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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years ago

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It was the first smut I ever wrote 🤣

Ok, so the little line about Marcus being sad that Nush didn’t wear his hoodie gave me thoughts...and thots.

This would definitely be further down the line, maybe they’ve already confessed their feelings to one another but they’re taking their relationship slow, so dates mostly consist of movie nights, dinners at casual places, etc. But one movie night, they fall asleep on Marcus’ couch and he wakes the next morning to Nush coming back from getting them pastries & coffee...in his hoodie. And boy does it do something to him. He’s never felt this way about someone wearing his clothes before; it makes him possessive and all he wants to do is see her in his hoodie and nothing else.

My brain goes two ways on this: heavy make out session where Marcus let’s her know just what seeing her in his clothes does (lots of dirty talk) OR full on dom!Marcus picking her up and putting her on his kitchen counter so he can get his mouth between her legs and telling her what seeing her in his clothes does to him. I can’t decide which I thot I like more!!

These two give me so many thoughts and thots...it might be a slight problem

Please note that this work is not suitable for those under 18. Themes of consensual sex and swearing.

Beta thanks to @yespolkadotkitty ❤️❤️❤️

You think you are possessing me but I’ve got my teeth in you.

Angela Carter

What could be more coincidental than pouring rain greeting the pair of you as you leave the Prince Charles Cinema’s matinee of Singing in the Rain? The deluge that pours onto the street below invites a bloom of colourful umbrellas twisting and turning through the Soho streets- umbrellas that neither of you had thought to bring despite it being April in London. Enjoying the last few moments of relative warmth and dryness, your eyes flicker between a deep-in-thought Marcus, and the puddles outside those black rimmed glass doors that lie in wait for the pair of you.

“You are thinking very loudly, Mr Pike,” you remark shaking your head as a wave of consternation washes across his face, “Don’t you dare think about where the nearest shop is to buy an umbrella. It’s barely a ten minute walk to Charing Cross from here.”

Marcus releases a small chuckle as he shuffles his feet embarrassedly, his eyes shifting sideways, “How did you know I was thinking that?”

“At work, when you are questioning people- you’re entirely closed off which you need to be in for our profession but as soon as you go into hometime Marcus, your thoughts and emotions are painted across your face as clear as words on a page.”

A shy boyish grin creeps across his face, “Ok, I am a bit of an open book but you have the ability to read me better than anyone else,” he reluctantly owns, “I kinda wish I was a better liar and could come up with something else on the spot.”

Grabbing his hand tightly, you give it a small squeeze and a tug to let him know that he never needs to lie to you- a gesture that Marcus returns with a gentle kiss upon your forehead. “Come on you, let’s go run between the raindrops and head back South of the river before anyone notices that we came without our passports.” Your eyes sparkle wickedly at him as you raise your finger to your lips pretending to drag him into the silly North/South London divide.

“Still tickled by your version of the redneck, iced tea, Southern manners versus skyscrapers, yellow cabs and cold winters”,” he shakes his head slightly.

“My love, there is a lot you don’t get in regards to Britishisms- you still giggle like a teenage boy whenever I mention the word knickers,” you kindly reprimand him, “You’ve not even been here two months yet, give yourself time to realise that our version of pancakes are better than yours!”

You hear a sharp gasp emanating from Marcus in mock hurt as you blaspheme over his favourite food group. Cocking your eyebrow at him, you pause for a moment as you step towards the double doors that lead into roads where the coloured lights bleed across their oily surfaces. Marcus reaches around you to open the door, “I got you. Not letting you walk into doors today.”

It seems as if the moment that the two of you step outside, the heavens truly decide to open upon you, drenching through every layer of clothing right to your bones. Running through the winding streets with your hands tightly wound together, you and Marcus dodge in and out of the sprawling crowds of tourists with their leisurely pace and humongous golf umbrellas. When you are faced with a particularly large group, you split apart with Marcus diving towards a shop but you go too close to the curb when a taxi drives through a massive puddle, sending an icy tsunami over your head.

You stand there and gasp as the water constricts every blood vessel in your body, the shock coursing through your veins. Blinking the water from your eyelashes, you become aware of two hands bringing warmth back to your cheeks and two brown orbs gazing at you, “Hey, you ok?” Marcus scans your face, worriedly checking you over as he slides his worn leather jacket over your shoulders to try to bring some warmth back into your body.

Brimming with tears of mirth, your eyes crease into tiny crescents until the smile tugging at your lips forms the biggest grin as your whole body roars with laughter, “I don’t think there’s much point in trying to run between the raindrops anymore,” you gasp out between the giggles.

When you notice that Marcus isn’t laughing, you pause to draw a deeper breath, searching his face for clues. Your heart beats faster and faster as you notice that his eyes are black holes, pulling you towards him until gravity and time cease to exist. Heat rises through the chill of your skin- from your stomach to your throat- as his lips call to yours. When the sensitive skin meets, there isn’t a moment of hesitation to drink each other in as the taste of Marcus silences all of your thoughts.

All of your kisses to this point had been the tentative kisses of a new relationship. The kisses of two broken hearts starting to mend and learning how to allow yourselves to love again.

But this. This. This was different.

Marcus withdraws his mouth slightly from you, resting his forehead against yours as his breath dances across your lips, “Wow.”

And then he’s back. Fingers tangled in your hair, lungs forgetting to breathe as without a moment’s hesitation he deepens the kiss, parting your lips and searching for the soft sweetness brought by your tongue. As the moment swiftly intensifies, your hands seek him out as the only solid thing in the swaying world around you. Your fingers seek out the warmth of his skin beneath his drenched Henley. You feel him. All of him presses against you so that you can inhale the woody scent of his aftershave, the citrus notes of his shampoo and that smell that is just so utterly Marcus.

“So beautiful,” he whispers against your now swollen lips. His words ground you, placing a solid surface beneath your feet before he sweeps you away again.

The kisses eventually slow, becoming infinitely more tender than the raw need that pulses between you both. You are breathless, dazed and needing so much more. Your body aches for more than the Soho streets can offer you, confident in the knowledge that Marcus feels the same as you feel his powerful body tremble like yours. All that exists in this moment is feeling, wanting and needing each other.

A half growl, half moan comes from the back of Marcus’ throat as he finally breaks the kiss, “I have to get you home before I take you right here.”

Heart still racing, you just about manage to form words but your lust-filled brain mangles them making you feel drunk and slurred, “Whose home?”

“Mine. S’closer,” he murmurs into your mouth, “Don’t wanna be arrested for acts of indecency. Right now, everything I wanna do to you, falls into that category.”

It takes all you can muster, hearing that admission spill from his lips. All the willpower in the world, not to just find a darkened doorway and just take him there.

His fingers find yours again, peeling your hands away from the soft skin under his t-shirt- intertwining in undoable knots- but your bodies still press together as if you cannot bear to separate yet. You both take a moment to catch your breath, the rain still falling upon you in some heavenly benediction- mouths twitching into grins as your breathing relaxes and slows to a pace that allows for thoughts to re-enter your mind.

Marcus is the one to break the bodily contact, turning to one side, dropping one of your hands to start walking towards the station. You catch a slightly confused look on his face, “Not sure where the station is, are you? Come on, I’ll let you take the lead when you know where you are a bit better,” you snigger with a saucy wink in his direction.

As you go to walk away from him, he pulls you in closer and rumbles deeply in your ear, “You know I don’t have a problem with you taking the lead.”

The tone of his voice echoes through your skin, setting fireworks off through every synapse in your body and oh how it gladdens you to realise that he needs you as much as you want him.

✪✪✪✪✪

The journey home has been one of not daring to look at or touch each other too much. Sitting next to him on the train, your thighs leaning into each other, you both desperately try to focus on messing around with your phones. Him showing you various forthcoming art exhibitions in town and you showing him silly TikToks sent by your nieces and nephews of dogs being dubbed with computerised voices, giving their thoughts on cats and other dog breeds. Anything to take your minds off what you’d actually like to do with each other.

As the train pulls into the station, you pull him up from his seat and head towards the exit. Tapping out at the ticket barrier, you turn towards Marcus, going up on tiptoes to place a small chaste kiss upon his lips, “I’m popping to Sainsburys to grab some wine as I think we finished that bottle on Wednesday, didn’t we? Do you need anything else while I’m there?”

“Sweetheart, I can’t let you do that,” Marcus tries pleading with you.

“I cannot get any wetter than I am at this moment in time,” you implore before pausing as Marcus raises his eyebrows at you, licking his lower lip, stepping closer to close the minutismal space between yourselves.

“Quit making me stand in the rain, thinking impure thoughts,” he groans.

You push the heel of your hand into his chest, “Then go upstairs, run me a bath and find something dry for me to put on, then you can have your wicked way with me.”

Putting his hands on your hips and dipping his head to playfully nip at your neck, Marcus gives in as his lips mutter into your skin, “Ok, be quick. I’ll order some pizza and ice cream ready for you getting out of the bath.”

Your eyes roll back in your head and you release a satisfied groan at the thought of a warm bath and pizza. Especially that beauty of a bath in Marcus’ apartment where you can actually stretch out and entirely submerge yourself beneath the hot soapy water. You remove Marcus’s hands from your sides and turn towards the small store with its bright fluorescent lights blaring out at you through the plate glass storefront. As you go to step inside, you turn your head and see that Marcus has turned at the same time with that look in his eyes again. With a small wave and a grin, you step inside to find snacks and wine, not entirely sure that they would be necessary this evening.

✪✪✪✪✪

Bottles clink and packets of Haribo rustle from within your bags as you walk up to Marcus’ front door. You give the bottom section of wood a small thud from your boot, to which it opens with a significantly dryer Marcus, who takes the bags from you before ushering you in. As the warmth of his flat encircles you, you release a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding.

“Strip,” his firm, familiar baritone commands, holding an arm out for your soaking clothes, “Your bath is run and I’ve left you some clothes on my bed. You’d left a pair of panties from the last time you stayed over- I’ve washed those so they’re in the pile too.”

Peeling back the layers of clothing that had been so utterly useless against the torrential rain and draping them over Marcus’ arms- tiny droplets dripping onto his hardwood flooring, you soon stand there completely naked. Tossing your clothes in the general direction of his washing machine, he gently guides you with his warm hand placed in the small of your back towards the bath, which true to his word, is full, bubbly and welcoming.

As you step in, you look over towards Marcus inviting him in with your eyes.

With a small shake of his head, Marcus turns to leave you to soak. The quietude envelops you, so much that you are barely able to hear Marcus padding softly around outside this sanctuary. You lie back allowing the water to cover your ears- a complete sensory deprivation when your eyes draw shut too. Images that swirl with the heavenly taste and scent of Marcus, his velvet touch and the sound of his voice dance behind your closed lids as you allow the water to wash away London pollution and puddle water.

✪✪✪✪✪

Having reheated your body enough, the bath water turning tepid, you clamber out onto the deliciously soft bath mat that you know Andy picked out prior to Marcus’ arrival. Wrapping one of the towels Marcus has left out for you around your body and the other around your hair, you walk into his impeccably neat bedroom. Bed made, clothes ironed, folded and put away- the polar opposite of yours. Even the pile of clothes with your knickers on top, is neat.

The morning after the night when Marcus had first stayed over at yours and needed an iron for his shirt, you’d barely been able to locate in your memory where you’d last seen it- pointing him in the direction of the cupboard of doom- the place where half-baked ideas and good intentions go to die.. Everything is generally haphazard and a little topsy-turvy about you but Marcus, his sense of order calms your busy brain and you are noticing it rub off on you.

You hang your coat up on the hooks that you’d drilled in when you’d first bought your flat but never used until a month ago. You only now have one hanging chair, rather than utilising every surface available. You also attempt to only buy one bagged salad each week instead of pretending that you will eat more greens but then them definitely losing that green tone, fading into a brown slush before you remember their existence in that pathetic salad drawer.

Pulling up your knickers and sitting, no- sinking into the glorious mattress of Marcus’ bed, you haul the t-shirt over your head and shrug your arms into the sleeves of the hoodie before zipping it up at the front. You smile at a flicker of a memory where Jasper had moaned at you for stretching out his hoodies with your woman boobs. You also find it very sweet that Marcus honestly thinks that his shorts will fit over your thighs and hips so you leave them on the bed, choosing to leave the room in just the hoodie, t-shirt and underwear- albeit just on your bottom half as your bra was utterly soaked too and was probably going through his washing machine. That poor underwire! Nevermind, perhaps it’s time for something a little less utilitarian and a little more sexy.

Softly padding out from his bedroom, you spy Marcus’ broad back twisting in the kitchen as he seeks out plates and glasses in the cupboards. Pizza boxes lie on the side, their contents sweating condensation on the table below.

“I’m finally decent,” you declare with a flourish as you bounce into the kitchen, almost bounding directly into his chest.

Marcus spins at the sound of your voice, making sure to catch and steady you after your clumsy entrance, “No. You are very wrong there,” his breath hitching as he rumbles deeply into the shell of your ear, “No way. You could never be classified as decent, not looking like this.”

Another step and a slight twist of your body, and Marcus has your hips pinned against the cupboard. He places his hands either side of you, trapping you between the carpentry and the solid wall of him, his dark eyes flashing with lust as you feel him memorising every detail of you.

“Talk to me, Marcus,” you ask of him, running your fingers through his dark curls, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“You sure you wanna know?” he questions, stroking his fingers down the side of you, the sensation causing you to twitch under its tenderness.

“I want you to tell me everything,” you demand unblinkingly. Desperate for Marcus to finally tell you what he wants rather than constantly looking to please and pleasure you.

“Ok,” You see Marcus nod, his bottom lip slightly trembling, “It takes a superhuman feat of strength not to call you into my office everyday and fucking rail you right there into my desk, in front of everyone.”

Holy fuck, Marcus. Let it go.

“Monday, when we were working late and you grabbed my jacket to throw over your shoulders? Seeing how the shoulders swamped yours, there was... There was just this moment when I wanted to run my hands up that skirt, rip your panties off, slide into you and bite your neck, leaving marks for everyone to know you’re mine. I just wanted to possess every part of you and all because of you wearing something that’s mine.

“When we’re walking around galleries or sitting in cinemas together, it is all I can do to not find a cupboard to push you into or take advantage of the lowlights.I just want you to be mine all the time. I want to be surrounded by your scent- your hair, your perfume and your cunt - they’re this drug that I can’t get enough of. When you wear my clothes, they smell of you - makes me want to possess every part of you. I need all of you to belong to me.”

Your heart thuds in your chest as you allow Marcus’ primal growl to fill you with a searing heat that burns through the very depths of you.

“And now. Right now? Seeing you now in my hoodie and just your panties is so fucking tempting- so don’t you dare give me that comment that you are decent now.”

His hands finally move from their position on the counter to your hips as he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist unconsciously. The pizza unceremoniously gets dumped onto the floor as he settles you onto the cool work surface, pulling your hips slightly towards him. Unlocking your calves from around his waist, he pushes your thighs a little further apart, thumbs brushing upon the sensitive skin as he lowers his face so that you can feel his hot breath through the material of your knickers.

He withdraws slightly, pressing his lips in sweet kisses along the inside of your thighs whilst his teeth graze and nip at you, setting off a string of fireworks in your skin.

“Right now, I want to inhale you. I need to have your scent filling my lungs.”

His nose nuzzles into your lightly clothed slit searching out your sweet heady scent, brushing the damp material back and forth over your sensitive clit making it throb in anticipation. The sensations brought from his nose causes your core to pool around him, the small nudges sending your pulse racing through the roof.

Very few thoughts are able to exist in your mind other than the way you desperately want to wrap your legs back around him- this time around his head to lock him in place and keep his face glued to your pussy, stopping him from continuing this tantalising teasing.

“Now? Now, I want to taste you. I want drink that sweet fucking nectar from right here.”

Dipping his head lower, he licks teasingly at the aperture of your cunt, stiffening his tongue slightly to press the material between your folds. Your breath catches in your throat wanting to scream at his slow pace. You hook your thumbs into the elastic of your knickers at your hips, trying to awkwardly shuffle them off.

Abruptly, he stops. Pulling away from you, moving your hands away from trying to remove your underwear, “No,” he growls, “Leave them on.”

“Do you wanna know why I didn’t sneak those panties back to you at work or any of the other nights I’ve seen you this week?” He raises an eyebrow at you from his crouched position between your legs as you nod helplessly, your heart pounding in your throat, “I’ve been smelling them, thinking of your hot cunt as I rub my cock in the few moments we’re apart.”

Leaning forward, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your bottom and kissing you hard through your knickers, he exclaims joyously, “Ah, honey, I fucking love your smell and taste! Sometimes, I can still smell your juices on my fingers at work and it makes my cock fucking throb, knowing that you are only two steps away from me. Professionalism with you so close is impossible.”

Your pussy throbs and yearns for a consistent touch as he returns his face to between your legs. Resting his forehead against your pubic bone, he returns to burying his nose into the dampest point of the thin fabric. This time, as he drags it upwards, he pulls his tongue stiffly upwards until he reaches that sensitive nub of nerves, catching it between his teeth gently tugging it.

You swear that every nerve in your body is on fire and nothing exists except you and Marcus. No one has made your body sing like this in its neediness. The rush of wild sensations sweeping across your body are equally thrilling and maddening you.

Teasing the material to one side of your pussy lips, you watch a smile unfold across Marcus’ face as he gazes upon you.

Never have you felt so wanted before.

Then with the same joyous abandon he has shown in kissing your pussy, he throws your thighs over his shoulders before sinking his mouth onto the sweet, bare flesh. The way that his tongue flickers so gracefully across your clit leaves you gasping. That familiar knot of pleasure building deep inside your tummy as he edges ever lower, preparing to tongue fuck you. Licking deeper and deeper into your cunt, you can hear the pleasure spilling from within you onto his tongue and oh how he drinks like a man dying of thirst.

You cry out in surprise as Marcus encircles his lips around your clit, sucking rhythmically and gently. The scruff of his beard tickling pleasingly the sensitive flesh as he works you towards your release. A guttural groan against your delicate skin is the point that sends you truly spinning over the precipice into pleasure, howling his name into the night air as your thighs tightly clasp him around his ears, his tongue still working you through that blissful high until your body drops every ounce of tension, relaxing into the afterglow.

When he moves back into softly kissing your thighs, you tug his glistening face towards you with barely a moment of hesitation passing between the two of you. Your lips meet again with the tenderness of an artist’s brushstrokes, Marcus painting the taste of you into your mouth with exquisitely delicious kisses.

He brings his forehead back to rest against yours again, with a total calmness drifting across his features. You shut your eyes and rest with him, safe. From his lust drenched words to the experienced motions of his tongue, you utterly resign yourself to the truth.

You have always belonged with Marcus.

You always will.

@yespolkadotkitty @astroboots @danniburgh @disgruntledspacedad @green-socks @zukoyonce @sirowsky @bison-writes @tardisfangurl @agirllovespancakes @leonieb @mrsparknuts @absurdthirst @pedropascalito @lunaserenade @mouthymandalorian @the-ginger-hedge-witch @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

#artistic instinct #the mentalist #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal edit #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal smut

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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years ago

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Oh my goodness -I don’t know if my cheeks feel pinker from the wine I’ve just had or from your lovely comment! Please check out the asks as they exist a little further forward in time for Nush and Marcus and have a little more spice.

I will get to finishing this series. My mental health decided to take a major plummet in the Autumn of this year and writing very much had to take a back seat as I got myself back on an even keel.

Thank you for sharing this. You’ve given me the kick up the bum I needed to restart writing.

Artistic Instinct Masterlist

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: Lots and lots- this is a slow burn, baby!

Warnings: Language, eventual smut so if you're under 18, please stay away from my fics.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

#artistic instinct #the mentalist #the mentalist fic #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

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I posted 3,709 times in 2021

179 posts created (5%)

3530 posts reblogged (95%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 19.7 posts.

I added 1,978 tags in 2021

#pedro pascal - 288 posts

#josé pedro balmaceda pascal - 272 posts

#pedro pascal fanfiction - 268 posts

#pedro pascal characters - 250 posts

#jose pedro balmaceda pascal - 247 posts

#pedro pascal - 180 posts

#pedro pascal smut - 161 posts

#the mentalist - 114 posts

#marcus pike - 102 posts

#ppascaledit - 96 posts

Longest Tag: 124 characters

#i know that pedro has that coat bob is wearing too but i couldn’t be bothered to look for a picture of him carrying the tote

My Top Posts in 2021

#9 our first dinner party, with Zach?

To my lovely @tardisfangurl , I am so sorry that you have had to wait so long for this but what with trying to work full time and apparently, I have to parent too (wtf is that about?) BUT IT IS HERE NOW!

Thank you to my beautiful, @yespolkadotkitty for the beta - YOU ARE A TRUE STAR ⭐️

Zach Wellison x Reader (Brothers and Sisters)

Warnings: PTSD, anxiety, food, smut

Zach and the Dinner Party

“C’mon you,” you tug at Zach’s sleeve as he stands by the sink, staring off into the middle distance, obviously at a loss as to where to begin, “Everyone is desperate to get to know you properly. You don’t need to worry because they love me - they will welcome you and you’ll be part of the group before you know it.”

When he turns to face you, you see his khaki t-shirt is trembling from his heart racing. “Yeah, and they’ll see that I’m not good enough for you. A washed up ex- marine doesn’t really offer much.”

“I wish I could open up that head of yours. Take out those thoughts and throw them away as they’re not doing you any good. Just making you feel rubbish and for zero reason,” wrapping your arms around your boyfriend, you squeeze him until he grunts due to the lack of oxygen, “Anyway, this isn’t your granny’s dinner party. This is just friends who work stupid hours, getting together to eat and drink before we put our noses back to the grindstone. It just so happens that you’re here and instead of me feeling like I’m the only one out of my friends who can’t hold down a relationship, I will have you to pass me beers and kisses all night.”

After sucking a sharp, juddery breath and nodding, Zach manages to smile down at you, “I can pass beers. And kisses - I can definitely supply some of those too.”

“That’s not all you’re going to be doing, mister,” you pull rank with your former marine, hauling yourself to your full height, despite your head just reaching his shoulder, “It’s field day, soldier and there’s lots to do.”

“Oorah!”

Throwing a cloth and spray at him that he catches effortlessly, you bend over to unravel the flex from your ancient vacuum cleaner and notice from between your legs that Zach has not started to clean, “Why haven’t you started moving yet, soldier? You waiting for a goddamn invitation from the president?”

“Just admiring the view, ma’am,” you catch Zach’s eyebrow twitches minutismally as he gazes at your butt, that you can’t help but wiggle at him - garnering a sweet chuckle in response.

“The quicker you clean, the quicker I can let you admire the view up close,” you purr, tapping him on the leg with the head of the cleaner.

Putting on some nostalgic rock from the nineties, you turn the volume up as the two of you quickly scrub through your tiny shared space. The beautifully domestic feel of singing out of tune - totally fucking harmonising but somebody doesn’t appreciate your talents - and dancing ironically badly with air guitars as you land on sofa cushions to save your poor old knees, isn’t lost on you. It has only been a short time of knowing Zach, but when you know, you know right?

You first met him whilst he was helping in the kitchens of the VA office where you supported vets to complete their high school education with their maths, reading and writing, find vocational courses or for those who were ready to go further, their college applications. Every time you popped by to grab some food, he’d always sneak you a bit extra so that he could be treated to one of your beautiful smiles that totally eclipse your face, making your eyes disappear.

One day, you put on your big girl panties and leant across the serving hatch to say how much you looked forward to seeing his face every day and that you’d love to take him for a drink after work. Amusingly, you had to repeat yourself several times as he gazed dumbstruck at you - almost as if you’d been speaking in Klingon and had three heads with the level of confusion painted across that poor man’s face.

Later, he owned up that he’d felt like an IED had gone off in his head - that there’d been literal ringing in his ears. That the pretty girl he looked forward to seeing asked him out for a drink. His shock at being asked - genuinely asking if you meant him - had made you roar with laughter as you passed him your number on a serviette.

One date bled into another until three months later, here you were, virtually living together (he totally had moved in but neither of you were ready to own up to that obvious fact) with all your spare time either tangled together across the couch or snuggled up in bed. Tonight would be the night where he met all of your friends at once. He’d met most of them individually and was well liked amongst the crowd, but you knew that the thought of your looming turn of the dinner party was making him tremble with anxiety.

When you’d offered to cancel with your friends, there’d been a flash of anger from him that had ripped through his body like a hurricane - pouring out during his dreams. The anxiety that you thought him weak - not worthy of being around your friends - had left him a sweaty damp mess that night as he woke screaming, flailing - still thinking he was in Afghanistan. He’d tried to push you away when you’d cradled him to your chest but the tears that flowed on him realising that you weren’t going to let go, were the sweetest release he’d felt in a long time.

“You look hot,” Zach rubs his thumb across the beads of sweat collecting like a tiara of hard work upon your forehead as he becomes distracted by you cleaning near him.

“Yeah, I do,” you wink, grabbing his butt so that his hips are flush with yours.

The laugh this brings from Zach is music to your ears as his face crinkles at your cheesiness. Standing so close, you nuzzle his cheek - his sandalwood scented soap making every nerve within you fizz and tingle as you allow your lips to lightly graze his skin. Tilting his head slightly - a smile still playing upon his mouth - he searches for you. With his fingers finding your hair, your heart catches in your throat as his lips brush tenderly against you.

You don’t want this moment to end but as Zach draws back and places a small, loving peck on the tip of your nose, you stick your bottom lip out like a truculent child which elicits another chuckle from him, “C’mon sweetheart, we need to get started on dinner.”

