#it’s a long story I’ve been finding it open or half open in the morning fairly often | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leclsrc · 2 years

Text

has yet to pass ✴︎ cs55

centre image by tony belobrajdic

genre: exes to lovers, slow burn, fluff, humor, slight angst, yearning, some sexual tension

word count: 12.5k

Four years after an angry breakup, the universe is bored enough to nominate Carlos Sainz for GQ Sports’ Man of the Year and assign you to be the writer of his profile.

notes... internet translated spanish lol

auds here... requested, this fic is long! i hope you all like it apologies for the inactivity </3 exes to lovers we have a very love/hate relationship but this was a pleasure to write

You’re half sure your head is about to pop out from how annoyed you are.

At the office, mornings move slowly in the very corporate-desk-job kind of way, but today is notably slower. Your boss had called you in an hour earlier to discuss important matters, and this is your third hour waiting already. Either your boss is a dumbass, or you got the wrong email, which both essentially mean the same thing anyway.

The time on your Panthère tells you you’re curving into the three-and-a-half hour territory, and right as you’re about to get up to get a glass of water, the large wooden door swings open and your name is called through the crack in it. Suddenly the irritation dissipates into nerves, and because Jonathan didn’t specify anything in the email, you realize you could be wading into anything right now. Termination. Promotion. A brick to the head.

“Morning,” you offer once the door’s been shut behind you.

“Sorry for the wait,” he says politely. “We’ve been in discussions with GQ Sports all day. All night last night, too. It’s all proper boring.”

You nod, remaining fairly quiet and waiting for him to break the news to you. He clears his throat, places his hands on his hips and exhales.

“Right, so this is all related to GQ, actually. They’re doing a Men of Sports segment and they asked us to assign one of our writers to an athlete. You’re our best right now, really—your article turnout last year was absolutely stellar. So, there’s, ah… there’s tennis, yeah, there’s footie, obviously, and—under usual circumstances, you’d get to choose one of either. But we actually really wanted to cover racing this year.”

The cloud above your head carrying the dreams of interviewing Leo Messi or Roger Federer pops dismally.

“Racing.” You repeat curtly.

“It’s gotten proper viral this year!” He smiles, gestures to nothing to prove his point. “Every teenage girl’s got a crush or other on a driver. Anyway, we set you up with the racing category, and the segment comes out in around six months.”

“I’ve got a tiny bit of a qualm about th—”

“So it’s decided. GQ’s going to pick out the driver for you, and you’ll be introduced at a gala next week.”

“Wait—” you laugh uncomfortably. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, and wow, thank you for choosing me, really, but do I not get to pick my own driver?” You clear your throat. “I mean, I’m spinning the story.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But this deal moved pretty quick, so a majority of the leverage goes to them. Don’t worry, though—a lot of the drivers will have great stories, I’m sure. You’ve got Lewis, you’ve got the Verstappen guy, you’ve got the Rosberg fellow…”

“Rosberg retired in 2016.”

“Oh, fuck, seriously? Well. Hit me with a brick then.”

—

The gala is a fundraiser to celebrate the season kicking off, you realize when you step outside the car and read the navy blue banner across the entrance to the carpet. It’s all fancy fonts and table placements, but One look at the watches and earrings in this place will tell you there’s more than enough funds already. You digress, anyway, walking inside to find the only one person you’re familiar with in the world of racing.

“Lewis,” you mutter when you locate him, voice dry with dread (and lack of alcohol), “kill me now.”

“On the off chance you’re serious—I’m actually willing to do so.” You slap his arm and he scowls.

“I’m supposed to meet the driver I’m writing about tonight, but the GQ guy hasn’t texted me. Christ, I hope it’s you. At least I have years’ worth of blackmail on you to really sell the profile.”

He only laughs, guiding the both of you to a champagne tower and offering you one. You down it in seconds, suffocated by nerves and the curiosity blooming inside you. “You don’t think it’s…?”

“I think they keep track of those things,” he replies, but his voice is only half-sure. “Conflict of interest and that. But Jonathan did say it was a quick deal?” You nod. “So it’s not impossible, I suppose.”

Big help, you chirp sarcastically, eyes perusing the large room. There are tables populated by celebrities, by politicians, and of course, by drivers. You keep scanning, squinting to chisel your search further, but it’s cut off by a tap of two fingers on your shoulder.

“Hi. I’m Nick, the GQ rep, and I believe you and I have a meeting,” says the man behind you with an excited smile. “Why don’t we…?”

He gestures to the expanse of the room and you nod, falling into step beside him. He introduces the article, the concept of shadowing the athlete to achieve a more immersive piece of work as a result, something novel and innovative.

He’s right in the middle of talking about Jonathan when he stops at one of the cocktail tables and stations the two of you there. “Okay. You’re one of the biggest names in sports journalism right now, so it means a lot for you to want to represent racing. Especially because both Neymar Jr. and Nadal expressed bids to get you to write their segments!”

“They wh—”

“Right, here we are. Meet your shadow—or, subject—for the next six-ish months.” He places two hands atop your shoulders and wheels you around, so your eyes meet those of, “…Carlos Sainz Jr.!”

Yeah. This is fucking rich.

Nick is talking but none of it falls right on your ears. Everywhere in your mind, alarm bells ring at full volume, alerting you to the danger present, almost. You plaster on a fake smile to acknowledge his presence, but his outstretched hand goes unnoticed. Clearly picking up on the tension, Nick gives a sheepish giggle and ducks out of the exchange, leaving the two of you woefully alone.

“Carlos,” you say politely. “What a nice surprise.”

There is a limited amount of phrases that are considered acceptable to say to an estranged ex of four years. There’s oh, what a surprise!, didn’t expect to see you here, you look well. It’s limited because nobody ever thinks to run into their estranged ex of four years, and even then, any sane person would do well to avoid interaction at all costs. So you’re really the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to be situated with a stuffy public interaction, under the guise of professionalism, with your ex-boyfriend.

Your history is heavy in the air. The last time you saw each other, things had been a lot different, but now you’re two professionals. Really. You really are professional.

“I refuse to be within ten metres of the guy,” you say, on your third martini. Lewis faces you with poorly hidden concern, and beside him, roped into your lovelorn matters, so does Sebastian Vettel. “Ten metres. Actually, no. Make it twenty. How can I be arsed to write an all-over-him feature about a guy I absolutely hate and haven’t seen in four years?! I had it all sussed—get assigned to Lewis, write the best feature, then restore his eighth world title.”

“—She’s joking,” coughs Lewis.

“Oh, but now? Now, it’s get assigned to my ex, write like shit, never get recognized for a good piece, and die hungry and alone on the streets of London. You know, I should just call Jonathan and tell him I don’t want this. I’d rather go back to writing normal articles.” You pry your clutch open but a hand stops you before you can.

“Don’t.” Sebastian’s voice is gentle, but firm. “This is a test of character, don’t you think? More than that—it’s a test of how good you are as a writer.”

“True,” interjects Lewis, chewing on a quiche. “If you can write a stellar profile about an ex, I mean—you’re just proper talented. But it’s also about how strong you are now, morally. Emotionally.”

“I’m perfectly fine emotions-wise, thanks,” you retort. Both men shrug, backing off, and you feel like you should be smug about it—but your mind is stuck on the topic even as the night passes.

You end up deciding when you’re kicking your heels off in your flat a few hours later, giving Jonathan a ring despite the late hour. It takes a while for the man to pick up, but he does eventually, with an excited tone colouring his voice—“How’s my star writer? Sainz, huh? Real eye candy.”

“About that…” you start, walking over to your bookshelf and chewing your lip, trying to think of the right way to decline the offer. Your eyes land on one of the several awards you’ve garnered in your profession—in fact, the very first one. Most Promising Journalist, it reads, embedded into the front’s frosty surface.

Four years ago. And you’ve proven it since, if the crowd of glass around it is anything to go by. Why let a petty ex destroy what could potentially be one of your biggest gigs yet? Your segue outside of sports journalism?

“Earth to—yeah, hello? About what?” Jonathan’s voice breaks you out of your thought train.

“… I just, uh,” you say, nodding, “I wanted to say I’m really excited.”

—

Carlos Sainz Jr., 27, is on the rise as one of Formula One’s most talented drivers… (add more info…) His smooth driving style and charm has led him to become one of the most popular figures in the sport, both on and off the paddock. He is also a huge, absolutely irritating, cannot for the life of him be humble!!!, SON OF A BITCH, PRICK, ASSHOLE—AND THE BIGGEST WANKER ON PLANET EAR

“The team will be here in just a minute,” says the lady who’d ushered you into this meeting room in Maranello. You half-shut your laptop in fear she’ll catch sight of your brief Word document meltdown, but she doesn’t seem to notice, setting a glass of water beside you and you stare idly at it while waiting for the rest of the room to enter. You’re expecting Nick, Carlos, Mattia—the boss—and Charles, his teammate. Jonathan’s already beside you playing Candy Crush on his phone, as per boomer law.

This meeting is pointless. You’ve already exchanged the bare minimum pleasantries with Carlos, anyway, and you cannot for the life of you decipher why there needs to be a whole new corporate clash just for this. But here you are anyway, awaiting your ex-boyfriend’s arrival into the room and back into your sweet life.

He enters with everybody else, his hair half-damp and his eyes meeting yours almost immediately. You clear your throat and turn away, standing to shake hands with Mattia. He’s pleasant about it, expressing excitement for the final output and commending your earlier work as a writer. You offer the polite small talk back, discussing plans for the article and the release date.

“Over at GQ Sports, we’re really trying to make this concept as immersive as possible. That requires the writer to shadow the athlete at almost all times, maybe taking a couple days off if needed. That might mean she gets a paddock pass, and things like that.”

“That’s no problem,” Mattia says. “Anything for the article.”

You end up being introduced to Charles, too—Charles Leclerc, who wears a contagious smile and won’t stop letting his eyes frolic in between you and Carlos, like he can sense the history. You suspect Carlos brought him up to speed, anyway, but it’s still a bit amusing. While the meeting carries on, Charles chips in with a joke. “Hey, if you find this guy irritating, you and I are going to get along.”

You laugh a bit, but remain mostly quiet for the sake of being professional. You miss the way Carlos’ eyes linger on you a second too long, focusing on the tail-end of the meeting so you can, for lack of better word, get the fuck out of here.

Of course, though, you’re stopped in the middle of the parking lot by Carlos himself, whose apologetic face is the first thing you see when you turn around with a huff. You’d already known it was him—he was calling your name loudly as he jogged over to you—but it’s still a sour surprise.

“What?”

“Let’s”—he pauses to take a breath—“talk. Listen, I know it must be an imposition for you to write about this, about me. Let me make it clear that I’m 100% okay if you choose to switch athletes. And if you needed any background information, I’ll be willing to give you that.”

“I don’t care what you’re okay with,” you say blankly. “And I’ve got Google.”

“Right.” He stares. “Um. Okay, well, let’s—can we agree, then? To be civil, for the period of time this article will be written?”

You consider the truce. As much as you’d like to be snarky with him and make your disdain all the more clear, you’re also not interested in making a scene or causing any type of fuss around his—and your—colleagues. The glass awards on your shelf flash through your mind, and you inhale softly. “Okay.”

He smiles. This seems a bit more difficult than you thought, for reasons you didn’t even consider.

“Forget anything ever happened,” he says when your hands meet. Something jolts through you.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

—

Your introduction to the actual sports part of the profile goes well, with a flurry of chaos in Bahrain.

Despite Jonathan’s texted reminder from Friday morning (Stick to Sainz the whole time), you find yourself staying in your comfort zone, ergo following Lewis around nearly the entire weekend. Granted, you are itnroduced to a few more drivers—Mick, Esteban, Alex—but also Lando, one of Carlos’ closest friends on the paddock, who makes dirty jokes from the get go.

Still, even Lewis has to remind you you have another driver to actually cover, so you reluctantly detach from him on the race day and begin your search for—

“Carlos,” you utter, breathless from exhaustion when you finally locate him inside his room at the motorhome, which you swear you checked twenty minutes ago. Either he’s avoiding you or he’s truly impossible to find. He adjusts his suit and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

“I need a couple of words from you.” You smile politely, taking a seat on the couch armrest. “Like, pre-race nerves, jitters, routine. Anything?”

“I have a playlist,” he says, humming. “I like to call family, have a talk with the engineers.” He says it like en-yi-neers, but you already anticipated it. You’ve known en-yi-neers for years. You know how he talks, pronounces everything. “And I say a prayer, trust the car.”

“Trust the car?” You type the last few words onto your laptop, which you’d been toting around all day. It balances on your lap. “Any follow-ups to that, considering there’s been some chatter around the car this year and its supposed faultiness?”

“I just do what I do best,” he replies, steadfast. “The rest is a gamble I’m willing to take.”

“Perfect.” You finish. “That was a great line. Thanks so much, really.” It’s your reporter voice, the one you use for just about everyone else on the paddock. He nods in response, and the room ebbs into silence again. It’s awkward, when you excuse yourself and exit, already planning exactly how you’re going to tell this to Lewis. Halfway out the door, you purse your lips, turn, and then:

“Good luck, by the way.” Your voice falls soft.

He looks up, momentarily surprised. “Thank you.”

You nod a little, smiling as you shut the door.

Carlos ends up getting second place—you’re beside a zealous Ferrari engineer when it happens, walking along the pit lane. Compared to your stoic smile, their reaction looks like the pinnacle of human emotion. Your turmoil is all inward, a melting pot of emotion for the driver. Would it be weird, you think, to feel proud? To feel happy? When things have ended?

Much later, when you’re wrestling for comfort in the throng of cheering Ferrari engineers, you squint to find Carlos on the podium.

