactly like him, though;

It would be ugly at first. Both Yves and his clone will act a bit more erratic than usual, it can go unnoticed by the untrained eye, but between these two giants? It's war. It's their first time meeting each other's match and their first time losing control over the situation.

They would revert to their default answer to anything threatening their ability to puppet reality: elimination. But both of them are too strong to defeat, so they're stuck in this twisted tango.

Yves couldn't find anything on this person. Even if he did, he knew that the information was a decoy to throw him off his trail, are they even a person? Likewise for your (soon-to-be) spouse, who the hell is Yves? Why has their expertise failed them now? How can it be possible that both of them have the same magnitude of verified information on you, yet neither of them knew about each other until you introduced them?

They both can't believe that they misled each other, making your spouse waste precious data space on your close friend that was entirely fabricated, Yves filling up your spouse's section of the library with a random person whom you never even met.

It's a Mexican Standoff between the two. Upon their "first" meeting with you, all they did was glare daggers at each other while they also suspiciously eyed their drink 'prepared' by you. In the end, neither one had their drink go remotely near their lips.

Until they simultaneously had the idea to lovingly send you off somewhere, maybe asking you to help your partner check on the pie that has been baking in the oven downstairs, fetching Yves a fresh cup of tea, leaving the two intelligence-gathering behemoths alone. Yves's lower eyelid would twitch once when he witnessed them placing an appreciative kiss on your forehead.

They don't mince their words. Telling exactly what they thought of each other, they're not kind thoughts. Once that is out of the way, they acknowledge that they're each other's formidable opponents.

They discuss some more and come to the conclusion that they can't take each other down without somehow unintentionally hurting you in the process. Yves's and your partner's tense shoulders would relax a bit when they realize that their ultimate goal is your joy in living. Trying to eradicate each other is not an efficient or smart use of their resources and your happiness is mutually exclusive to the disappearance of either figure.

Hence, the most logically sound decision was made. It was to work together. Every second spent having to interact in your best interest was agony to either side. However, they cannot deny the immense respect they have for each other despite needing to take some sort of sedative prior to meeting, to prevent accidental strangulations out of fury.

You would be in the dark about what goes on out of your sights. However, you would notice how Yves and your partner are stuck to you even more now. Yves's unannounced presence would be much more prevalent and your partner seems to be clingier than before.

Other than that, life would go on. You have two very scary dogs following you around. You are the world's safest person.

[Part 2]

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc yves

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dameronscopilot · 2 years

Note

Not that you have to give me more content but just an FYI, DBF Santi still haunts me okay thanks love u bye

hi ily here's an unhinged filthy little thanksgiving present xoxo!!

cut the brakes

Dad’s Best Friend!Santiago “Pope” Garcia x f!reader

Summary: The turkey isn’t the only thing getting stuffed this year when you come home for Thanksgiving.

Word Count: 3k

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Content: NSFW, smut, DAD'S BEST FRIEND SANTIAGO, implied age gap (reader is of age), stuffed for Thanksgiving!, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, mention of oral sex (m!receiving)

Shivering outside in the crisp November air, you gritted your teeth at the feeling of the light drizzle of rain falling from the sky. Couldn’t it at least be snow? You tucked your hands further into the long sleeves of your knitted dress—you’d be fucking damned if you had to march back up to the door of your shitty boyfriend’s house to say you forgot your jacket. No, you’d rather freeze.

At the sight of a familiar black pick up truck rounding the corner at the end of the street, your heart lurched in your chest. There was no fucking way.

And yet, clearly there was, because to your complete and total surprise, when the truck came to a stop beside the curb, Santiago Garcia stepped out from the driver’s side.

Santiago Garcia, the object of far too many of your wet dreams over the years. Wildly inappropriate dreams, given the fact that the man currently standing in front of you with his hands shoved in his pockets and a lopsided grin on his face was your dad’s best friend.

In an attempt to avoid busy holiday weekend traffic on the roads, you’d opted to take the train instead to come home for Thanksgiving. And while the initial plan was to spend the early afternoon with your boyfriend’s family before the two of you headed to your dad’s place, a nasty argument had thrown a wrench into the day.

When you’d called your dad and asked him if he could swing by to grab you, it sounded like he’d already had a few drinks, so you assumed one of your uncles or cousins would be pulling up. Not him.