“Can’t believe you are going to have me making pasta from scratch. Did you know - there are places that make it for you so that all you have to do is throw it into boiling salted water,” you grumble sarcastically, brow furrowed.

Zach shakes his head at you - rolling his eyes slightly as he takes your chin between his fingers, “When you cook for people, it’s nurturing them - that’s something everyone needs. For years, all my food was ration packs and eaten quickly as if you take your time, that can make you and your whole squad vulnerable.

“I know I’m not the greatest catch - I can’t offer you everything I want to give you but I can cook. And knowing that my food nourishes you, eases me here,” he taps his chest on the left before bringing his fingers to stroke your cheek, “It’s also great to have the time to enjoy creating something where I’m not at risk of being shot at.”

A brief flutter of guilt at your laziness flickers within your chest as you consider everything Zach has been through before he arrived at your door. You bury your face in his chest to hide your wincing, not feeling worthy of his gaze - breathing the smell of your shared laundry soap and conditioner, and that smell that is just just entirely him. Always immaculately clean and scrubbed, Zach still takes militaristic care with his showers - only ever becoming preoccupied if you decide to join him.

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159 notes • Posted 2021-07-21 20:02:46 GMT

Okay I have an idea for family man Pero

You had wrote that they the dog broke the mom's couch 😂

Were they teens/young adults? If so (& even if they weren't), how would they have reacted to finding out she was pregnant? I imagine it would have been unplanned given the way little Javi was conceived? Lol

@sharkbait77 I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to write this for you. But here is 16.8k words all about your ask because being succinct is not my strong point. In my head, reader is roughly 25 and Pero is about 29- they’re young but not super young. Still a bit of a shock to reader though.

Warnings: Children, babies, childbirth (mentions of blood/ body fluids), breast feeding, anxiety, feet, periods, smut - ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS.

Modern!Pero and the Original Broken Sofa

(Or how little Javi came to be)

You’re a mum.

A mama.

How the fuck did that happen? I mean, you know

it happened but still. Pero looks to be in a similar amount of shock as you turn your head to look at him - the 5 o’clock shadow on his chin prickling your bare shoulder as he rests it there. His lips are slightly parted as he gazes down upon his newborn son, who is cradled tightly to your chest.

This wasn’t meant to happen yet.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Mi cielo, you’re beautiful but you stink,” the twinkle in Pero’s eyes reveals what the rest of his face is desperately trying to hide as he attempts to rub off the stinking mud from your face with one hand, your mum’s new pup - Nana, the fucking Newfoundland - tugging on her lead in his other.

“Are you talking to me, or the bloody dog?” You question, grumpily reaching for your boyfriend’s hand as he tries to one-handedly haul you from the brackish pond. Clumsily clambering out - looking a little like a bog monster with twigs and mud plaited in your hair - you look up sharply on hearing an ill-concealed choke of laughter, “Stop it cabrón, or I’ll push you in there myself and you can smell as bad.”

“Lo siento, mi corazón,” his dimple flashes as he giggles openly - a sound he reserves for you alone, “For someone, who moves so gracefully when they dance, you are incredibly clumsy the rest of the time. I just don’t quite understand how you fell in and Nana didn’t.”

You stick out your bottom lip as you ponder how, having accidentally dropped the dog’s lead and chased after the escaping mutt, you ended up submerged in stinking water, “I think she corners better than me.”

“Four feet good, two feet bad?” Pero laughs before straightening his face as another dog walker walks past the pair of you. Heaven forbid anyone should catch him with a genuine smile upon his face and not a smirk of disgust.

The woodland is like an oasis of paradise despite its little pockets of dank pond water. The fresh air manages to filter out the persistent hum of traffic that punctates it everywhere else, only the distant tower blocks and skyscrapers remind you that you’re still in the city. Here, your mum’s lunatic dog, with her boundless, puppy-like energy, can run free for hours and the two of you can stop working for two minutes to remember how to just be. The sunlight trickles in through the stained glass leaves, letting in a purer light than the exhaust fume stained one you find in Central.

Nearby, on the trunk of an elderly oak tree, there is a woodpecker hunting for insects. You nudge Pero wordlessly, not wanting to break the magical quality of the moment as you watch its brilliant red crest rocking back and forth as it pecks endlessly into the ancient bark. Tiny chips of wood fall into the bed of leaf litter below, the sound swallowed quickly into the mostly empty woodland around.

After that enchanting spot, you try to take your boyfriend’s hand but he spins out of reach quickly. Frowning at him, you try again, and again but he just lurches out of the way each time.

This is war!

“Can I have a kiss?”

Still semi-wrestling Nana to walk in the same direction as you, Pero frowns for a moment before answering, “Maybe later?”

“How long is that later? Are we talking about a rest of the world later or a Spanish mañana?” you quiz him teasingly, knowing full well that he doesn’t want to kiss the walking filth bucket by his side.

“Querida, it’s an international after-a-shower later,” he chuckles, still edging further from you, his feet slightly picking up speed as the path through the woods opens out into an expansive field.

A wicked flash of mischief sparks in your eye, your feet accelerating to mimic his, “Do you not want to kiss me, mi amor?”

Nana loves this slight change in speed from the pedestrian plod she’d been forced to pace at. With a bounce and bark, she bowls forwards. All forty kilos of the daft hound wrench forward, pulling on the lead and Pero’s hand that is attached to it, making him almost fall flat on his face with the sudden movement as he bellows, “Maldito perro! Bloody dog! I swear, all the women in my life gang up on me.”

Still giving chase, you run after him laughing until your lungs hurt, “Cariño, I just want a kiss!”

“Stay away from me, bruja and talk to your mother’s dog,” Pero wheezes out between gasps from the sudden sprint he’s been forced on.

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311 notes • Posted 2021-07-05 20:13:38 GMT

Frankie Blankie

A FRANKIE MORALES X FEM READER ONE-SHOT

Rating: The fluffiest smut you ever did read but if you're under 18, off you pop, little pup.

One reference to Frankie’s coke history.

I have attempted to make this a very blank reader character so you can imagine yourself here snuggling with Frankie. As someone who is curvy and has mixed heritage, it means a lot to me but please feel free to message me with any other suggestions I can make to improve my writing to include everyone.

Wordcount: 1.7K

Dedications: this was written for my lovely Iris- @agirllovespancakes who just needed a Frankie Blankie last night so I hope this keeps her warm tonight. Major thank you to @yespolkadotkitty who yet again sorted my inability to pick a tense and stick with it.

Also a shout out to @astroboots whose Telltale Hearts I keep re-reading as that is the only true Frankie.

Summary: Sometimes you just need a bit of TLC and well, here's Frankie to offer it to you.

Frankie Blankie

A satisfied grunt left your lips as you leaned back in the steaming water of your bath. You shut your eyes tight and allowed the water to erase the tension from your body. It had been such a long day, one of those where the clock never quite managed to move on from the previous time you’d seen. Nothing particularly bad had happened but then, neither had anything particularly good. It was just a day and it had been a week full of them.

Oblivious to all else around you, the bath was your cocoon, your place for relaxation and self-care.You hadn’t noticed the front door going or the door to the bathroom opening. It was only when you felt a gentle, slightly calloused touch on your cheek did your eyes fly open and you near enough jumped out of your skin.

“Holy shit, Francisco Javier Morales-Estrada! Are you trying to kill me?” You shrieked as waves coursed over the sides of the bath from the scare.

“Uh oh, not the full name!” He mock-grimaced, pretending to have been shot, “Sorry querida, you just looked so beautiful and soft, I couldn’t help it. Have you just got in?”

“Yeah,” your heart was still pounding in your mouth as you replied.

“Glass of wine, cup of tea or company?” Your husband gently asked, soothing your racing heart as he stroked some dampened tendrils behind your ear.

“Company, please.”

Frankie remarkably quickly shucked himself free of his T-shirt, jeans and underwear, leaving them piled haphazardly on the bathroom floor.

“What… What are you doing, weirdo?” You giggled as you took in the delicious broad expanse of olive skin.

“Just joining my wife for her bath, she said she wanted company.” He smirked from under his dark lashes at you as he lowered himself into the opposite end of the tub. More water spilled onto the floor, creating tiny tide pools, “Guess we’d better clean those up before the kids wake up and see our mess- hate it when they catch us doing the same things that we chew ‘em out for.”

“Ah, we can just tell them it was the mermaids,” you giggled, remembering the most recent excuse from your youngest as to why the bathroom had been flooded. Again.

You sank back into the water so that your bum was resting against Frankie’s groin, a groan passed your lips when Frankie took one of your feet from the side of the bath and started rubbing the sole with firm circular strokes. Your eyes began to close and that wave of tranquility washed over you again. Frankie noticed your eyes getting heavier and gently placed your foot back in the bath, “C’mon, honey, let’s get you washed and dried and in bed.”

“Is that with innocent or malicious intent, sir?”

“There are always less than innocent thoughts around you, querida, but I prefer it when you can stay awake,” Frankie chuckled as he soaps up a washcloth, dragging it gently from your shoulder around your right arm and to the tips of your fingers before swapping to the left.

With reverence and tenderness he washed away the day’s worries before he knelt between your legs to reach for your cleanser and your crocheted face pads that he’d picked up for you after your eldest had made you feel awful for using cotton wool ones. That was just how Frankie was. Constantly thinking of others and how he could make things easier. Like right now, as he splodged some cleanser onto a pad and slowly rubbed tiny circles around your face.

When you reopened your eyes, you were met with soft brown orbs that gazed at you adoringly. The creases around his eyes had deepened, his temples and his patchy beard had greyed considerably but my goodness, your heart swelled when this man looked in your direction even ten years later. Your quiet pilot whose common sense kept everyone grounded, whose soft chuckle could elicit laughter from the coldest heart and whose empanadas were legendary. There had been bumps along the way and some that felt insurmountable at the time, especially when there’d been the risk to his livelihood with the coke charge just before he’d returned from South America - a shell of your husband, with haunted eyes and nightmares.

All of this while you were trying to work out this tiny thing called motherhood. There was too much to lose and so you both fought, fought so hard to regain that trust and intimacy that had been taken for granted.

With a small smile, Frankie stands, grabbing the towel from the warming rack and giving himself a quick dry before tying it around his waist. Grabbing a bath sheet for you, he gestured with a small jerk of his head for you to stand and reverently he started to towel you dry. Softly brushing the cotton against your skin, every droplet of water was absorbed from your skin as with the precision he applies to his work, he now applied to your body.

You caught a mischievous glint in his eye and the slight raise of his dark eyebrow as he straightened out the towel to wrap it around you.

“Mr Morales, what are you about to do… FRANKIE?!!!” Quick as a flash, before you could lift your arms, he wrapped all of you in the tightest burrito towel roll ever. Having hooked one arm behind your knees and keeping the other behind your shoulders, he picked you up bridal style and carried you out of the en-suite, depositing you on your bed unceremoniously before he unrolled you like an old rug.

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400 notes • Posted 2021-04-14 14:07:48 GMT

#4 Trying to buy a new couch, with modern!Pero?

I am so sorry that this has taken so long but here he is in all his soft family man glory!

Warning: Mentions of having children and Tovar with his goddamn breeding kink (he totally has one!) Language and smut so minors, please back off now!

As you walk in through the door, the golden hour has hit, making your hallway burn brightly in the evening light. After shouting a mostly ignored hello, you throw your keys in the pot on the window ledge, kicking off your shoes and dropping your handbag by the door in the cataclysmic dump of school bags and other belongings of your family.

Sticking your head around the front room door, you find your three kids wrestling each other for the best spots on your battered old sofa- stained with spilled drinks and encrusted with child love. A sofa that had originally been bought for two to snuggle upon and now had to squish five ample bottoms. Your kids mostly ignore your presence and wish for them to stop killing each other quite so violently, so you leave them to it - survival of the fittest after all.

Turning into the kitchen, you find a large glass of rioja awaiting you on the table and the heady aroma of garlic, onions, chorizo and red peppers wafting through the air. The mess of dark curls and broad back that constitutes your husband are hunched over your range cooker, preparing what smells like his mother’s paella recipe - a labour of love, sweat and tears, if Pero’s face is anything to go by. Walking over to stand near enough to bump him with your hip, glass in hand, he becomes more aware of your presence.

“¿Cómo estás, mi alma?” your husband softly growls in your ear as he wraps you in his arms and kisses your forehead.

“Todo lo mejor para verte,” All the better for seeing you- you nuzzle into his chest, the worries of your work day evaporating with his touch.

The animated voices from the other room seem to be building to a boiling point - Pero and you share a look, both refusing to entertain what might be taking place in the other room.

“They’ve been like this since I picked them up from school,” Pero huffs irritatedly, turning back to dramatically add the chicken and tomatoes into the pan, “It’s mainly Cici and Maxí trying to outdo each other whilst Javi just wants them both to leave him alone. So, I ran away, to here.”

“Excellent thinking - it’s better for us to hide, drinking good wine. Let’s not fight in some other man’s war,” you laugh, raising your glass.

“Salud!” your husband clinks his glass in total agreement, before taking a large gulp.

CRASH!

You both hold your breath, awaiting tears or screams. When neither arrives, you charge into the living room - half expecting broken bodies - to find three pairs of wide eyes and an utterly destroyed sofa.

“What have you done?!” you growl, eyes flashing at your three - free-to-good-homes- kids as a wave of irritation washes through you.

“Mamí, Papí - I’m so sorry,” Javier’s puppy dog eyes fill with tears.

“Was this you, Javi?” you hear his father ask him calmly, entirely confident that it was not the doing of your eldest boy.

“No, I was just trying to watch the cartoons but Maxí and Cici were arguing over where they wanted to sit and Maxí kept taking up all of the sofa so Cici couldn’t sit down and then Cici body dropped Maxí and that’s when the sofa broke,” the words spat forth from Javi’s mouth in a tearful and snotty machine gun fire.

“Urgh, you’re such a tattletale,” Cici grumbles, rolling her eyes at her oldest brother as she wallops him on the arm.

“Well, I didn’t do it,” Maxí unconvincingly whines to his audience, “I was just sitting on the sofa and then she smashed it and she hurt me!”

“Gah! Kids, will you stop being so hideous to each other and stop treating this house like it’s a WWE arena,” you thunder at the end of your tether, “I have had it up to here with the lot of you!”

Spinning your hip towards the door before you murder any of the children, Pero kisses your forehead before lowly whispering, “Remember, we broke a sofa,” his eyebrow cocks in amusement, “Go take over dinner, I will sort out these payasitos Little clowns.”

Walking away from the destroyed living room and the sound of Pero attempting to broker peace between the warring nations of your household, you head into the kitchen and immediately top up your glass as you stir the calamari and mussels into the paella. Surprisingly quickly, a quiet falls upon the bickering and your husband rejoins you by the cooker.

“Did you murder them?” you ask into the bowl of the wine glass.

“Not this time. Just telling them the story of how we broke your mother’s sofa,” he nuzzles into your neck as you spray wine across dinner.

Whipping around in his arms with the spatula pointing up at him, you squeak, “Pero!”

“Señora, put down your sword. And the wine is meant to be poured in, not spat in,” he teasingly smiles at you before pulling your hips into his, “Relájate, mi amor Relax my love, I told them the same story we told your mother. The dog broke it when we were playing with her.”

As Pero wipes the red wine stain from your lip with the tip of his calloused thumb, you cannot help but giggle at the memory of the horrendous explanation you’d given your mum roughly nine years earlier as to how her sofa had broken when Pero and you had been pet-sitting her now pretty elderly newfoundland. How the three of you had been playing rough and tumble together, rolling around causing the sofa to give up the ghost. It was entirely questionable whether she’d ever bought the excuse and anyway, she was utterly delighted with Javier’s arrival roughly nine months later.

Pulling apart from Pero’s kisses when you notice three small sheepish faces joining you in the kitchen with a plethora of pictures. Before you have a chance to examine the artworks, Cici speaks up first, “I am sorry Mami for breaking the sofa when I elbow dropped Maxi.”

“Thank you for apologising, muñequita dolly,” you smile, pulling your youngest into your arms, “So, chiquitos little ones, what have you been drawing?”

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407 notes • Posted 2021-05-30 21:40:54 GMT

Pretty please with sugar on top can modern!Pero take me out on a date, can we get a babysitter for our four year old and drink cocktails and eat steak?! I would adore you forever. Can he call me cielo?!

You mean this little love taking you out for a night on the town? It would be my pleasure, mi cielito @yespolkadotkitty

Modern!Pero x reader

8.4K words

Warnings: fluffiness, children, food, smut, scarring

An agonised groan arises from Pero as a sharp knock sounds upon your door. Grabbing your chin between his thumb and index finger so that he can look you dead in the eye, he softly growls, “Right, hermosa - the plan of action is that we throw Javi at them and we run, sí?”

“Pero - these are your parents! You have not seen them in three months, they are going to want to see their big boy as much as their littlest one,” you castigate him, shaking your head, “I feel bad going out tonight and leaving Javi with them, when they have quite literally just landed here.”

Another knock. This time, it is even sharper and is followed by a shout through the structure, “¡Por el amor de Dios, abre la puta puerta! For god’s sake, open the bloody door!” comes Pero's mum's voice, “¡Puedo escucharte hablar, idiotas! I can hear you talking, idiots!”

Sheepishly opening the door, the broad expanse of your husband shrinks into a little boy - lifting his right hand to wave at her as he hangs his head, “Hola, Mama. Hola, Papa.”

After tapping his hip - as if he was still living under their rules - his mama pulls him into a massive hug and kiss, and all the grumpiness disappears from his face. Jimena then turns to you - placing her hands on either side of your face, her eyes crinkling kindly, saying, “Mija, go. My son needs to take you out - we will have plenty of time for catch-ups later.”

“You look so tired,” she tuts, “He has obviously not been taking good enough care of you, so go enjoy yourselves. We will see you tomorrow afternoon. I will have a sobremesa ready for when you return.”

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow afternoon?” The panic is written across your face and you spin around to where Pero is embracing his Papa as the two of them silently ask how the other is doing through their series of nods - a language you’ve grown to love learning.

“Si, we are not just going for food but I also got us a suite where we won’t be woken at 6 am for CBeebies and Cap’n Crunch.” With a soft smile upon his face, he reaches out to you, to pull you into his side. “My parents have wanted to do this for us for a while. It’s all booked, I’ve already packed - you don’t have to lift a finger, just come with me and we can pretend we’re not parents for a night.”

The wink and smirk from your husband makes your eyebrow raise, “Yeah? That feels like such a long time ago, I’m not sure I can recollect those times.”

“Let me help you remember, cielo,” his lips dust the sensitive skin of your neck before whispering, “We used to… sleep!”

“Pero - you can’t say that! Not in front of your parents,” you wickedly tease, both standing there chuckling in the hallway of your flat. Javi has long since been swept up in a tornado of kisses from his abuelita and abuelo.

Jimena reappears like the bruja, you are certain she is, “Pssh, how do you think this tonto arrived?” she pinches her son’s cheeks and the look upon his face screams for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Mama, por favor - we were talking of sleep,” Pero pleads, looking as if he is dying a little on the inside.

“Well, that better not be the only thing you do or you’ll have to book a second night too,” she shakes her head, returning to the kitchen with a wave over her shoulder, “Javi will be fine, apart from the terrible Spanglish he is speaking to his Tias Gloria and Elisa via FaceTime with Abuelo in the kitchen. Go, niños - enjoy yourselves.

“Javier - ahora sigues las reglas de la abuela, con muchos besos, azúcar y mimos. Javier - you follow granny's rules now,with lots of kisses, sugar and spoiling.”

A warm, large hand placed in the middle of your back seeks to soothe your worry at leaving your four-year-old baby overnight, the thumb stroking your spine, “Come on, cielo. The night is ours.”

✪✪✪✪✪

The train ride into the city is a sweet meditation on the sprawling urban landscape with its bright graffiti and soaring buildings, becoming more fervent in their wish to reach the sky, the further into town you go. Normally, Pero would sit opposite, with Javi tightly huddled into his side but today, your husband sits right next to you - thighs pressed against each other, an arm stretched around your shoulder as he absentmindedly fiddles with your hair. Both of you enjoy the quiet electrical hum of the engine, the quiet soundtrack of other commuters and the gentle rocking of the carriage that causes you to sway into each other.

“Are you ok, mi cielo?” your husband tenderly prompts, stroking a tendril of hair away from your neck.

“Yeah. I’m more than ok, mi sol,” you stroke his thigh gently, “I love Javi with all of my heart and soul but when we get time to be just us, that’s pretty fucking special.”

Turning towards Pero, threading your fingers through his hair - his arm now dropping to your hip, his fingers skirting up and down at the base of your spine, “Te quiero mucho. Thank you so much for this.”

Wordlessly responding to the gratitude, your husband tilts his head slightly as he leans forward to place the lightest of kisses upon your lips. How is it that even after all these years, even the smallest touch from him can utterly set every one of yoursenses on fire? Before you have a chance to ponder any further, his arms are encircling you to draw you in deeper to him, the kisses slowly building in their ferocity as you allow him to flood you with his love. In Pero’s arms, you feel swept away upon a surging tide that steals your breath with the warmth of his mouth, washing away every worry of what pertains to adulthood, blurring and replacing them with a swimming giddiness. You drink him in, kissing him back fervently - as if you were back in the swirling lights of that club and it was the first time all over again.

All too soon, the train pulls into the terminal and you have to disentangle yourselves from each other. Pulling apart, you hear a startled gasp from a couple sitting diagonally from you, causing Pero to spin around and glare, “Sorry for the surprise- from the kissing, my wife and I thought you were teenagers.”

Scowling and shaking his head at these words, Pero growls, “I will kiss my wife like this until I am cold and buried.”

The elderly woman winks at you, grinning, “Lucky lady!”

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598 notes • Posted 2021-06-13 21:38:12 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

3 notes · View notes

sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Oh this was glorious ❤️ self indulgent fics are the best! Feel better soon H xx

Colds & Birthday Celebrations (Javi Gutierrez x gnReader)

pairing: Javi Gutierrez x genderneutral!reader. Part of the bodyguard!verse

summary: It's Javi's birthday party and you're stuck in bed with a cold and a fever.

words: ~1500

warnings: none

notes: Very self-indulgent ficlet written from my bed, where I'm cooped up with a fever. Unbeta'd. So any mistakes you find are my own.

Colds & Birthday Celebrations

Through the open window, you could hear the faint sounds of the party being in full swing down in the garden. Judging by the laughs and the volume of the music, you'd say the event seemed to be a success. That was nice. Javi deserved that, you thought to yourself.

It did frustrate you immensely that you couldn't be there to supervise the whole thing and make sure nothing went awry. And annoyed you to no end that for someone who never got sick, you had picked a hell of a weekend to catch a cold.

You'd had to remind yourself several times over that you had hired every single staff working at that party and you had done – what Javi claimed to be – a needlessly thorough background check on every person on the guest list. You hadn't voiced your protests but silently thought to yourself that there was no such thing as being too careful when it came to Javi's safety.

And logically you knew you could trust Victor, Belen, and Manolo to do a good job. They had all proven themselves several times over to go above and beyond to keep their boss safe. Javi had that effect on people.

Still, you didn't enjoy being stuck useless and weakened on the sidelines.

Sitting up a little straighter in bed, you made the mistake of taking a too-deep breath, and that mistake sent you into a coughing fit that momentarily drowned out the sounds of the party, and make you fear for your lungs.

You clutched your chest in pain and felt your eyes water as you struggled for breath.

It's only when the coughs subsided that you heard the soft knock on the door.

You wiped the tears from your eyes and smoothed your hair back in an attempt to look slightly more presentable before calling out for the person on the other side of the door.

”Come in!” you croaked. Jesus Christ, was that what your voice had been reduced to?

There was a moment's hesitation before the door clicked and swung open to reveal Javi with a plate in one hand and a champagne flute in the other.

The next thing you noticed was that he was wearing the green-ish gray suit, with a navy blue shirt under, that he'd bought last week when you came with him to town. You hadn't seen it on him back then, but watching now how it clung to his body in just the right places, you had to admit it had been a good investment – despite the insane price tag, which you had seen when Javi paid for the outfit.

He looked good. Perhaps more in line with what people who'd only heard of the drug lord expected him to look like. His hair was slicked back – his usual unruly curls combed into submission – but when Javi turned his head to the side, you were sort of pleased to see that the curls hadn't quite managed to get tamed. It made you smile faintly.

”Hey...” he said, slowly stepping inside your room and nudging the door closed behind him with his foot.

”Did you take a wrong turn?” you teased him, ”Pretty sure the party is still in the garden.”

Javi gave you a relaxed smile. There was a slight shine to his eyes that you recognized. Javi wasn't drunk, but the flute in his hand definitely wasn't his first one.

”Came to see you,” Javi told you and made his way over to sit down at the foot end of your bed. As he sat down on your crumpled sheets, you suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that you hadn't even showered properly today. But Javi didn't seem bothered by your appearance, just mildly concerned.

”How are you feeling?” he asked.

You shrugged.

”I've felt worse,” you told him, trying to sound unbothered. But when you watched Javi's smile slip from his face and his gaze trail down to where the gunshot wounds still marred your skin, you regretted your words.

”Is that cake?” you asked, instead. It did the trick. Javi's gaze snapped back to yours and he gave you a smile before handing the plate over.

”Chocolate. It's your favorite, right?” he said.

Your eyebrows curved up in surprise.

”Yeah...yeah, it is,” you wheezed. ”How...?” You were pretty sure you and Javi had never discussed cake preferences.