You’re aware there are photographers everywhere, with high-def cameras that rival your natural eyesight, even, but still you tug your phone out and snap a few shitty zoomed-in pictures of him in second place, smiling and sprayed with champagne. You think of the profile, of the words you’ll use to capture this moment, the season kickoff. But most of all you think of the way his eyes seem to search for something specific in the mass of people, or the way you wished for them to meet yours.

—

Sainz, a self-proclaimed music lover, loads a pre-race playlist that changes every few locations. He names some of his favorite artists and songs as sources of motivation.

You climb into the passenger seat of his Golf when you finally find him, after a half hour of asking around everywhere. First, it was “in the motorhome,” then it was “in a meeting,” then it was “hanging out with Charles”—none of which ended up being true, anyway. He doesn’t question your presence (he hasn’t much, lately), just lets his eyes wander over to you briefly before you begin asking questions.

“Favorite song?” You get straight to it, stressed over the article. Jonathan has been on your ass about missing a deadline and causing the third world war in the process, or something or other. You sigh when you settle into the seat.

“Not even a hello or a buenas noches,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot to drive the both of you to your hotel. “What’s this for?”

“You already know,” you say, humming as you sift through notes. “Listen. You did an interview before with Toro Rosso, right? Where you said your favorite artists were Muse, Kings of Leon, and The Killers. Right?”

“What the—you are a serious stalker.” He laughs out loud, eyes still on the road ahead.

“It’s kind of my job, Carlos,” you say, smiling and gritting your teeth. “Just answer.”

“Sí, sí. Yeah, I like that genre. I like rock, I guess… rock, indie, 80’s. You’d be surprised how little of an effect music has on my pre-race routine, though, even if I have a playlist.”

“Tell me more,” you muse. Your laziness to retrieve your laptop results in you scribbling soundbites onto your notebook instead.

“Music is an escape for me, you know? I like it a lot. So as long as something gets me going, I’m good with it. It doesn’t have to be by a favorite artist, or a famous one, or a Spanish one. Though I have been listening to Shakira a lot lately.” Obsessively listens to Shakira, you write. “It’s just release. Lately, I’ve been listening to the same few ones on loop.”

“Care to share?” Music = release. Same songs looped.

He presses something onto the centre console, and music flows throughout the car right after. “This.”

Baby I’m Yours by Arctic Monkeys, you write, and then, all at once, you slowly realize exactly what you’re writing. You stare at the scrawled-on words, the song bleeding into your ears and saturating your brain. You’ve always thought of this song with a weird feeling, one in between nostalgia and hurt, and now it’s on full blast. In Carlos’ Golf, no less, which happened to be the venue for many of your listening parties back then.

Back then—when nobody knew much of this song and it hadn’t yet become an indie anthem. It was just another cover by your favorite band in 2015. It became your song, the song for kitchen dances, the song for long car rides, the song for the red lights, the song for the morning routine.

But now it’s just a song.

“Carlos,” you say. It’s supposed to sound strict, firm, even a little angry. But you’re so affected, it leaves you quietly instead, weakly almost. “Come on.”

“Do you remember when you first showed me this song?” He responds instead, the volume still loud. You allow yourself to smile a little, leaning your head back and watching the cityscape of Bahrain whir past. In a foreign city, you think, you feel more at home than ever.

“Yeah,” you profess. “On my iPhone—what was it then? iPhone 5, or something.” You both laugh a little. The dam has broken, it seems, and topics of your past relationship seem to now be open to discussion. But it doesn’t feel alien, or weird, or uncomfortable. Carlos laughs, makes fun of your old lockscreen, and all is well.

A lot of memories have unwittingly attached themselves to this song. It’s the kind of song where, even in the opening notes, you’re already stunned with the myriad of them. There are the obvious ones: first finding the song, first dancing to it. But it trickles down into the smaller, more niche ones.

The time you got a busker in London to perform it for you both, and danced like idiots at ten-thirty in the evening, while some onlooking geriatric couple watched with mild entertainment. The time you got him a vinyl record of this EP, and left it in the cab before you were supposed to give it to him, leading to you crying on his sofa while he cuddled you and fed reassurance into your ear. The time he attempted to learn the chords to it and broke the string of your decorative guitar.

Like always, Carlos drives one-handed. He’s usually responsible, but if he’s cruising, or driving at a relatively slow pace, he likes to lean back and use his left. His right lays, unmanned, on the centre console of the Golf. You don’t notice it’s there until you finish writing a sample line on your notebook and you lower your left hand absentmindedly, brushing a finger against his in the process.

Your instinct is to jerk away, but Carlos is calm, humming to the song and reading road signs. So you let it rest there, in part to show yourself you’re capable of relaxing, but—and it feels like a heavy thing to admit—also because you like the feeling.

So your hands are there, just shy of each other, barely touching. His pointer finger twitches, almost like he’s trying to hold it back from inviting yours to wrap around it. You let yours brush over them a little bit, pulling away. Then he coughs, and lifts his hand to make a right turn, so you resume writing, eyes downcast.

—

You’d spent the Saudi weekend less with Lewis (in a bid to follow his advice) and socialized a bit more with Lando and Charles, who both proved to be pleasant company. They played table tennis with you and even shared a good chunk of grid gossip.

“Pierre and Yuki have soooo done it,” whispers Charles, scandalized, sipping a G&T from a decorative polka dot straw.

“Shut up!” You clap a hand over your mouth. “I mean, I had my suspicions. But really? They’ve shagged?”

“Oh.” He pauses dumbly, scratching his head. “I meant they’ve done marijuana.”

“Damn it, Charles,” bemoans Lando. “You’re a sodding buzzkill. We’ve all done weed, this is not news. The gay sex would’ve been.”

The afternoon progresses into night, and you seem to be on a roll with the sports component—Carlos gets to P3 in Saudi Arabia. You travel to his motorhome room after the debrief, where you hope he’ll be, and find him packing shit up inside.

“Good work out there,” you say, and when he looks up he finds himself meeting your eyes in the mirror. He fumbles with the zip of his suit and you walk a little closer.

He huffs out a polite thanks, tugging on the zipper harder. The cloth’s eaten it, a problem that’s been plaguing his race suits as of late—a problem, according to his engineer, easily solvable if he’d just be more patient with tugging it downward to loosen. A problem you’re familiar with as well, from his Toro Rosso days of ranting to you about zippers and sewing.

You lean against the wall and maintain safe distance. “I’m going to ask you about the race later.”

“Alright. What specifically?” He begins the mental Spanish-English translation in advance.

“Whatever you can give,” you reply, nonchalant. “Maybe more on the feeling while racing. The different perspectives of P3? Sort of like—yeah, you’re on the podium, but it’s not P1.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he laughs a little, a bit embarrassed he hasn’t fully undone the zipper yet. “Um, sure. I’ll meet you outside afterward.”

“Thanks. And—” You stop yourself in your tracks, still facing him in the mirror. His eyes find yours again, eyebrows raised from the unfinished sentence. “—Be patient with the zip.”

He chuckles, memories surfacing like bubbling lava. “Right. Bueno.” He turns and throws his hands up, looks like he’s surrendering almost. “Help me out?”

You’re incredulous—it’s a highly compromising position.

But he’s not really smiling, and he seems to be seriously asking you to please help zip him up, so you nod. Nod once then twice, walking slowly over to him and placing two fingers on the zipper. You don’t notice how shaky your grip is until you see the way your hand trembles.

Slowly, you tug. Upward, then downward, then upward again, to loosen the stubborn thing. Your eyes move until they meet his, and you realize how close together you are. From here you can see the faint pink indents on his face from the balaclava, and you wonder almost how it’d feel to stroke over it with your thumb. It twitches on the zip and you remember to yank it again.

“Just give me a second,” you say, but you’re not even paying attention to the zipper.

Just him. Just the proximity. The thoughts of what if—what if you leaned closer, right now? Closed the gap, shut your eyes, let your finger trace over the shape left behind by his balaclava, zip forgotten?

“Take your time.” His voice is deep, gentle.

His eyes pierce yours, the tension growing in between you until you can barely breathe.

You pull and finally, it gives, unzipping the whole way. You blink, breaking eye contact and stepping backwards so fast you almost trip. “I’ll be outside.” The door is shut, the noise damning behind you as you finish an entire cup of water in what you genuinely think to be record time.

—

“Fine. Fifty euros.”

“Fifty?! Cheap trick. Make it two hundred.”

“If you’re in the hundred territory, might as well make it five hundred. Turn this into a serious thing.”

“Deal.” The Brit and the Monegasque clap their hands together in a firm handshake. “Let’s talk terms.”

Charles recites his end of the bet, as clearly as he did when this was first wagered just ten minutes ago. “She and Carlos will start dating before the article is even published.”

“They’re exes, innit?” Lando laughs. “You’re wrong, Charl-ito. They will never date, ever again. Exes don’t date.”

“Unless they’re soulmates,” he reasons.

“Psh, what do you know about soulmates?” The younger raises a condescending brow. “You dated a girl and then her best friend.”

“Back off,” insists Charles petulantly, watching Lando messily write down the evidence of their wager on a small slip of paper. For proof, he’d said, before slipping it into the back of his opaque phone case. He waves it around. “We shall see.”

“You will definitely be paying me up,” Charles says proudly. “Just you wait.”

—

“Care to listen to me?” You hoist yourself onto the stool of this hotel bar, ordering yourself a martini.

“Always,” says Lewis, immediately facing you. He’s always been one of the kindest, most genuine people in your life. He’s known you forever, and he’s the only person here who really knows the extent of your history with Carlos, all the layers, all the fights, all of it.

You sigh and lean against the backrest, deflated. “Carlos and I… I don’t know if this is going to work.”

“The article?”

“Being with him.” You pause to reword it. “Around him.”

“I see. Hasn’t it been, what—four years now, though?”

“Yeah, but…” But why does it feel like you both want those four years gone? The car ride with the song, the eye contact, zip situation after Saudi. You lick over your lips and sit a little straighter.

“Lew, it’s just—and you should know this—when you break up with someone, you’re forced to unlearn all the things you knew about them.” You sigh. “All the… just all of it. The habits, the quirks, the favorite words, the way they like their toast and eggs. And if you can’t, then fine, it’s still okay, because why would you ever need it again? But I haven’t forgotten anything, and now he’s back in my life.”

Lewis stares, with eyes that convey solemnity and a little sadness. He seems to understand, watching you intently, the way your eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“So now I see him, and it feels like he’s like”—you inhale—“this sounds… bad, but like… I’m… like he’s a lover, kind of. In disguise, a little bit. I don’t know. Like, I have to pretend I know nothing about him, like every little fun fact is a new thing for the profile… but I know everything.” And what a heavy burden it is.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“No, don’t be. I’m pretty sure this is all one-sided.” You take a long sip. “That’s the price to pay for ending on bad terms, I suppose.”

“Just think,” he muses out loud. “When this is all over and you’re accepting your Pulitzer, you won’t even be thinking of him one bit.”

“Right,” you say. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. He’s the only thing on your mind. “Right.”

You find a working title for the article later. Carlos Sainz, it reads on your Word document. On racing, gracious defeat, and life’s driving forces.

—

Like every other sport, Formula One drivers have their share of bad competition days. Sainz recalls a time his car failed and caused him to DNF—racing vernacular for “Did Not Finish,” a damning phrase for any driver on the grid.

A double kill vibrates through Carlos.

It’s a consecutive hit that’s both professional and personal, and greatly affects the momentum of the profile you’re busy writing. In Australia he’d been reserved, eyes stormy, walking alone but not angry. He’d congratulated Charles and everything, even offered a few words for the article. The last you saw of him was with a beer, brows knitted together.

Tonight you’re in Imola. He’d been okay after the race, the usual silence that comes with a bad result.

No hard feelings, he’d said. This is the business. Hugged Danny, excused himself; nobody said anything. It’s a normal response to a shit day. You spend the post-race buzz with Lewis and Sebastian this time, but you manage to congratulate Lando on the podium finish when you catch sight of him.

“Maaate!” He cries gleefully when he sees you. “Where’s the muppet?”

“Mourning,” you drone. “Reasonably so, I guess.”

“Tough crowd,” he says, kissing his teeth. “But, yeah. Hey—shots on me!”

“Tempting offer.” You eye the bunch of tequila on the table. “But I think I’ll retire early. I need to send a draft pretty early tonight.”

“All good. Have fun being a loser,” he says, watching you leave.

The hotel, it turns out, is not nearly as fun as the party. Which is common sense.

You spend time writing and rewriting a few paragraphs of the article, stuck on the title of it and honestly wishing you were with Cuervo and vodka right now. You suppose you don’t need one just yet—they usually come to you late, anyways. Jonathan sends you three follow-up emails regarding a draft, so you send him the latest version and read over the file, reciting favorite lines under your breath.

In the middle of reading on the Bahrain P2 and a little segment on Sainz’s favorite Ferrari moments, somebody knocks on your door.

It’s a surprise—you don’t spend much time with people on the paddock, and only few of them know your room number, which leads you to narrow down the person on the other side to a select group. There’s Lewis, most likely of them all. Charles, who you’d grown much closer to as of late. Level with him is Lando. Then maybe, just maybe, Sebastian, to offer late night advice.

It could’ve been any of them, but it’s not. It’s somebody else.

“I’m sorry.” His voice threatens to break. “I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”

“Carlos?” You blink.

You usher him in after, and you hope his mind is anxious enough that it doesn’t pay much attention to your hideous pajama situation (old hoodie, souvenir L.A. pajama pants). You end up on your balcony, both of you facing the frigid nighttime air. It freezes your cheeks, casts your hair backwards. Your eyes slide to his stoic figure, the way even his hair is blown back by the wind.