The last time you saw Santiago was at a barbecue at his house shortly before you moved out years ago—after finishing your degree at a local university, you’d chosen an out-of-town grad school. The late summer evening had found you with just enough alcohol buzzing in your veins to corner him in the hallway inside, at which point all of the furtive glances and suggestive conversation building up between the two of you came to a head in a heated, messy, desperate kiss.

A kiss that Santiago quickly stopped between one heartbeat and the next, hands placed firmly on your shoulders as he took in your drunken state.

“Not like this,” he’d said roughly, shaking his head as he led you into the kitchen and poured you a cold glass of water.

You’d left the following week, and you hadn’t spoken to him since. Despite the amount of time he normally spent at your dad’s house, you’d somehow managed not to run into him on any of your trips home in the years since.

Until now.

You face burned in embarrassment as he approached you, and you glanced down at your feet.

“Where’s your jacket?”

Although you knew he was standing there, you still startled at the sound of his voice, and you awkwardly gestured back toward the house behind you.

Santi quirked an eyebrow and shrugged off his dark blue bomber jacket, draping it over your shoulders as he lightly rested a hand against the middle of your back and led you over to the truck, opening the passenger side door for you. You tried not to make it too obvious as you inhaled the scent of his cologne that was wrapped around you.

As he pulled back out onto the road, the cab of the truck was quiet save for the rumble of the engine, the occasional squeak of the windshield wipers, and the lulling pitter patter of raindrops outside.

When a few minutes had passed, Santiago finally broke the silence, “So what happened?”

You shrugged, “We got into an argument.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my relationship problems.”

A huff of laughter left Santi’s lips. “We’ve got a half hour drive, try me.”

And so you sighed, leaning your head against the cool glass of the window and recounting the fight. An unfortunate series of events had led you to finally confront your suspicions that your boyfriend was cheating on you shortly after you arrived at his house, at which point he’d erupted into an avalanche of gaslighting—going so far as to blame you for living too far away. He’d punctuated the whole thing with an off-handed remark about how pathetic it was that you’d clearly tried so hard to dress up for dinner to the point where you looked ridiculous…and so you’d grabbed your purse and stormed out of his house before the food had even hit the table.

You looked at your distorted reflection in the wet side view mirror, frowning. Boots, stockings, and a cozy cable knit dress didn’t seem that out of place for Thanksgiving, but you sure felt pathetic either way as you flipped down the visor mirror, hastily wiping the corner of your eye where your mascara had protested against the tears that had strewn down your cheeks earlier.

“You look great.”

“What?” Although you had been talking to him, you’d somehow gotten lost in your own thoughts as you finished telling Santiago what happened.

You turned to find Santi staring at you as he came to a stop at a red light, and the weight of his gaze was heavy as he repeated himself, “You look great. Fuck your stupid boyfriend.”

—

Despite the fact that you found yourself wholly occupied in the hours that passed after you arrived at your dad’s, several family members taking turns catching up with you to ask about work and your studies, you were buzzing with a constant, palpable awareness of Santiago’s presence in the house.

More than once, you found yourself entirely distracted mid-conversation as you heard the rumbling sound of his laughter from across the room, your heart leaping at the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he threw his head back.

Although he kept his distance, eventually you saw him wander into the kitchen out of the corner of your eye as you opened the oven, bending down to baste the turkey. When you squeezed the bulb of the blaster, you swore you heard Santiago choke, but when you turned around, he was gone.

And perhaps it was a bit over the top, but when he walked by you in the hallway a bit later with a slice of pumpkin pie on a plate, you darted a finger out and swiped a dollop of whipped cream off of it before you could stop yourself. His eyes widened a fraction, and his jaw ticked; he looked like he wanted to say something, but at the sound of your father’s voice calling out to him from living room, he swiftly turned on his heel and kept walking.

You didn’t find Santiago alone again until later, once some guests had begun to leave and the rest were strewn about the living room cheering and groaning as they watched the football game. Slipping his jacket back on, you quietly slid open the patio door that he had walked out through a few minutes earlier.

Eyes scanning the dark backyard, you eventually saw the dull, orange glow of a cigarette off in the corner. You strode over to find Santiago sitting with his legs spread wide as he leaned back in a chair, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“Hey.”

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly as you approached, and he dropped the small white stick to the ground, crushing it under his foot.