Javi didn't seem too keen on elaborating on how he'd figured you out, however. Instead, he procured a small fork from the pocket of his suit and held it out for you.

”Try it!” he said.

The cake was delicious! The rich chocolate flavor registered even through your reduced sense of taste, due to the cold. Javi watched you eat, with a pleased smile on his face as if he'd made the cake himself. ...wait.

”Did you make this?”

Javi's smile was bright enough to light up the whole room as he nodded.

”Do you like it?” he asked.

”It's incredible.” You smiled faintly and took another bite.

”Wanted to save you some, before the other guests got to it,” Javi told you and turned a little nervously to look around the room. Something tightened in your gut as you observed this man – your boss – who was a kingpin in one of the most dangerous fields of businesses in the world, but who still brought you your favorite cake in bed when you were sick because he was worried you would miss out if he didn't.

You cleared your throat.

”Before I forget...” You lifted your free hand and pointed towards the dresser, where a simply wrapped rectangle rested next to the tray of food that the housekeeper had brought up for you earlier.

”For me?” Javi asked when he spotted the gift.

”Is there anyone else celebrating his birthday today?”

Javi grinned and went to fetch the gift.

You took the opportunity to cover your mouth with the sheets to cough. It hurt and you squeezed your eyes shut as your lungs burned.

When you opened them again, Javi was holding your gift in his hands, watching you with concern.

”You tell me if I'm too much... if you want to sleep.” he said.

You shook your head and patted the bed again- not quite trusting your voice not to send you into another coughing fit if you tried speaking.

Javi shuffled back and sat down next to you this time – as always, with the same disregard for his own safety. When he leaned back against the headboard and swung his legs up on the mattress, you shifted to the side to make more room for him. It probably wouldn't make much difference in decreasing the risk of contaminating him with your germs, but you were too weak to move further away than the other side of the bed.

With his finger hovering over a piece of tape, Javi gave you a questioning look and you nodded for him to open. He immediately tore into the paper, with childlike enthusiasm.

The gasp when the book fell out of the paper and onto his lap – revealing Nicolas Cage's face staring back up at him - made you smile. You were happy Javi seemed pleased with the gift, but he hadn't even seen the best part.

”Open it,” you wheeze.

Javi picked up the biography and flipped it open to the first page. He read out loud:

”Happy birthday, Javi! I hope the events of my life will be as thrilling to read about as they were to live! Best wishes... Nic Cage.”

Javi looked over at you, eyes shiny and disbelieving. You smiled.

”Happy birthd-”

That was as far as you got before Javi blanketed you, wrapped his arms around your shoulders, and pulled you into a tight embrace. You would have had objections to being manhandled like this, but the cool skin of his cheek felt too good against your feverish forehead so instead, you relaxed against him.

”Thank you! Thank you thank you!” he whispered.

He pulled back but didn't quite let you go. His gaze dropped to your mouth, and for one panicked moment, you thought Javi was going to kiss you. Then he seemed to think better of it, and the moment passed as he sat back up.

”This is the best gift,” he told you.

”I'm pretty sure I heard one of the people downstairs were giving you a boat.” you told him, a little skeptical of his comment.

”This is still the best gift,” he repeated and stroked the spine of the book. Then he looked over at you.

”You mind if I stay here for a bit?” he asked.

”Your party's still going on downstairs...”

”I'd rather be here.”

You tried not to read too much into that statement and ignored the way your heart clenched just a little.

”You can stay,” you told him. And Javi gave you a relieved smile before he grabbed the edge of your extra blanket and pulled it over his legs. He leaned back against the headboard again to make himself comfortable, while you sank further back into the pillows, doing the same.

You fell back asleep a while later, to the soft rustling of pages turning and the gentle touch of cool fingers smoothing over your hair.

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sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Oh there were some utterly glorious moments in this that were socompletely Marcus!

Make My Wish Come True (ii) [plus size fem reader x actor!Marcus Pike]

series summary: You’re an NYT bestselling author with a consulting gig on a movie adaptation of your most recent book series. In a truly unbelievable Christmas rom-com-style turn of events, production begins just after Thanksgiving, leaving you on set through the holidays with the lead actor you’ve had a huge crush on for years, Marcus Pike. He’s the sweetest guy in the business—so why does it feel like he’s avoiding you?

chapter summary: Marcus continues to have no idea how to behave around our girl, but is also unbearably cute and charming and sexy. Reader and Stormy go on a Christmas decoration adventure.

rating: E [warnings: male masturbation, weight issues, food talk, MISCOMMUNICATION, angst]

pairing: actor!Marcus Pike x writer!plus size!fem reader

word count: ~5.5k note: I think I really like how this part turned out! Big love to @starlightmornings for the beta, as well as assuring me this wasn't worthless trash. Also thanks to @mothandpidgeon for her endless patience with my Hanukkah questions. We're getting into it now!

masterlist | series masterlist | previous | next | read on Ao3

Over that first week, Marcus made few attempts to talk. He was friendly enough, smiling in your direction, sometimes even waving. But he almost made it a point not to speak to you if he could help it. For the most part, you sat at the back of the soundstage with your laptop trying to write, but the process was so fascinating you couldn’t help but watch.

Some actors took some time to come out of their character, and some popped in and out with no hesitation. You’d looked over the script at home and, with no shame, practiced the lines aloud. You’d never excelled at acting, hence why you’d declined a cameo, but it was fun to pretend where you weren’t wasting anyone’s time.

The set itself was decorated as much as it could be for the holidays. Christmas lights hung in the least intrusive corners, sparkling in your peripheral vision. Filming started in the middle of Hanukkah, and the gaffer brought in an electric menorah that sat to the right of the main entrance. The bulbs even flickered like little orange flames.

The sets were beautiful, and sometimes, if you were the first one there, you’d go sit on the fluffy carpet and look around at your vision come to life. You’d never expected your books to take off at all. You wrote the first one and sent off queries, holding back disappointment every time one came back with a “Thank you, but this isn’t what we’re looking for right now.”

And now, here you were. Marcus, of course, had to go and be perfect. You’d hoped that he would be mean or egotistical or obnoxious, but he proved the opposite. Everyone talked about how sweet; how caring; how understanding he was. How his natural inclination was to sit down and have a conversation with anyone who looked lonely. He even melted Jessica’s frosty shell, making her grin with a well-timed joke or compliment.

None of that applied to you, though.

You’d run him off with your outburst, and it wasn’t the first time a man couldn’t handle a boundary you set. Your problem was that it wasn’t your fault. He was the one who was late. He was the one who insisted you didn’t know yourself or your own life experiences. He was the one who’d argued. Marcus Pike had been everything but that guy everyone talked about.

But only to you.

You’d resolved to ignore him and keep your head down. It, of course, had not gone as planned. You watched him wander the set from behind your laptop as he joked and laughed and had long conversations with every single person on set except you.

You tried to tell yourself how ridiculous you were. You didn’t know him. That’s why you’d snapped at him in the first place; for acting like he knew you. He didn’t have to be nice to you if he didn’t want to. He didn’t owe you anything at all.

You tried to remember the last time you talked to someone who responded so earnestly. As though he was listening, instead of nodding along and waiting for his turn to speak. Of course you’d ruined it.

You wondered, sometimes, if your size had anything to do with it. You wondered if you were slender and long-legged, if he’d have ignored your fit. If your belly didn’t poke out, if your thighs didn’t spread when you sat down, if your face wasn’t so round—would he have found it charming, instead of bitchy?

Nicole was great, at least. She valued your input; thanked you for it, even. Toward the end of the week, you’d gathered enough courage to point out a character inconsistency, and Nicole was thrilled. You had a feeling this was not the norm from directors, and you should appreciate it while you could.

December’s reaction to Alexander’s secret was all wrong. It wasn’t Stormy’s fault—she was only playing it as directed. But the reaction was too weepy. In your version, December had stormed out with no intention of showing Alexander her weakness. Stormy grinned the whole time, triumphant as you asserted yourself. And you thought, maybe, you saw Marcus crack a smile.

Meanwhile, no one else but Stormy, Maeve, and, to your delight, Noah, had warmed to you. Things were less passively hostile than that first day, but you were clearly a tool for most of them, and they had no intention of getting to know you.

“Don’t worry about it, girl,” Stormy said one day. “Actors are just like that sometimes.”

“Like what?”

“Aloof,” she said, shrugging.

“It’s not like I barged on set and told them they were wrong or something. Jessica comes and asks me stuff and does the opposite. It’s so weird.”

Stormy laughed. “You should just start telling her the opposite of what she should do, then.”

“Oh, my God. You’re a genius,” you said as the two of you dissolved in a fit of giggles. “That’s exactly what I should do!”

“And I didn’t even ask to be an extra,” you bemoaned. “I mean, I don’t want to be, technically, but look how cute and cozy everything is, and I could wear earmuffs.”

Stormy’s eyes lit up.

“What if we left right after I’m done with this scene? I don’t have anything else today. We could go get supplies and decorate your place.”

You thought about it. “I feel like I’ll get in trouble.”

“You? No way. You run this shit. How have you not figured that out yet?” Stormy said, rolling her eyes and shoving you with her shoulder.

“Okay. I guess that could work. I’d really like some holiday spirit there, you know? It’s a nice place, but it’s not exactly cheerful.”

Stormy clapped. “Hell yes! Okay, look, I’m gonna go try to do everything perfect and be really mean to Marcus if he fucks up—“

You interrupted her with a laugh, and she hugged you.

“You’re doing fine, babe. Don’t worry so much,” she said, and left to do whatever actors did while you checked to see if Steve could drive you both (he could), and googled the closest store with Christmas decorations.

World Market it is, you thought.

You and Stormy spent an hour in World Market browsing, coming out with two carts full of decorations you didn’t need. You’d told Steve to go ahead so he wouldn’t have to wait, but he waved you off.

“I’ll get paid either way, miss,” he said.

“Do you want to come in with us?” You’d asked, and he waved that off, too.

“You don’t want an old man spoiling your fun. I’ll be fine out here,” he’d said gently. You frowned, hating the idea of him sitting out here alone, but you let it go.

Stormy had insisted you get one big tree and a couple of little trees, and while you didn’t find that was necessary at all, Stormy had a way of convincing people to go along with her plans. The two of you hopped into the SUV, and something familiar tugged at your heart.

Like your dad had taken you and your sister Christmas shopping.

Steve regaled the two of you with stories about other celebrities he’d driven around (“Strictly confidential, of course,” he’d said), recounting the time one very famous pop singer threw up in the backseat and tried to skip the bill, forgetting that he’d put a credit card on file.

“Luckily,” he said, “I don’t have that problem with you two.”

“Definitely not, sir,” Stormy said.

Once you’d gotten everything inside and thanked Steve for his help, Stormy looked around and whistled. “Damn, this is nice. Can I come stay here with you?”

You laughed. “I mean, why not? It’s too much room just for me.”

Decorating took some time—more than you’d thought, since you and Stormy kept getting distracted with conversation and celebrity gossip, but by the end, your living room looked like a Christmas card.

A white Christmas tree stood in the bay window, covered in multicolored lights and tinsel and little Christmas bells and topped with a glittering, if decidedly tacky, angel. The white brick fireplace mantle held candles and sprigs of holly, and two red stockings hung in front. You set the little trees on opposite ends of the room, and streamers with “Merry Christmas” in big gold letters hung above the TV. Red and green throw blankets adorned the overstuffed grey couch, and you and Stormy sank onto it, pleased with your day’s work.

“Chinese food?” You asked her.

“Definitely. You feeling better?”

“Much. Thank you for this.”

“Any time, girl. You got any wine?”

“No,” you grinned, “But I have bourbon.”

“That works, too,” Stormy laughed.

Marcus was being an idiot.

He knew that.

She was his dream girl, and he was pushing her away.

Yeah, he thought, that’s what you thought about the last one.

But she was not his former fiancée, and he needed to fix this before he ruined it.

She’d walked over to the craft services table the day before, lingering over the jelly doughnuts artfully displayed next to the latkes, and walking away empty handed. But he knew she liked jelly doughnuts. It was one of those offhand facts she’d thrown out when she’d been so open with him the night he’d opened his big, stupid mouth and upset her. After one of the best conversations of his life.

And he was supposed to be a nice guy.

“I really like jelly doughnuts,” she said, sliding her bottom lip between her teeth. He was running out of questions, just making conversation to keep her in that room.

“Did you get one at the breakfast? They had raspberry,” he said. Her eyebrows quirked in surprise.

“I didn’t see anyone else eat anything, so I just…didn’t get anything. Didn’t wanna be the only one eating, you know?”

He didn’t pry much further than that. He could see her perfectly well, and he was no fool, either. She was worried about eating in front of other people, and he knew why. He understood the industry and understood the lengths that people went to just to fit in around here.

And he absolutely did not want that for her. He wondered, with a pang, how much else she was changing for acceptance. He hated that he couldn’t buck up and tell everyone to be nicer to her. That he couldn’t even bring himself to be nicer to her. Every time he looked up and saw her gazing out into the soundstage, watching everyone talk to each other and only to her when they absolutely needed to, he felt like a monster.

But there’d be one stray Instagram post, and they would be all over the place. And it wasn’t that he had any issue with being seen with her, but he knew firsthand how cruel people could be. And his fans, unfortunately, had the habit of being the cruelest.

It was one of many reasons his last relationship fell apart. He couldn’t watch another woman go through that.

She was always there so early. Five a.m. and she had her laptop out and earbuds in, intense concentration etched across her lovely face. That was the time of day everyone else was staggering in and getting makeup and hair done. His call time was almost always later. No wig and very little styling, just makeup.

There had to be somewhere close he could get doughnuts at four in the morning. Craft services was all well and good, but he wanted something nice. He picked up his phone to google it, and it buzzed before he could open it. He blinked in surprise. Stormy.

He had not expected Stormy. They’d traded numbers months ago at the chemistry read, and she’d never contacted him before this. He was even more surprised that she was calling him.

“Hello?”

But there was no answer, just some rustling.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you almost called him!”

That voice sounded familiar.

“But I didn’t!”

That was Stormy.

“That would have been so humiliating,” the other voice said, elongating the ‘G’, and it clicked. It was her.

What the hell were they doing? He knew he should hang up, but they sounded…drunk. And cute. Maybe he should stay on. Just in case.

“What are you doing?” Stormy asked. Something rang in the background.

“Fixing these bells.”

“You’re gonna fall down, silly.”

Marcus smiled to himself. They sounded happy. More relaxed than he’d ever heard her, that was for sure.

“I played the bells in church,” she said. “I know what I’m doing!”

Stormy laughed hysterically. “That doesn’t mean you’re not gonna break your neck on that ladder.”

Marcus sat up straighter, eyes widening with concern.

“Listen,” she said, and the little chimes played Jingle Bells.

“Ooooooh,” Stormy said.

“And I made it off the ladder!”

Marcus heard a soft thump, and her voice was closer now.

“Thank you for not calling him,” she said.

“You’re not welcome. He should know he’s mean.”

Marcus frowned.

“He’s not mean,” she said, and he smiled at her defense of him. “He’s just…he’s so talented and, like, smart and nice.”

“He’s not nice to you, though,” Stormy pointed out, and the pang of guilt shot through him.

“Yeah, but that’s okay. He was nice that one night. It’s my fault,” she sighed.

No, he thought, it wasn’t.

“Why do you have such a thing for him?” Stormy asked, quieter this time.

“Look at him,” she said, and Stormy giggled.

“I’m serious!” Stormy said. “Lots of guys are gorgeous.”

“I just…I always loved his movies, and I always heard that he was really great, you know? And, like, from what I can tell, that’s true. It’s me he doesn’t like.”

“Shot!” Stormy said, and two glasses clinked together.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “And honestly, what was I thinking? That we’d meet and fall in love? He’d have to be attracted to me first.”

“He could be attracted to you,” Stormy said, indignant on her friend’s behalf. “You’re gorgeous.”

“I’m fat,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Like, I just…I wonder sometimes if he’d have thought I was spunky or charming if I was thin. And maybe it would be fine. But it’s not, so. He’s got a good hold on Alexander—“

But her voice wavered.

“What’s wrong?” Stormy asked.

“Ugh,” she sniffed. “I think I drank too much.”

She took a few deep breaths.

“It’s just—I created Alexander to be my hero after this really awful break up, and I know it’s not the same thing because he’s the actor, but I never expected the guy playing him would flat out not like me. I don’t”—she hiccuped—“I don’t know if I’ll be able to look at Alexander the same.”

Marcus swallowed, regret seeping through his pores, and ended the call, like he should have done in the first place. His stomach churned with guilt.

“What the fuck am I doing?” He muttered, putting his head in his hands.

So. The donuts.

He was unsurprised to find her there, but she looked hungover and wore sunglasses, and held her head up with one hand.

It was early enough that few others were around. He thought maybe she’d be less self-conscious. Maybe he could get to know her more, too. He didn’t want her to know he’d overheard the phone call; knew how humiliated she would be if she found out.

He dropped the box of a dozen donuts in front of her, and she winced at the sound. She looked up to see who the offender was and her face twisted into confusion.

“Hey,” Marcus said. He expected her to say hi, to put her head down and ignore him, or to tell him to go away.

What he did not expect was the noisy tears she burst into. He dropped to the seat next to her.

“Oh—what’s—what’s wrong?” He asked, his hand hovering over her shoulder until he finally dropped it, squeezing her arm.

She yanked herself away from him.

“I don’t think this is funny,” she hiccuped, looking around to see if there was anyone nearby.

“Think what’s funny? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t—what are the donuts for?” She asked, wiping her eyes and glaring at him.

“I wanted to share some with you.”

The way she looked at him, so suspicious of his actions, made him question his choice of reconciliation gifts.

“Or I can sit here and eat them myself,” he offered. “And we can talk.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “Oh.”

“Have one,” he said, opening the box and pulling one out. “They’re raspberry.”

He brought a different breakfast the next day—cinnamon bagels and cream cheese. And then another the next day. And then every day after that. He got her all to himself for an entire hour, every day. He learned so much about her; her favorite color, her parents’ names, her first kiss. He pretended like he didn’t know she played the bells.

“So,” he asked. “What are your plans for Christmas, Bell?”

She fluttered her eyelashes every time he let the nickname slip, so he did it all the time.

“Nothing,” she said. “My parents are going to the Bahamas, and my sister and I don’t really get along, so it’ll probably just be me and some cheesy Christmas movies.”

“I can’t believe Ms. Christmas is gonna spend it all alone!” He said, genuinely shocked.

“It’s totally fine,” she said. “I like being on my own most of the time. Ideas are easier to formulate in silence.”

He still didn’t like it. It was December 15th, and he’d been having breakfast with her every day for the last week and a half. She’d gotten more comfortable on set, and he enjoyed watching her grow. He had the most familiar butterflies, watching her shine.

Marcus told himself that hour a day was enough for now, but it wasn’t. He wanted her the rest of the day, too. He wanted her at home, on his couch, in his bed, in his life. But he loved this secret time with her, too. He appreciated getting to know her like this, away from prying eyes.

You’re selfish, and a coward, he thought. He hoped she never figured that out.

You had a million questions about breakfast time. Why it started, why he stuck around after you, once again, flipped your shit on him. How he knew raspberry was your favorite. But the progress you’d made was too delicate, and this whole weird little thing made you feel better; left you with butterflies every time he left to get ready.

It did not, however, escape your notice that this happened when no one else was around. You weren’t sure if that was a coincidence or on purpose, but you decided to push it aside for now. It was nice spending time with him. His shining confidence was contagious, and the more confident you got, the more people seemed to respect you on set. So you soaked him up, and let him bring you breakfast every day.

After a week, though, you had to ask him what the deal was.

“Hey, Marcus?”

“Hey, Bell,” he grinned, pulling out little paper plates for the chocolate pancakes with peppermint crunch he’d brought from a little bistro on the way from his house.

“Why, um—what is all this? Why do you do this?

“Because no one else is here this early,” he joked, but seeing the look on your face, he changed his tone. “Because you don’t eat if I don’t.”

“Oh.”

“Am I wrong?”

He was right, of course.

“Well, no one really eats anything around here, and I felt weird about it. And I’ve lost ten pounds,” you said, trying not to make your insecurity too obvious.

He frowned.

“You didn’t need to lose any weight,” he said. You pulled a face and rolled your eyes. You wanted off of this topic.

But he looked at you with that eye contact of his, that confidence that you could not, for the life of you, understand.

“You’re in a better mood when you have breakfast,” he offered.

“Well, yeah. I’m a human,” you said, stretching your arms out across the table and making grabby hands at the plate he’d had yet to hand you. He grabbed your right hand and looked at the tattoo on your inner wrist.

You startled at the sudden contact. You’d noticed Marcus was very physical with his friends, but you weren’t aware you’d made it into that category. He traced the tattoo lightly.

“What is it?” he murmured.

“My sign,” you offered.

“Didn’t take you for an astrology nerd,” he grinned. Your cheeks burned; heat rushed up the back of your neck and you sighed. It felt good.

“I’m not really. I just like the way it looks.”

“I like the way it looks, too,” he said.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?” you asked, trying to keep your breathing even, looking into his brown eyes. He had yet to break your gaze, and you might as well as have been the only two people in the world. Your wrist was one of your most sensitive spots, and you wished he would raise it to his lips and kiss you. You suspected he knew what he was doing to you.

“What am I not interested in?” he murmured.

You swallowed and clenched your thighs together, hoping he didn’t notice. When did he get so close to you? You licked your lips.

“I—“

“Marcus?”

Jessica’s sultry voice rang through the soundstage, and he dropped your hand like it had burned him, like she’d caught him doing something no one should see.

“I’ve—I’ve gotta go. Gonna be late,” he said. But you knew that wasn’t true. He darted off, leaving his plate untouched.

Something was pulling on your ribcage, struggling to crack it open; trying to pull your heart out of your chest. After a moment, you looked around, right into Jessica’s sneering face.

“What was that?” she taunted.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, packing your laptop into your bag, but Jessica only smirked. God, you needed to be anywhere but here.

“Don’t get too attached, babe. He’s like that with everyone. Although,” she said, raking her eyes down your body, “he’s usually not so secretive. I wonder why that is.”

“Is there something you needed, or were you just rehearsing being a bitch?” You snapped. Jessica narrowed her eyes.

“She bites,” she mocked. “He’s not interested in you. He doesn’t even want to be seen with you.”

“Okay, great. Well, I don’t want to be seen with you, so I’ll be on my way,” you said, turning on your heel.

“You know his ex fiancee was an actual supermodel, right?” She called to the back of your head.

Yeah. You knew.

Marcus slammed the door to his trailer and tried to calm his pounding heart. What was he doing? This wasn’t him, none of it. She didn’t deserve any of this. She didn’t deserve to be hidden like a dirty secret.

But here he was.

Someone knocked.

“What are you doing?” Jessica demanded, as he opened the door.

Her hostile tone surprised him. He knew she rubbed some people the wrong way, but she’d never spoken to him like that before.

“Getting ready,” he said. Her green eyes narrowed.

“You know what I mean. What are you doing with the little writer?” she said.

“The little writer? The person responsible for your job? What’s that supposed to mean?” He snapped. The conversation was unnerving, and he understood why Jessica might piss someone off. She rolled her eyes.

“Like this whole thing hasn’t been done a million times before,” she said. “This feel good little Christmas movie that even you didn’t want to be in.”

“You should go, Jessica,�� he said, his mouth set in a hard line. She smirked at him and turned around to leave.

“Just make sure no one sees you with her. It would be such a shame if Twitter found out, you know? They tore a supermodel apart. Imagine what they might do to her.”

Marcus’s patience with Jessica ran thin. “Get out.”

She shrugged and walked out, slamming the door shut behind her, making the whole trailer shake. He sat down on his couch and leaned his head back, rubbing his eyes.

Her face. Her face when he ran off and left her there. She’d looked so sad and confused, but Jessica was right, wasn’t she? He didn’t want her to get hurt.

She already is, he argued with himself.

He stood and paced the trailer, full of adrenaline and anxiety. What was he supposed to do? How could he face her again?

She’d looked so pretty in her little outfit. It was yoga pants and a v-neck t-shirt, but everything hugged her so well. Her thighs. His cock twitched at the thought of them wrapped around his head.

Her tongue in his mouth.

Her lips around his length.

His tongue in her pussy.

Marcus palmed himself and groaned.

If there was ever a way to calm himself down, an orgasm was it.

He didn’t make a habit of touching himself at work, but he was in his own trailer and people knew to knock. He walked to the door and turned the lock until it clicked.

Marcus slumped back on the couch and closed his eyes, thinking of her and hating himself for it. Even with her sad face, he wanted her. He wanted to fuck that sadness out of her, make her scream his name, make her cry out for mercy.

Marcus took his cock out and wrapped his hand around the base. He was so hard already thinking about her and her parted lips. Her soft skin as he traced the tattoo on her wrist. Before the interruption, he swore he smelled her arousal. It had taken everything in him not to take her on the table.

But he imagined it now as he stroked himself slowly, drinking in the sensation, precome leaking profusely from his head. He sighed, remembering her scent, and pulled his t-shirt up, letting the cool air hit his hot skin.

He imagined her between his legs, staring up at him with doe eyes, kissing up his thighs, wrapping her wet tongue around him. Moaning around his cock.

He stopped to spit in his hand, pretending it was hers, and stroked faster.

He’d pull her onto him, plush thighs locked around his own, and she’d ride him, burying her pretty face into his neck.

“Marcus, Marcus,” she’d whine, rocking back and forth. He’d pull her back from his neck so he could watch her, her eyes closed, hips rolling; he’d bury himself so deep he could feel every part of her. He’d kiss her neck and worship everything that she was shy about, rubbing circles over her clit until she shivered and cried out for him.