He’s quiet, but more relaxed, less stiff. “Sorry, again.”

“S’okay.”

You duck back inside and return with two cigarettes and a lighter. “Wanna?”

“Awful habit.” But he accepts it anyway, sticking it in between his lips. It bobs as he speaks, still unlit. “I need this, though.”

“I don’t do it regularly,” you defend, pressing the flame to the cig. He exhales. “Some situations call for them.”

“This definitely does. Bit of a slap to the face, you know?” You nod. “I’m sorry.” The apology carries more weight than it should, and you know why.

Like it’s the most difficult thing in the world, you breathe a few times before you respond in a hushed tone. With your words comes a huff of smoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You gave it your all, took a risk, it went to shit. But you gave it your all is what matters in the end. You put heart into it, which is something not everyone does in sports these days.”

“I feel… complimented.” You both laugh at the lack of good phrasing, so he rewords it. “I meant, I feel, how you say? Touched. It means a lot to be praised by you.”

“Does it?” Smoke again, another whiff of it.

“They only ever want to praise the podium finish, the P1, the title holder.” He lets the words fizzle. “But here you are praising a driver who finished like shit twice in a row. More people should be like you, paying thanks to the underdogs.”

It’s not the underdogs, you think. It’s just because of you.

“More like the shit drivers,” you say instead, in a low rumbling voice. He laughs, calls you stupid in Spanish, and it’s a dead issue.

Later, before he leaves, when the room’s much darker and less bathed in moonlight, you whisper goodbye to him through a small crack in the door. He smiles a bit, and you catch it even with the lack of lighting.

“Thank you.” He says. He means it. You catch his perfume when the door swings closed. It smells like wood.

—

Sainz has off-grid hobbies, one of the most notable of which is cooking. He claims to have a good hold over the kitchen, and cooks several of his favorite dishes on the rare weekend off. Blah blaaahhhh, cooks well. Usually wears funky apron. WRITE THIS PROFILE ALREADY STOP EATING PASTA YOU DIPSHIT

Lando had invited you all to an Airbnb owned by a friend in Umbria, a two-ish hour drive from Imola.

With two free days, you’d followed a small group of drivers—Carlos included—to soak in the rest of Tuscany. Charles and Lando, however, left as soon as you arrived, to check out the last few hours of the farmer’s market. Alex had met Lily at the Eurostar station and they’d gone biking together.

This effectively left you and Carlos alone, which was not an unusual occurrence, but still proved to be a bit tense. With the kitchen free and the fridge stocked, Carlos suggested he cook for you both. Despite your best efforts, you ended up at the island writing and taste testing sauce, chicken, anything he slid over to you on a saucer with a tiny fork beside it.

“You’re going to give me cholesterol problems,” you quip. “This pasta is too good.”

“Cacio e pepe.” He twirls some onto a fork, straight off the pan, and shoves it into his mouth, a low mmmm leaving him once he gets to chewing. You laugh, a stifled sound through the noodles in your mouth at the exaggerated show of delicious food.

“Any favourite food you think is notable enough for the profile?” You type again, backspacing your harsh reminder. Makes a mean cacio e pepe (look up translation later). “Like, food you cook yourself, or even other recipes.”

“This,” he says, pointing to the pan. “This is fuel.”

“Amen.” Loves cacio e pepe.

“And it’s good with chicken.” He points to the oven, where he’s been baking chicken for a bit now. The kitchen smells of it, of the rosemary and oregano and pepper. “Oh, and put that I cook with music on. Let me connect my phone.”

Cooks w/ music. “Why do you need to mention that?”

“Ladies love a chef,” he says simply, letting a familiar song thrum into the woody kitchen. “And I love ladies.”

“Okay, slag.”

“Fuck off!” He begins shimmying all across the kitchen island, cranking open the oven mid-dance to check on the chicken, then continuing to clean the counter. Still he dances, and not very well, either—he always claimed singing was a stronger suit of his, so you allow the fool to be a fool.

Back when you two were still together, Carlos already had a preference for 70’s disco in the kitchen, saying it brought out the dancer in him. Nothing seems to have changed in that department, and you smile with mild embarrassment and amusement watching him dance across the kitchen, using the kitchen towel as a prop and swinging it around.

Loves dancing to The Communards while baking rosemary chicken. “Let me taste the chicken, by the way,” you ask when you finish typing, hopping off the stool and walking to the oven. He continues dancing, hips cocking poorly from side to side to the old song. He retrieves a fork and cuts a piece of chicken, reviewing its doneness briefly before turning with a piece of it stabbed into the utensil.

“Open,” he says. “It’s hot.”

It’s too natural, the way he slowly feeds you the piece. You don’t even realize it until you’re chewing, and by then he’s back to dancing to the song that’s now reaching its end. “It, uh,” you stutter, a bit nervous, “it’s really good.”

“Of course, I cooked it,” he says smugly. You grab a lime from the fruit bowl and throw it, hitting him in the back of the head in retaliation. He turns slowly, still dancing, lips stretched into a challenging smile.

Lando and Charles walk in ten minutes later to Carlos and you, yelping and chasing each other around the wide counter, chicken left atop it and forgotten in favor of the tag game. Charles, toting bags of fruit, faces Lando with a victorious expression. Pay up, he mouths, cocky.

—

It’s much too hot in Miami, but you appreciate the heavy beach culture and the even heavier nightlife.

You work on the profile until your fingers hurt from typing, sending Jonathan another draft for approval. Charles joins you on a cocktail taste test at the open bar until your tongue tastes like gin and your head is a bit spinny. Both Ferrari drivers end up having a shitload of pictures of you sleeping on the leather couch, enough that Lewis ends up getting ahold of them, too.

It’s a 2-3, in the end, with P1 going to Max. The latter throws a party at some place along the beach strip, invites you in one of the only conversations you’ve ever shared with the guy so far. He seems a bit unfriendly, but when you walk into the exclusive club later that night, you find him doing a handstand in front of a beer keg, so that’s that.

FUCK YEAH! Max hollers, following it with a howl so happy it reverbrates in your ears. It’s crowded everywhere, and you’re pretty sure Lewis isn’t here, so you spend a few minutes roaming around, getting a good grip on the vibe of the place.

It’s Carlos who finds you in the middle of the dance floor, nursing yet another drink to aid your lack of social skills. His voice is rough in your ear and it smells like a Jägerbomb, a low laugh escaping it right after. “All alone?”

“Unfortunately,” you tease, turning to face him. “Man, I thought guys were confident in Florida.”

“Cuidado,” he warns, smiling. “This dress is pretty difficult to resist.” His tongue’s definitely been loosened by shots, his eyes half-lidded and looking you up and down. You laugh, raising one eyebrow at the sudden flirty tone, but welcoming it nonetheless, depositing your now empty glass on whatever cocktail table is nearest. Who said you were sober?

“Nobody’s inviting me, so why don’t you and I dance instead?”

He licks over his lips—he never seems to keep his tongue in his mouth—and winks, nodding.

And here in Miami, through the strobing purple lights of this ridiculously expensive club, you wrap your arms around his neck and dance to whatever Calvin Harris song is blaring through the bass.

His hands are all over you, loosening your stiff stature; they wring into the fabric of your obejctively too-short dress, raking it up a bit. You lean back and he leans forward, following you, drawn into you, your noses pressed together and your eyes meeting. Your breath heightens, holds, your fingers moving to his long hair and holding him close to you.

His hand moves over your ass, pulling you in. He smiles, pokes his tongue into his cheek, and you giggle, almost causing your lips to touch. Your mind is haywire from the alcohol, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. The warmth grows between you, closer and closer, the dynamic easy—

And then someone spills their drink on both your feet, causing you two to break apart and laugh off the tension instead. You’d almost fucking kissed. However you’re going to tell this to Lewis, you don’t even know.

And you’re not entirely sure, you think as you rinse whiskey and bile off the tip of your heel in the bathroom, how it sounds like to write Sainz and I almost made out in public on the GQ profile.

—

Nick emails you directly to ask if Carlos can do some test shoots in Miami for the profile cover.

You convince him to agree, even if he thinks he’s no good in front of a camera, and you two show up to a mostly empty warehouse studio. There’s a white backdrop situated toward the back and a tiny-sized crew of people working.

“Hi. Is this for GQ?” You ask the photographer. “Test shots?”

“Oh, hi.” He stands and shakes your hand. “I’m Luke. Big fan of your work, by the way. So the concept today is just plain shirt, long hair, gorgeous face, white background. Good?”

“Bueno,” Carlos says behind you with a smile.

You sit on a chair a few metres behind Luke while he works, watching the shots pop up on his screen every time the shutter clicks. As it turns out, Carlos is a brilliant liar, because every single shot—even one where he was fixing a wrinkle in his tee—looks perfectly usable anyway. Sainz is a natural stunner, you jot down.

It’s a bit awkward to admit you can’t help but stare, but his face is undeniably handsome, especially when he’s in front of the camera. Thankfully for you, and heavily owed to Carlos’ natural skill for modeling, the ordeal’s over in less than thirty minutes, and you begin preparing your stuff to leave.

“Oh, crap. I forgot I had to do a test bridal shoot for R&B’s wedding anniversary in September.” Luke sighs, clicking through the photos rapidly.

“R&B. The… music genre?” You ask, confused and toting your bag on your shoulder.

“Silly! Ryan and Blake. As in, Reynolds and Lively? They plan their photoshoots way in advance, and they always need sample poses to choose from.”

“Oh, I get it.” You smile. “Well, we’re sorry for keeping you.”

“You”—he stops both you and Carlos, pacing in front—“you two wouldn’t… mind, would you?”

“Mind… mind what, now?” Your eyes flit toward Carlos’ and you both laugh nervously.

“Being my mannequins for the bridal shoot!”

Both of you balk, making up all kinds of excuses, but as fate would have it, Luke is very convincing and you’re against the backdrop after five minutes of persuasion. He directs you into different silly, quirky poses—a piggyback ride both ways, smiling goofily, the like. Carlos can’t stop laughing every time the shutter clicks, at how silly the two of you must look.

Luke plays some music to get you both looser, and directs you into a few mocking dance poses. Then he directs you in a partners-in-crime pose, which you love the outcome of. Okay, last one, newlyweds, he says. Carlos, why don’t you get behind her and wrap your arms around her waist?

You clear your throat, letting him do so anyway, his hands big around your frame. “Careful,” you whisper when he’s right behind you. Luke raises an inquisitive brow behind the camera, watches your chemistry unfold through the viewfinder. Your breath hitches a little, but you swallow the nerves.

Look into his eyes, Luke says. So you do, meet them, force yourself not to look away for once and just stare. It’d been easy to do this, because you could just as easily break the stare, but now it’s different. Your eyes flutter, and his stay unblinking.

It’s like that for a minute, just staring, like all the things you want to say can communicate themselves through eye contact alone. Another twenty seconds pass before Luke coughs, breaking the moment.

“I said we were good like a minute ago, guys,” he says knowingly, packing up with a smirk.

—

Lewis advises you to avert your pent up “romantic” tension to another boy. It’s difficult, but you challenge yourself to find somebody anyway, maybe outside of racing, to use your extra paddock pass (courtesy of Mattia) on. The guys in your DMs are all skeevy, or you’ve unfortunately ghosted them, so they’re all out.

After some searching, you end up using your extra pass in Spain, and for James, a Sky Sports sound editor for streamed football games. He’s British and a huge Tottenham fan who you met during drinks with a few reporters the month prior. Not bad, but not necessarily your type; at this point, though, you’ll take anybody above the bare minimum. And James is above it—a gentleman, kind, funny in the quaint English way. He could be taller, but you find him charming enough.

Noise flows through the paddock, chatter and cheering and interviews. “This is so cool,” says James animatedly. “I feel like a regular Schumacher.”

You give a phony, flirty laugh and enter the Ferrari hospitality, raking your hair backwards. “I’m going to get something real quick, okay? Stay put…” You point at a lone chair. “Over there.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile. “I can’t roam arou—?”

“No!” You say, a tad too quickly. “I mean, sorry. Don’t. Just. I’ll be back really quickly.” Before you can even retrieve your phone charger from Carlos’ room, the owner himself walks into the area, squirting water into his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows together when he sees you standing beside a stranger.

“Hi,” Carlos says, a bit bluntly. His eyes are darting everywhere but at you, lingering a bit too distastefully on James’ timid figure. “You are?”

“Her date,” James says with a nervous laugh, pointing a thumb towards you. “James. Huge fan of you. Of the team.”

“Sure.” He offers a tight-lipped smile, hand meeting James’ outstretched one to form a polite handshake.

It’s awkward, is what it is—awkward and stuffy and Carlos won’t look at you. He clenches his jaw a little, smiles, looks up and down. “You, uh… how long have you guys been…?” He waves a finger in between the both of you, almost fearfully, like the answer will cast him into ashes.

“Not—not long, really.” James laughs again to relieve the tension that seeps across the room. “A month?”

“A month?” Carlos repeats, arms crossed.

“We haven’t even, like, had se—”

“That’s—” you cut in, sharp and apologetic, “wow, that’s plenty. Thanks, James. Could you get us some drinks? I’ll have a beer.”

“It’s one-thirty,” he says.

“Yeah,” you respond. “A beer.”

He leaves you both alone sheepishly, and you turn to face Carlos’ intense expression.

His arms are crossed and he rakes a hand through his hair—but he doesn’t say anything. Why should he, anyway, he thinks to himself, staring at you. You wore your hair in a ponytail today, so he sees more of your pretty face. Oh and so does James. Pendejo.

