Summary: After a long day, you call yourself an uber, ready to finally get home. Though when you meet him, he's far from what you expect.
Notes: anon request, first of the bunch and a fun one at that!! i love exploring strade sm, he's got such a special place in my heart <3
You couldn't wait to get home. The vision of your soft and plush bed appears into your mind, the dark sky above you practically demanding you sleep. It's been such a long day—quite the frustrating one—and you were deserving of some good, hearty rest. You patiently wait for your Uber on the side of the road, yawning to yourself as you scroll through your phone mindlessly.
In near perfect timing, a car begins to pull into view and your filled with relief. You adjust your clothes and step up to the door, peering into the window as it rolls down.
"Strade?"
The man shoots you just about the brightest smile you've ever seen, speaking your name back to you. "Hop on in!"
He's certainly one of the more cheerful Uber driver's you've had—if not the most. You've been driven by all sorts of folk, some kind, some quiet, some rude, but in the short moment you've known him—Strade's making a very strong impression. It's a few things about him that already staple him to the front of your mind. For starters, his accent—it's thick and not one you often find in Canada. Secondly, his energy is through the roof. While it is a nice change of pace, he's so bright that it's almost alarming to you. You don't hate it or anything, it's certainly better than having someone being standoffish. However, much like the sun—you imagine you'd handle it better from a distance and in smaller doses—opposed to burning right in front of your eyes. Maybe, it's simply the poor mood your in today. Regardless, you treat him with the same courtesy you would any other.
You're about to reach out for the car door, but your attention shifts to the sound of another door opening. Your driver strolls on over and makes his way to your side. You tense and step back, unsure of what to make of his sudden movements. He lets out an amused huff at your awkwardness and opens the car door for you.
"Oh, thank you." You bite the inside of your cheek, slightly taken by the gesture, before seating yourself in the back.
He bows his head and closes your door before entering the front once more. You mumble out your address to him and the engine comes to life, the car pulling forward into the night. Your first instincts are to put your headphones in and peer outside the whole ride, but your hand barely makes it to your pocket before he begins to speak to you. It flabbergasts you enough that you don't hear his question the first time—asking him to repeat himself and so he does.
"What brought you all the way out here? You don't live close." His eyes catch yours in the rear view before they slip back to the road.
You shift in place. "I was visiting a friend—I mean, I was supposed to. Things just went a bit sideways."
"Yeah? I'm sorry to hear that, buddy." You look for his gaze in the mirror and find that he seems genuine about his apology.
The sincerity feels a little weird, mostly because he's a stranger and you wouldn't expect him to really care. Especially not as an Uber driver, who likely meets people by the dozen. Though maybe, it's not so bad. While you obviously shouldn't unleash all your problems onto this random man, you also found you're more desperate to talk to someone than you realize.
He finds you searching for him, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiles. "Want to talk about it?
You nearly deny his offer, so used to keeping things to yourself, not wanting to bother others with problems you could surely handle. That's never backfired on you before..
It couldn't hurt.
"It's silly," you shrug, leaning back into the seat leather. "My friend and I were supposed to move in together and before I could even pack, they text me that found someone else."
"That doesn't seem very fair to you."
"No, I guess not. I just wish they had told me ahead of time instead of wasting my time."
"What's your plan now?"
"I mean, I still have my own place. Just would have been nice to save some cash on rent."
"Money troubles?" He hums, slowing to a stop as the light ahead turns red.
You worry your lip between your teeth, watching pedestrians stroll past the window, retiring to their homes. "A little, just want to be able to afford nice things every now and again without having to skip a meal or something."
Strade nods sympathetically, finger tapping lightly against the wheel. "Everything is so expensive these days."
A bitter chuckle leaves you. "Can't argue with that."
"Was there something in particular you were saving for?"
There was, in fact. Your lips pull up as you recall, something you've been eager to get your hands on for weeks now. You sit up, nearly about to spill your guts before you feel heat flush your cheeks. You really shouldn't be rambling now, certainly you've said enough at this point. Not to mention, you get so passionate during times like this and you've been told before how annoying that can get. Your shoulders fall and you stutter out your words, eyes moving to find the rear view mirror. You worry for a moment, of what he makes of your behaviour. Strade's eyes glimmer in the reflection city lights—the brown in his iris, now a sparkling amber. A sweet and luminous honey.
He urges you on with playful insistence and you can't help but give in. After all, he's listened to you thus far.
Words are so much easy with Strade, you find yourself telling him everything. It's unusual for you to be so open with a complete stranger, but maybe he's different. You go on and on as he drives, beaming as you're given full permission to explain every detail. He listens to every word. No passive nod or a dismissive coo—he fully engages with you, asking questions and indulging your excitement further. If this is his way of trying to get five starts out of you, he's certainly doing a hell of a job.
You're so caught up in your joint laughter—your driver's voice starting to give you butterflies—that when you turn to look outside the car, you quickly realize that you don't recognize where you are. In a sudden bout of confusion, you check your phone and notice that you've been in this car for far longer than you should have been.
"Uh, I think we might have missed my stop." You try your hardest to laugh it off, hoping it's a simple mistake, but your voice struggles to find the mirth it held before.
Strade looks to you in the rear view and this time, you don't see as much charm in his stare.