Marcus felt the familiar tug, a spring trying to uncoil, and he thought of her breasts in his mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispered, closing his eyes. He lifted his hips and fucked his fist, and the coil snapped. He came in spurts, pumping his cock until he was spent. He looked down when his heart stopped racing, realizing he’d ruined his t-shirt despite pulling it up.

“Shit,” he muttered. Thank god he hadn’t gone to change yet.

Marcus had hoped this would relieve some of the tension, but it didn’t. It had, however, added a side of overwhelming guilt. He sighed and scrubbed both hands over his face, jumping at another loud knock on his door.

“Just a second!” he called.

“Mr. Pike? They need you in wardrobe now,” came Maeve’s voice.

“Okay. Thank you, Maeve,” he called, hoping he didn’t sound out of breath.

Get your shit together, man, he thought.

He passed your table, emptied of your presence, the untouched peppermint crunch pancakes a reminder of his own idiocy.

You spent the next day secluded in your dressing room, claiming you weren’t feeling well. Stormy didn’t buy it for a second, but she respected your reluctance to tell her. Instead, she spent a lot of time in your dressing room with you, quietly going over lines, saying she needed the silence.

You needed to do something nice for her.

Successfully avoiding Marcus had been a challenge. He’d been trying to corner you, and you’d side-stepped him at every turn.

On Thursday, however, Stormy had an idea.

“Let’s go skiing,” she said. You’d taken a chance and ventured out onto the soundstage, not wanting to spend another day cooped up. You looked around and sighed.

“Skiing?”

“Yes! Look, everyone’s going for the weekend. They have to shut down the set for something. I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t matter because we get three days off.”

“Is Marcus going?”

“Probably—look, maybe you two can talk there. I know you won’t tell me what happened, but you seemed to be getting along. Come on. It’ll be fun. The resort is amazing and the rooms all have jacuzzi tubs. Maybe the two of you work things out and, ya know,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Stormy!”

“Come oooooon!” She whined. It was, as always, impossible to deny her anything.

“Okay,” you said. “But I don’t know how to ski. And I don’t want to learn. I want to sit in front of a fire and drink hot chocolate.”

“Yay!” Stormy said, her brown eyes sparkling with excitement.

“When do we leave?” You asked.

“Tomorrow morning! We’re getting one of those chartered buses.”

Your mind flew to a Greyhound, and you wrinkled your nose.

“Like a Greyhound bus?”

“Honey, no, not at all like a Greyhound bus.”

You nodded.

“I’ll text you all the details tonight, but we’re meeting here in the parking lot, I think.”

“Okay. Okay, let’s do it! It’ll be fun,” you said, more to yourself than Stormy.

It would, at the least, be an adventure. And maybe she was right. Maybe you and Marcus could straighten some things out.

After a quick shower, you opened your suitcase and Googled “what to bring to a ski resort if you’re not skiing.”

Your phone dinged in the middle of you rearranging the phrasing for the fourth time. An unknown number.

Hey. Who is this? It’s Marcus.

You were immediately suspicious.

Look, if this is a prank, I’m not in the mood. It’s not a prank.

A photo came through a second later of his smiling face.

You still didn’t trust it.

If this is really you, send a picture of yourself with your middle finger up your nose.

A couple of moments passed while you stared at the phone. To your astonishment, that exact picture came through. You laughed so loudly you were sure your neighbors heard.

Okay, fine. What do you want? And how did you get my number? I wanted to make sure you were going skiing, too. And, unimportant. How do you know I’m going skiing? And it is not unimportant.

Was he flirting with you?

Can I call? Sure.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. You closed your eyes and hit accept.

“Hey, Bell,” he said, sounding shy.

“Hi. What’s up?” You asked. That nickname still melted you into a puddle, and you resented the hell out of it.

“I just...wanted to apologize. I was weird the other day. I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know why I did it.”

“Oh,” you said, a little startled at his directness. “It’s…well, it’s not okay, but thank you for apologizing.”

“You’re welcome.”

The line was silent as you frantically thought of something to say, but he saved you. Of course.

“So, what’re you up to?” He asked.

“Packing, but I don’t know what to pack. Do you know what to pack?”

He laughed. “Never been skiing?”

“No! I don’t plan on actually skiing, either,” you said. “But I want to be prepared.”

Ice clinked in a glass on his end.

“Do you need some help?”

“Are you offering?”

“If you’ll have me,” he said lightly. You thought about the implications. About what could happen, about what it meant. Because you were pretty sure that he was attracted to you, but you also didn’t know if he was okay with that or not.

On the other hand, you wanted to see him. You’d missed breakfast.

“Okay, Marcus. I’ll text the address.”

“See you in a bit, Bell.”

Marcus hadn’t planned on inviting himself to her house. He hadn’t planned on calling. But sometimes his impulses got the best of him, and he wanted to do something for her.

All right, he thought. Don’t mess it up.

372 notes · View notes

sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

Text

I loved the original but this is pretty perfect too ❤️

Make My Wish Come True (i) [plus size fem reader x actor!Marcus Pike]

summary: You’re a NYT bestselling author with a consulting gig on a movie adaptation of your most recent book series. In a truly unbelievable Christmas rom-com-style turn of events, production begins just after Thanksgiving, leaving you on set through the holidays with the lead actor you’ve had a huge crush on for years, Marcus Pike. He’s the sweetest guy in the business—so why does it feel like he’s avoiding you?

rating: T [for now, will eventually move into E; warnings: extremely self-indulgent i'm so sorry, weight issues, food talk, MISCOMMUNICATION bc i know people hate that shit but if you've read anything of mine you know i love it, a little angst, alternate universe]

pairing: actor!Marcus Pike x writer!plus size!fem reader

word count: ~6.6k

note: Hello all! This is a re-work of an early fic of mine, Truly Madly Deeply, which is not my best work but I loved the concept, so I wanted to rework it into something I could be more proud of. You can read the original on Ao3, if you're so inclined. An aside: this fic is heavily Christmas-focused, coming from my culturally Christian upbringing (as in, I've never been super religious, but always celebrated Christmas in that kind of secular, I-like-pretty-lights way). I totally get if that is not your cup of tea. In no way do I think that Christmas is the only holiday during this time of year, and I've tried to be sensitive to that as we get further into the fic. Big thanks to @starlightmornings for the beta, and to @mothandpidgeon for putting up with my mini-meltdown this morning over this piece. Also, I know very little about the film industry, so like, roll with it ok pls ty I've done research but I am also dumb.

masterlist | series masterlist | next | read on Ao3

November 26th.

You wanted to get that date framed, or painted, or something. It was the first day of production on a movie based on a book you wrote. A best-selling book you wrote. The first book in the best-selling series you wrote. And for the next six weeks—not including the week of Christmas—your only job was to hang out on set and answer questions.

You should have been much more excited than you were.

Not that you weren’t absolutely thrilled to have this happen, but you were in Los Angeles for the first time in your life, and it was very different from your Southern home state. For instance, you had yet to see anyone who looked anything like you in the areas you’d ventured. Everyone was very thin, dressed in very expensive clothes, with perfect makeup and perfect accessories. Everyone you encountered had just stepped out of a magazine.

And then there was you. Despite your recent success, you preferred a laid back look consisting of Torrid and Old Navy—or any store you could find plus size clothing that didn’t make you look like a frumpy old lady.

It wasn’t like they made couture in your size, after all.

If you ignored the sideways glances and judgmental eye rolls, it wasn’t so bad. The film executives and public relations folks and anyone trying to woo you were perfectly friendly.

You’d given up most of your life to pursue your love of writing, and couldn’t believe it had finally come to this. And so, because of that, you choked down that old fear of being perceived and moved forward, allowing yourself to be positively giddy when the studio sent a sleek black SUV to pick you up from the two-bedroom rental they’d provided.

You’d done meticulous research on the entire cast, giving your input on who you’d imagined while writing. You knew it was unlikely that you’d get Yara Shahidi or Ryan Reynolds, but you’d given your blessing to an up-and-coming young actress named Stormy Palmer and, by some wild stroke of luck, Marcus Pike. Famous for more artsy roles, you knew he’d be perfect as the moody but sweet Alexander.

You’d had a ridiculous crush on the man since he guest-starred on one of your favorite TV shows. The closer you got to meeting him, the more you wished you’d never heard of him at all. It wouldn’t do to have a crush on a man you’d be working with. You tried to get over it, but your mouth still went dry at the thought of him.

December was Stormy’s first major on-screen role. Her manager emailed you the week before you got into town, requesting a meeting. You’d clicked immediately, and the two of you ended up hanging out most of the last five days.

“I haven’t had much time to read in the last few years,” she’d admitted sheepishly, as though you’d expected her to read your books.

“Of course not, hon, you’ve been busy. I understand. I rarely have time to read myself,” you assured her. Your lack of judgment warmed her to you.

She picked your brain about her character and you picked hers about acting and living in L.A. It was nice to have a friend out here. An introverted Southern girl, you were out of your element. Everyone was friendly in an intimidating, busy way, and you had a hard time recognizing if people were genuine.

Stormy, to your delight, seemed to be of the genuine variety.

Today you’d meet the rest of the cast and crew, and filming would start next week. Most of the casting process and screenwriting adaptation happened without you, but you were grateful for it. You weren’t a screenwriter or a casting director, and they changed nothing too drastic, so far. If you were honest with yourself, you didn’t know what you were doing here. You were just grateful for the experience.

The black SUV pulled up to the curb on the busy LA street in front of your hotel at an ungodly hour.

“Good morning, miss,” the driver said as he got out of the car and opened the door for you. You stared for a moment as you got your bearings. Not that you’d never had a car service before, but he was so formal. You weren’t used to people waiting for you. “Do you need help with your bags?”

“No, thank you,” you said, clutching your ratty blue backpack. You’d meant to buy a new bag before you came out here, but couldn’t seem to let this one go. It had been there for you through college and through all three books. “I’m fine.”

He nodded and stood back so you could climb in, the scent of leather filling your nose. It took forty-five minutes to get to the studio lot. You’d discovered, to your horror, driving anywhere in L.A. took forever. Not that you were driving. You didn’t have a car here, and you didn’t plan on getting one. You took Uber when you didn’t have a driver, or had things delivered.

You didn’t enjoy driving in your little hometown, and you had no plans to attempt it here. You were at the mercy of strangers for the next six weeks, and you were still getting used to it.

The enjoyable part about not driving yourself was taking in the surroundings. The city was amid decorating for Christmas, stringing colorful lights on the palms and setting up sixteen-foot Christmas trees on the sidewalks.

Even at this early hour, people were up and about, all of them looking like they had somewhere to be. You slumped down in your seat.

“Would you like to stop for coffee, miss?” Your driver asked. You perked up.

“Starbucks?”

“You got it.”

You introduced yourself.

“I’m Steve,” he said. He was an older guy around your father’s age.

“It’s nice to meet you, Steve,” you said. He seemed momentarily put off, and you wondered if you’d committed some West Coast faux pas.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he said. “You’re very polite. Not a lot of people I drive who introduce themselves.”

You frowned.

“Well, that’s not very nice.”

He smiled at you in the rear-view mirror.

“No, miss, I don’t suppose it is.”

You arrived at a studio lot with a venti peppermint mocha. Steve told you to have a good day and that he’d see you tomorrow morning, and dropped you off with a production assistant. You were in your thirties, had a master’s degree, several published books, and a movie being made of one; yet standing there with your hands gripping the straps of your backpack, you felt very much like a kid being dropped off for a field trip.

No one told you much of anything about how it would work, other than profuse promises that you be “taken care of,” and you assumed you’d get a table to sit at when they didn’t need you. To your pleasant surprise, the production assistant, who introduced herself as Maeve, showed you to your own trailer. Maybe you wouldn’t need those noise-cancelling headphones after all.

On the way to your trailer, she explained how unusual it was to shoot during the holidays.

“That makes sense,” you said. “Do you know why they decided on now?”

“Thought you might know,” she grinned. “I heard the director wanted to use the atmosphere. Thought it would come off more authentic. It’s actually kind of great. I thought I’d be completely waiting tables this year through December, but then I landed this gig.”

“Is it usually like that?” You asked, interested in every bit.

“It’s my first year,” she said, “but the other P.A.s said it’s usually a nightmare trying to square your finances away for the end of the year. Here we are!”

“This is great,” you said, following her into the little trailer.

“They said you needed the quiet to write.”

You nodded happily and set your backpack down on a small brown couch bolted into the wall. A mini-fridge sat to your right with a microwave on top of it. Two bolted-in brown leather chairs sat directly across from you. A vanity with a lighted mirror was in the corner with enough counter space for you to use it as a desk. You even had a tiny private bathroom with a shower. The cabinets and counters were a bit dated, and you suspected Marcus Pike and Jessica King had better lodgings, but you weren’t going to say a word about it. You were just happy to be invited.

“It’s perfect,” you breathed. She broke into a wide smile, relief flooding her face like she’d been waiting for a complaint.

After telling you there was a breakfast planned for nine a.m. and that she’d be back for you, she left you there to settle in. You opened your laptop, intent on doing some outline, but you couldn’t concentrate. Instead, you Googled the cast again for the fiftieth time. And by the cast, you meant Marcus Pike.

He just seemed so kind, like he enjoyed drawing people out of their shells. You could use a little energy like that.

You slammed your laptop closed when someone banged on your door. It was only seven-thirty.

“Come in!”

“Hey, neighbor!” Stormy said, in full makeup and costume, and you gasped. She was perfect. Exactly as you’d always imagined.

“Wardrobe test!”

“Oh, my God. You look unbelievable! It’s like she’s right here,” you said.

Stormy beamed. You knew better than to hug her and ruin her perfectly placed costume, so you just stared at her with tears in your eyes. Seeing your baby come to life was amazing.

She scanned the room, “This is much nicer than mine.”

Your mouth fell open as you tried to parse whether she was serious.

“I—do you want to see if we can switch? I really don’t need—really thought I’d be getting a table in the back of the soundstage—” you babbled.

Stormy grinned. “No, silly. I’m just playing with you. I’m in the other suite. We’re literally next-door neighbors. I’ve got the same dated cherry wood.”

“Don’t scare me like that,” you scolded.

“I’m sorry, girl! You know I was kidding, right?” Stormy said, giving you a hug. “Okay, I gotta go. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Sounds good,” you said.

“And make sure you keep your phone locked, hon. We all Google each other, but you don’t want him to see it,” she said with a sly grin.

You gaped at her again, realizing you’d had IMDb up your phone. Marcus’s smiling face peered up at you. Curse your habit of looking up things on the phone and the laptop simultaneously.

She winked and left, her perfectly done ponytail whipping through the door, leaving you cringing at your own awkwardness.

Everyone was there. Actors, studio executives, writers, the director, the producers. Everyone had bright teeth and luminous skin and everyone was so thin.

And then there you were, with no idea what to do other than try to blend into the wall. Three people had mistaken you for some kind of assistant or another until you flashed your little “Creator” badge. They all seemed unimpressed, but left you alone.

There was a massive spread of food on the conference table in front of you. You’d long since finished your coffee and your stomach begged for mercy. But no one else was eating, and you certainly would not be the fat girl who eats first. Absolutely not. In fact, as you looked around at the other occupants of the room, you didn’t know if you were going to eat any of this at all.

Or anything ever again.

Ugh.

You leaned against a wall as a woman started talking—a producer, maybe—trying to make yourself as small as you could, hoping to go unnoticed and anonymous.

Predictably, you had no such luck.

The producer called out your name, and you blanched when every head in the room whipped in your direction like a hydra with rows and rows of bleached teeth. Your meek wave did not pacify her, and you panicked as she asked you to come up to the front.

You were in high school again, walking that slow death march to the front to solve the math equation on the board. You tried to summon your courage, recalling the many speaking engagements and book signings and conferences you’d attended in the past.

But it was different there. You were welcome at those events. People were there for you.

Here? No one knew who you were, and no one cared. To most of them, you were an intruder, and it wouldn’t bother you so much if you didn’t have to talk to so many of them. Stormy, to her credit, stood at the front and clapped. Marcus Pike stood next to her, a polite but preoccupied smile plastered on his face. Indifferent, even. Everyone was busy, and you were taking up all their time. You’d never been more self-conscious.

And, of course, Marcus was even more beautiful in person. Gorgeous in a way that made it hard to look directly at him, but impossible to look away. A sharp, strong nose and chiseled jaw; huge brown eyes that sparkled like little stars, deep constellations pulling you to him. Plump, pink lips with a dip in the middle of his bottom lip you imagined, for a moment, pressing your thumb into. His white t-shirt hugged his broad shoulders, and you wondered how anyone could make something so simple look so good.

So you looked at Stormy instead, rather than embarrass yourself by drooling.

The producer explained your role and your eyes darted around the room, still smiling, your least favorite nervous habit. If people thought you were nice, it’d make them warm up to you. It worked in the South. This tactic, unfortunately, did not appear to work in L.A.

A few people whispered back and forth. Marcus looked at his watch, and you wanted to melt into the ground. The producer finished her spiel and asked you to say a few words.

God, why?

“I—I’m not much of a speaker,” you lied, desperate to end this. “But I’m really excited to be here. I’ll try my best to stay out of everyone’s way...and be as useful as possible. I’m really looking forward to working with everyone.”

You made accidental eye contact with Marcus, and he smiled. He smiled. Warmth bloomed in your chest and you smiled back, softer this time—a genuine smile. Stormy clapped enthusiastically, and you broke into a grin.

There was a polite smattering of applause, and you went back to your spot on the wall, relieved it was over. The breakfast spread went untouched, and you resolved to eat the granola bar in your backpack when you returned to your trailer.

Maeve came up to you as everyone cleared the room. She showed you a clipboard with your schedule. It was full of back-to-back meetings—one with the full cast and crew at noon, and then with the screenwriters for the rest of the evening for a final review. Tomorrow, you had one-on-one consultations with the actors about their characters. Then you’d leave for the weekend and come back on Monday.

It already seemed like too much.

Scanning the page, the blood drained from your face as you saw a one-on-one with Marcus Pike at five-thirty P.M the next day. If you were honest with yourself, you had no idea actors did one-on-one meetings. You figured they had handlers or producers—someone around to rein them in.

“Do I have time to go back to my dressing room? I need to grab my bag.”

Maeve took pity on you and walked you back to your trailer. Thank God, because you’d completely lost your bearings and were not looking forward to trying to find your way back.

“Is this the first movie you’ve consulted on?” Maeve asked as the two of you walked through the busy set.

You nodded. “This is the first book in my series. There might be more later, but I guess I just didn’t realize it was so involved?”

“It’s usually not,” she conceded. “I think you got lucky.”

“Is...is there something I should do differently? It felt weird in there,” you asked, hoping she could pick up your meaning.

“Actors are like that,” she shrugged. “Everyone’s busy, and sometimes they’re shooting two different things at once. And…” She trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

“What is it?”

“Well, from what the other P.A.s have said, a lot of the time when an author is on set, it’s kind of a vanity thing. They’re allegedly consulting, but really it’s just to be an extra in a scene and it takes up a bunch of time because none of them know how to be on camera. I know that’s not why you’re here!” She added quickly, seeing the horrified look on your face.

“I just wanted to help,” you said. Maeve gave you a big smile full of straight, white teeth. Everyone in this town is beautiful, you thought, even the production assistants.

“They’ll warm up to you once they see you’re here to work and not get in the way. You have that charming little accent. I doubt it’ll take long,” she assured you as you reached your door. Your heart felt a little fuller from her kindness, but your stomach rumbled in protest. Maeve laughed.

“Look, let me go get you a plate. No one eats in this town, but you shouldn’t have to suffer because of it,” she said.

“I’d really appreciate it. I was going to eat this protein bar that I’m pretty sure has been in my backpack since college.”

Maeve took your hands in hers and looked at you sincerely, “I’m here for whatever you need.”

She was off, moving in that fast-paced way that everyone around here seemed to do. You flopped down onto the couch, looking around and twisting your lips in thought.

It was hard to concentrate on anything, knowing you’d have to consult with people much more famous than yourself, and act like you knew anything about acting. They had to see through that. Stormy had technically been consulting with you all week, but you were happy to see her name on the schedule, regardless. You’d need a friendly face after meeting with half a dozen people before.

You took a deep breath and told yourself it couldn’t be all that bad, but you knew it would be. You knew they didn’t actually have to listen to a word you said, but you were possessive of your characters. They were your babies. You’d given up everything for them. Lovers had left you because you “cared too much” about your writing.

Maeve came back with a plate of French toast and smoked bacon, a small cup of fruit, and a bottle of water. It looked amazing. When did you eat last?

“Do you want to stay and eat with me?” You asked. Eating alone always bummed you out, and you were happy to share. Maeve lifted her eyebrows in surprise. Her reaction reminded you of Steve’s, and it made you sad to think that neither of them was used to being treated like people.

“Oh! I would really like to, but I have to bring some fabric to wardrobe. Maybe next time?” She asked.

“Definitely,” you smiled. Maeve grinned back at you.

“I’ll come get you for that noon meeting, okay? Eat up,” she said, winking. You nodded as she marched out. Okay, two people in your corner now. You opened your laptop, and Marcus’s face stared back at you. You remembered the smile he’d given you.

Oh, man. That really did nothing to get rid of your crush.

At 11:45, Maeve returned to fetch you for your meetings. They were in a conference room inside a set of office buildings across from the studio lot. The conference room had glass windows and a long, mahogany table with black leather rolling chairs, place cards sitting in front of all of them. A soft, black leather couch sat at the end of the room. Everything in here looked expensive. You’d found your place card at the head of the table.

“What happens if I switch the place cards?” You wondered aloud. “Why do they need me at the head?”

Stormy, who had arrived early, laughed. “It’s your meeting! You really are a wallflower, aren’t you?”

You told her the truth.

“I’m not, really. I’m actually great at public speaking when it’s with other writers or academics. I just, like, I don’t know what to do with anyone in Hollywood, apparently. I think everyone hates me,” you said, frowning.

“We do not hate you! Well, I don’t. I don’t know about everyone else,” she said, giggling, that sly smile still on her face. “Marcus doesn’t seem to hate you.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Marcus? He’s nice to everyone, isn’t he? And he looked everywhere until I accidentally forced him to look at me. You and Maeve are the only ones who have actually said more than, like, three words to me today.”

“Okay, but every time you looked away, his eyes were on you, girl,” Stormy teased.

You knew she was kidding, but you didn’t like the joke. You were so much bigger than everyone else here. All your instincts told you to wear a t-shirt and an oversized hoodie, but you didn’t think it would do to look like a 30-year-old college student. Instead, you’d stuck with dark wash skinny jeans, black flats, and a dark green tunic that was more form fitting than you’d intended it to be. You wished you’d brought the hoodie.

“There are at least seven supermodel level women, most much younger than me, walking around this set. Including yourself. I don’t think Marcus Pike is interested in this,” you said, gesturing to yourself. It came out harsher than you’d intended, but you didn’t like to be teased about this kind of thing.

“I didn’t—I’m sorry, I wasn’t being mean,” Stormy said. Her sincerity flooded you with guilt. “I meant—”

“No, Stormy, it’s okay. I overreacted,” you said, shaking your head.

As she went to put her hand on your shoulder, you heard something that made the blood in your veins seize up and your heart damn near stop.

“What am I not interested in?”

Marcus realized that sentence was not meant for him when she looked at him, frightened, like she’d gotten her hand stuck in the proverbial cookie jar. He gazed at her, looking so lovely in such a simple little outfit, and felt himself turn red to the tips of his ears.

Marcus was a confident man. He enjoyed flirting, but he had no idea how to talk to her. Something about her pretty eyes made him go slack-jawed.

Thank God the director walked in and called the meeting. Marcus had looked forward to working with Nicole Freeman. There were still too few female directors in the business. She was respectful, hard working, the kind of person who took the source material into account in all manners. Of course she’d want the author on set.

At the head of the table, the author in question eyed her place card, then glanced at his in the seat next to her. She frowned, like the seating arrangement displeased her.

Be professional, he scolded himself. He’d told himself he wouldn’t do this. He was absolutely not going to meet a woman at work, dive headfirst into a relationship, scare her off, and have a messy break up where she gets attacked.

Not again.

And anyway, he didn’t even know if she would be interested in him at all. He would never tell her she was his favorite romance author, and that he’d been reading her books for years now. He didn’t even tell people he read romance. He would never tell her he’d gone out for this part because he thought there could be a small chance he’d be able to meet her.

He would never tell her after he’d gotten the part, he found her social media and learned even more about her, scrolled through her Twitter and Instagram for hours; that he’d broken his vow to never be in a Christmas movie just for her.

God, he was a stalker.

No one needed to know what a heartsick romantic Marcus Pike was.

He took his seat next to her, and she pulled all her limbs closer. Marcus prided himself on his ability to read body language. She was trying to make herself smaller, less noticeable.

He hated that.

He should have talked to her at breakfast. He smiled, but he should have talked to her. She looked so nervous. Wasn’t putting people at ease his whole thing? Didn’t he love making people feel welcome? Everyone had been so disinterested. He truly hadn’t expected that. It made his feigned disinterest so much worse.

Boundaries, Marcus, he thought.

“The purpose of this meeting is so that all of you can really dig into your roles,” Nicole said, breaking him from his thoughts. “We’ve found with book adaptations that there is no one better to do this with than the author. Think of her as your character’s god. She is all knowing.”

Jessica King, the actress playing his ex-wife, bristled at the statement.

“What if we’ve already decided on how we want to portray the character we were cast as?”