“Are you okay?” You ask, even if he knows you know what’s up.

“Totally. Muy bien.” He shrugs, drinking water again. “Should I not be?”

“Never said that,” you say, raising both eyebrows.

“Okay. Well enjoy the beer.”

So he’s jealous. Fine, sue him. He’s jealous of the British gangly guy you thought was good enough to invite onto the paddock. Barely even made a lasting impression. He gives a small, phony smile and walks back, meeting Charles along the way.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, mate,” says the younger, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Maybe the ghost of James?” He flicks the guy’s forehead, laughing.

P4, it ends up being. Not nearly good enough. But James is the first to say, “Congratulations, hombre!” in a God awful accent, so it becomes ten times worse, really.

—

“Alright guys, Carlos and I here today with some members of our team, and we’re going to play some fun trivia games.” Charles’ eyes read from the signboard behind the camera, his amusement wholly unscripted as he looks from you to Andrea and back to Carlos.

You honestly don’t know why you agreed to this. It might have been Lewis’ gentle persuasion or your boss’ overenthusiastic persistent voice, or the sleepiness that’s been wearing you down and boggling your mind lately, or—and it’s probably this—the fact that James ghosted you after Spain, because you “clearly have a thing with Sainz, and I don’t wanna be a homewrecker.” Whatever it is, you’re apparently a guest on the C² Challenge segment.

Today is a trivia game against Charles and Andrea, and you’ve all been given a general guide to what the questions entail—math, music, general knowledge, and one scripted Ferrari question at the end. The structure is fairly basic; each team member gets to answer one at a time, both contributing to overall points—and no coaching allowed, for some odd reason.

Charles is a little shit, so he’s made an off-camera bet: loser should treat winner to a round of shots at the next afterparty/get-together. And—who are you kidding, really—Carlos is also a little shit, so he’s game for the bet and has fired you both up to win, spouting Ferrari trivia in your ear should it come up.

“I got it,” you say snappily when he hasn’t stopped pestering you for five straight minutes. “I got it.”

“Oh, did you got it?” He asks sassily. “Okay. When did Ferra—”

“We’re starting in three,” says the cameraman in Spanish, Italian, then finally English.

He holds three fingers up and you hug your tiny dry erase board closer to your torso, readying your camera smile. The video—and the game—start off well enough, a quickfire competition developing between the two teams that infects you and Andrea quickly.

“Stay calm and collected,” Carlos proclaims, lips stretched into a proud smile. “Our team motto.” He elbows your side and you roll your eyes with a smile, teasing.

“I think it’s, ah, always—always cheat, mate,” Charles protests, pointing an accusatory finger.

“You are soooo—tch, I propose we kick Charles for poor sportsmanship,” retorts your teammate, laughing. The force of his laughter shakes the stool he sits on and you bite back a smile, remaining relatively quiet like you’ve been since the start of the video.

The remainder of the game passes with Carlos and Charles neck and neck, you and Andrea working overtime to make sure your teams don’t lose the bet. Eventually it boils down to one question, which Carlos is in charge of answering. Behind the camera, the producer raises a signboard and reads it out: We all know C². What is eight squared?

What a relief, you think. They’ve basically handed the win to you and Carlos on a silver platter. You wait, bumbling in your seat and raising an L sign toward Charles, who sticks his tongue out in response. Excitedly, you watch Carlos cheer for himself and finish writing, turning the board inch by inch until you all see the answer he has written on it.

Everyone stares. Then: “Team Charles wins!”

“Que?!” Carlos blinks, scandalized and a bit amused. He stares at the question then at his answer then, as if dreading the laser eyes, at you. Your eyes narrow, disappointed.

“Carlos. What is eight squared?”

“Eight squared. Eight, and you take another eight, and—it’s right here.” A tan finger points firmly at the number written messily, square in the middle of the whiteboard.

“Eres un tonto,” you quip, remembering bits of teasing you’d used on him years before. “Carlos, it’s 64. Eight times eight, not eight times two.”

“Ay, puta—” He shuts his eyes and laughs. “Lo siento! Sorry, sorry. Sorry! I cost us the win.”

Across you, Charles is coaxing a much more begrudged Andrea into a childish victory dance, pulling his arms up and down to convey the joy of winning. You sigh exasperatedly, but smile . For what it was worth, you had a great game anyway. The noise grows, and you watch the producers pack up, the cameraman parting from the camera for a moment to converse with one of them.

Left alone with you for a bit, Carlos lets his voice slip into a quieter one. “Sorry again. I forgot.”

“Forgot?” Your brows furrow, confused. “What?”

“That, you know”—he points at the lonely 16 on the whiteboard he holds—“it’s supposed to be 64.”

“Oh.” You laugh, a light sound. “Whaaat?! It’s not that deep, Carlos. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It was all fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” he says softly, smiling.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, unable to hide your smile. You stay like that for a bit, something blooming in the pit of your stomach you can’t—and refuse to—name.

—

You get two days off, and Charles had suggested you all go to Paris before you go to Cannes, where the Ferrari team is apparently expected for a meeting before Monaco. You’re the one who’d said yes first, even if Carlos seemed to hesitate; he had asked why, to which you responded you’d never been before.

You’d read about it, watched about it, and like every other human on Earth, seen pictures of it. But you’d never been to Paris; work placed you mostly in London, sometimes South America, other times Italy. But Paris was never a destination. So Carlos allowed the greenlight and you flew, with Lando, Pierre, and Esteban tagging along for shits and giggles.

“I’ve waited my whole life for my Eiffel Tower moment,” you say, not even trying to hide your wonder. Carlos got the best room for himself, but invited you in, for the view. He doesn’t tell you he went through hell and back to get precisely this room, so you could peek inside and see the tower.

“Well, you’re here now.” He wedges the hotel balcony door open and walks toward the railing. You follow suit, arms crossed over your torso, eyes stuck on the view. “How is it?”

“It’s as beautiful as I imagined it to be,” you confess honestly, eyes still stuck on the tower, the way it stands alone and glittering against the black of night. Cliché as it is, you feel like you’ve checked one huge box off your bucket list, staring at the landmark like it’s going to evaporate into thin air.

Beside you, Carlos hums in agreement, but his gaze is stuck on something else. “I know.”

“Oh, do you?” You laugh. “Are you in the business of admiring beautiful things?” You tease, looking up at the stars.

Sensing his eyes on you, you slowly avert your gaze until your eyes meet. The light reflects in his eyes, and they meet yours blindingly, beautiful, luring you closer. The joking tone of your words is caught in your throat, desert dry, your lips parted to spout words you’ve now forgotten, lost track of.

Your silhouettes dance against the lights of the city below, two figures admiring the other. His eyes flicker down to your lips, linger there a second too long. You stumble closer, your foot touching his. “…Paris.” The words struggle to leave but they do, quietly, an admission of guilt. “It’s always reminded me of you.”

“Not Spain?” He asks, leveling your volume. You’re closer, so close you feel his breath fan soft against your own face. His voice is deep, accented so thickly, the way it is when he talks with you because he falls into a familiar rhythm of knowing you’ll decipher whatever he has to say.

You giggle, a low, breathy sound. A barely there shake of your head. “I… love it so much, is why. Always have.”

Had there been a pedestrian across the street who looked just a few floors upward, they would’ve found the both of you there, smiling foolishly, blanketed by the night sparkles of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city. They would’ve seen the way Carlos leaned in, his eyes on yours and then on your lips, the way you nodded in silent, warm invitation. Come closer, you seem to say. Don’t stray any further.

A lock of your hair touches his jaw, from how close you two are. So close. Everything smells like him, like the musky woody perfume he wears, the detergent he uses. All of that, and everything underneath. The scent of him. Just him.

You hold your breath when you both lean in, eyes fluttering shut and waiting, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

The door shakes with several knocks, Lando’s voice seeping from the other side of it. “Mate, we’re gonna be late for dinner!” He says boredly, letting his fist collide with it a few more times for good measure.

Instantly, you and Carlos separate, both of you clearing your throats, rushed flimsy excuses escaping your mouths at the same time. You’re warm all over, the excitement, the nerves, tapering off into nothing as you walk back inside the room, busying yourselves with anything. Oh, I need to check if Jonathan’s emailed me. Oh, let me go answer the door.

Lando is waiting, expectant, on the other side when Carlos pries the door open. “Mate! Dinner! I texted you like twenty minutes ago and y—oh.” He spots you sitting at one of the lounge chairs in the room, and immediately his brows raise. “Hey, dude. You’re here?”

“Yeah, to, uh—to get Carlos to OK some edits,” you say with a smile, hoping your nonchalance isn’t too shaky. “I needed to get a draft in by three hours ago, so.”

“Oh. Right, obviously.” His eyes narrow a little, but he doesn’t relax much, gaze suspicious and a bit beguiled. “Well, if you’re not busy, we’re having dinner?”

“I’m good,” you decline, a touch too quickly. “It’s getting late.”

“Alright, well it was a courtesy invite, you dipshit,” Lando teases, and everything feels a bit more normal. You just flip him off, and Carlos retrieves his coat, eyes still not meeting yours when you all exit at the same time. Lando makes up for the hole in the conversation, droning on and on about the restaurant they’re going to, and how good it seems to be.

The elevator ride is equally charged, and you spend it humming and interjecting Lando’s words to come across as unfazed, even if you’re so totally not. Once you’re alone you finally let big exhales leave you. You don’t know if it’s from the anxiety of almost being caught, or the anxiety from the kiss unfinished.

—

LOVE the latest draft, Nick & I both. Could we get a deeper angle? Something re: regrets? Would really tie it together! Best, J

“Huh. Do you have any regrets?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from the short email. Next to you, Carlos nods his head slowly. You’re on the beach in Cannes, taking time off before the meeting and people-watching. Charles had joined you for a good half hour before leaving to sleep in the hotel instead, leaving you two to bask in the now setting sun.

“Everyone does, no?” He stretches a bit. The topic is tense. “But yes, I have some specific ones.”

“Like?” You ask weakly.

“I was stupid when I was younger. More immature, more forgetful. You grow older and you think of all the things you could’ve done right, years too late. There’s a proverb I heard once that goes—camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente. It means to—to stay alert. Don’t let things pass you by.”

��And do you think you followed that advice?”

His eyes meet yours. “Do you?”

—

It’s quiet when Carlos walks inside your flat, and already his heart begins to drain, filling with guilt.

He steps over the creaky floorboard, notices your car keys on the table, your jacket haphazardly slung over the rack, your Chanel bag half-open on the dinner table beside an empty wine glass and a sweaty bottle of Cheval Blanc. The bedroom door’s half-open, light bleeding into the dark rest-of-the-place, and when he gently pushes the door to get in, the sight he faces is crushing.

“…Estás bien?”

You face the window, your back to him, in a beautiful, beautiful black dress. Your hair had been up, but it’s unpinned now, falling in loose, messy waves. You hiccup, and then tense. Feigning nonchalance, you croak out, “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “I didn’t know the thing was earlier.” His eyes hover to the glass award on the bed, one you’d hoped he would watch you receive tonight.

“I said I’m fine,” you say. “Just”—you sniffle—“it’s fine, Carlos, just get out.”

You’re standoffish, and cold, but Carlos knows you’re incredibly hurt. In an attempt to try and coerce a conversation, he stays. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow,” he suggests in a low voice. “On me. Right? To celebrate.”

“Leave me alone, Carlos.”

“I wanted to go,” he insists. “I had a meeting that ended late, and—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” you assert, turning. You’ve clearly been crying hard, your face flushed and shiny, a few rogue tears still on your chin. “Just go.”

“I know how much this mattered to you.”

“And yet you didn’t go.” You sniff, wiping fruitlessly at your face. “Carlos, just…” Your voice sounds thin, heartbroken, worn with pain and real tiredness.

“Cut me some slack.” Carlos argues softly.

“No, I just… I don’t even know how things got to this point, Carlos. We used to be so much happier. But now, it’s like I have to demand for your time like everyone else does. Now, I—I cook, I plan dinner, I put my own career on the back burner so I can spend more time with you even if I’ve gotten calls, promotions that you don’t even ever… ever ask about, just everything. I don’t think… I don’t feel you love me that way. Care for me, that way. You’ve never shown it, not lately especially.”

“You should’ve told me,” he says, hurt.

“This kind of thing, it…” you shake your head, wiping your clammy hands on the black silk. “It doesn’t need to be said.”

“Let me make it up to you.” He steps closer but you’re quicker, almost stumbling in your rush to avoid him.

“No,” you protest, “just go, Carlos, just go. Get out and close the door.”

“Cariño—”

“Go,” you say, voice hard with contempt. You refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Go, Carlos.”

So he does.

He passes by, again, your handbag, with the sleek travel-sized bottle of Santal 33 you keep with you always peeking out, and the Cheval Blanc he’d bought you a few months prior, and the jacket you’d bought with his approval almost a year ago. He lingers in his car for a minute, the rain pelting the Golf noisily.

He drives off, wiping tears from his own face.

And maybe, had he stayed a little longer, he would’ve seen you tearfully emerge from the elevator, into the lobby, then out into the rain, still in your black dress, and let yourself get soaked waiting for him to come back, refusing to believe he’d even let himself leave you so broken.

—

You play Uno to pass the time, your last night in Cannes.

He’s won two games in a row at this point, and you’re almost 100% sure he has a plus four card in his hand, so you play a bit more deliberately, eyeing him with a challenging glint in your eyes. You’re a bit watered down by your earlier conversation, but you feign nonchalance anyway.

Blue 2. Blue 5. Green 5. Then finally, he slaps it onto the deck—a plus four card. “Oh, come on, Carlos,” you say, almost actually irritated.