“Hey.”

The toes of your shoes nudged against his as you came to a stop in front of him.

“Your idiot boyfriend call you to apologize yet?”

You crossed your arms, briefly glancing up at the collection of stars littering the sky. “Nah, I think it’s over.”

Santi nodded, biting his lip. “That’s good.”

You stepped closer, coming to stand between his spread thighs. “Yeah,” you agreed.

Suddenly remembering the guise you’d come outside under in the first place, you began to shrug the jacket off of your shoulders as you explained, “Figured you might want this back.”

Santi sat up and reached out to pull the jacket back up over your shoulders. “I’m fine, you wear it.”

You fought the urge to grab his hands as his fingertips briefly brushed across the bare skin of your chest exposed by the dip in the front of your dress.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked, bouncing your weight from foot to foot as you began to wish you’d worn thicker stockings.

“I’ve been colder,” he responded matter-of-factly, an assessing look in his eyes as he gazed up at you, running a hand over the stubble on his chin.

Before you could think better of it, you shot a look over your shoulder at the dark windows in the kitchen before climbing right into Santiago’s lap, leaving your legs to hang off of the sides of the chair as you straddled him.

“Does this help?” you asked, voice far more even than it should have been, given the way your heart was rapidly beating in your chest.

Santi’s breath hitched in his throat as he tentatively brought his hands up to rest at your waist.

“Dios mío,” he muttered under his breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

He was right. You shouldn’t. You were so fucking stu—

But as you went to stand back up, Santi’s fingers dug firmly into your hips. “I said we shouldn’t. Not that I don’t want to.”

Oh.

Something heady fluttered in your chest.

“Kiss me then,” you breathed out.

And Santiago didn’t hesitate to cup the back of your head, closing the distance between your mouths as he crashed his lips into yours.

While your first kiss was lost in a haze of desperation, there was a heated, focused purpose now in the way Santi’s mouth melted against yours, one that left you dizzy as he tugged your bottom lip into his mouth.

When he licked his way across the seam of your mouth, you parted your lips, and you couldn’t help but arch your entire body into his at the possessive way his tongue claimed yours. Even with the chill, heat radiated off of his body and seeped into yours as you rolled your hips against him, and Santi moaned into the kiss at the feeling of your hot core pressing down on his growing erection.

You rocked into him again, whining at the pleasure that crept up your spine at the pressure of his hard shaft insistently prodding your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Santi’s lips detached from yours, and he grasped your left hand, bringing it up to his face. He stared at you as he pressed pointed kisses to the tips of your fingers and asked, “Are you sure you want this?”

Your heart swooped as he drug his lips down the inside of your fingers, stopping to mouth at the center of your palm. He brushed his tongue across your skin before pressing a searing kiss there, looking up at you once more.

“Yes.”

As soon as the words left your lips, Santi’s hands were pushing up the edges of your dress, but he faltered momentarily as he considered your tights. But before you could get up to take them off, he reached into his pocket, flourishing a pocket knife.

Jesus Christ.

You hadn’t woken up today expecting to find yourself tucked into a dark corner of your dad’s backyard, cunt gushing with arousal at the sight of Santiago fucking Garcia cutting a hole in your tights with a goddamn pocket knife. And yet here you were, whimpering and panting as he hastily shoved the knife back in his pocket and engulfed your lips yet again, kissing you deeply as he hooked a thumb in your underwear and drug a finger through your sopping wet folds.

“So fucking wet,” Santi’s voice was rough as he observed how needy you were for him. He had no idea.

Bucking into the feeling of his fingers dragging through your tight channel as he licked his way inside of your mouth, your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his pants. When you finally pulled his thick cock from the confines of his pants, wrapping your hands around it, Santiago moaned huskily into the kiss.

As you began to pump his shaft, Santi pulled away for a moment. “I don’t have a—“

After briefly assuring him that you had an IUD and confirming both of you were clean, you swore you felt Santi’s length stiffen even further in the grip of your fingers as you whined, “Wanna feel you inside of me, Santiago. Please.”

Santi curled the two fingers currently buried in your cunt, and you gasped, squirming in his lap.

“Cariño, you’re so fucking tight. Don’t know if my fat cock is going to fit in your pretty little pussy,” he leaned in to whisper into your ear.