“Yeah,” said the twenty-year-old who was playing Marcus’s teenage son, to several nods of agreement. He was a Disney channel star. Marcus got along well with both of them, but he didn’t think he liked these questions. They seemed disrespectful. Before anyone else could say anything, she opened her mouth, and her voice sounded strong, more confident than it had earlier in the day.

“Look, Jessica, right? And Noah? I’m not here to step on the toes of your creative process. If you feel like you’ve got it, then you’ve got it. I’m not here to tell you how to act. I’m here to tell you why your characters would do something,” she said. “I am stunned by your talents. All of you. But these are my babies. I know their motives and reasoning and their childhoods and their traumas. So please, by all means, play Nancy the way you want to play her. But you won’t get her without my help.”

Stormy smiled to herself, and Marcus couldn’t contain a satisfied smirk.

“Well said! I...didn’t know you could talk that much,” Nicole joked.

She shrugged. “I have a lot to say about them.”

The meeting went on a little longer and she fielded questions like she’d been doing it for years. Which, when Marcus thought about it, she probably had been.

“Right,” Nicole said, a little while later, “Okay, so, you all have individual meetings tomorrow, so let’s get to it.”

As everyone cleared out, Marcus watched her close her eyes and take a few deep breaths. He knew he should go say something to her; tell her how excited he was to work with her; ask her how she’s doing; if she’s started a new book—something. Instead, he walked out of the room with his hands in his pockets, kicking himself for being such a coward.

The rest of the day passed in a haze, with you just trying to keep up. The screenwriters were gracious, asking you if you had any input, and to your immense surprise, you did not. By the time six rolled around, your exhaustion had gripped you.

Another driver took you home, but they weren’t quite as chatty as Steve. You stumbled into your little bungalow, stopping just long enough to use the bathroom and change clothes before jumping into the king size bed in the master and ordering Chinese food. The calltime was later for you tomorrow, but you wanted to prove to everyone you were part of the team. If the actors were getting there at six, so would you.

Steve arrived at five sharp just as you were stumbling out of your house.

“Coffee, miss?”

“Please,” you said, perhaps more desperately than intended.

“Peppermint mocha again?”

You bit your lip. You really shouldn’t have all those empty calories every day.

“Just a plain black coffee today, please.”

Everyone was just as cool to you this morning as they were the previous day, and you sipped your coffee in your trailer, your stomach performing an unpleasant dance all the while.

You didn’t hate it, but you missed the peppermint.

The hours passed in a flurry of activity, much like that day before. Sometimes the conversations were productive; sometimes they weren’t. And sometimes the actors didn’t show up at all. Noah, it pleased you to see, had a lot to say about Jake. His understanding and commitment to getting him right made you forget his snotty behavior the day before.

“I just really wanna do well. Sorry if I was rude yesterday.”

“It’s fine, kid,” you said.

“I don’t want to be that Disney channel kid forever, you know? I want people to take me seriously,” he explained, brown eyes shining. They’d done a great job with casting. He looked like he could be Marcus’s son.

“I know exactly what you mean,” you sighed, heart aching for him.

Stormy showed up, of course, but you two mainly used it as a late lunch break.

“It’s cold outside!” She proclaimed, shivering in her light cardigan.

“It’s sixty-five degrees,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, so? That’s cold! Aren’t you from the South?”

You laughed at her indignation. She went over her lines with you some, pointing out bits of dialogue she thought you should fight the director on.

“I’m not fighting anyone on anything,” you said.

“What about a gentle suggestion?”

“Maybe,” you relented. The subject turned to Marcus, and your cheeks warmed at the mention of him.

“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” she said through bites of a chicken salad sandwich. “He really was looking at you.”

“I think you might need glasses,” you said. “I just...no one is ever interested in me. A gorgeous movie star was not looking at me. Besides, I’m too busy to date. Who wants to date a girl who locks herself in a room all day in her pajamas to write romance books?”

Stormy looked at you with sad eyes, but you changed the subject before she could keep going. You didn’t need to fuel any sort of fire for the man. He was your coworker now.

The last meeting was with Marcus. Your stomach twisted with nerves. You wanted to be alone with him, your mind racing with vivid and ridiculous fantasies; at the same time, you didn’t even want him to know you existed. Five-thirty came and went, and the conference room remained empty save for you and your ratty blue backpack. At six, that creeping exhaustion returned.

The weight in your stomach, however, lifted as you realized he wouldn’t be able to ask you to explain what you meant when he walked in on your conversation with Stormy the previous day. Not that you thought he would, per se. He’d probably forgotten all about it.

When six-thirty rolled around, you gathered your things and left, flicking the light off behind you. The sting of disappointment and rejection drowned out that previous relief. You’d spent an hour staring out of the window, enjoying the glittering Christmas lights they’d up around the lot. As you shouldered your backpack and took your phone out to call an Uber, you heard the stomp, stomp, stomp of someone running behind you. Whirling around, prepared to defend yourself, you came face to face with Marcus Pike.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, “I completely forgot—my memory is…do you need to leave right now?”

How on Earth were you supposed to say no to those eyes; that pouting, worried mouth? You grabbed the straps of your backpack and held them tight, like they would keep you from getting lost in his gaze. You wanted to say that yes, you needed to go because your time was just as valuable as his, but you couldn’t. It was your job. If he had questions about Alexander, you were going to answer them.

You sighed and opened the door again.

“Come on, let’s do this,” you said, attempting to mask the headache and tiredness.

You didn’t think your back could take much more of the office chair, so you sank down onto the black leather couch, shivering. Stormy, unfortunately, was right. It was cold. Marcus pulled over one of the office chairs.

There was no table between the two of you, and he drew the chair right up to you. It was much too personal. His body heat wafted over you; his cologne filled your nose. He was so real. He had a little makeup left on his forehead from the make-up test. You fought the impulse to reach up and wipe it off. It was just the two of you, alone, his kind eyes boring into your own. Actors made eye contact in ways you’d never understand, and he had your cheeks burning.

On the bright side, you weren’t cold anymore.

“All right. What’s up?” You asked.

Marcus scolded himself as he ran down the hallway. It was one thing to keep her at a distance, and another to be an inconsiderate asshole. He breathed a sigh of relief when he caught her just about to leave. The annoyance on her face had made him feel even worse, but he deserved it.

He’d gotten fifteen minutes down the road when he remembered the damn meeting. His chest had seized up with panic, thinking of her sitting there, waiting for him.

“And here I was, thinking you just didn’t care about my opinion. You just forgot I existed,” she quipped. She looked tired. Not bad, but the bags under her eyes were more prominent, and that professional demeanor she’d held the day before was down, too.

He wanted to soak up as much of this time with her like this as he could, unguarded and soft.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, looking into her eyes.

“It’s fine. No harm done,” she said, scrubbing her face and smudging her mascara. There was something endearing about the black smear next to her eye, and he resisted swiping his thumb over the swell of her cheek bone.

He had a thousand questions about Alexander. He’d written them down throughout the last two days and pulled a little notebook out of his pocket. The ghost of a smile crossed her face when she saw the list.

She was so dedicated to her story; to having it play out the right way. And she was smart. God, she was smart. He didn’t remember being anything like that at thirty.

“What are your favorite pancakes?” he asked, after he ran out of Alexander-related questions.

“Lemon blueberry,” she replied without hesitation. “God, I’m starving.”

She bit her lip then, like she’d said too much about something.

“God, me too,” he said, laughing. “Do you want something from the vending machine? I saw one out there. I’m gonna get something.”

She paused for a moment and swallowed. “Okay, sure. Thanks.”

“What do you want?”

“Just… a water is fine.”

Marcus frowned. It was almost nine. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, a tight-lipped smile on her face. He wondered when she’d eaten last. The vending machine was in the long, half-lit hallway, fluorescent lights buzzing loudly and highlighting the hideous blue carpet. He got a bunch of different snacks—pretzels, a honeybun, a brownie, some Doritos. A Coke and two bottles of water. He’d leave them on the space on the couch next to her, and she could decide if she wanted something.

“So,” he said as he came back. “Lemon blueberry?”

“Yeah,” she said, eyeing the Doritos. “My mom used to make them when I wasn’t feeling well. I mean, she still does.”

“We should get some sometime,” he said, and she grinned, her awkwardness melting a bit. He couldn’t help himself. He shouldn’t have said it, but he wanted to take her somewhere for pancakes.

“What’s your favorite holiday movie?” She asked.

“Ah,” he said. He knew she’d ask.

“What?”

“I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have one?”

“I don’t like Christmas. Or anything this time of year, really,” he admitted.

“But you’re in a Christmas movie! A romantic drama Christmas movie! The most Christmas-y of them all!” She teased.

“Well, yeah. I like getting paid,” he quipped. “And—and it’s a good story. A great story.”

“Thanks, I think,” she said.

“I mean it. I didn’t mean to imply that it wasn’t. What’s yours?” He said, redirecting.

“Little Women.”

“Little Women isn’t a Christmas movie,” he argued.

“Sure it is! There’s Christmas involved, and it makes me cry—it’s a Christmas movie. The Greta Gerwig version is the best.”

“I actually…haven’t seen it,” he admitted.

“Okay, well, watch it. Florence Pugh is amazing. First time I ever loved Amy.”

“I guess I have to now,” he smiled, opening the Doritos. “Want one?”

She reached into the bag and took a single chip, nibbling on in between yawns and stretches. It was late, but he didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want to leave.

“What inspired the books?” he asked after a minute of munching.

She looked him up and down like she was deciding if she could trust him.

“A very bad break up, actually.”

“A bad break up inspired them living happily ever after?”

She grinned.

“You read all the books?”

Shit.

He grinned back. “Yeah, I did. They’re so…hopeful.”

Her smile turned shy. “I just wanted a happy ending for once. If not for me, then at least for December, you know? Like, love might not be in the cards for me, but it can be for her. For other people.”

Marcus studied the down turn of her lips.

“Why wouldn’t it be the cards for you?” He asked softly. “You’re young.”

She shook her head.

“People don’t always get happy endings in real life. I mean, like, maybe I’ll find someone someday, but it’s not going to be like that epic Christmas love affair with all the odds stacked against them, and then it’s all fine. Someone will just…settle, eventually.”

“Wha-that’s—that’s just silly. There’s someone for everyone. Just because you’ve had bad luck in the past—“

Marcus didn’t know why he was arguing with her. It wasn’t his place at all, but he hated that she thought someone would just settle for her. He recognized that he’d crossed the line when her eyes flashed at him.

“I’ve had bad luck always. Always. I’m glad you’ve never had anyone tell you that you’re not physically their type anymore after three years together, or that your career should come second to their needs, or told they can’t introduce you to their friend because they don’t want to deal with the ‘drama,’ but that’s how it’s been for me. So I write happy endings. Because some of us don’t get one.”

Marcus swallowed.

She pinched her nose between her fingers, then stood up to gather her things.

“Look, you’re going to make a wonderful Alexander. Truly. Thanks for meeting with me. I’ll see you Monday.”

His gaze followed her to the door.

“What am I not interested in?” he called before he could think better of it. She hesitated at the threshold.

“Good night, Marcus,” was all she said.

Marcus stood there, stunned at himself for not letting it go. But she was wrong. There was someone for everyone.

There had to be.

504 notes · View notes

sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

Text

The perfect ending ❤️❤️❤️ Beautifully written, Dani xxx

The Unconciousness Aftermath (Frankie Morales x OFC) part 10

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x OFC!Belle Morales

Summary: After a car accident that left his body in a pause for two years, Frankie wakes up to learn the world kept moving while he was sleeping. And that he might’ve lost everything.

Word count: +4.1k

Warnings: slight mentions of addiction and 1 crying Benny, lots of feels uwu

A/N: oh god OH GOD this is the end you GUYS first lemme tell you that im so thankful for each person who has read this, im so happy that i got to the end of a fic that i started when i was in a real low point of my year but ended happy and feeling content also i wanna thank some frends who helped me get through some very rough patches of doubts and self-consciousness and who hyped me up when i most needed, @wordsnwhiskey, @ezrasbirdie and @starlightmornings ily guys also thanks to my bf @wordsthatmymouthsays who actually helped me get the first, rough, main idea for this fic and that even tho shes not in the fandom, she always listens to me ramble about what i write, te amo dude

chapter list // playlist // Masterlist // AO3 // ko-fi

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓

Frankie stepped out to the porch, the gentle wind that ran around the huge pine trees clashed against the skin of his face and made him shiver slightly; his hand on the cane that had been helping him walk for the last few months gripped the handle tighter as he walked slowly towards the porch swing, the wooden floor creaked under his feet with each heavy step he gave as the loud sound of Renata’s laugh and a few small barks filled his ears.

“Daddy!” the girl screamed at him as he sat down, the sight of his daughter in a wool knitted sweater with her tan cheeks flushed and her hair wildened by the wind made Frankie smile, he waved at her, “come play with us!” she all but demanded.

The small puppy nibbled at Reni’s shoe laces as she waited for her father’s reply.

“Maybe later, baby.” he leaned back on the swing, that swayed slowly with his weight, Reni rolled her little eyes at him, Frankie chuckled at the action as she turned around and ran towards the treeline.

“C’mon, Sally!” Reni called the puppy.

“Don’t go far!” Frankie called out to her, receiving a wave of her small hand, Frankie huffed at himself as the girl leaned to take a small branch and tossed it for the puppy to catch it, running along with the animal. He watched her for a couple of minutes before his eyes fell down to his lap, and the cane that rested in between his legs.

The air of the woods around the cabin smelled like wet grass and he was sure there was a word for that, but it couldn’t make its way to Frankie’s head.

There he was, sitting on the porch of a small cabin in the middle of the woods with the sound of the wind softly caressing the tall branches of the trees; his daughter’s laughter as she ran around happily and the gentle clacking of pots and cups in the small kitchen inside.

It felt good despite the gentle cheek-pinching cold, it felt nice finally being outside; it made him feel like everything had settled finally, that after over a year of having woken up he was finally nothing more but himself.

___

“I wanna talk about the accident.” Belle whispered from his chest, where she had found herself a nice, warm pillow to rest on, as Frankie played with her fingers on his lips.

“I don’t ‘remember a lot–of it.” Frankie replied, making her sigh.

“Your mom said we were goi–” the sound of her phone ringing interrupted her words, Belle huffed in what he heard as frustration and they both ignored it in silence, “she said,” she continued when the ringing stopped, turning to face him, “we were going on a trip.”

Frankie nodded slightly, but before he could reply with words the phone rang again.

“Ans’wer it.” he said, Belle groaned and shifted away from him, Frankie immediately missed her weight on him as he saw her stand up, take her bag and pull out her phone out.

“Is Benny.” she said with a frown, Frankie shrugged at her, she sat back on the bed next to him, and without him asking, Belle wrapped an arm around his neck, bringing him to her side.

As she took the call next to him, Frankie turned slowly to her and smelled her, almost by instinct. Inhaling her and taking in her scent like he hadn’t had time before; she was finally there, next to him, touching him and Frankie felt like despite the time and everything that had happened, something in her touched him like she had always done it; he wanted to bathe himself in her smell, her perfume, the smell of her shampoo reached his nose and everything mixed intoxicated him.

He never told her that his addiction had changed from drugs to her scent, and he hoped she never found out, as he had already had enough withdrawal; and as she turned to look at him with his nose buried on her shoulder, Frankie closed his eyes with a smile because her scent hadn’t changed at all.

“What are you doing?” she whispered with her phone in her other hand, Frankie opened his eyes looked up at her almost sheepishly, she was frowning down at him but her eyes looked both confused and amused.

“Noth’ing.” Frankie muttered, making her chuckle.

“Benny wants to talk to you.” she whispered, showing him the phone with the microphone button turned off, he turned to her with a questioning gaze, his turn to frown down.

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Belle shrugged, she waited for him to say something, holding the phone like they both had all the time in the world, Frankie turned to look at the device and saw Benny’s name as the caller, as well as a picture of him with Renata as a background for the call, both of them smiling under the call button options. He looked at Belle, whose olive eyes were patiently waiting for his response. He nodded slightly, and Belle gave him a soft smile as she turned the microphone on as well as the speaker, “hey, Ben.”

“Is Frankie there?” the younger man’s voice was heard from the phone, Frankie noticed the depth in it and felt a small tug in his chest, he had actually missed the boy.

“I’m ‘here.” Frankie replied, Belle’s half hug tightened around his neck and he turned to look at her with a gentle frown.

“God, Fish,” Benny’s voice immediately broke on the other side, making Frankie’s older brother instincts turn on for the younger man, “bro, I’m so sorry.” he whispered.

“Ben,” Frankie called out, Belle moved the phone closer to him, “it’s not–your place to a’pologize.” she looked at him as Benny’s voice struggled to come out on the other side of the line.

Frankie saw something in her eyes that didn’t have a name yet, but felt so familiar that it warmed his chest with all the love he had for her.

“I didn’t do anything, man,” Benny let out, sniffing, Frankie’s lips curved in a saddened smile as he thought of him; Benjamin Miller was one of the softest people he had met, he was so young when he had gotten into the army because he wanted to follow the steps of his older brother and he had been thrown into a rough training without even knowing too much of the world itself. Frankie had been there to see him thrive, to see him become a better soldier and in a twisted turn of events from life, a better person. Frankie had seen how the scrawny boy Benny was, became big and strong with a heart of pure, heavy gold. He was one of the most strange cases of men who are softened by the war, of men who become the best versions of themselves, and for that he was proud. “I saw it all happen and I–”

“Ben,” Frankie called him again, interrupting him, “Benny, I ‘get–it,” he shrugged, while Belle shifted again next to him until her head rested on his shoulder. “if I–had a brother I–would’ve shut up, too.” Benny huffed a wet laugh that made Frankie smile.

“It was a fucking mess, Fish,” he said, sniffing again, “Will messed all of us up, mom and dad haven’t talked to him in years,” his deep voice broke again and Frankie turned to look at Belle, as if to confirm, she nodded slightly, “I’m really sorry.”

“I–know, Benny,” Frankie muttered, “I’ve–been told he did a’lot of fuck’ed up shit.” he tried to tease, Benny huffed again.

“Yeah, no shit,” Frankie heard the younger man let out a heavy sigh, and he breathed in deeply, “he was selfish, Frankie, and he reminded me a lot of Tom when…” Benny stumbled on his own words and Frankie immediately got what he was trying to say.

“He–got ‘greedy.”

“He lost his fucking mind,” Benny muttered, making Frankie’s chest tighten, “and I know he kept things from Belle too, I just don’t know how many.”

“Enough,” Belle replied, almost startling Frankie, she had turned her head to hide her face on his shoulder before chiming into the conversation, “Frankie has been telling me a lot of stories Benny,” she told him, “and I think you have to tell me some others too.”

“I would like that,” Benny replied, clearing his throat, “if Fish is okay with that, I mean.”

Frankie let out a chuckle at the words of his little brother. –in arms or not, that’s what he had always considered Benny to be–

“Shut’up, Benny.” Frankie teased. Making the younger man laugh.

“Yes’sir,” he replied, and the image of him saluting him with his big hand on his forehead and standing all straight even when he was taller and bigger made Frankie smile, “eh, so, just so you know,” Benny let out a sigh again, “Will’s skipping town.”

“What?” Belle said, a little too fast for Frankie’s liking, he turned to her and she looked more shocked than worried, and that settled his feelings down.

“He said some shit about going to Alaska,” he said, and Frankie frowned as Belle tried to find his eyes, “I’m not sure, he just said he was leaving.”

“Benny, I’m sorry.” Belle let out in her soft voice, she sat up on the bed as they spoke of Benny’s feelings on his brother leaving and his wife tried to reassure him that he would see him again, to Frankie it was like Belle and Benny had become better friends after the accident and that made his chest swell with love.

As Belle kept talking to Benny about some things Will still needed to take and Renata, Frankie’s eyes landed back on the wooden box on his lap, with his free hand he brought the box closer to him and started going through some of the stuff inside; some more pictures, his old dog tags, a set of keys and at the bottom of the box, Belle’s engagement ring.

Frankie took it, it looked rather small in between his index and thumb; it still shone with the artificial lights of the hospital room, the small diamond –the fanciest thing he could’ve gotten her at the time– still screamed her name to him, and he smiled at the small thing.

“You still–have ‘this,” he said once Belle hung up the phone, showing him the ring to her, Belle hummed in affirmation, returning her head to his shoulder, “why?”

“Well,” Belle whispered, settling her hand on his chest, “it felt wrong to just toss it away, for some reason,” she shrugged, Frankie leaned his head against hers as they both admired the small diamond, “I still have my mom’s, too.”

“Does it–still fit?” Frankie asked, taking the hand that rested on his chest.

“Why don’t you figure it out?” she murmured, Frankie snorted, “what?” she said with a smile.

“Are–you ‘teasing?” he joked, making her laugh.

“No!” Belle replied, sliding her hand from his and swatting his chest ever so gently, “dirty!”

“I ‘think–you are.” Frankie teased again, making her hide her face in his shoulder as she laughed.

“I’m not!” her voice was muffled by his hospital gown and his skin and Frankie took her hand again.

“I’ll ‘give–you ano’ther chance at’a lie,” Frankie muttered as he slid the ring down her finger, Belle turned to look at her hand as he folded her fingers gently, “still–fits.”

“It’s really pretty.” she whispered, wrapping her hand around his.

The small rock glistened as she moved their hands around and Frankie turned slowly to look at her, her olive eyes glued to the small stone, a soft, tight-lipped smile that looked almost absentminded adorned her face and a million different words erupted from his belly up to his mouth just to tell her how beautiful she was.

He wanted to commit to memory that moment; her lying next to him, the weight of her body on his as she all but cuddled him, her scent traveling endlessly up his nostrils, he wanted to never forget that moment, in case he needed to remind her again of who he was.

Belle’s eyes were closing on her own, his hands on her felt big and warm and she liked the feeling as he touched her gently, like she was made of marble and he didn’t want to stain her; she liked being there, close to him, she liked the way her body seemingly knew how to touch him, how to be near him, she liked the way he smelled, like neutral soap and coconut oil and some generic detergent and himself, something musky and dark and woody that clung to his scent even when he hadn’t left the hospital in over two years.

She was in awe of what her body knew but her mind didn’t, it was like every fiber of her but her temporal lobe –and the other parts of the brain her neurologist told her were damaged but never really got their names– knew him and recognized him and loved him.

And feeling it in her gut, feeling the love as her body told her she had it; in the rising of her skin and the hair of her arms at the contact of his always warm hands, in the fluttering inside her stomach at the sound of his raspy, broken voice, in the warmth that creeped to her face at the contact with his eyes and the everlasting dark brown of his gaze, just confirmed her she had never stopped loving him, confirmed that her love for him wasn’t really in her brain, but in her entire body.

“You wanna get married again?” Belle’s voice came out small, like a whisper into the wind, but it made Frankie gasp loudly.

“What?” he replied with a frown, Belle smiled at him, sitting up once more to look at him directly, nodding.

“I mean…” she tried to find the words within herself to explain what she wanted him to understand, “we’re still married, right?” Frankie nodded, “but what if we had another ceremony,” she told him, at which Frankie’s frown deepened, Belle scoffed at herself, “Frankie, I don’t really remember our wedding, as you might know,” she teased, making him snort, she reached into the box to take out a picture of them in their wedding and she made him hold it, “give me a perfect day to remember.”

“Belle,” Frankie’s soft voice clashed against her cheek, “why?”

She looked at him, her eyes trying so hard to read his expression, but something told her it had always been hard because of how he was, her smile only grew as she reached to cup his face.

“You’re my husband,” she replied with a slight shrug, “and I don’t think I’ll ever remember what I’ve lost,” Frankie’s mouth opened, as if he was about to argue, she put a finger on his lips, to shut him up, “and I think we need to make peace with that,” Frankie leaned onto her hand, nodding ever so slightly, “and I really feel like I belong here, you know? here next to you.”

“You–do, bonita,” Frankie whispered, making Belle widen her smile, “fuck.”

“What?” she whispered.

“I ‘really wanna ‘kiss–you.” he replied, Belle let out a gentle laugh, cupping his face with both hands and closing the distance between them.

Frankie’s lips tasted like mint and apple juice and something forest-ey, but they were softer than she had imagined, they were warmer than she had expected, they were plushier than they looked and she loved the feeling of them against her mouth.

He was only pressing his mouth against hers, nothing else, and as her hands scratched softly his patchy beard, she opened her mouth softly to take more of him.

She liked him, she loved him, and behind her lids she saw colorful lights as Frankie’s hand reached for her waist and gripped her closer and kissed her back; their lips moved in synchrony and she was so glad her body knew him already, and she wondered if she had seen the same colorful sparks the first time she had ever kissed him.

Belle had slowly accepted that her memories would be lost forever, she was still angry, she still cried about it to whoever would really listen, but she was sure in her heart that she still was in the place she was before.

She still had her dad, whose unconditional love helped her through most of her breakdowns and would never leave her alone if she ever needed him, who had told her who she was even before she was ready to listen, and who she was sure would be thrilled to know she was back with Frankie, as he always vouched for the man; she still had her mother-in-law, who reluctantly had stayed in her life to help her balance being a mother and being herself despite the confusion and the pain, and she had recovered her husband, the man that knew her the most, the sole person in the entire world that would and could help her re-construct herself piece by piece and wouldn’t be mad if she came our just a little different than she was before.

Because –and Belle trusted the thought– he loved her, he loved who she was in all her shame or glory, she loved her body and her mind and her soul and everything in between and not the idea of her as Will had done, Francisco loved her entirely and she loved him too.