“I’ll kiss it better,” he says. Suddenly overwhelmed, you push yourself off the counter and storm out.

He follows you, stumbling into the empty balcony and softly shutting the door, voice still colored with laughter. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you’d be so upset about the—”

You barely hear the rest of his clearly half-hearted, humorous apology. It doesn’t matter to you.

What does matter is everything from the years past crashing on your shoulders like debris, like rain, finally giving under the weight of being so close to him again. Everything. The tangled fog of your relationship, the start, the middle, the terrible end neither of you wanted. You pulsed with want, with yearning, with sadness.

So you ask yourself why? Why? Why? Why couldn’t he have come back? More importantly—why did he let you go so easily?

The truth is, you’ve drowned yourself in work so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel, to be felt. And if Carlos is doing this, all this, all the touching and the tension and the debris and the rain that crash on you like a bruising, torrential storm, for his own pleasure, like this is all a game, then you’ve yearned for nothing.

“This isn’t about the game, Carlos!” It heaves itself out of you in a half-sob, carried by the wind.

He stops—stops walking, stops smiling. Just stops and stares, brows knitted with concern. You refuse to look at him, staring instead at the skyline, arms crossed. The view blurs with tears, lights meshing together prettily.

He stutters your name out in a feeble response. It’s mortifying, the way you start to cry when it leaves his mouth.

You turn then, willing your lips to stop quivering. “Good for you,” you say shakily, “you can—you can fool around, kiss me like it’s nothing, pretend like we never even mattered so you can make jokes about how we’ve ended up here again, back, together.” You inhale, but it’s no use; you’re crying even as you speak. “And I’ll laugh, because it can be funny, you know, fuck it. But… I’m so—”

The wanting shows, in moments like this. Wanting love, wanting comfort, wanting warmth, an escape from work and stress and life. You know how it feels, to be loved. You’d been familiar with it, at some point. You want it again, the ache, the kiss, the pain of it all. More than that, you want him. For just a moment. But all this wanting is so exhausting.

You want this profile to be over. You want to pull him close and tell him how proud you are, but also how hurt you are. You want Spain. You miss Paris. Everything, everything, every memory, every single painful loving thing bursts inside you.

“—tired.” You nod your head, licking tears that have perched on your lip, smiling humorlessly, shrugging. “I’m—I’m tired, and lonely, and being around you makes it worse. Being around you hurts me. It hurts you. This profile was a bad idea, and I should’ve trashed this the moment I learned I’d be covering you. Because I knew then it would’ve turned to shit, and I was right.”

He stares, unmoving. He remembers, too. He’d tell you everything if the words clicked just right. But they never do; they tangle like cotton balls in his throat before he can kneel and name everything he remembers, everything he loved about the two of you. Cariño. Just be mine, tell me everything, tell me you love me.

You wipe a hand over your face. “Let’s just let this go already. You know, we really were good for a while. This… this is maybe just one of those things where we made it in another life, but not this one.”

At his returned silence, you nod, then walk quietly past him and back into the room.

It’s just as empty as you’d left it, dim and lit only by the warm light above the kitchen counter. Your forgotten Uno game lies on the same spot, beside the two empty wine glasses. You stare for a second. Life had been different when he’d lay down his cards just minutes ago.

A coat is tugged from in between couch cushions, your heels from by the door hastily pulled on. Every movement feels heavy, like sandbags are tied to your limbs, your tongue, your eyelids. You turn, one last time, to see the moment suspended in time—and you meet his eyes. Even across the room you feel like you’re drowning in them, dark and solemn.

“Wait,” he says, and even with just one syllable he’s managed to stop your world from turning again. “You’re right. Everything you said. When I’m around you, I hurt. I’m reminded of how awful I was then. It’s painful to be together.”

Eyes meet, eyes blink, eyes close.

“But you didn’t trash the feature. And I still enjoy your company. You could be covering Rafael Nadal or whoever right now. I could be in a jet to Japan. But you and I are here, are we not?”

Only you. It’s only you.

“I’ve missed you.” It rips through him. “I want to be here with you. I want to make the pain go away, so let me.”

“It’s useless,” you protest, tearily. “This won’t work. I’ll get mad, you’ll get fed up, I’ll get bored, you’ll put work before us.”

“Okay.” He paces toward you, nearer and nearer, closing the distance between you both. “I’ll make it work.”

“Carlos,” you weep, “I don’t know why you don’t get it. Life sucks. And all we get are little moments where things are… are good. So don’t waste the moments like this. Let’s not waste the moments on this.”

“You’re not a waste,” he says—and you crumple into his arms, worn, exhausted.

A knot in your heart is slowly unraveling itself. You’ve waited, yearned for so long, and finally you’re in his arms again, with the kind of quiet resolution only he would understand. You left the lights on for him. You’d do it again, but you don’t have to.

You bury your head in his chest, a chorus of apologies leaving him. I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Everything.

I love you, you say weakly. I love you, that’s enough. I waited for this to leave, but all it did was hide. The love has yet to pass. It never will.

—

“Yours really is the best selling one!” Nick pulls you in for a hug. “We have Nadal and CR7 on the roster, but Sainz’s is selling like crazy. Your writing is just—” He kisses his fingers. “You are amazing.”

“You flatter me,” you reply gracefully, letting him pull you into another embrace but prying him off a bit faster. You don’t need another Jonathan-esque freakout in the middle of the room.

The GQ party, six months later, almost a mirror of the fundraiser just a few months ago. Only this time, you’re not tacked onto Lewis, and you’re not buzzing with nerves (as much). You had run into Lewis when you entered, and Charles too, and Lando when he spotted you, but none of them are your plus ones to this event.

Your profile is the talk of the journalism scene. Nobody can shut up about it, and it thrills you, excites you, to be witnessing your work be recognized beside Carlos himself. He brings you a glass of champagne and presses a kiss to your cheekbone, smiling against it.

Neither of you notice Lando and Charles behind you, watching like hawks. The elder cackles, presents his hand like a sacrifice and turns to the Brit. “Aha.What did I tell you, chat?”

“Five hundred euros,” moans Lando, slapping a bunch of bills onto it. “You’re an intuitive prick.”

“Those two are soulmates.” They stare at your foolish figures, smiling like idiots, high-fiving even. “The kind that’ll always, always find their way back to each other. Always.”

Lando shrugs. “Hey, honestly, for once, I’m glad I lost a bet.”

“I look great on the cover,” Carlos says, both of you staring at the screen’s display of it.

“Shut up,” you smile, interlocking your fingers. “Well, my writing looks great inside.”

“Really does,” he says. “I’m so, so proud of you, cariño.”

“Proud of me?” You tease, staring up at him. “You made the last minute title change that caused fans to go crazy.” You both turn to stare at it displayed on the screen, smiling fondly.

Carlos Sainz—on racing, gracious defeat, and refinding love.

#f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 x reader #carlos sainz x reader

3K notes · View notes

dontwantnoneunlessyougotmunson · 1 year

Note

I have a request for ya! Just thought of this (sorry for the long entry 🫣)

what if Reader has been harboring a MAJOR crush on Eddie forever, and maybe they're friends, maybe not, maybe just acquaintances, I'll leave that up to you, but the Reader is this stereotypical shy, quiet, nerd girl who loves fantasy novels and (though no one would guess it just by looking at her) heavy metal and D&D and she's always been way too scared to tell Eddie how she feels (and she also knows he has a crush on Chrissy Cunningham and how could she ever compete with the Queen of Hawkins High? The Perfect Girl?). But then one day a group of bullies (maybe Carver and his Goons, maybe somebody else, again, I'll leave that up to you) somehow get a hold of her diary and read out the entry where she talks about how much she's in love with Eddie, out loud in the cafeteria during Lunch! Eddie's there, Chrissy's there, Reader is there, everyone, all of their friends are there, and of course the Reader is MORTIFIED and takes off running and hides somewhere else before anyone can say anything.

How it ends I will leave up to you 🙌 (but preferably fluffy 👀)

Vulnerability (Eddie X GN Reader)

Ehehe I’ve been writing this all morning and I love this request so much! *The diary entries are in bold italics. Also this was typed on mobile, so sorry for any typos!!

The entire table erupted into cheers as they won the battle and finished the campaign. You smiled, glancing over your book and grinned even wider as they congratulated each other. You were tucked away in the corner, engrossed in the plot of your latest novel. You’d only pretended to read in the past half hour because you had been trying to pay attention to what was going on at the table.

You and Gareth had been friends since childhood and went everywhere together. You often watched the Hellfire campaigns, but had been trying to finish up your book since it was due back soon.

“So, what did you think of my campaign?”

Your heart jolted in your chest and you pretended to find a place to stop in the story before looking up to see Eddie hovering over you. Eyes widening, you tried to laugh normally, but it just came out strangled. He patted your back, concerned, while you begged whatever higher power was listening to just take you away. Tears leaked from your eyes and you glanced to him to see he was waiting expectantly.

“It was really good, Eddie.”

He flushed and rocked on his heels.

“Your storytelling was so creative and I had no idea that side character was going to have such a big role!”

He flourished under your praise and sat beside you, rambling eagerly about his strategy and how he was inspired for the campaign.

~~~

In short, I absolutely have a crush on Eddie Munson.

You groaned and flopped your head down on the table. The library was especially quiet before school and was often the place you divulged your most private thoughts to your diary. The five-minute warning bell rang and you scooped up all your things and dashed off to class, not realizing the diary had slipped out of your grip.

The day passed in a blur. Tests were coming up for all your classes and you could barely keep all the information straight in your head. You huffed as you sat down at the lunch table and pulled your book out. Gareth sat next to you and opened his mouth to say something, but you waved a hand dismissively.

“Just a few minutes, Gare. Almost done.”

The last few pages flew by before you closed the book with a thud.

“Good?” He asked.

“Amazinggggg,” you sang back.

Your table descened into a mess of conversation that stopped abruptly the moment Jason Carver walked up to you. Encountering Jason was never a good thing, especially up close.

He smiled at you, sending shivers down your spine. He waved a familiar small blue book at you. “I think this is yours.”

Your eyes grew as you turned to dig in your bag, confirming what you already knew. You turned back to him, face heating with embarrassment. “Give it back, Jason.”

His grin turned more antagonistic as you stood up and reached for your diary. He held it above your hands, opening it to the most recent entry.

“Ahem, everybody? Can I have your attention?”

You bristled as everyone turned your way, hands balling into fists at your side. Of course nobody could miss what stupid Jason Carver had to say.

Gareth stood and held out a hand for your book. “Hey, man. Just give it back to her.”

Jason pointed a finger into his chest, moving him back. “Hang on a minute, nerd. Gotta read something real quick.”

You darted around the table and surged toward Jason, groaning as you slammed against two of his goons that had stepped into your path. It was too late. Tears pooled in your eyes as he started to read, exposing your heart to the world.

He cleared his throat before starting in. You had written snippets of campaigns you would run if you were a DM and he skimmed over them, reading the romantic bits aloud and laughing cruelly as he continued to flip.

“Boring, boring. Yadda yadda. Oh! Here we go. This looks good.”

He slowly turned to Eddie, his grin spreading wider. Eddie glanced to you, confused and your stomach lurched as he started reading. This whole time he’d been working toward this grand finale of embarrassment and damn, it was working.

“Eddie is by far the cutest guy I know. He’s always so nice to me. I don’t have many friends and he has always been so welcoming. Ugh. Skip the gooey stuff. Aha! In short, I absolutely have a crush on Eddie Munson. How sweet, the freak and the lonely loser!”

By this time, you’d practically melted into the floor. You snatched your bag up and turned to Gareth. He saw your face crumple and started to rise, but you put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I’ll see you later.”

The words came out in a rasp and you took off before you allowed yourself to breakdown. You burst through the library door, startling the librarian who shot up from her seat.

She tilted her head in concern and motioned for you to come behind the desk. She opened the door to her office, which you sped into, dropping your book on her desk as you went. She guided you to the small couch in her office and quickly brought you a cup of hot chocolate before stepping back out to the media desk and closing the door behind her.

You curled up against the cushions and sobbed, barely able to take sips of your drink. Your afternoon teachers would just have to wait to see you until Monday. Or maybe never if you decided to move out of the country.

~~~

You woke a while later, low voices murmuring outside the door.

“Have you seen her? I know she comes here a decent bit.”

“Mmm. Nope. Haven’t seen her since this morning,” the librarian retorted.

You pulled one of the blinds down to see Eddie standing across the counter. His eyes flicked to yours, drawn by the motion and you gasped, letting the blinds snap shut.

You began gathering your courage to step out. Meanwhile, Eddie’s mouth curled into an amused smirk. He spoke slightly louder, ensuring you could hear him.

“Alright, well if you see her, let her know I got her diary back from that jerk.”

You opened the door and poked your head out, bag slung over your shoulder. You looked to the librarian and nodded at her.

“I’m okay. Thanks for the hot chocolate. I’ll be back for more books next week.”

You offered her a grateful smile, which she promptly returned, patting your shoulder kindly. You stepped around the desk, arms crossed protectively over your chest as you looked into Eddie’s eyes. A gasp slipped out as you noticed his swollen split lip. “Hi,” you mumbled.

“Hello,” his voice lit with a smile. “Walk with me?”

You nodded and turned, brushing past him as he held the door open for you.

“Need a ride?”

“Probably,” you sighed.

It was just late enough in the day that all the buses were gone for the day, student parking lot almost emptied out.

He strolled at an easy pace beside you and you kept your eyes lowered, determined not to acknowledge the cafeteria incident. He paused right outside his van on the passenger side and pulled your blue book out from under his arm, passing it to you before he pulled the door open for you. You searched for a way to say thank you, I’m sorry, and never bring this up again, but instead gaped when you saw the other book he was holding.