"Don't worry," his eyes squint with a concerning amount of glee. "There was traffic down that last road, we'd be stuck there for hours if we went that way."
Right. That makes sense. His job is to make sure you get home the best route possible, so a small detour is no biggie.
You repeat that to yourself over and over, but your stomach doesn't care what you have to say. Your body knows something isn't the same, something isn't right. Your gut, a deer that refuses to stop looking for what made that shifting sound in the bushes.
There's a terrible silence that lingers in the air as you pay far more attention to every street sign you pass. You want nothing more than to see names you remember, to believe him when he says you're almost home. He tries to talk to you again, but your answers are empty and curt, so he yields with a small chuckle. It makes you sick.
When Strade drives over a bridge—an old wooden one built over water, no other cars in sight—you know you've gone to far.
Your heart pounds, throat refusing to swallow while you try to collect yourself enough to focus on escape. You stare ahead at the rear view, keeping an eye on Strade. His eyes are fixated on the road ahead, so you take your chance. Trembling fingers feel over the car door in desperate search for a handle. You move directly over where it should be—you know that's where it should be, where else would it be? You find more door, you find absence, you find nothing.
Nothing?
What?
Overwhelming dread sets into your bones as an inevitability finally washes over you. You're almost convinced you're hallucinating as you press your fingers over the socket that was previously occupied by a handle.
"You know," you find him once again in the mirror, low lidded eyes glazed in delight by your terror. "I really shouldn't be doing this."
He scoffs with embarrassment, like he's about to ask you out, like this is some romantic meet cute. "They say never mix business with pleasure."
"Strade—"
"And for good reason. This job is a great way to meet so many people, all those different lives, but there's too much risk."
The car lags for a moment as it steers off road, pulling you into a forest. It bounces over roots and uneven terrain, branches dragging across the roof of the car and taking you further away from safety. Tears well up in your eyes, death never having been this real to you before. The grim reaper's cold, skeletal finger tracing your neck an a taunting caress. You don't want to die.
"I'm bad, I know." He muses in the way someone might jokingly scold themselves for breaking a diet.
The car halts, every path around you shadowed and unknown—visibility only coming from Strade's headlights. "There's just something about you."
Something in you breaks and you stop thinking, your body flying into sudden action. You turn your body and begin to slam your foot as hard as you possibly can into the car door. Every kick shakes the vehicle, giving you hope that it might eventually be enough force to break, to set you free. Tears fall down your face, your throat scratching as you scream out in frustration, loud enough that you don't hear the door behind you open. The back of your neck is grabbed so tight that you choke, your body dragging backwards. Another hand latches onto your shoulder just as tightly, throwing you out onto the cold dirt. Something stabs your side and you sob harder, turning onto your side before you realize where you are. You try and scream again, but his palm cracks across your face before it covers your mouth.
"I knew I was right about you." He's out of breath. "So viel Geist."
You barely get to react before his hands are around your throat, his grip growing tighter and tighter. Your vision spots, your hearing beginning to muffle as you weakly claw at his arms. His own eyes grow lidded, yet they never leave yours. His face mimics yours, you wonder if he's mocking you. It looks so natural on him that you almost consider that he's passing out alongside you. His strength never falters even once and you perish the thought.
Strade says something that you miss, only the words 'fun' and 'home' are clear enough to you before you fall, slipping unconscious.
While hope has left you and you never expect to open your eyes again—you'll find that when you do—there are fates far worse than death.
Anyways I think when you’re close to coming Victor likes to stroke your neck and touch your pulse all sensual like. It’s weird and vaguely threatening but it makes your toes curl until your feet cramp
Tw /// somno, non con, forced proximity, DARK AU (but a tiny bit of humor)
AU where your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, and the only person in a 20 mile radius is Simon Riley, who bought some creaky fixer-upper house ten minutes down the road after retiring from spec ops.
It’s been a good while since he’s seen a woman—even longer since he’d seen one as beautiful and naive as you. And since he likes the look of you, he figures he should keep you around…regardless of how quickly he could fix that dumb flat tire if he actually wanted to.
You don’t bat an eye when he comes up with some fake reason to keep you stranded. At first, he just thinks you’re stupid. Hell, if he was honest, he kind of liked ‘em like that. Made it easier to get under their skirts.
The only thing he didn’t consider was that you might’ve had the same idea.
It only dawns on him when he wakes up halfway through the night, proper hard, leaking through his boxers, and with some doe-eyed, twenty-something-year-old sucking at his cockhead through the fabric, too selfish to take his dick out of her mouth long enough to apologize for picking the lock on his bedroom door.
You might be naive, but you sure as hell weren’t an idiot.
And when you throw the covers off, letting him wrench his hands around your waist so that you can ride him all the better, he has half a mind to laugh about it.
When he picked you up, he had no idea: you weren’t trapped in here with him. He was trapped in here with you.
Its in the best interest for trans people to learn the difference between an actual transphobe, and someone who just isn't up to date with the latest terminology
making her undo my belt, unzip my jeans, pull my boxers down. instructing her. "slower, baby. take your time." comforting her when her hands shake, if she fumbles, stroking her hair and petting her and cooing at her, "there you go, hon. give it a kiss...." all nice and sweet until i'm fucking her face and ignoring her crying
what's the use of feeling blu ? @bluberrimuffintop - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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