Frankie broke the kiss when his lungs burned for air, and Belle placed a hand on his chest to help him breathe.

“I’m ‘rusty.” he said in short gasps, making Belle smile at him as she licked her lips.

“You’ll get there,” she said, leaving a quick kiss on his cheek, “it felt familiar.” she whispered.

“What–did?”

“The kiss,” Belle replied, circling her hand soothingly over Frankie’s chest, “felt like I’ve never stopped kissing you.”

___

The swing swayed again and brought Frankie back to the present, he turned to his side and saw Belle settling next to him with two steamy mugs on each hand.

“Hello again,” she smiled at him, handing him one of the mugs, Frankie took it with both hands, cherishing the heat that started to warm his hands, “were you went?” she asked, scooting closer to him.

“Places.” he replied. Belle scoffed, leaning to rest her head on his shoulder as the sounds of a still energetic Reni caught their attention.

Frankie gave a sip from his mug and the warmth of chamomile and honey slid inside and down his belly, making him feel better even when he didn’t feel bad.

He breathed the smell of the tea mixed with Belle’s shampoo and the pine trees around them and he was sure that was the smell of home, and he wanted to smell that and feel like that for the rest of his life.

Reni’s cackles made his hear swell as Belle’s body next to her made him feel like there wasn’t anything else he wanted in his life, and he was grateful –to whom or what, he didn’t know– that despite all the pain they had gone through, the deception, disappointment and heartbreak, it all had worked out somehow.

His mother had called it fate, and Renzo had called it pure love. Frankie didn’t have an answer.

Belle looked at Renata run around with Sally and smiled to herself, the girl was so grown it was almost too much to keep up, but she loved her with her entire life.

Her body sent shivers down her spine when Frankie’s hand landed on her thigh and she bit her lip; she hadn’t gotten used yet to react that much to his touch, and maybe she never would, but she loved to feel him so close to him and loved the way he couldn’t just not have a hand on any part of her.

She felt content, she felt happy, she felt full with the two most important people of her life with her; and as the thought that maybe she didn’t need anything more in her life, a need she had shoved deep within her body resurfaced by itself and bubbled to her chest as she saw Renata sit on the grass and hug her puppy.

“Let’s have another baby.” she whispered.

Frankie, who was peacefully taking a sip from his tea, spit it back into the mug with a cough. Belle covered her mouth and sat straight, laughing in shock as he leaned forward and hit his chest with his fist.

“What?” Frankie turned to look at her with glassy eyes and a frown, Belle dropped her hand to her lap as tried to stop laughing, “Isabelle.”

“Sorry, baby,” she cleared her throat, reaching to soothe his back, “I was thinking out loud.”

“You want another baby?” Frankie asked with a bewildered tone, Belle bit her lip and nodded a few times, “oh, c’mon.”

“Frankie!” Belle let out with a small drawl that had re-learned Frankie got weak on the knees when he heard it, “I don’t remember giving birth to Reni,” she said with a shrug, “and maybe we can give her a little sibling? look at her, she plays with that dog like it’s a little girl.”

The two of them turned to look at Renata, barely five years old, talking to an attentive Sally that sat on her lap, Belle turned to Frankie, trying to put on her best puppy eyes.

“Bonita, I can barely walk,” he muttered, “I don’t th–”

“In a year you’ll be good as new, baby.” Belle noticed the way he wasn’t looking into her eyes, and smiled to herself.

“Let’s think about it,” Frankie replied, trying to appear serious as he took a sip of his tea, “your husband is old.”

“True.” Belle teased.

“Hey!” Frankie turned to her with a feigned frown.

“Your words!”

“Hello again,” Renata greeted the both of them as she and her puppy walked up the porch stairs. “I want tea too.”

“I left it in the kitchen, nena.” Belle told her as Reni clumsily cleaned the mud of her shoes with the last step of the stairs.

“Grazie, mommy.” Reni replied, rushing into the cabin with the dog tailing her small frame.

“Grazie…” Frankie’s surprised gasp made Belle smile, “she’s gonna be a polyglot.”

“She already is.” Belle replied with a proud shrug.

The sun had started to set and the sky over them darkened slowly, giving the cabin a golden glow as the porch light turned on because of its timer, Belle turned to look at Frankie, whose brown eyes were staring at something beyond the treeline. Belle didn’t want to interrupt him, as she knew that sometimes, being the bearer of hers and his own memories tired him, and his body, that was still recovering, made him silent for moments that stretched to hours.

“Did I ever tell you where we were going?” he muttered out, the temperature started dropping as the night was spreading and his warm breath formed a barely perceptive cloud of steam. Belle frowned in confusion.

“What do you mean?” she asked as Reni walked out of the cabin slowly holding her tea with both hands and sat on a small garden chair next to them.

“All that time ago when we had the accident.” he clarified.

“No,” Belle replied, looking that Reni didn’t burn her mouth as she sipped from her mug, “you didn’t.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Frankie said, turning to look at her as Reni’s dog went back inside the cabin, “we were in a rough spot, I still had a lot in my mind even after a year of what happened in Colombia,” he said, dropping his eyes to her hands, Belle reached for him and he laced his fingers with hers, “I promised something, to…” he narrowed his eyes and sighed, “to make you feel special,” Belle smiled at him, bringing his hand to her lips and kissing it I love you, fool, “we never arrived and I never got to tell you.”

Belle saw something shift in his eyes, it arrived as fast as it left but it was there, and she hated to think that he felt any guilt –even if it was just an apex– for what happened to them, she had made sure that he knew it was no one fault, that sometimes, life was a bitch.

“And where were we going?” Belle asked him. Frankie smiled softly at her, gripping the hold on her hand, his eyes softened for her and she felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

“Here.”

let me know if you wanna be removed :)

pedrito's perma list: @northernpunk @pascalesque @sleep-tight1 @cheekygeek05 @letaliabane @supernaturalgirl20 @metalarmsandmanbuns @greeneyedblondie44 @missswriter @juletheghoul @pedro-pastel @charlispersonallyhell @hopeevenonthisside @sherala007 @beskarboobs @kenoobiwan @queridopascal @klara-luise18 @pedrostories @castleamc @luckyspenguin @mrsbentallmadge @kirsteng42 @sarahjkl82-blog @what-iwish-you-knew @littlemisspascal @dobbyjen

dick aneurysm: @starlightmornings @ezrasbirdiealso @wordsnwhiskey @pascalslittlebrat @mothandpidgeon @charnelhouse

UncAft tag list: @icanbeyourjedi @toilet-keeper @pascalove @kravitzwhore @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @athalien @practicalghost

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sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

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That was seriously fucking hot. Have to go take a very cold shower before picking my daughter up from school.

As for the cat… why do the fuckers look so disappointed in us?

insecurities - chapter seven

series summary: Charlie Ellis is the lead intelligence analyst under Javier Peña’s direction, but he doesn’t even know she exists. All she knows about Javier is what everyone else says—and rumors don’t tell the entire story. A chance meeting in the embassy courtyard brings them together, and Charlie finds herself thrust into a world she never imagined being a part of when she’s called in to help with an undercover operation.

chapter summary: Charlie and Javier act on their feelings for a change, and have a talk about the future.

rating: E [SMUT; PIV, oral (m/f receiving), weight insecurities b/c obviously, not like a ton of warnings but you know, it’s sexy times]

pairing: Javier Peña x Charlie Ellis [ofc]

word count: ~5k

note: My babies finally got some fucking sense, we love to see it. Thanks to @starlightmornings for the beta because she is the most devoted and loving writing wife on the planet. And thank you to @danniburgh, my consult in all things Javier Peña. Also—we’re going through the end of S3 with this little AU, so that’s at least 3-4 more chapters. At least. I’m currently mostly focused on Javi and Christmas Marcus, so God willing I’ll get this finished in a reasonable amount of time. Next chapter there’ll be a little more action. Hope y’all are along for the ride!

masterlist | series masterlist | previous | next | read on Ao3

“You’re shaking,” Javier murmured as Charlie ran her hands through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, embarrassed that he’d noticed. “You make me so nervous.”

“Shh, baby, it’s okay. Don’t apologize,” he mumbled into her mouth, but Charlie heard the smirk in his voice. With anyone else, it might annoy her, but Javier Peña could get away with almost anything.

It was different last time, rushed and desperate and dark. She hadn’t had time to be self-conscious. Now, though. Now she had time to think about the stubble of her leg hair; the way he could see every bump and dimple on her thighs. And it had been a while since she’d actually had sex. What if she was bad at it?

Keep reading

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sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

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Shit, I missed this beauty of a chapter! I’m so glad the two idiots are finally seeing sense.

insecurities - chapter six

summary: Charlie Ellis is the lead intelligence analyst under Javier Peña’s direction, but he doesn’t even know she exists. All she knows about Javier is what everyone else says—and rumors don’t tell the entire story. A chance meeting in the embassy courtyard brings them together, and Charlie finds herself thrust into a world she never imagined being a part of when she’s called in to help with an undercover operation.

chapter summary: Charlie deals with the aftermath of the weekend, and Javier tries to reconcile his behavior and his feelings over a chat with an old friend. Stoddard notices the tension between them.

rating: M [a bit of non-explicit sexiness, a lot of angst, two stubborn humans, absolute idiots in love]

pairing: Javier Peña x Charlie Ellis [OFC]

word count: ~5k

note: Big thanks to my love @starlightmornings for the beta as always, and thank you to @danniburgh for help with Javi and Steve’s conversation. <3 Okay, guys, I wrote this much faster than I’d intended, so I really hope it doesn’t suck. This is just, like, non-stop talking. We’re getting from point A to point B where point B is Charlie’s panties. 👀The song Charlie’s listening to is Foolish Games by Jewel.

masterlist | series masterlist | previous | next | read on Ao3 ~~ Charlie regretted not calling in as soon as she walked through the door. Javier spun around at the sight of her and retreated into his office.

At ten-thirty, a headache pounded its way into her skull just in time for the debrief with the ambassador, the only reason Charlie hadn’t gone home. She groaned and rubbed her temples. Why was she so exhausted? She looked over to see an empty mug, realizing she’d had no caffeine all day.

Because someone usually brought her tea.

Keep reading

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sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

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I’m almost back. Sorry that I’ve been away - I’ve missed all your faces words ❤️

instead of "Ask me", I want you to tell me your story

Tell me about:

Why you’re single

How’s your relationship going?

What do you dream about at night?

What are you afraid of?

What’s your favorite song?

Tell me about the book you’re reading

A poem or song lyric that won’t leave your head

Tell me about your secret crush

Where would you go if money wasn’t an issue

What’s your deepest wish

Do you believe in magic?

Tell me a ghost story

What’s the weirdest thing that has happened to you?

What do you need to get off your chest?

What are you mad about?

What are you excited about?

Are you afraid for the future?

Fill my Ask Box

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sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

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normalise disliking celebrities for no reason. they don’t have to be ‘problematic’ or ‘cancelled’ I just find them annoying

#don’t tell anyone #tom hiddleston #i just don’t fucking get it

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sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

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what made you follow the person you reblogged this from

#you are the most precious human on this site #you gave me confidence that I could put words on a page #and all your writing is sheer heaven to read #your Pero is perfection ❤️

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sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

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This was utterly stunning. The idea of the memory box is so precious and Frankie’s honesty made my heart hurt. Beautiful writing, my love ❤️

The Unconciousness Aftermath (Frankie Morales x OFC) part 9

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x OFC!Belle Morales

Summary: After a car accident that left his body in a pause for two years, Frankie wakes up to learn the world kept moving while he was sleeping. And that he might’ve lost everything.

Word count: +6.1k

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of addiction, drugs and death and i think that's it

A/N: if you read this and feel like it has a different vibe; it does, i spent the entirety of the writing process of this chapter listening to this piece and letting the vibe flow through me... i wanna thank SO SO MUCH to @queridopascal who helped me with the italian translations for shook Belle lmao, youre an angel anita ♥

chapter list // playlist // Masterlist // AO3 // ko-fi

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓

Will stretched his arm to the side to turn off the lamp once he saw Belle settling next to him; her arm immediately fell on his chest as she snuggled closer to his side and he breathed her scent in deeply.

Silence wrapped them; the room was dark enough to hide their faces from each other despite the little moonlight that came into the room through the window and the only thing that kept the silence from being absolute was their unsynchronized breathings as their bodies relaxed on the bed.

“Will,” Belle disrupted the silence before it could reach comfort, he hummed in response, “do you think Francisco is gonna wake up?” she asked.

Will shifted on the bed to face her; she was already looking at him when he found her eyes in the dark, he hoped she didn’t see his frown or the way his cheeks grew hot because of the question.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, searching for her hand and taking it in his; Belle looked behind him, and he tried to chase her gaze, she hummed appreciatively, and the tone of it didn’t make Will feel better inside “do you want him to?”

The question had left his lips before he could even think if he might like the answer or not. And he facepalmed himself mentally because the restless feeling of not belonging in that house, next to that woman, hadn’t left him entirely; it found a home inside of him, it made him unsure and insecure of even questioning something, of even mentioning Frankie. He was scared of a man whose body was lying down on a hospital bed on the other side of town, but whose presence hadn’t left his house even for one second.

“Well…” Belle whispered, and her hand on his chest started burning him, “I’d love to meet him,” she yawned, settling on his chest and sinking onto him, Will tried to agree with her, he tried to at least acknowledge what she was saying, but the feeling that he didn’t belong there was making his head foggy and his thoughts fuzzy, “it’d be nice if I remembered him at all.” she let out in a sigh, breathing in deeply and going lump in his arms.

Will’s eyes closed on themselves when she said those words; he felt something falling on his chest, a weight he hadn’t felt before but he was sure he wouldn’t stop feeling anytime soon.

He knew what it was, he knew what he was, he knew he would never stop being the impostor, the usurper; the one who was taking over the space of someone else and didn’t even fill it. The space was too big for him.

Will gripped Belle’s body closer to him, he tried to kiss the crown of her head but his lips were numb and he didn’t feel the texture of her wavy hair on his face, he tried to breathe in her scent to calm down, he tried to caress her exposed skin to ground himself but nothing was working.

He tried to fall asleep, but one thought that was spreading through his head like a deadly virus had invaded his mind: he didn’t want Frankie to wake up.

___

“How did we fall in love?” Belle asked, looking at him with expectancy, Frankie raised his brows as the question took him by surprise and smiled at her.

“I don’t–know.” he said with a shrug, making her roll her eyes at him.

“You have to know!” she pressed, slapping down his hand gently, Frankie huffed at her impetuousness.

“Y’know,” he turned his eyes down to the entanglement their hands had become, and how much he had missed her skin on his, “usually–you were the’one answering all–these questions.” Frankie told her, looking back at her.

Belle smiled gently at him, admiring the way the soft smile on his lips made his eyes wrinkle, and she remembered the picture of them in their wedding she had seen, and how intrigued she was by the way he smiled, like he was telling without words to whoever saw him exactly why he was happy, but in that moment, she couldn’t see anything else in his eyes but her own reflection.

“You must’ve heard me, then.” she teased, making him shake his head at her.

Frankie didn’t know how to describe what he was feeling in that moment; the touch of her in his hands, the way he could feel her eyes roaming around him, her sight looking for something in his body, he couldn’t deny her to do so, he couldn’t tell her to stop touching him or to stop looking at him because he didn’t want her to stop.

His body felt the lack of her, the need it had after all that time being untouched by her hands, he liked it. He had missed it.

His mind took him to several memories of her waxing poetic about how they met, about falling in love with each other, about their marriage and their life together, about their age gap that although it wasn’t big, she always made fun of him getting closer to forty than her; there were many moments that inundated Frankie’s mind that it took him a little bit longer to pick just one in which she had said something about their love.

“You said–we ‘related to each–other,” Frankie told her, Belle’s olive eyes were glued to him as he spoke, “we–knew about our–lives before telling each–other about’them.”

“Really?” Belle’s smile widened, for a fraction of a second as he nodded and looked at the way she seemed to be processing what he was saying.

Belle didn’t know why, but she believed him; she believed in everything he was saying because she had seen his reaction when he first saw her, she had seen the pain in his eyes and the way he didn’t even want to see her when she stood in front of him.

She believed him because she imagined how it would be to wake up and find out two whole years were behind and he missed everything; she thought of him often, she thought of how he was and who he was but she didn’t think of what he felt until that moment he cried out to her and asked her is Will was on his knees.

Belle had asked everyone what that meant until Martha looked her in the eye and told her exactly what she had said to her son all those years before, and why that was one of the first things he asked her.

That’s when she realized exactly what she had done, even if she didn’t deeply understand the reach and consequences of her actions or how exactly she had hurt the man that was supposed to be her husband, she knew her mistake and she wanted to fix it.

Belle considered telling all that to him, but the way he was looking at her and the way his hands touched her made her mind fog and forget what she wanted to tell him; it was like her body knew who was touching it; it felt good, it felt warm, her hands were tickling and asking for more of it, more of him, of his touch, of his skin in contact with her skin. She liked it.

“I have this box,” she muttered, scooting further to the edge of the chair and closer to him, “a pretty wooden box I found in the house, and it’s fil–”

“The cedar–cigar box?” Frankie interrupted her, Belle’s eyes lit up by themselves.

“Yeah!”

“That’s–mine, actu’ally.” he let out in a soft voice, surprised she had mentioned it at all, and even more shocked that she still had it.

“Oh! really?” Belle asked with a wide smile, like she was happy it wasn’t just a random box, like she was happy the item had a meaning, a purpose, an owner.

“A gift–from my dad,” Frankie explained, leaning on the bed’s pulled-up half, Belle followed him by inertia and her two hands ended up resting on his chest, “be’fore he passed, he said one–day I would–be a dad, and giving’out cigars was custom–for new ‘fathers.”

Belle’s smile softened at the mention of his father, and her eyes stayed on his face as he showed her, just by the pure gestures of his facial features, how much of him he remembered, and she thought of her mom, and what her mom told her before dying, and she understood a little what he had said about relating, about knowing about the other before even really knowing. She got it and she felt it, she felt him, growing in her chest.

“Did you?” she whispered, almost worried she would’ve taken him out of a trance he was much too interested in being in. But Frankie looked at her, his deep, warm, brown eyes clashed with hers and he shook his head. “why?”

“Well…” he sighed, Belle shot a quick glance to his chest and felt her own tightening at the sight of their intertwined hands resting on the soft broadness of him, “I was ‘twenty-two when he–died,” he let out a small chuckle, “they went–bad before we–even got married,” Belle gave him a silent laugh, “but we–bought a’new box when Reni was–born.”

Frankie noticed the way Belle’s smile faltered slightly at the mention of Reni’s birth, he wondered many things about his wife –she was still his wife, afterall– and wondering about her and what her life was like when he was asleep didn’t come painless, it hurt him to think about her alone, confused, and with no one to be with her while she tried to pick up the remains of her life, it hurt him too to think about her finding shelter in another man, a man he considered his friend, and it hurt him to think that man didn’t even played fair and helped her build a life where she knew exactly what went on in all those years she missed, everything about it hurt him in some deep part of him, but the one thing that hurt the most, was that she didn’t remember giving birth to her daughter, that she didn’t remember the first cry of their little girl, or the way Reni looked at her without even seeing, she didn’t remember how they chose her name, she didn’t remember feeding her or listening to her first laugh, the first time she recognized them, it hurt him and tore him apart to know how much of Reni’s life she had missed –two years, just like him–.

And he wanted to tell her everything about her first two years, and he wanted to ask her everything about the latest two.

“It’s full of things now.” Belle interrupted his train of thought, making him put all the questions he had for her aside, maybe they could talk about that some other time.

“Things?”

“Pictures,” she shrugged at him, “little things I’ve found in this time that don't seem to have an explanation, if that makes sense…” her words fell on him slowly, and he felt them melt and filtrate through his hospital robe and stain his skin. Frankie nodded. It did make sense. “can I bring it tomorrow?”

The question, and the tone of Belle’s voice made Frankie smile at her; Belle tried to calm down her effusiveness and tone down her seemingly inexplicable excitement, but the warm smile Frankie gave her, along with the tight grip of his hands in hers, made her feel more sure of the question she asked him, and all the questions she still had left for him to respond to.

“Yeah,” Frankie nodded slightly, making Belle sigh, “if–you want.”

“I want,” Belle nodded in response, shoving inside the apparently sudden need to reach for his face and maybe get to touch him more, “I want you to tell me the stories of all those things.” she whispered.

“I will.” he whispered as well, asking himself if he was imagining the way she looked at him, like she knew exactly what he was thinking, like she did before.

“I just–” Belle frowned slightly, sliding one of her hands out of their entanglement to rub her chest as she dropped her eyes to her lap; Frankie recognized the gesture, he had seen it before, Belle got to feel so much her feelings sometimes became physical; and for a fraction of a second Frankie got to see the woman she was before, the woman that hadn’t forgotten him at all, “I just wanna know things, Frankie,” he looked at her and tugged at her hands, making her stand up from the chair and step closer to the bed, “I–I’ve lost all hope in remembering the time I lost,” she huffed a sad smile, looking back at him with her olive eyes drowned in unshed tears that made Frankie’s heart halt in his chest, “I’m sure you’re the only one who can help me fill in the gaps.” she shrugged, biting her lip, Frankie couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t stop himself from sliding a hand to her wrist and tugging her slightly towards him, guiding her to his arms.

“Why do–you say ‘that?” Frankie asked in a whisper as she let out the air in her lungs and let him hold her; he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, still holding as hard as his muscles let him her hand. Belle closed her eyes when she felt his warmth crawling into her, and her hand fisted the fabric of his robe as she settled her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent for the first time.

Frankie didn’t want to let her go, not then, not ever; he had her finally in his arms and he didn’t want to let her go, his hands had missed the texture of her skin, his nose had missed the scent of her hair, she still felt as warm as ever and she fit, she fit so well in his arms, he didn’t know how much he had missed having her like that, holding her as close to him as he could, feeling her skin against his flesh and breathing her in and recognizing her as what she was; his wife, his love, his home.

Belle let him hold her because she felt like no one ever had held her like that, her body felt like it was melting all over his and she loved the feeling of his hand sliding from her shoulders up to her head, he held her by the back of the head and Belle felt like she wanted to cry when Frankie buried his fingers in her disheveled brown, wavy hair; it felt good, it felt better than she had imagined, it felt familiar.

She opened her eyes and the first thing she caught sight of was her small purse, still resting against the backrest of the chair, and she felt a small smile forming on her lips as she remembered the small piece of paper she had found months and months before and that had lived inside that purse ever since.

“You have been with me all this time.” she whispered her reply, but Frankie had already forgotten his question.

___

Getting to know a house she knew she had lived in for years but that she didn’t know what was in it was hard; Belle had been making her way through the place slowly, investigating and inspecting all the nooks and corners of the house everyone told her she designed and helped build with the expressed purpose of knowing the place, and the hidden intention of finding something –anything, really– that would trigger her brain and make it open up that pandora box with her lost memories and release them into the void that was her mind.

Sometimes it took her one day, like the guest’s bathroom, sometimes it took her a week, like the kitchen. But she worked her way through every room in the house for months, except one.

The main bedroom had some unknown things hiding in corners and behind doors, she hadn’t found in herself the energy to explore the closet, or the other side’s nightstand, or the right side of the en-suite sink cabinet. She didn’t know if she was ready to find things that, like many others, wouldn’t hold an explanation.

But she did it anyway; she told herself that if she wanted Will to move in with her, like she had asked him, maybe she needed to finally put an end to her fruitless recollection of memories she didn’t have.

She started with the bathroom; the cabinet didn’t hold inside many things that told her much about the man that was supposed to be her husband, toiletries and medicines mostly.

The nightstand had some explicable things like a book, reading glasses, a set of keys, more medicines, and some inexplicable, like a NA three year chip; the small coin was bronze colored and had the words freedom and goodwill carved on the sides; Belle took a long time staring at the small piece of metal and she wondered if there was something the people in her life weren’t telling her about Francisco, she wondered if maybe he got clean of whatever he was addicted to because of her or maybe because of Renata, but she hoped, in the back of her mind, that it was because of himself.

The back of the closet held two boxes piled one over the other and a small safe she didn’t even bother to try to open; the first was a shoe box full of photographs that she spent almost an hour browsing through; some of them were copies of pictures she had seen already, some others of her wedding with Frankie, some pictures on a beach, dozens of photos of Renata as a baby and some others of her with her dad and Frankie or Frankie’s mom; there were pictures of vacations, days out, hikes, christmases, thanksgivings, birthdays, even pictures of them in pajamas, lazy breakfast faces, mocking crying gestures while holding a crying baby; and Belle found herself staring at each and every single one of them, trying to dig a memory out of her mind, the tiniest glimpse of remembrance that told her anything about the picture she held in her hand; she found herself tearing up of desperation, because if there was anything those pictures were telling her, was that she had been happy.

The second box was narrow and wooden and she opened it with reluctance; she felt like she would find something else that instead of making her feel better, that instead of making feel like she would learn something from her life, she would find things that would make the void she felt in her chest even bigger. She felt like at some point, she would grow tired of trying to remember a life that seemed so different to what she had imagined for herself at some point, she would grow exhausted to trying to pick up the pieces of that life because they just didn’t make any sense and no one around her was helping her put the puzzle together.

The wooden box smelled good, it smelled old and sweet and inside there were opened envelopes and small polaroids; Belle gasped when she saw Frankie with his military uniform in one of the photographs, she knew he was an army man, but seeing him like that, with his camo uniform and a couple of stars on his shoulders, made her feel like she really didn’t know who she was anymore. At the bottom of the box there was a pair of dog tags with the name Francisco José Morales carved on the metal, and she couldn’t help herself from tracing the edges of the letters with her fingertips.