“Why are you reading that book? I just turned it in.”

“Well. I thought it could help my campaigns.”

You turned away, embarrassed. He reached for your arm, taking hold of it gently.

“No no I’m not teasing you. I really liked your campaign ideas and thought that if you could write something like that after reading this, then maybe I could too.”

Your heart fluttered and you bit back a smile as you climbed into the van. Eddie shut the door once you were in and circled around to the other side, climbed in and started up the van.

The drive started off quiet until you couldn’t handle it anymore and blurted out, “I’m sorry!”

He chuckled, “What are you sorry for?”

“I just… I know he’s not above embarrassing people, but I feel like his main target was probably you, so I’m sorry. I know you like Chrissy and-“

You were cut off by him laughing and you shrank back into the seat. You trembled with frustration before saying, “Alright. If you’re gonna laugh at me, let me out. Stop the car.”

He rolled to a stop on the side of the road and you reached down for your seatbelt. He caught your hand in his and your breath halted in your throat, eyes tentatively rising to meet his. His bangs had grown a bit longer, landing right above his eyes. Your hand twitched, wanting to brush them aside. He squeezed your hand and your eyes drifted back to his.

“I like Chrissy. As a person. She’s very kind and we knew each other when we were younger. But I haven’t liked anyone else in a long time. No one besides you.”

Your thumb brushed his palm as your brain processed his words.

“Me? You like me?”

“That would be what I said, yes.”

“But why? Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

“Why didn’t you?” He grinned as you blushed under his gaze. “I didn’t say anything because you’re Gareth’s best friend. He really cares about you. And about Hellfire. I didn’t want to start anything between us that could get messed up and make things awkward for him.”

You smiled at his consideration for your friend. Your diary poked at your side from where you’d tucked it next to you in the seat.

“Can I read something to you? Jason read a lot but somehow missed the best parts.”

He nodded enthusiastically and his eyes lit up as you opened your diary, stopping when you found the entry you were searching for. You kept holding hands, shivering when his rings brushed over your skin.

“Today was a bad day. I didn’t do so well on a test and the bus was late and it was pouring down rain. When it finally got there, Eddie ran up behind me and held his vest over my head until I got on. It happened so fast, I’m surprised I remember it. But I’ll never forget looking out the window and seeing him standing there in the rain. His fingers were hooked into the collar of his vest and it was slung over his shoulder. God, he looks good in the rain.”

You blushed but continued flipping to the next entry and began again, emboldened.

“Today I realized that my crush on Eddie isn’t just because he’s cute and kind to me. He’s good to everyone. It sucks seeing people mess with him. He’s somehow gotten so amazing at laughing it off and continuing about his day. He defends the kids in Hellfire. He takes care of everyone. I just wish he had someone to take care of him. I wish he knew how special he is.”

You closed the diary, your finger still tucked in. Fingers tenderly slid under your chin and lifted your face. He was waiting for you, his sweet smile already painted across his face. He groaned and blew out a puff of air.

“I wanna kiss you so bad, but could I take you out first? Where do you wanna go?”

You thought for a moment. “Well, I like ice cream.”

“Ice cream it is, then! Cone-gratulations on being the cutest person in Hawkins!”

“Oh, my God, Eddie.”

He snorted and your laughed filled the car as it started down the road again. He turned the volume up, one of his tapes in the player, and hit the dashboard in excitement when he caught you singing along.

“No way, you know this song?”

“I started listening because of you and as it turns out, I like metal music.”

“You are absolutely perfect.”

He pulled your joined hands to his mouth, kissing yours, careful of his injury. He set your hand down gently in your lap and his hand curled around your knee, determined to keep you close.

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort

1K notes · View notes

eureka-its-zico · 1 year

Text

Commitment Part 2

Summary: After finding out the truth about who Jungkook really is, your world - and everything you thought you knew - comes crashing down. Do you begin to give in to your new captive situation, or do you continue to fight? The choices no longer seem so easy when you feel betrayed by the one you love…

A/N: Let’s be real: I bet a lot of you never thought there would be a second part to this (its a far assumption). But I’ve decide to make this a small series, maybe two or three more parts. I hope that this chapter feels worth the wait, and I hope it makes you excited for things to come. As always, thank you for stopping by, for reading, and hopefully, enjoying my work. Much love, Jenn.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 7k

Genre: Mafia!Jungkook, Detective Reader, enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies, mutual pining

Warnings: mentions of violence, sexual content (its smut, y’all), graphic violence, slight dom behavior, fingering, cunnalingus, almost p in v.

If it wasn’t for the searing pain that exploded behind your eyes you could’ve sworn - for a brief moment - that you were home. Safe at home in bed beside Jungkook, who was currently running his fingers softly through your hair. If he wasn’t peppering your jawline with kisses to wake you he was most definitely running his fingers through your hair.

You’d come to expect it. Your body responded in kind by nuzzling up beside him and claiming his lips with your own.

Morning breath be damned.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take your body long to remind you that the bed you were lying in didn’t belong to you. The pain pulsating inside your skull wasn’t just a killer migraine. God - you wanted to believe it was a bad dream and that you’d open your eyes and find yourself nestled against Jungkook’s chest with fresh coffee waiting for you on your nightstand.

The dried blood crusted somewhere in your hair and swollen lip reminded you that you weren’t that lucky. The only real thing you knew for sure was that Jungkook was in the room with you.

How did you know this? While you weren’t in your shared bed, sunlight drifting through the curtains to remind you it was time to start the day, you could feel fingers playing carefully through your hair. The pattern his fingers took, the way he gently moved through each strand to make sure his fingers didn’t catch it - pull it out of place - was something specifically Jungkook.

Now, Jungkook was taking even more care not to hurt you. His fingers moved achingly, slowly, through your hair making sure to avoid the throbbing wound.

You wanted to pull away from him. To open your eyes and scream at him while smashing your fists into his chests. You wanted answers - needed them to clear your conscience that what happened back at the station wasn’t your fault.

You wanted to hear him say he wasn’t the devil and you weren’t the fool.

But you couldn’t face him. Sure. You were filled with rage from being deceived, but had he really deceived you? Or had you simply deceived yourself?

All the red flags were there that his story didn’t make sense. The odd hours. The mysterious phone calls that sent him racing for the door half-dressed with promises to return. When he did come back, he wouldn’t let you touch him - come close to him - until after he showered. He’d ask simple questions over morning coffee about cases that you weren’t sure you’d ever talked to him about.

All the red flags were flown in your face, and you chose to overlook every single one for a handsome face and great dick. It wasn’t just that, was it? No. Somewhere along the line you both became too entangled; tethered to the same cord that strangled you both.

Maybe that’s why when he cupped your cheek your body instantly turned into him. You hated him - loved him - were hopelessly devoted to him all at the same time. All those emotions would tear you to pieces as surely as your rage would.

“Kitten - I know you’ve been awake for the last five minutes. Look at me.”

“Oh, I’ll look at you, alright,” you snarled.

You allowed all that anger - your brimming hatred - to burn in your gut. It gave you enough courage to do something either incredibly brave or plain stupid. You opened your eyes just enough to meet his gaze before your teeth sunk down into the soft flesh of his palm.

In a split second, the love that blossomed in his eyes as you looked at him wilted and replaced itself with a lightening of rage. Jungkook tried to shake his hand loose from between your teeth but it caused you to bite down harder. Never once did he yell or sound out his pain. It should’ve warned you that this flame would burn you.

You never were one to listen.

Jungkook tried one last time to violently shake his hand free, and when it failed his hand smacked down across your face. The ringing in your ears was deafening and caused your vision to blur. Your jaw loosened enough for him to slip his hand free, and the taste of copper flowed like a river across your tongue.

“Don’t ever call me ‘Kitten’ again,” you snapped, spitting blood onto the cold concrete floor.

“Anything else - Kitten.”

The bastard was smirking. Gone was the unholy look of rage that could destroy whole cities and back was the coy softness you’d grown to expect from him.

“Yeah. Don’t fucking touch me either.”

You expected him to snap. To bare teeth and tell you who you belonged to. Instead, all you got in return was that infamous smirk that spoke louder than words: he thought you were all talk. All venom that dripped from the pain of knowing you did belong to him. Even now with your body radiating with the urge to strike him you knew all it would take was one touch of his lips against yours and your fight would end.

“We both know you don’t mean it.”

“Don’t I? You’re a liar, Jungkook. A fucking psychopath.”

A sigh left him as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The smirk now gone as he regarded you with raised brows and a look of indifference. His reaction telling you plainly that you were overreacting.

“It’s a little late to try and act like a forensic psychologist, don’t you think?”

“I’ve been to your crime scenes! I’ve seen the fucking carnage that you leave behind. Shit that would make Ed Gein look like a fucking Saint!”

God. You wanted to keep it together and act as cold as he portrayed himself to be, but how could you? Jungkook had become eerily still. For the first time since you’d realized who he was you felt scared.

“A psychopath you took to your bed. Who lived in your house, and cooked you dinners with the same hands that were held finger deep by your clenching pussy were also the same ones used to maim and murder. Tell me, Kitten, did it feel better being fucked by a psychopath than the straight and narrow pricks you allowed in your bed?”

You allowed the fear you felt to turn into stone cold dread as it dawned on you that they’d been watching you from the beginning. That he was mentioning your old partner, Christian, that you’d had a relationship with before it turned sour. Before he began to care more about having you sit at a desk job instead of being in the field chasing after bad guys. Bad guys like Jungkook.

For all the dread that corroded your veins they were stoked to life with a rage so incredibly potent you could’ve sworn, for a moment, you went blind.

“Get. Out.” When Jungkook showed no signs of moving you grabbed the only pillow off the cot bed and flung it as hard as you could. He dodged it easily. “Get the fuck out! I don’t want to see you ever again. You hear me? I hate you!”

“No you don’t-“

“Don’t you tell me what I feel, Jungkook!”

“You wish you could hate me, Kitten, but you can’t.”

“Watch me. I’m going to get out of here and I’m putting your narcissistic, psychotic ass in prison for the rest of your unnatural fucking life. Afterwards, I’ll find someone to fuck to wash you completely out of my system! Marry them-”

When you first started your rant, Jungkook was smug. The cockiness of his belief that you couldn’t hate him - couldn’t move past him - kept his shoulders squared in confidence until his eyes met yours. Whatever he saw there - the raw determination - was enough to make that confident facade drop leaving only something much worse in its wake. Your bratty words meant to wound him only stoked a fire that threatened to burn entire cities.

He took a threatening step towards you as his hands dropped from inside his pockets. His fists clenching and unclenching in time with the ticking of his jaw. You wanted to put as much space between you two as possible, but you didn’t want to back down either.

“I have never loved someone like I love you. Do you understand that? You are mine. And if you think I’m ever going to let you go, you got another thing coming, sweetheart. I am not letting you go.” Jungkook was standing in front of you now. His body dropped down just enough to meet you at eye level as he breathed one final promise across your lips, “Ever. I will burn down a thousand fucking cities looking for you, if I have too.”

You braced yourself for a kiss that never came. Your pulse felt like at any moment it would burst from your neck. Jungkook noticed. He always did and that seemed to be enough for him, because he didn’t kiss you. He simply pushed back on his feet and turned towards the cell door. He called out and a man dressed in all black with an m16 strapped across his chest appeared. Jungkook shot you one last look as the guard opened the door, and allowed him to pass through just before he began to lock it again.

Jungkook was still looking at you when he spoke to the henchman. “Don’t you fucking go in there with her. Don’t you let anyone in there unless it’s been cleared with me first.”

“Sir, what about Namjoon-“

“I said cleared with me first. Got it?”

The man nodded his head too many times. Enough to make you wonder if he’d given himself whiplash before Jungkook spared you one last glance before disappearing back inside the depths of whatever fresh hell you’d put yourself in.

When you continued to wake up still breathing on the cot, you were surprised. Okay. You were a whole lot of surprised. You half expected to be a lifeless corpse rising from a trash heap than to be found tucked inside bedsheets. It didn’t take you long to know why you weren’t dead yet nor was it a surprise

It felt like you’d been awake for hours. Your eyes helplessly combed over every painted brick of the walls for any sign of weakness. Without an actual clock inside your makeshift prison there was plenty of room for error when it came to time frames. It could've simply been hours since you’d been in the cell. But because of the trauma you’d sustained to your head - the possible unseen damage - it could’ve been days. The thought alone causes your stomach to somersault violently into your throat.

Since you woke up that first time and had your spat with Jungkook, he hadn’t returned to visit you. The guards at your cell, however, still followed his orders. Most of them wouldn’t even look at you.

The headache you’d been nursing with the palm of your hand since you woke up continued to be a nagging friend. It’s persistent poking and prodding against your temple caused your vision to shift into doubles at the worst times. Mostly, those worst times accumulated down to when you were pacing in your cell. The game plan you’d come up with kept constantly changing -forming- and retaking shape.

When you first awoke in the dank cell, you were quick to notice you were lying on a cot. It’s placement in one of the corners of the room's brick walls made it easy for you to determine the only thing inside it was you and the cot. The exposed lightbulb above the room swaying at odd times. As if the ground above shook with the same rage you felt building in your chest.

There weren’t any windows, and instead of metal bars there was just a door. It’s rusted exterior letting you know wherever you’d been taken too was very old. No windows and no open metal framework told you simply that yelling for help was out of the question. You weren’t surprised: you’d been reading their files for years. If they didn’t keep you closed off from the rest of civilization, you’d have questioned the whole thing.