Heat coiled in your gut as his thumb pressed against your throbbing clit. “Fucking stuff it in there, Santi. Fill me up, please. I don’t care. Make it fit. I need you so bad,” you whimpered.

Santi reached between you to take his shaft in one hand, and you lifted yourself so he could line his head up with your slick entrance. At the feeling of his head notched against your fluttering hole, you began to sink down onto him, slowly easing his cock inside of you.

“Just tell me if it hurts,” he said.

“I want it to hurt,” you panted out.

Santi cursed, burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, mouthing at your neck as you both moaned in unison. Your legs trembled as his wide girth split you open, sliding through the thick pool of arousal coating your narrow channel.

“You feel so fucking good, baby. Taking me so fuckin’ good.” Santi groaned, chest heaving as he bottomed out inside of you.

You slowly began to rock your hips, skin prickling at the delicious drag of his length through your sensitive inner walls, your cunt greedily clamping down on the thick intrusion.

“Wanted you for so long, Santi,” you panted as he left a trail of hot kisses up your neck, dragging his lips across the curve of your jaw before claiming your mouth again.

“Don’t think your boyfriend would like to hear that,” Santi said against your lips, nipping at them.

“Ex-boyfriend,” you clarified, writhing as he brought a hand down to toy with your clit.

“Gonna make you forget all about him when you come all over my cock,” Santi growled.

“I used to think about you when he was fucking me,” you admitted, one hand clutching Santiago’s shoulder and the other threaded into his hair.

“Fuck.” Santi moaned, lavishing your mouth with a hungry, bruising kiss. “Was gonna sneak you out of here and over to my place tonight, but you were probably soaking through your panties all night at dinner, huh? Couldn’t wait, so you needed me to fuck you right here in your dad’s backyard?”

Admittedly, this wasn’t your best choice of venue, and you could only hope that the darkness of the yard would give you time to scramble off of his lap should someone step outside. And yet the thought of getting caught sent a thrill of excitement down your spine.

Santi chuckled, feeling the way you clenched down on him in reaction, and the ache between your thighs continued to build as his shaft massaged your inner walls.

He continued, “I think you love the thought that someone might catch me fucking you out here, that someone might see what a good little dirty fucking girl you are, riding my cock like you were made for it.”

If this was the only chance you ever had to fuck Santiago Garcia, let it be known that the memory of his filthy words alone would be enough to get you off until the end of time.

“Harder, Santi,” you pleaded, eager to feel him lose control, to feel the head of his shaft slamming directly into your cervix.

Santiago obliged, hands grasping your hips in a solid, unrelenting grip as he pounded into you with fervor. You shuddered, muscles tightening as the heat pooling in your abdomen finally spilled over, pleasuring rushing through your body in waves. You quivered in his arms as you rode out your intense climax, cunt gushing on his throbbing cock.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Santi’s voice was hushed as he watched you come down from your orgasm and kissed you softly.

As you moved your lips with his, the kiss quickly grew heated again, and Santi increased the pace of his thrusts, You ground down into him, looking down to marvel at the way his cock disappeared into your body each time he sunk back into you.

You felt as his hips began to stutter, and Santi asked, “Where?”

“Inside. Please. Come inside of me, Santi,” you pleaded.

A strangled sound left Santi’s mouth, and he roughly slammed into you, your drenched cunt squelching wetly around his length. You bounced in his lap while the steady rhythm of his thrusts began to dissipate into a desperate frenzy of movement, until finally plunged deep inside of you to the hilt and sunk his teeth into your collarbone, moaning huskily as he filled you with the thick, hot ropes of cum spurting from his cock.

You remained in his lap while he softened inside of you, cum dribbling from your hole as he cupped your face with both hands and pressed his mouth to yours.

He kissed you languidly for a moment before pulling away. “So…is it terrible that all I can think about is driving you back over there to get your jacket so you can walk back into his house with my cum running down your thighs?”

You shivered at the thought. “In that case, it might be all over my lips, too, if I can do what I was thinking about earlier on the drive over here…”

Santi groaned at the thought of having your lips parted around his cock, taking him deep into your throat while his hands tightly gripped the steering wheel.

He pulled his keys out of his pocket with a flourish and grinned.

Part 2 - illicit affair

—

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#answers from the cockpit #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfictions #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia smut #dbf!santiago #oscar isaac fanfiction #dee writes

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