It was all too much and not enough at the same time; she didn’t know who she was, she didn’t know who she had married to, she didn’t know anything about her life and the pieces she had in front of her didn’t even fit with others.

The desperate tears that ran down her cheeks led the way to angry ones; little, salty, drops of water that conveyed the resentment she had towards a man who wasn’t even awake; how dared he? being in a hospital bed, drowning in unconsciousness as she dealt alone with the consequences of ignoring everything she had done, lived and loved for more than a decade. How dared he not wake up so she would ask him all her questions and disperse all her doubts?

She was alone, sitting on the ground of a bedroom that was hers but didn’t feel like it, shifting through polaroids of a man she knew she was supposed to love, a man she had built a family with but she didn’t know. She was alone, opening for the second first time already-opened letters with messy handwriting, letters dated back in 2011 that told her –the woman she was before– about his misadventures in what he described as his last tour in Iraq, reading about the love he confessed to her over and over in army stationary.

Belle was alone as she unfolded the last letter in the box and the first thing she read on blue ink was:

Don’t worry, love, I know you so well I could remind you who you are in case you forget.

And that made her undo herself in sobs, that made her clutch the letter and ball it in her hands and grip it as hard as she could because he wasn’t there to tell her. Frankie wasn’t there to make her remember, that made Belle hate him.

___

It was early when Belle arrived, Frankie looked at her carrying the wooden box with one hand as she slowly closed the door when she entered. He gave her a small smile when she waved at him and Belle felt a gentle warmth settle on her cheeks when her eyes fell on his.

“Hi,” she whispered, Frankie’s smile widened a little as she walked to the side of the bed and handed him the box, “here it is.” she let out in contended excitement.

The box looked smaller in Frankie’s hands, she dragged the armchair close to the bed as he rested the box on his lap and opened it.

Belle sat down and Frankie looked at her, she bit her lip at his silence, he wasn’t saying a word but it wasn’t uncomfortable, he tapped on the mattress, next to him and the gesture made Belle frown slightly.

“C’mon,” he muttered, scooting slowly to make the space on the side a little bigger, “sit with–me.”

Frankie’s hands trembled on top of the open box when Belle huffed out a smile towards him and stood up from the chair; his eyes saw it like in slow-motion, the way she turned, how she slid almost gracefully and sat next to him, her hip grazing his clothed thigh ever so gently, making his skin tingle warmly, her scent traveling to his nostrils and crawling into him whether he wanted it or not, he could see her better with the light of the day making its way through the small openings of the curtains, he could look at her, study her, take her in.

Belle turned to him, with her tight-lipped smile, her olive eyes and her beauty in its entirety, she looked at him and Frankie felt the rising of three words he hadn’t said to his wife in so long. He drowned them, he almost choked in them. But he didn’t say them.

Belle felt his eyes on hers, pressing her down to the bed, keeping her grounded on earth; she had him finally close enough to recognize the features that had looked back at her emptily in all those pictures she had spent hours staring at; his soft hair, disheveled as always, the wrinkles on the corners of his eyes, the curve of his nose that looked like the only strong thing that man had in his face, his patchy beard, and before she could contain herself, she reached to him.

She smiled when her hand cupped his jaw and Frankie’s eyes fell closed almost instantly; her heart wanted to crawl out of her chest as she traced the line of his beard gently and if that would’ve been possible she would’ve let it happen; his skin was surprisingly soft as his beard was soft and she had to stop herself from leaning down and kiss him.

“I want to show you something,” she whispered, sliding her hand away from his face. Frankie opened his eyes, missing her touch already as she reached to her back. Belle pulled out a folded, overtouched piece of paper out the back pocket of her jeans and held it in front of him, Frankie’s brow frowned in confusion as he reached for it and unfolded it, “and I’m holding you up to your own words.” she whispered.

Frankie’s fingers worked the piece of paper open slowly as she looked at him, it was a narrow, ripped piece of a larger sheet; he recognized his own handwriting and felt the words settle on his chest as he read them.

“I wouldn’t–expect any’thing else from–you,” he muttered, turning to look at her; Belle gave him another smile, and he handed her the piece of paper, “my last–tour,” he pointed, she nodded at him as she took it and folded it close, “we had–a ‘pregnancy–scare before I ‘left,” Belle let out a gasp that made him smile, “you’were so–young and I was an–idiot,” he scoffed, “you’were worried about having–babies un’prepared,” Frankie shrugged, looking up at her as she gazed at the box, “something about–not knowing who–you are, loosing–yourself.”

“That sounds like me.” Belle said softly, Frankie let out a short chuckle.

“So,” Frankie pointed at the box, Belle sighed, looking at him for a split second and grabbing one of the pictures, “what’s–this?”

Belle handed him a picture of him with a man she didn’t know, a short, red-headed man who looked slightly older than Frankie. He took it and smiled at the photograph.

“Jesus,” he turned to look at her, “this–is Jack, my–sponsor.”

“Okay,” Belle rummaged inside the box, “then that goes with this.” she mumbled as she took out a bronze coin and handed it to him.

“Yeah, ‘pretty much,” Frankie whispered, turning the bronze coin on his hand, “I have to–get the five–year one.” he teased in a murmur.

“What was it?” Belle asked, not knowing if she, after a year and a half of having found out the chip, was ready to even hear it.

Frankie looked at her, his eyes searched for something in her face and she reached to take his hand, she didn’t know if he felt embarrassed or maybe guilty, but what she did know, was that if her past self, the woman she had become by his side, had stayed with him after or despite the addiction, she could accept him too.

“Coke.” he muttered.

“Fuck.” Belle let out, looking away from him. Her reaction made Frankie chuckle in silence.

“I’ve–been an addict for–over fifteen years, bonita,” he explained, the endearment slipped out of his mouth by itself and he didn’t even notice, he gripped her hand to make her look back at him, she didn’t know if she wanted to ask why he did it, but she didn’t need to, “army does–things to a person,” he said, dropping his eyes to the union of their hands, “I’m–sure they ‘told–you I was delta ‘force,” Belle nodded, “there’s many things I–had to do, orders–to follow,” she looked at him as a frown made him look a decade older than he was, “that–being high helped me not ‘question it,” his eyes got lost in the space between them for a couple of seconds, and Belle didn’t know if she should’ve said something, “helped with–the ptsd.”

“Frankie,” Belle’s voice brought him back to the space and time he was in, as he was about to lose himself in the memories of a past that seemed so far away it felt like another life; he looked at her and her olive eyes ground him back into the bed he was leaning on, “why did you stop?”

“I–proposed,” he replied, taking her hand and spreading it over his, “that was–your condition.” his rough fingertip traced her empty ring finger.

“The chip says three years.” Belle whispered, more to herself than to him as she was trying to make sense of what he was telling her in her head, but Frankie heard her.

“I relapsed when–you told me–you were ‘pregnant,” he let out, scoffing to himself, Belle looked at him with a bewildered frown that made him give her a pained smile, “was a big–shock.”

“Frankie!” she gasped out, covering her mouth with her hand as Frankie tried to reassure her with a soft smile.

“I–know,” he whispered, shifting on the bed to be even closer to her, Belle didn’t know what to tell him, she didn’t know what to think, but she knew that knowing what he just told her didn’t feel good. Some part of her felt both sad and angry at him and for him in an equal matter, it was like her body remembered how it felt to know what he had done, and it was making her feel it all over again, “it was ‘just once.”

Frankie’s mind took him to that time she had found him lying on the ground, high as a hike, babbling something about not being a good father, he remembered how he even tried to reassure her that it was just once and that it wouldn’t happen again and how she had believed him against her better judgement. Everything she did with him was against her better judgement. He remembered, as Belle took his hand and played with his fingers, how she had helped him up, gotten him inside the shower and once he sobered up, told him she believed him, but that she would disappear from his life if he ever did it again.

He wanted to tell her how he had kept his promise, but something told him she already knew.

“I have more questions,” Belle whispered, reaching inside the box, Frankie huffed at how she didn’t stretch her body too much, as he was practically leaning on her. She took out another picture, one he didn’t even remember it was taken, “I know every man in this picture,” she told him, handing it to him, Frankie sighed as he looked at himself, standing in the middle of Benny and Tom, “except for him,” Belle tapped on the picture, her finger landed on top of Tom’s head and Frankie found it a little too ironic without trying it to be, “and he’s in a lot of pictures, Frankie,” he looked at her and back to the photograph he held, “Will and Benny only told me he died but never told me how or when, but if he was part of our lives I think I need to know,” Belle turned to look at him, growing aware of the distance that kept them closer than she had thought, she noticed the way Frankie’s eyes lost a bit of their shine as he looked at the picture, “was he our friend?”

He nodded, trying to order his thoughts in his mind as they came, he wanted to ask her if Will had told her anything, but if she didn’t know how he died it was evident she also didn’t know what had happened when he did.

Frankie remembered the huge fight they had when Santiago came back and offered him the reckon in Colombia, he remembered her threatening to leave if he left, the way she screamed at him like she never had done before, almost begging him to not leave her with a six month old Reni that didn’t have a regular sleeping schedule, he remembered how he tried to tell her it would be fine, they would have money and he would be fine and the dread that settled in his body as he sat on the plane and pictured himself going back to an empty home with divorce papers waiting for him on the kitchen counter.

He told her everything; as slowly as his still-damaged speech allowed him, he told her who Tom was, where did they meet, how they retired one after the other, he told her too about Santiago, even telling her about the relationship the three of them had once and how much they loved one another, to which she had to take a small break just to process it, but, as Frankie knew she would, she didn’t question anything else. He told her everything she asked him and how he came back without the money he had been promised and one less friend.

“I need a minute,” Belle’s hand slid out of his grip and she stood up from the bed, Frankie braced himself almost unconsciously, waiting for her to rightfully scream at him all over again; Belle looked at him for a moment with her brow furrowed and her mouth half opened, and she walked away from the bed towards the window, “che cazzo di problemi ha quest’uomo?” (what the fuck is wrong with this man) she whispered to herself, “che cazzo di problemi ho?” (what the fuck is wrong with me) her voice was low, her words chewed out fast, “non posso credere di averlo perdonato per una cosa del genere. Devo averlo amato” (I can’t believe I actually forgave him for something like that. I must’ve loved him) Frankie folded his arms on his chest, catching small words in the air and trying to hide his knowing smile as he got what he could hear, it wasn’t the first time she spoke her language in front of him, “was I here when you came back?” she asked, turning around to face him, he nodded.

“You–called my mom, too.” Frankie replied with a berated, tight-lipped smile.

“Good, good,” Belle nodded a few times, letting out a sigh “why did I forgive you?”

Frankie’s smile widened at her question, Belle frowned once again and walked back to the bed, he couldn’t stop himself from taking her hand and bringing her towards him, putting her palm on his chest.

“I–wonder the–same ‘thing, bonita.”

Belle sat back down, spreading her hand over his chest and looking at him, feeling all her anger disperse just by staring into his eyes. Frankie noticed the glimmer in her eyes, –one of the things about her that hadn’t changed at all– and her hidden smile, a soft curvature of her lips, only noticeable to those who looked, only noticeable to him.

“Why did we fall in love?” she whispered, Frankie saw her olive eyes get filled with tears as Belle felt the way his heart started racing in his chest.

If he was a poet, he would most likely reply with some verse describing fate, destiny and the cosmos; he would describe to her the similarities and differences they shared, or maybe he would tell her about soulmates, if such a thing existed.

But he wasn’t a poet, he was just a broken man with a broken body and a broken voice; he was just a veteran who had made many mistakes for two lifetimes to deserve something as nice, someone as perfect as the woman who was looking at him like he had glued the moon to the sky.

“I have–no idea,” he whispered instead with a shrug of his shoulders, reaching to her cheek to brush off the tear that had escaped her eye. Belle didn’t know why she was crying, she felt the need to do it rise from the deepest corner of her body; his touch was soft, an ever so gentle caress of rough fingerprints on her skin, she felt herself shaking, like her body was trying to tell her something, like she was about to erupt, “but I’m ‘really–glad we did.”

Frankie took her hand that rested on his chest and brought it to his mouth; he left a kiss on the back of her hand while telling her with his eyes what the gesture meant.

I love you, I love you.

Belle smiled at him through the tears, nodding slowly as the brush of his dry lips sent electric shocks all around her body.

She recognized it, she felt it, she knew what it meant.

Her body knew him when her mind didn’t, her body loved him too.

let me know if you wanna be removed :)

dick aneurysm: @starlightmornings @ezrasbirdiealso @wordsnwhiskey @pascalslittlebrat @mothandpidgeon @charnelhouse

UncAft tag list: @icanbeyourjedi @toilet-keeper @pascalove @kravitzwhore @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @athalien

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sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Sheer fucking perfection as ever ❤️

the devil's backbone [alpha!frankie] - part six

series summary: Cataline Benoit, a cryptozoologist with the Oregon Cryptozoological Research Society, is sent to investigate a series of brutal slayings in her hometown of Houma, Louisiana. Frankie Morales, an Alpha and a childhood friend who she hasn’t seen in over twenty years—and one of the only people in the world who knows her Omega status—is part of the elite security team hired to keep her safe from the monsters that hide in the swamps. It’s to be a quick job, in and out, but things rarely go as planned. chapter summary: She blinked away her trance and Benny observed the fall of her face, the widening of her eyes, the way she shrank from all of them, pulling herself from Frankie like his touch burned. Cataline looked at Benny, heartbroken. Her eyes swept to his injured leg, and she swallowed.

rating: E [SMUT, some more angst, POV shifts, a foursome, breeding kink, knotting, squirting, like...there are many fluids]

pairing: Frankie Morales x Cataline Benoit [OFC]

word count: ~7.3k

note: Omg we finally reached the end! Kisses to @starlightmornings for the beta, to @mothandpidgeon who has listened to me talk about this nonstop for several months, and to @danniburgh specifically for the name Cataline, as well as listening to me talk about it for several months. We got all the smut and angst and romance you could ask for! Also, a bit of Benny's POV. As a lil treat. Like I posted earlier, if you’d planned on reading it when it was complete, a gentle suggestion to do so before the end of November, when I’ll be taking it down completely. I’m spending NaNoWriMo expanding it to 50k words, and possibly making it something real. So much love to all of you who have been so supportive of this series. ALSO I FINALLY FINISHED SOMETHING WHAT

masterlist | series masterlist | read on Ao3

Benny did a systems check—normal pulse; normal breathing; fingers and toes wiggled with no problems. No problems moving any limbs. The scratches hurt, but they were shallow enough. If there had been venom in that thing’s claws, he couldn’t tell.

Santi hovered over him, anxious when Benny got so much as a paper cut.

“I’m fine, Cookie,” Benny said, reaching up and stroking Santi’s cheek.

“You sure? You need me to do anything?”

“I don’t think so. The bleeding’s slowing down, huh?”

“Yeah. Cat took good care of you.”

“Did you see those things?” Benny asked. Santi nodded, his eyes haunted.

“I didn’t think…damn, I think I’d rather be dealing with enemy combatants.”

A gunshot rang out in front of the house as the front door flew open. Cataline walked in, her face blank. She stood and waited, her hands limp by her side. Will came in behind her, shaking his head. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and guided her to the couch. Cataline’s despair—earthy and rotten—filled Benny’s nose.

“Cataline,” Benny said, trying to grab her attention. Something was wrong. He snapped his fingers, and she looked at him, her pupils blown. She saw him, but she didn’t acknowledge him. He knew that look, and he mourned for her.

“Are they dead?” Santi asked Will. Will nodded and looked away.

“Yeah, man. They’re dead.”

Frankie banged through the door, his jaw clenched and eyes blazing. He knew that look, too. He hated that look. Frankie was slow to anger. Life could push and push him, but he’d take it with slow, steady breaths and a calm that fatherhood had blessed him with. But when he snapped? Benny had been on the receiving end of that ire, once, in the middle of a jungle, when Frankie had everything to lose. He never wanted to see it again.

Cataline turned to Frankie and lowered her head. Benny’s heart dropped.

“Alpha,” she murmured.

Will folded his arms and looked away. The word snapped Frankie out of whatever rage he’d gone into, his face dropping into something more panic-stricken.

“What’s going on, Fish?” Santi asked in that way his boyfriend reserved for delicate situations. But Benny didn’t have that sort of diplomacy.

“What did you do?” Benny snarled. Frankie had never used his power with any sort of purpose. It was always accidental, and the older man ran from it when he did, breaking any kind of connection.

The only time Santi had used his influence on Benny was when he was in heat. Two consenting adults that understood their biological pulls and agreed on exactly what would happen between them. And even then, it wasn’t really influence. Benny had the power in that situation. And Santi knew Benny—or maybe worse, Will—could stomp him if he cheated on the agreement.

Anger rose in his chest as Frankie fumbled for an explanation. Frankie squatted in front of her with his hands cupping her face.

“You have to let her go, Frankie,” Will said. There were still ongoing studies on how everything worked, but once the orders started, Omegas were under the Alphas’ control. Unwanted influencing came with heavy legal fines because of this. The Alpha had to let the Omega go, and sometimes, depending on the Alpha, they refused to do so.

“Shit,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Shit, of course. Cat.”

She blinked away her trance and Benny observed the fall of her face, the widening of her eyes, the way she shrank from all of them, pulling herself from Frankie like his touch burned. Cataline looked at Benny, heartbroken. Her eyes swept to his injured leg, and she swallowed.

“Cat…” Frankie started, but she glared at him, eyes full of tears, and retreated to the little bedroom. Frankie charged toward the door, but stopped short, snatching his hand away from the knob.

Benny stood and stomped to Frankie, ignoring the throbbing pain of his injuries.

“What did you do?” He repeated. Frankie opened and closed his mouth, schooling his features into defiance.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he said. He hated this Frankie.

“No?” Benny challenged, looking down at him. Pope and Will hovered behind them, ready to stop a fight.

“No,” Frankie said.

“Tell me what you did. Tell me exactly what you did, and you tell me why,” Benny demanded.

“She was going to get us all killed,” Frankie said, toneless. “I did what I had to do.”

“You look me in the eye and tell me you really believe that.”

“Guys—” Santi started, but Will held his hand up.

Frankie was a terrible liar. He was a good friend, a better father, a fierce protector, and a broken son of a bitch with commitment issues. But he was a bad liar. So when his face fell, and he looked his old lover in the eyes, Benny could tell he’d gotten through to Frankie.

“I panicked,” he murmured. “She was going right toward the thing. Wouldn’t stop. I had to stop her. She was going to die, Ben. I couldn’t let her die.”

Frankie looked at him with pleading eyes, and Benny nodded, backing away and flopping back onto the moth-eaten couch. He felt Cataline’s anger and fear pulsing through the wall. “Let me talk to her.”

Cataline curled herself into her nest. This stupid nest that she’d made. This stupid nest with its stupid pillows and stupid little flowers and rocks. She had asked for one thing—one thing. And he did it anyway. Made her walk past him while he’d been angry with her, his disappointment flowing off of him, so that she knew.

The disappointment hurt her the most. Because she’d been irresponsible. She’d been impulsive. She’d tried to save a monster as he begged her to stop.

But still. Frankie had done the one thing he’d sworn up and down he’d never do. That he’d assured her he could never do. He swore he’d take care of her; keep her safe. And she’d believed him.

Cataline looked over at the thin wooden door as three raps sounded. “It’s Benny,” came a muffled voice.

“Come in,” she croaked. She was never much of a crier, and it felt like that was all she’d done today.

Benny limped in, his wound dressed and, she was happy to see, no longer appeared to be bleeding. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

He sat at the end of her bed and put his cool hand on her forehead. She shook her head. “I’m so angry,” she whispered.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” he murmured, frowning.

“Has it happened to you?” She asked.

“Santi and I have an arrangement, but it’s...different than what happened.”

She nodded.

“He said you were trying to get close to it,” Benny said, almost hesitant to ask.

“Yeah,” she said, looking away. Benny didn’t say anything.

“I...I know why he did it. I know I was being an idiot, okay? I don’t know what happened. I didn’t want it to die. It didn’t deserve to die. He did it because of Tom—”

“He did it for you, Kitty Cat,” Benny interrupted. “Don’t think for a second this was some revenge thing. He did it because that thing was gonna eat you. You’re it.”

Cataline looked at him. “Then why didn’t he just, I don’t know, why didn’t he stop me?”

“He did stop you—”

“I mean, like, physically, he could have picked me up or knocked me out.”

“You’d have rather him knock you out? Cat, you weren’t listening. He panicked. He was never going to do anything to physically harm you. I understand, I know you must be angry, but he wanted to keep you alive,” Benny pleaded.

“I can’t… I need some time. I need some time,” she murmured. Benny nodded.

“You need some rest. You want me to stay in here with you?” He asked.

“Maybe just till I fall asleep. You need rest, too.”

“Then I’ll sleep in here.”

She was too tired to argue politely, to tell him it wasn’t necessary, that she’d be fine alone. Because it was necessary, and she wouldn’t be fine. She needed someone, and she didn’t trust the person she really wanted.

Cataline ached for Frankie’s arms around her. She wished for his lips on her neck, his sweet, soft eyes looking into hers. His raspy laugh.

But what if he did it again? And what if next time, he didn’t let it go?

When Benny came out an hour later, Frankie stood up so quickly he knocked the chair down.

“Is she—”

“She’s asleep.”

Frankie didn’t ask what he wanted to ask.

“She’s just not ready to see you, Frankie,” he continued, answering it anyway. “I think it’s gonna be fine. But not yet.”

Frankie sat down and put his head in his hands as Benny told him what she’d said. “She’d rather me have knocked her out?”

Benny shrugged.

“Look, she’s...emotional. Omegas get like that before we go into heat. Just ask Pope.”

Pope scoffed. “Emotional is an understatement.”

“Anyway,” Benny said, ignoring his boyfriend, “Just give it some time.”

Will leaned back, cleaning the crossbow he found.

“I hope this isn’t anyone’s AirBnB,” he said, looking at the blood on the floor.

Frankie laughed a little louder than he meant to. The entire situation was so surreal. The blood on the floor, the corpses of the creatures outside that he and Pope had wrapped in tarps.

“But,” Will said to Benny, “When it gets light outside, I’m going for help. Those things are dead, so it should be relatively safe. I know Cat said her boss would send a search party, but that’s not for two more days.”

Benny nodded. “Find a river and follow it?”

Frankie listened, but couldn’t concentrate. Every bit of anguish and betrayal and anger that welled up in Cataline had infiltrated his senses. He didn’t dare send anything out to her to calm her down.

He’d not been so disappointed in himself since he left the mother of his child. His thoughts turned to Franny, and a pang of regret stabbed him. Cataline would have liked his baby, he thought.

Will looked at him. “I think it’s gonna be okay.”

“You ever done that?” Frankie asked, not looking him in the eye.

“Yeah. I was young and...you remember me when I was young. Wasn’t right. Before Lisa. But I didn’t apologize. Didn’t think I had to. You were trying to do the right thing. She’ll understand, eventually.”

Frankie swallowed. He didn’t know if she would.

When Cat woke up again, heat overwhelmed her. Pale light streamed through the window as she gasped for air, trying to find the latch to push it open. Benny slumbered on the other bottom bunk, his light brown hair falling into his face. Guilt washed over her. He probably wanted to be with Santi, and she’d asked him to stay with her.

The window latch fought her. Upper body strength did not come naturally to her, but this was ridiculous. Cataline stopped, groaning at the dull, persistent pain in her lower abdomen.

“Kitty Cat?” A sleepy voice said. “‘S goin’ on?”

“I can’t get this—fucking—window—to—open,” she said. “I’m hot.”

Benny got up and shuffled over to her bed, pushed up against the window. She was suddenly self-conscious. Did he like her nest? Did it look like the ones he made?

“I love it,” he said as he shoved the window up. She stuck her head out of the window like a dog, drinking in the early morning air and sighing at the cold relief on her burning cheeks.

“Oh. Right. I forgot,” she said. “I’m an emotional billboard right now.”

“Only for a couple days,” he said, putting his hand to her head and frowning.

“Cat, babe, it’s starting. You know that?”

Cat bit her lip. Of course she knew. She knew when she woke up soaked in sweat on a frigid January morning; her cunt throbbed, insistent, no matter which way she shifted.

“I know,” she breathed. “It’s so hot. I don’t remember being this hot.”

“You wouldn’t have been the last time,” he said, brushing her hair off her sweaty forehead. “Lay back.”

“It’s starting to hurt,” she murmured. The pain grew more insistent. “What do I do?”

Benny looked down at her and nervously licked his lips.

“You still pissed at Frankie?”

Her anger had cooled overnight, but she wasn’t ready to forgive him, or trust him to touch her body. Cataline shook her head.

“We had an...idea.”

Frankie hated the idea.

He detested it.

“How is this supposed to work, exactly?” Frankie’d asked before they went to bed. Benny flashed a wicked grin.

“No one ever told you about the—”

“You know what the fuck I mean, Benjamin,” he’d snarled.

“Calm down, Mister Big Strong Alpha. I doubt she’ll put up with it for long.”

Frankie bared his teeth at Benny, and Pope stepped in front of him. It wasn’t that he thought Benny would try to take her away from him. He wanted to be the one she went through this with.

“And you? You’re okay with this?” Frankie asked Pope.

Santi shrugged.

“Come on. You know she can’t just be in there alone, and if she’s still mad at you, she’s not gonna want your help. And she trusts Benny.”