You started feeling the grooves in between the bricks. Every single one painted over in gunmetal grey to make the cell appear darker. Whatever light the flickering bulb above gave off was consumed and tinted by lighted shadow.

It took everything you had to concentrate on feeling out the grooves for possible signs that the bricks were possibly lose. Or maybe even catch the slightest breeze - making its way through a large crack. You allowed yourself to hope.

How stupid of you.

With every inch and glide of your palms against the cool surface, you felt your heart beginning to sink. You were never getting out. The chances of you making it out on your own two legs and not a body bag was dwindling and your hysteria. Well, that was definitely beginning to spring to the surface.

You’d just taken rapid steps back away from your latest attempt, the panic swelling up your chest was threatening to turn you feral. The only course of action you could think to do was to cause yourself pain. So, your hands flew up to grab at your head. The minute your finger scratched at the dull cut your vision exploded in pain - hissing past your lips with your eyes flinching at the thundering ache. The dried blood flaked down to your jacket, and you stared at the few flakes resting on your shoulder.

The pain was bringing you out of your breakdown, but barely. You were running out of ideas - of options - when you heard the sound of a large deadbolt coming loose and right after a few larger bolts slid out of place. Your anxiety attack had placed you dead center in the middle of the room.

The lightbulb’s glow painted you in a spotlight of sunburnt yellows - the blood on your hair and face made you feel like a wounded animal. Every click of a lock coming undone a time bomb to the Hunter coming in to finish the job.

Your heart was back in your throat as you glanced around hopelessly for an object, anything to defend yourself, and came up short. With the last lock coming undone you decided you would wait for them to enter. Your muscles tensing up in your thighs as you prepared yourself to run at whoever it was.

You prepared yourself as much as you could but when the door squeakily opened and Jungkook stepped through all your resolve faded. He was just standing there - like nothing happened - looking handsome as ever with a tray held with one hand. The entire night flashed before you. The deceit. The lies. The last conversation you had before he’d left the room. To see him standing there with that smug look on his face - the same one he gave you when he proved he was better at cooking, games, or sex irritated the shit out of you.

All the dinners you cooked together in your shared kitchen. The trips you’d taken and the little notes you found inside your coat pockets or on the fridge and bathroom mirror. Was it all a lie? Was his smugness due to him winning the biggest game of all?

The scream that you bottled up broke free as you charged towards him. You hated how unfazed he seemed - how amused. Jungkook wasn’t apologetic for tearing your world apart: for making you love him. If anything, he stood like a god before you. Gluttonous in his pride knowing you couldn’t do anything to him.

You swung at him, realizing too late it was a wide swing. His hand came up in seconds to grab your swinging arm in mid-air. You were still moving forward with your momentum, unable to come to a stop, and Jungkook used it to twist your arm in his grip and bring you colliding into his chest.

The tray of food and whatever else he’d carried was an afterthought as its content scattered all over the floor. You tried to wriggle out of his strong grip, but that only succeeded in making him hold on to you tighter. You could practically feel his muscles as they flexed under the shirt.

“I told you, I didn’t want to see you again,” you seethed.

“And I told you, Kitten, that I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“Let me go, Jungkook. Let. Me. Go!”

If you could’ve pounded on his big stupidity attractive chest you would have. Since you couldn’t, you settled for screaming in his face. You tried to take a step back, to try and gain some kind of leverage, when his free hand came up to grip the back of your head. He used that leverage to bring your face dangerously close to his. The wild look in his eyes made you grow incredibly still.

“I need you to get it through that thick skull of yours,” he used your name. Jungkook rarely ever used your name. “If you think for one second I am spending one second of my life without you, you are sadly mistaken.”

“You’re an idiot,” you gasped. You were not going to fucking cry right now. “Why would you want someone who doesn’t want you - who can’t stand the sight of you?”

Jungkook dipped down and brushed the tip of his nose over yours. The gentle touch shocked you enough that you stopped moving; forgot to breathe.

“When are you going to stop lying to yourself, Kitten? We were made for each other.”

You wanted to deny his statement. To remind him that he was not only a psychopath, but a delusional one at that, but was he the only delusional one in the room? Or was it you?

You didn’t get a chance to dispute his claim. Using the hold he had on the back of your neck, Jungkook brought you the last couple inches closer and sealed his lips down on yours.

The worst part about Jungkook kissing you was how your resistance completely crumbled. You knew he must have noticed it too - the way the fight slowly seeped out of your muscles. How easy it was for his tongue to spread your lips open to dive inside. The grip he’d held on your arm released, but Jungkook made sure he kept you secured to him. His hand on your neck pressing you painfully closer as the hand he’d removed from your wrist now dug its fingers into the soft flesh of your hips.

You didn’t want him thinking that it was over for you; that he’d won. Your lust may have clouded your mind, but somewhere behind the cloud your common sense was screaming. Unfortunately, common sense was losing when his hand trailed up beneath your shirt to the swell of your breasts. Nimble fingers pulled down the cotton fabric of your bra to expose your nipples to him.

Jungkook made quick work to take the bud between his thumb and index finger and applied the right amount of pressure. Just enough to make a moan gasp against his mouth right before he moved in to swallow the sound with another heated kiss.

He pinched your nipple one last time sending a delicious shiver to shoot down your spine. Instantly, your pussy reacted to his touch. You knew if - when - he pulled down your pants Jungkook would find your underwear soaked.

You weren’t sure what made you do it. Maybe you were annoyed by how easily he made you crumble at his touch. He was a monster. A killer.

But he’s your monster.

The thought made your blood run cold. The desire Jungkook had stoked inside you quickly disappeared as that thought haunted you. When you tried to pull away from his kiss, Jungkook’s grip on your neck refused to let you go. So, you did the only thing you could think of.

You waited until his bottom lip pressed down into a pout to grab it with your teeth. You bit down hard enough for your tongue to be greeted with the taste of blood. A growl rumbled deep in chest; a sound he pressed with violent force against your lips.

The kiss felt bruising as his hands dropped down to the back of your thighs. You were able to pull away from him enough to let out a small yelp of surprise when Jungkook’s hands grabbed your thighs and hoisted you up. Instantly, you wrapped your legs around his waist.

His feet carried you over to the corner of the room. You expected to be thrown down on the cot. Your body tensed up as it waited for the coming drop, but it never came. Instead, Jungkook pushed you up against the cold stone of the wall with enough force it pushed a rush of air from your lungs.

You were about to call out - the jolt of brief pain ready to escape from your mouth - when Jungkook crashed his lips back into yours. His hips rutted up into you. His cock hard and pressed into the fabric of his jeans.

He controlled the movement with his hands on your hips. Half of your weight supported by the wall and his hips that he moved over your clothed sex. The friction of his clothed cock rubbed against your clit made you moan into the kiss.

“You want to play rough, kitten,” he huffed against your lips. “I can play rough. I’ll be as rough as you want me to be.”

To prove his point, Jungkook traced his lips down to your neck. His tongue grazed from the hollow of your throat down towards your collarbone. When he reached your shoulder he sank his teeth down into the skin. You let out a small scream, your hands fisting into his hair, as you tried to tug him loose.

Jungkook kept the pressure of his teeth firmly in their place and, using his hands on his hips, ground up into you. The jolt of pleasure that collided with the pain sent another moan spilling free from your lips. You were close to begging him to stop teasing - to give you what you wanted - but Jungkook seemed to know from the soft pleas that you hummed against his ear.

Without warning, he peeled you from the wall and flung you both on top of the cot. Jungkook caught himself with his hands at the last second making sure he didn’t crush you against the mattress. You wouldn’t have cared. You couldn’t find time to care as he helped strip you of your jacket and shirt. Your own hands desperately trying to pull his shirt over his head so you could feel him bare and pressed against you.

When your bra was removed and flung off your arms, Jungkook didn’t hesitate to take each breast in his hands. He dropped down and wrapped his mouth around a nipple. The feeling of his tongue flicking and swirling caused your body to arch into him. Your hands flew wildly to grab ahold of the strands of his hair - fingers curling and pulling as he took a nipple between his teeth. Jungkook made sure he took his time taking each nipple in his mouth; tongue swirling around the stiff peaks.

You could feel his hand drift down your middle to the edge of your jeans. You didn’t try and fight him as his nimble fingers worked at the button of your jeans, and further down between the fabric and the lace of your underwear.

When Jungkook’s fingers first felt between your folds - his fingers finding you soaked - he exhaled heavily. His mouth made a loud pop as he disconnected from your breast with eyes hollowed with hunger meeting your own.

“Fuck. You’re always so wet for me, Kitten,” he huffed.

You weren’t sure how to answer him or if you even should. You hated him - wanted to believe you hated him - and everything he stood for. There was no denying, however, that you wanted him. It went beyond reason, because you couldn’t understand it. The only thing you did understand was when he pushed three fingers knuckle deep inside your aching pussy, your body turned molten with a need so deep that only Jungkook could sate.

The lewd wet sounds of his fingers thrusting in and out of you filled the room. The only other sound to try and cover that was your soft moans that only grew louder when Jungkook stripped your pants and underwear down over your thighs, and off your legs and buried his tongue between your folds.

His tongue traced up from your entrance, and took his time licking his way up to swirl at your clit before giving a large stroke. This time you did scream as his tongue fucked you; stroked and sucked every inch of you until your legs quivered around him forcing your words to become incoherent.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The need to be filled with him became overwhelming and, using his hair to pull him violently up, you asked, “Jungkook-“ you breathlessly pleaded, “Fuck me. Please.”

He looked up at you from between your legs. His pupils were blown out completely with lust. There was a moment where you wondered if he’d even heard you. There was no recognition in his face that he had heard you until a growl brushed past his lips, and he nipped at the inner corner of your thigh. You let out a sound of surprise as you tried to move back, but Jungkook kept you securely in place.

“Is that what you want?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you, Jungkook.”

You thought he was going to ask more stupid questions. Couldn’t he see you were a fool for him? Couldn’t he see how much you needed him? At that moment, you were willing to beg him. You were ready to start doing exactly that when Jungkook suddenly moved up with his hands at his belt. His fingers were rapidly unbuttoning his jeans when a loud knock came at the door.

Jungkook’s response was instant and animalistic. A snarl cut through the room that seemed to suspend time completely. The person behind the door no doubt shitting themselves for making a boldly stupid decision.

“Whoever it is, you better have a good fucking reason for interrupting me,” he snapped.

Again. Silence. You were willing to bet they’d run for safety, except you were wrong.

“I’m sorry, boss, but Namjoon sent me down to find you. He needs you to come back to the lounge, and he requested you bring the prisoner with you.”

Jungkook had gone eerily still above you. The sexually charged air began to change as the lust that had been in his eyes was replaced by something darker; more dangerous. Suddenly, you felt too exposed to the room. Your hands meekly moved to try and cover your nakedness from the room, while Jungkook remained on his knees above you. His buckle loose at his waist and upper body bare.

He seemed to be deciding whether to do as he was asked or tell them to fuck off. You’d learned, however, that while Jungkook was no doubt the unhinged part of Namjoon’s crew, he was loyal. You didn’t think he would deny a request from his leader, even for you.

He let out a heavy sigh as he removed himself from the cot, his legs bending down slightly so he could scoop up his shirt and put it back on.

“Tell him we’ll be there in five minutes.”

While he didn’t sound happy about it, Jungkook was still going to be a good boy and do as he was told.

“Namjoon asked for you to hurry-“

“Fuck off!” Jungkook snapped. A booted foot slammed against the metal of the door making everything grow still with fear. “I said it’ll be five minutes. Now go.”

The sound of retreating feet filled the hall outside before Jungkook had even finished telling him to leave. Smart man. You swung your legs over the side of the cot and moved to start picking up your clothes when hands on your waist pushed you back against the wall.

You looked up just in time to watch Jungkook fall to his knees between your legs. His hands grasping your left thigh to raise it up onto his shoulder. The angle left him closer to the mound of your sex.

“Jungkook, what are you doing? You told them we’d be there in five minutes.”

The devilish smirk you knew all too well tilted the corner of his lips. The lust that was stripped away seconds ago coming back as his tongue lazy stroked between your folds coaxing a gasp to leave you.

“I only need a couple to make you come.”

Jungkook always was a man of his word.

You walked down the hallways beside Jungkook as he led you through the large building. Wherever it was The Devils’ called home, it was a renovated industrial building. Maybe once upon a time, it had housed machinery of some kind to build cars or maybe make some sort of sweet treat that eventually closed down. Whatever the building was used for originally, it had been refurbished to house evil.

The cold original metal and brick of the interior has been kept with only a few choices of artwork, drapes around the windows, and furniture giving it a sense of life. To you, no matter what anyone tried to place in the building, it would still feel uninviting.

Jungkook instructed you to follow him as he turned left at the next four way intersection of the building. His hand on your arm gently pulled you along and kept you close to him all at the same time.

“When we get in there don’t speak unless he instructs you to speak.”

“I’ll speak when I want too,” you snapped, hating the idea of being good for any of them.

Jungkook sent you a glaring look of warning as came to a set of double doors.

“Don’t be stupid, Kitten. The only reason you’re still alive is because of me.”

“And should I be grateful for that?” You wanted to pull your arm out of his grip, but it felt silly to do that when you’d just come all over his tongue.

Jungkook appeared to be having the same thought.

“Yes. You should.”

That was all the reply Jungkook bothered to give you as he pushed open the door and ushered you inside. This room, whatever it had been, was more updated than what you’d previously seen. The walls were painted a warm tone and carpet was put in. Off to the counter was a large bar that had an actual bartender stuck behind the empty counter with a slew of couches placed like a large C inside the middle.