He was right. She wouldn’t. Her scent was getting stronger. It filled the entire cabin. It smelled like sex and her cunt and the slightest tinge of lilac. Frankie had found himself sitting at her door and pawing like a fucking animal, running his fingers over the wood. He hated that, too.

Benny would take care of her.

Benny would let her use him.

Benny.

“Look, Omegas fuck each other all the time—not that I’m going to fuck her, Fish, Jesus,” he clarified, before the fiery rage could crawl all the way up Frankie’s neck. “I’m just saying that it’s possible.”

“I can’t listen to this fuckin’ conversation,” Will said, getting up to go outside.

Frankie snarled, still. “Just your fingers, you got it? Nothing else.”

Benny balked. “I think she gets to decide—”

“Man, I swear to fucking—”

“Okay, and what if she throws you into heat?” Santiago asked. Benny shrugged.

“We deal with that then. I know we can all smell her. She’s gonna wake up and it’s gonna be bad. Her first heat in twenty years? Here? Fuck.”

Frankie folded his arms. This was his own damn fault. And she didn’t deserve to suffer just because he was jealous.

“Fine,” he said, throwing his hands up. “But Santi has to stay, too. I can’t deal with both of you in heat.”

“Fair enough,” Santi agreed.

Cataline stared at him, momentarily stunned at his idea.

“So you’d…”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Benny clarified. “If you want me to fuck off, I will. If you want me to stick around while you..you know…”

“Oh my God,” she moaned. “This is such a ridiculous situation. Twenty fucking years and the first time is in a deer camp in the middle of a swamp.”

Benny laughed. “Let me go get you some water and see if there’s anything left to eat. Will should have gone this morning to grab a few more critters before he left.”

“Left for where?”

“He’s going to get help.”

“H-how—-oh, fuck, that hurts—” She groaned.

“I know,” he said. “You’re safe, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Cataline watched him leave, laying back and contemplating her choices. She was never going on assignment again. Sheryl would just have to fire her. Benny was gorgeous, but it had been days since she’d had a bath.

She needed to pee. And clean up. She wasn’t letting anyone touch her with all this grime on her. And from now on, she’d have a bottle of extra suppressants hanging around her neck.

Her Omega didn’t like that plan. A wave of arousal came from nowhere as the scent of petrichor and musk filled her nose. Frankie was close to the door, and her Omega screamed for him.

“Fuck,” she said, doubling over.

She limped to the door and opened it, coming face to face with Frankie. He was standing with his arm stretched out, hand on the doorframe, just breathing. He froze when he saw her.

“I have to pee,” she said, not thinking. He followed her like a puppy. “I don’t need you to come with me.”

It came out colder than she intended, but he stopped and turned around, clenching his fists. She cleaned up as well as she could with the frigid water from the tap and went back to the bedroom. Frankie was nowhere to be found, but Benny sat near her nest with a serene expression.

He smiled at her, and she suddenly wanted him to touch her. It wasn’t the same as her desire for Frankie. Her need for Frankie was deep and primal, and she wanted him to fill her up; claim her as his own. Benny, she realized guiltily, was a means to an end.

She crawled onto the bed and gazed at him shyly. Another stab in her abdomen, accompanied by a wave of desire. It pushed a moan out of her and she collapsed.

“What do you need from me, Kitty Cat?” He asked, so delicate with her.

“Have you done this before?”

“Like, gotten someone else through a heat? No.”

“No, just been with another Omega. Is it common?” She asked with wide eyes.

“Sweetheart, it’s not the nineteen hundreds. Of course I have,” he said. She thought for a moment as another stab of pain came through, followed by another wave of slick. She was so wet now, and she knew her slender fingers wouldn’t be enough.

“Can you touch me?” she whispered. Benny gave her a little smirk that she resisted slapping off his face.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he murmured. He slid beside her, careful to avoid his scratches. The press of his body made her shiver. He didn’t bother to touch her anywhere else, and that made her feel better. Less like she was cheating on Frankie with someone he was so close to. Benny’s help was a utility. Emergency use only.

Benny slipped his hand into her panties and she bit her lip to keep from moaning the way she wanted to. “You don’t have to feel guilty, sweetheart. It’s okay. He understands.”

She gasped at his voice in her ear. Deep. Had it always been this deep?

“Tell me how he does it,” he said.

Cataline flushed.

“I—”

Benny chuckled. “I heard you the other night. You’re noisy.”

“Oh, God—”

“It’s okay,” he said, sliding his finger between her slick folds and pressing soft kisses to her neck. “It was hot. Made me hard.”

“Benny,” she whined. He found her clit, rubbing slow, firm circles, and she ground into him. Different from Frankie. Sweeter.

“Mm,” he said. “It’s been a while since I—”

“Fuck,” she said. “Inside.”

He chuckled at her impatience. “I got you, sweetheart.”

Benny plunged two long fingers into her, and she cried out, moving herself around, desperate for him to fuck her with his fingers. The relief was incredible. Her Omega purred inside of her. She couldn’t stop looking at Benny’s sweet face, so eager to help her feel better.

But when she closed her eyes, all she saw was Frankie.

Benny bit a moan back, struggling to keep his composure, and moved his fingers in and out of her. He’d already talked more than he told himself he would, and he knew he shouldn’t be enjoying it this much. It’d been ages since he’d felt slick folds and soft thighs and warm, wet walls clenching around his fingers.

Santi was the love of his life. His mate. His Alpha, and there was nothing he loved more than his knot inside of him. But, goddamn, she was pretty, and her pussy was so wet.

“I’m gonna—” Cataline said.

“Yeah, pretty girl?”

He kept going, fingers searching eagerly for a place he knew would devastate her. She clenched around him when he found it, smirking as she cried out. He shouldn’t like this so much. But damn, it’d been a long few days. It seemed like he’d known her for years.

And he knew how badly it hurt.

As he pushed his fingers deeper into her, her legs shook.

“There you go,” he mumbled. “Good girl.”

She clenched around him, pulsing as she came, her juices gushing around him as he stroked her clit with his thumb.

“Fuck,” she said, and he kept going. Ignoring the flushed heat on the back of his neck. The pulse in his stomach. That steady ache in his balls. It was here, and he knew it.

“It’s not enough, is it?” Benny asked her, kissing her forehead and rubbing soothing circles over her arm. Cataline didn’t want to admit it. He’d worked her through three orgasms, but her cunt pulsed with need. She was slick with sweat.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” she slurred. “I think…”

Benny gripped her when she brushed his cock as she moved, and his scent grew stronger around her. For a moment, they only looked at each other, breathing heavily. His pupils were blown wide with need.

“You’re going into heat, too, aren’t you?”

“Looks that way, Kitty Cat.”

“Is it the same for you?” She asked, her damned curiosity overtaking her.

“I think so. You never met a male Omega, huh?”

She shook her head, quieting.

“Do you think...do you think he’ll do it again?” She gasped, a fresh wave of pain hitting her. Benny shoved his hand back down into her panties, but she stopped him. “It’s okay.”

He watched her with his sparkling blue eyes. “No, I don’t think he’ll do it again.”

“How do you know?”

“We were together once,” Benny sighed. “He never used it on me, not even when he was young and stupid. He wanted to save you, Cat. Even if it meant you hating him forever.”

Her eyes welled up. “You didn’t need to do this, you know.”

Benny scoffed. “It’s not exactly a punishment.”

“But you’re hurting now,” she said, as he clutched his stomach. A bang on the door sounded, and Santi’s voice boomed through the thin wood.

“Goldie? Baby, is everything okay?”

“He always knows,” Benny laughed.

Cataline’s eyes widened, and it tumbled out. “I need Frankie,” she whined. Benny kissed her forehead again.

“You sure?” He whispered.

“Benny!” Santi called.

“I’m sure,” she confirmed, trying to keep her voice even. It couldn’t keep on like this, not anymore. They would have to talk later; they’d have to iron their wrinkles out and she’d have to decide what all this meant, but right now—she just needed his scent of petrichor and musk claiming her.

The door flew open, the two Alphas standing tall, raising themselves to their full heights and broadening their shoulders. Benny moved from the bed to go to Santi, trying to soothe his worries, and Cataline saw Frankie, finally.

Tears sprang to her eyes as a fresh wave of pain stabbed her abdomen so sharply she let out a yelp. She kicked herself for her stubbornness, kicked herself for refusing to hear him out and understand him because now all she could see was soft eyes and curly hair and a mouth she needed on her, now.

“Alpha,” she whispered.

Cataline reached out for him, and his heart broke at her vulnerability. He approached her carefully and embraced her, pulling her into his lap. She smelled like pussy, and though he couldn’t keep the groan in, he resisted grinding his already-hard cock on her. He was determined to let her lead this.

“Alpha,” she moaned, and he stiffened underneath her. He knew this was part of it. Her biology took over, made her want things she might wrinkle her nose at normally. He carded his fingers through her hair as she writhed on him.

“Baby,” he murmured. “What do you need from me?”

“I don’t—don’t—know. Everything. Everything,” she whined. “Please.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this. I’ll get you through this. I should have protected you better. I should have—”

But Cataline covered his mouth with her own, her tongue sliding between his lips. She let out a soft whimper, and he pulled her closer.

Frankie swallowed her pretty sighs and tried to keep still, tried to keep himself from claiming her. But every time she whimpered or moved or ran her hands down his back, felt his cock grow harder; his knot pulsing for her. He nudged her neck with his nose, finding her pulse and inhaling her. Fuck, she smelled so good.

A sound from the other side of the room alerted him to Benny and Santi’s presence—he’d been so caught up with her he’d forgotten they were there. And, apparently, so had they. Santi’s hips rolled into Benny’s clothed center, murmuring praises into his mouth.

“What are we doing?” Frankie said, somehow the one with the clearest head. But Pope backed up, pulling a wiggling Benny with him.

“You want over here? You liked touching her, huh?” Santi teased. Benny pouted, a hot flush on his face, and Frankie smiled at the memory of Benny’s heats. He couldn’t be mad at him now, not when they’d meant so much to each other. After Benny’d taken care of his girl.

“N-needed my help,” Benny whined. Cataline looked over with big eyes, misinterpreting the teasing as a complaint. She opened her mouth, but Frankie stopped her with his mouth.

“You’re okay. It’s all okay,” he said.

The two other men collapsed on the floor next to them, Santi careful of Benny’s leg, and Cataline whimpered at their scents.

“You want them here?” Frankie asked, pulling off her clothes. She’d remained mostly covered for Benny.

“Okay, baby,” he murmured, stripping himself as well; Santi making quick work of his and Benny’s clothes. It wasn’t the first time they’d fucked near each other, but the air burned here; pulsed with heat despite the frigid temperature. Santi leaned onto Frankie, his damp curls tickling his arm.

“Look at them,” Santi whispered, nodding lovingly to the Omegas spread in front of them. Frankie murmured ascent, pressing a soft kiss to Santi’s head.

Frankie moved his mouth to her cunt and inhaled, shuddering and groaning just how fucking much slick was between her legs. Her pussy was swollen with desire, and it took all his control to keep from holding her down and fucking her until she was full of him. The first knot would hurt her, and he knew it. He had to be careful.

“Alpha,” she whimpered. “Do something.”

Cataline reached out to Benny, eager to feel his hand in hers. She needed him to keep her grounded; to get her through this.

Her fingers slotted themselves between Benny’s, squeezing them. Benny squeezed back, like he was holding her to the Earth. Frankie spread her lips apart with his fingers and she bucked into him, almost sobbing with relief. They were his fingers, his tongue laving over slick folds, the curve of his nose bumping her clit. Her Alpha’s. He worked a thick finger inside of her, and she seized up, whimpering as her orgasm shocked through her.

“Oh, baby girl, there you go. There you go, pretty thing,” Frankie cooed. Benny rubbed her palm with his thumb, and she heard a low groan next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him come in Santi’s hand, trembling with the same need she felt.

The scent of sex and need was overpowering, the two Alphas not bothering to shield anything. She rubbed her hands over Frankie’s back and felt his scars again, all old and healed, but hurting her nonetheless. Cataline remembered his fear of being his father and buried her head in his chest again. She wanted to spend a lifetime reminding him he was not.

She glanced at Benny, realizing she’d never seen an Omega’s cock before. It looked no different from a Beta’s, and she resisted running her fingers over it. Cataline let her eyes wander over Santi as he praised Benny; over his warm, tan chest and the patch of curls above his length, the sweet smirk on his plush lips. But she blushed when he looked her in the eye. She let go of Benny’s hand, suddenly feeling liked she’d crossed some sort of line.

In her heat, her distress hit harder. An ache, like something squeezing her heart, reared its head, and the two Alphas noticed immediately. Frankie found his way to her lips, his fingers dancing lightly on her clit.

“What is it, bonita?” He asked. Cataline bit her lip, afraid she might cry, but after a look and nod between Frankie and Benny and Pope, Pope leaned over to kiss her softly.

“We’ve got you, pretty girl. You’re doing so well for you Alpha,” he said, kissing her again. She shuddered at the praise and his sweetness. Benny smiled softly at her, letting her know it was okay, and Frankie ran his hand over her thigh.

“Whatever you need,” Frankie said.

Fingers and tongues were all well and good, but she wanted Frankie’s cock in her. She wanted it badly. She wanted his come in her, she wanted him to breed her, she—

It was like Frankie knew.

“Alpha,” she said again.

“Baby girl, you have to stop calling me that, or I’m gonna—”

“I want you to. Whatever you want, I want you to, Frankie, I want you so fucking bad it hurts, want you to use me, fuck me, call me your Omega. Please, let me be yours, I need to be yours.”

Frankie sat up and snarled, pulling her up to him, spreading her legs over his lap. He looked like he was holding back, and she didn’t want him to. Her head was clear enough.

“Don’t hold back, please, I need you.”

Benny’s hand on her back reassured her, kept her tethered, kept her from being too unlike herself. “Fuck me, Frankie. Please.”

Benny’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as Santi’s mouth engulfed his cock, but he quickly opened them. He’d never seen another Omega knotted for the first time. He rubbed his hand over her skin, squeezing the soft flesh of her ass as she cried out. Christ, he knew it was a one-time thing, but he was determined to enjoy it as much as she could.

Cataline yelped as Frankie pushed his fingers inside of her, taking her tits into his mouth, and Benny remembered Frankie’s mouth on his own body, all those years ago. He smiled again, and let his eyes roll back again.

Frankie was, once again, at the end of his rope. But he knew he would have to fuck her like she was begging him to. He maneuvered her onto his lap more comfortably, pulling her down until her walls clamped around him.

“Omega,” he murmured, careful not to command. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer him, her eyes closed and concentrating.

“Cataline, I need your words,” he said again, more insistent this time.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I need it. Please move, Frankie, please. Make me yours.”

Her begging set him off. He fucked up into her, his hips pistoning as he looked at her blissed-out face. He needed to claim her. Mark her as his own.

Moans next to him told him Santi was inside of Benny, and the thought drove him crazy. Benny’s face looked like Cataline’s, smiling with his eyes closed, brow knitted together.

Frankie bit down on her neck, and she wailed.

“Yes, yes, Alpha, please, again,” she begged. He bit her again, harder this time, hard enough to leave teeth marks. She bounced on him, meeting his hip movement with her own.

“You look—so—fucking—good, Omega,” he said. His hands were everywhere, circling her clit and pinching her nipples. He imagined her breasts full of milk, full of food for his baby. “Do you want me to breed you?”

The noise she let out was unearthly, and he took it as a yes. “Do you want me to fill you up? Tell me, Omega, do you want my knot?”

“Fuck, Frankie, please. Please fill me, I need it. I need you.”

She shook, her legs clamping around his waist. Her cunt squeezed him, and she cried out as her release hit. “Frankie, Frankie, Frankie,” she murmured. Frankie came with a grunt, snarling and biting her neck, pulling her hips down far enough to join with his knot.

It grew as he came, and he heard her whimpers as he came down from his high. Frankie soothed her, the other two men lost in their own world.

Her instinct was to get off of him. To run. It hurt. She knew it might only be once during her heat, but it hurt for now. Frankie rubbed her back as she tried to relax. He kissed her face, ran his fingers through her hair. His eyes were soft, and he murmured praise to her.

“Relax, bonita, please relax. It’ll be over soon.”

Tears came again, and he kissed her through them.

“Doing so well, bonita. You perfect thing. Good, beautiful girl. So strong,” he murmured.

“Alpha, it—”

“I know, Omega, I know it hurts. You’re doing so well. I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything. For all of this. I should have been better.”

“No,” she slurred. “You’re so good.”

She felt a hand clasp hers and lips graze over her knuckles. The touch sent tingles to her head, and she rocked back and forth on Frankie.

Santi didn’t touch her now—an unspoken agreement, she was sure. Not while Frankie was filling her up, claiming her as his own. She was his now. But Benny, another Omega, that was no threat. So he kissed her knuckles and sucked softly on her fingertips as she ground into Frankie, still aware of the pain but chasing another high.

When she came this time, she cried out for Benny, and Frankie didn’t seem to mind a bit.

And so it went. Frankie or Santi would go for water or the little bit of meat that was left to feed Benny and Cataline. It was like the tides lapping back and forth; she’d fall asleep on Frankie’s cock and wake up full of his come again.

Her Omega screamed and ached and begged for more, and his Alpha was too happy to answer.

Benny and Santi moved up to the bed to be closer during the night.

She woke up to Benny whimpering and touching himself, wanting to give Santi some rest.

“Do you want me to help?” She asked, feeling very unlike herself.

“Please,” he whined.

She crawled on top of him and fucked him, wet from sweat and come and the slick sound of Benny jerking off. She rode him with her fingers in his hair, not bothering to be quiet, waking Frankie and Santi.

She came on Benny’s cock with Frankie’s fingers on her clit, and Santi’s greedy mouth on her tits. Santi was rougher than Frankie, harder in a way she liked, and his hand on her throat sent her somewhere she didn’t know she wanted to go.

“She tastes so fucking good, Fish,” he said to Frankie. Frankie brought his wet fingers to Pope’s mouth, sopping with her juices, and prodded his lips to open. Santi groaned at her taste, sucking his fingers and clean and leaning forward to catch Frankie in a kiss.

Before Benny came, he flipped her over to fuck her from behind. All three men finished on her, their groans and the warmth of their spend sent her over the edge again. It was depraved and disgusting, and she wanted more.

“Is it always like this?” She murmured into Benny’s mouth as he pulled her close again.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning.

Frankie took her away, just once, brought her into the living room while she was mostly coherent.

“I just need you to myself,” he said, running his nose over her bare skin. She smelled like them all, and he wanted her to smell like him, just for a while. “I need you to be mine.”

She nodded in understanding. He dragged his tongue over her body, covering her in him. “Are you sore?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine, baby,” she slurred, barely able to speak. They’d covered her in so much of themselves, and he wanted to be covered in something of hers. He rubbed her pussy softly, drinking in the whimpers that were only for him. Frankie slid three fingers into her, marveling at how easily they fit, but, he thought, she’d taken a lot over the last twenty-four hours.

She moaned as he grazed his fingers over something that made her shiver, and he focused his attention there. Cataline whined his name, whispered “Alpha” as he pushed his thumb against her overstimulated clit.

“Omega,” he said softly. “Can you do something for me?”

“Anything,” she murmured.

“I want you to squirt yourself all over for me, pretty thing. Can you do that?”

“I don’t...I don’t know,” she said, biting her lip.

“I think you can,” he said. “You’ve done so good. You’ve been so perfect for me. I just wanna be covered in you, my good girl.”

He curled his fingers inside her, felt her squirm and shake, murmured praises into her soft thighs. He moved his mouth to her clit and sucked, and felt her clench around him. She was close. He moved his fingers faster and faster, whispering that she could do it, he knew she could, beautiful girl; until her thighs shook and she screamed, the force of her come splashing his chest and beard.

Cataline breathed heavily, shielding her eyes with her arm. He wrapped her legs around him and moved her arms to his neck. She welcomed him inside of her, whining again, as moved slowly.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Tired,” she said.

“Is it what you thought it would be?”

“Of course not,” she laughed, eyes heavy with sleep. Frankie’s cock was still hard, it never really went away during a rut, but he was so sensitive, it took him almost no time to come in her again, shuddering and nosing her as he did. His knot took again, and she just sighed this time. Eventually, it receded, and he slid out of her.

“No pain?” He asked, kissing her neck.

“Mm-mm,” she said.

“How are you feeling?”

“The pain...it’s not so bad,” she said.

“It’s probably starting to fade. Doesn’t last as long, the older you get, from what Benny’s said. And I’ve only been with Betas.”

He chewed his lip.

“What is it?” She asked, running her fingers over the wrinkle on his forehead.

“What if it takes?”

“Hm?”

“The...knot. What if it takes?”

“There’s plenty of options, Frankie. You won’t be on the hook for anything, if you don’t want to be.”

He frowned. “That’s not what I meant. I just...I think we’re supposed to be together. I never believed in the bonds people talked about, not for me. And now...I mean, you feel it, too, yeah?”

“Yeah, I know,” she whispered.

“I guess,” he said, playing with her fingers, “what I’m saying is that I’d like to be with you. But it’s complicated. I have my daughter, and she’s in Texas. And I can’t be away from her.”

Cataline kissed his forehead.

“We don’t have to decide anything right now,” she whispered. “It’ll work out because it has to.”

Cataline didn’t know if she believed that, but it wouldn’t do any good to worry. The pain had finally started to decrease, and she wasn’t burning up anymore. She flushed, though, looking at Frankie and remembering the things she’d done...they’d done…in their states.

“Oh God,” she said, pulling a blanket over herself. “What are your friends going to think of me?”

Frankie chuckled. “They’re going to think you’re one of us now. We got through it together. The trenches, you know. Just no fucking Benny without me around.”

“Pope’s okay, though?” She laughed.

Movement stirred in the other room, and she covered herself more as the door opened. The first pale light of dawn creeped through the windows, shining in Benny’s hair. He was shirtless and shining with sweat.

“Hey there, Kitty Cat,” he said. She blushed again, looking away.

“Hey.”

“Honey,” Santi’s voice came from behind him as he stepped around. “Are you embarrassed?”

She recalled writhing on top of Benny, his crystal blue eyes wandering her body, and the lips of his boyfriend clamped around her nipple. She shook her head.

“It’s fine,” Benny said, moving to her side and touching her cheek. “It’s fine. We’re all fine. We did what we needed to do. Nothing to be embarrassed about, Cat.”

Santi nodded in agreement, but stayed back. She sighed.

“I’m never going into the field again,” she said, leaning back, and all three men laughed.

At some point, she must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, Frankie was shaking her awake, telling her to get dressed.

“Will’s back. He found help,” Frankie said.

The day passed in a whirlwind of helicopters and Sheryl’s shocked face when Cataline gave her a rundown of what happened.

“But you got samples? And the carcasses?” She asked.

“Yup.”

“Good. We’ll bring them in and have them examined. An unknown entity is not a good thing, and two is even worse. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” Cataline said. “But re-think that five-day rule. It’s been hell.”

“Look,” Sheryl said, ignoring her. “You don’t need to give me an answer right now, but I think we need someone more permanent in that area.”

“In Louisiana?”

“Yeah. There are some other things that don’t make sense happening in that part of the country. Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi—poltergeists, creatures that don’t belong sense for the area, you know, weird shit. And after all this, I figure, you should be first in line for the pay raise, huh?”

Cataline thought of Frankie, and how much closer he’d be to her. She thought of her not having much keeping her in Oregon. She thought of how strange and terrifying the creatures were; how unlike anything she’d ever seen they were.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll do it.”

Eventually, Cataline and the security team—what was left of it—were brought to a hotel. It was the first time she’d been away from Frankie since this whole thing started, and the back of her mind filled with fear and uncertainty. Her heat was still hanging around, and she could hear Benny and Santi getting back to it next door.

She sat on the edge of bed and cried for a long time after she got out of the shower. After asking if she was okay alone, Frankie had said he needed to do some things, which she assumed had to do with checking in with his kid. She’d told him she’d be fine, but she clearly was not. With the haze of her heat almost completely gone, she played the event of the last few days over in her head like a horror movie.

A knock at the door got her attention, but she realized she was still wearing a towel. The peephole revealed Frankie, freshly showered and looking nervous. Cataline wondered if, perhaps, he was here to break it off. She opened the door and swallowed. She’d forgotten that he could smell her now.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“I—what?” She asked. “Oh. You can tell.”

She rubbed the spot on her neck where he’d sunk his teeth into her, claiming her over and over.

“You’ve been crying.”

She glimpsed herself in the mirror. Well, with the red eyes and swollen lips and nose, she wasn’t exactly subtle.

He set down the bags he was holding, one of which smelled amazing, and pulled her into him. “What’s going on?”

“I thought maybe you were coming to end things. I’m just being silly.”

He looked at her seriously. “You’re not. Heats are hard, and you’re exhausted, and we almost died. You’re not being silly. But I’m not here to do anything like that, bonita. I’m…I want to take care of you. I want to be your Alpha, if you’ll let me, Cat. I have food, and then I have, uh, the morning-after pill. If you needed it. This one is specially formulated for Omegas—what is it?”

Cataline was crying again, but at his thoughtfulness rather than fear. She buried her head in chest, inhaling his petrichor scent, and let herself feel safe.

“I’m glad you’re here, Frankie. Even after everything. I’m glad this brought you back to me.”

“Me too, Cat. God, I thought about you so much. I can’t believe I found you.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s scents. And, Cataline thought, it was a good thing he was here. Something told her that the world had not seen the last of those strange creatures. And that, perhaps, it would be good to have such a group of warriors on her side.

She’d be insisting on suppressants, though.

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