Inside that large C is where your eyes found Namjoon. His body positioned in the center of the C and sitting patiently. The second the two of you entered his eyes were on you. The judgment in them was heavy and something that he wasn’t afraid to show.

Namjoon didn’t seem to like you very much. Well, the feeling was mutual. Jungkook stopped you in the middle and released the grip he’d held on your arm. He moved away from you to go and stand off to the left of Namjoon with Yoongi being at his right.

You hated being left there like some kind of fucked up prize. It wasn’t just the three of them and a bartender. No, scattered around the back of the lounge stood more lackey’s, the unimportant ones that were used as fodder when shit got heavy were scattered all around. Most of them wear shit eating grins as if your presence in their bad guy lair was just the funniest damn thing.

You’d see who’d have the last laugh.

“Welcome, Detective,” Namjoon’s voice boomed inside the room. His arms swept over the area as he attempted to smile in what he must have thought was a greeting. It looked more like a grimace. “I do hope you’ve been enjoying your stay here.”

You considered him coolly as you thought of how to reply. Jungkook had instructed you to speak when spoken too; to play nice. You always did have an issue with doing what you were told.

“Actually, it’s been shit,” you started with a shrug. “I’m just waiting to get out of here.”

“And why is that?”

Namjoon seemed to know why. He didn’t need to truly ask you. He was only doing it because he wanted to see if you’d have the guts to say it out loud.

“You aren’t dumb. None of you are, and I’m willing to bet you all know exactly what I’m going to do when I’m out of here.”

“Kitten.”

One word. Jungkook spoke your pet name as a warning. His face and body had grown stiff as he took a cautious step towards you. Namjoon held up a hand to stop him, waving him back to stand in his spot. Jungkook didn’t like it. It was made apparent by the ticking of his jaw as he continued to watch.

“No, no Jungkook let her speak. You think you are going to put us away?”

“Oh, I know I can.” You retorted, allowing yourself your own sickly sweet smile. “I won’t stop until I place every single one of you where you deserve.”

“That's a noble little quest you’ve given yourself, but you’ve got your ideas of who’s good and who's bad backwards, I’m afraid.”

A snort of laughter left you. The disbelief evident on your face as you regarded the men around you. These men who had slaughtered droves of people; families even. Men who had tried to come forward to atone for the crimes they had committed, their conscience finally taking hold, only for you to find the entire home missing or dead. Hospital staff who had been gunned down along with rival gang leaders who’d been inside.

The terror these men had caused and all for the name of what? Infamy? Power? Money? All the things that didn’t mean shit when you were six feet under. The thing that disgusted you the most wasn’t these men and their atrocities, but your own.

The very man who was responsible for so much of that carnage had just been buried nose deep between your legs, and you’d let him. All the fight you’d claimed to have - the moral standing - completely went away when he touched you. Where was your resolve then? Where was your belief in Justice for those victims when his hands were digging into your hips and his cock buried inside you?

Nowhere.

Looking at him now you knew a part of you hated Jungkook, but the person you really hated was yourself.

With your eyes roaming back to face down Namjoon, you square your shoulders and make sure your resolve shown through as you speak your next words.

“I’ve seen your handiwork, and I know what kind of men you are. I meant what I said. I’m going to find a way out of here and when I do, I promise you until my very last breath, I will hunt you down and put you fucking animals where you belong.”

You hadn’t realized you were shaking - that you’d taken a step towards him until Jungkook and Yoongi took a step with you. Good. Let them know you meant every word. That they weren’t the only boogeymen meant to be feared.

Namjoon sat forward, his arms resting on his thighs, as he regarded you with a calculating eye. No longer did he think you were trying to talk tough because of your situation. Now, you were positive, he knew you meant every word and that maybe he should proceed with caution.

“You’d lock up Jungkook, as well?”

He was testing you. Maybe it was a test meant to show Jungkook he shouldn’t have grown soft for you. That you didn’t care for him the way he did you.

You wished that was the truth but, unfortunately, it was far from it. Maybe that’s why when you turn to look in Jungkook’s direction you will yourself to look callous; completely disregarding what resembled hurt that was scrunching across his brow.

“All of you deserve to be in cages. No exceptions.”

“We’ll, I guess we better make sure to keep you locked inside one yourself.”

You knew that voice.

Your back went rigid as your mind raced at the recognition of that voice. A part of you didn’t want to turn - to see - the betrayal you felt coming towards you like a speeding train. Unfortunately, this was something you couldn’t run from.

Turning your head to your right, you watched as your Chief came into view. A smug smile showing all of his pearly white teeth like the Cheshire Cat who’d stumped you at your own riddle. The shitty part about that was that he had.

You’d always suspected that The Devils’ had some form of inside help. Most gangs were good, but no one rivaled The Devils’ when it came to the amount of intel they seemed to have. When witness protection magically lost informants, or informants were found out while undercover. Good seasoned Detectives who had been doing this for years miraculously were caught with their body parts being dumped in front of the police station with rats festering inside the bags.

At first, you thought it had been you. That these men and women had paid with their lives all because of some costly fling. The endless guilt of racking your brain wondering what you’d left out; let slip while grocery shopping or relaxing with him on the couch.

And all along it had been Chief Ebert.

“You fuckin’ traitor!” You snarled.

Seconds later, your closed fist collided with his nose and a spurt of blood erupted like a spout. A sharp cry of pain filled the room as you launched yourself at him, but found arms securing themselves at your waist and pulling away. The fast movement off to your left let you know it wasn’t Jungkook who had grabbed you, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know he didn’t like it one bit.

“Jungkook - stay where you’re at,” Namjoon ordered. “Hyujin, restrain her.”

“I’d like to see you fucking try!”

You felt murderous. Your heart pounded like war drums inside your chest. In a matter of a day, two days, the amount of betrayal you’d experienced left your world spinning. With an even bigger question of, “Who could be trusted?” raging inside of your head.

“You fucking bitch!” Chief Ebert muttered out. His fingers sloppily trying to stop the blood from running out. “I always knew you were psychotic.”

“That’s rich coming from a treacherous weasel,” you snapped back. “How much did you sell your honor for, huh?”

“Oh, shut up,” he huffed. “Like you have any room to talk. When I requested for Jungkook to follow you to make sure he kept you off leads on investigations, I never would have thought it would’ve been that easy for him to fucking get to you.”

Another flash of red filtered over your vision. With a snarl you lashed out with your foot with your boot connecting with his chest shoving him down.

“That is enough!” Namjoon’s voice boomed over the room. “Hyujin, take her back to her cell. Ebert get the hell up so we can get this over with.”

You were still struggling as the lackey in question, Hyujin, walked you back down the long stretches of hallway Jungkook had just led you down.

Did Ebert say he requested Jungkook to follow you? So, that night at the bar…Jungkook knew exactly who you were. He knew everything about you, because Ebert told Namjoon who had told him.

Your mind tried to make sense of the carousel of deceit you kept finding yourself in. It struggled to find footing - on a course of action - but at the end of every idea the uncertainty of who could you trust came slamming home into your chest. Hyujin almost had you back to your cell when you finally made up your mind. While you weren’t sure who you could trust, you knew one thing - you could trust yourself. With your mind made up you took in a breath preparing for your next move.

It was now or never.

You let out a small scream as you slammed the heel of your foot down on top of the guard's foot. When he bent down in predictable fashion, you brought your elbow up to crash against his face. It gave you just enough momentum to grab the m16 that was strapped around his neck, to grab at the strap, and move behind him, pulling it tight across his throat.

It takes longer in real-life to choke someone into unconsciousness, even longer if you’re trying to kill them. Lucky for this guy you only meant to only do the first. When Hyujin finally stopped struggling, you removed the strap from around his throat, completely removing the gun from his body. You put the strap over your shoulder and went to work looking for keys.

You found a walkie talkie and earbud and quickly put it on. While you didn’t plan on staying long enough to actually use it, it would come in handy as you tried to make your escape.

After locating the keys, you plugged in the earbud and secured the radio to the back of your pants. With the gun held tightly in your hands, you started making your way back up the hallway in search of an exit. It was time to start your escape.

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you for reading! XoXo

315 notes · View notes

engeorged · 2 years

Text

Aster's Maze

Follow up to Obi's Place and Santa’s Otto

Art by @badoobers

Words by @engeorged

I know it’s been over a year since I posted, but it’s been quite a journey for me. One I’m not even sure if I’m ready to talk about. The encounter with Obi changed me somehow and I’m not the same person I was. I can’t quite seem to settle anywhere for very long any more. I feel restless, and to be blunt, like I’m not quite fully present wherever I am. My mind is always in a different place?

Let me go right back. By now, you’ve probably read about my encounter at Obi’s place. I’m not gonna lie, I was a wreck for a few days. It was like a hangover meets a sausage casing? The amount of food he’d packed in me took days to digest. I was swollen for 72 hours, not really able to do anything but sleep and go to the toilet. (I’ll spare you the details although I’m aware a few of you out there will want them you dirty bastards!!) I didn’t check my messages the whole time but after my last post, a lot of you had reached out to me. Turns out there’s quite a few of these guys around and they don’t fuck about! The pictures you all sent me were quite eye opening! (That's maybe for another post!)

The whole thing felt like a dream, but on reflection I realised it was a pretty good dream. I hate to admit it, but being able to eat that much food was quite a turn on. I tried for months to find him again and ask what he did to me. I’ve not been able to repeat it by myself, and trust me, I’ve tried. I can’t really even eat half of what he put into me. Every few weeks I would sit down in a restaurant or a buffet place and just block the afternoon out and eat as much as I could to see what would happen. Now I’m a big guy (and getting bigger!) and I could probably out eat most people if it came down to it but there’s just no way I can get as full as I did that morning. My belly is definitely increasing in size and capacity but still, without whatever magic he was using I can’t do it again.

To cut a long story short, I ended up travelling. The few stories you sent me (that weren’t totally nuts) were fascinating, but from all over the world. I’ve been searching for trolls in Norway, piscies in the UK, dragons in china, tikoloshes in Africa. Nothing! Not a single bite. I was starting to believe that maybe it was a hallucination from being so over tired. Maybe the stripes on the road had hypnotised me as I drove or something.

I’m currently living in Greece for a bit. I’ve pretty much run out and so I found a casual labour job on a building site in Greece. It’s a bit of a shit show to be honest, but all I have to do is turn up and lay bricks for a few hours in the afternoon and I get paid! The extra bit of timber I’d put on means I break a sweat the second I get up, as even though it’s early autumn, here it’s still 24 degrees by midday!

It was coming up to lunch time on the site when I started feeling a bit faint. I realised I’d not had anything to drink for a few hours and I was super dehydrated. I grabbed my water bottle and when lifted to my lips, only a few drips came out, so I had a scan of the area and saw a guy with a cart selling gyros and beers. Usually the street food was pretty good around here so I headed over, still wearing my tight high viz vest. As I got close to the stand I started to realise how hot the guy was selling them, now I’m newly ‘out’ and so I don’t still fully know what my type is but I can tell you reader, this guy was everyone’s type. He was stacked, his arms were like ripe watermelons and as I got close I realised how huge he was. I’ve told you I’m 6’5, but this guy towered over me. He must have been 7 feet easily. His hair was everywhere and he had this crazy medallion around his neck with a symbol on it I recognised from somewhere.

Now, I know my story has ended up on some niche websites and blogs, so I know what you pervs are all waiting for. So here it is. His gut was potentially the hottest thing I have ever seen. It was huge. He was so tall it was practically oval. Firm and round and pushing against the buttons in his shirt. It was like he wasn’t even tempted to hide it. In fact, as I approached, he lifted his arms above his head to stretch which meant that there was a good three or four inches of furry dome poking out from underneath. He looked as stuffed as I was at Obi’s. As I got nearer I started to regret my decision to go over. I must have looked like an absolute state. I was wearing my battered work jeans and fluorescent jacket, covered in brick dust and sweat and I absolutely stank. A 280 lbs slab of man like me working in 30 degree heat is a recipe for funk, and I was dripping with it. He looked up and saw me so there was no going back, I committed and walked up trying to look cool. Something about him made me want to melt into a puddle. I said ‘Yasass’ in my best Greek accent and he replied with a bass filled ‘Hello, how can I help you’ in perfect English. His accent was vaguely British with a hint of Greek overlayed. The rumble of his voice made something shift inside me. I think I was in love.

I ordered two beers and paid him. Lifting it to my lips, thirst took over and downed one on the spot. I didn’t really want to leave, I wanted to try and get his number or something. I downed the second beer and I could see it must have impressed him as he leant forward in his cart and offered me another. I ordered two and offered him one which he took. We stood chatting about the weather and what I was up to and as we chatted he started putting together a huge gyro full of amazing smelling meat. There was a hint of salad at the bottom but the thing was packed as tight as his shirt. He wrapped it up with his strong hands and offered it to me. I took it immediately and took a big bite, within minutes the thing had gone. It was the best tasting thing I’d ever had. When I finished I realised he’d just been watching me eat it, not saying anything. His dark eyes focussed on me making me feel very seen. He had very keen eyes that looked deep into my soul. (I know how pretentious that sounds, don't worry, but you’ll see I’m right in a minute!)

I jokingly said I could eat another one and before I’d finished my sentence he had one there in his large paw! I won’t bore you with the details because there will be a lot more later but suffice to say I ate 3 of his huge gyros. I was substantially full, my own belly was beginning to push out against my work clothes and I’m pretty sure I lost a button I offered to pay but he wouldn’t take it. He just said he’d see me again. I went back to work on the site very full and very horny!

I stopped by for lunch every day for the next week and a half. In the evenings I discovered he owned a small but very cool restaurant bar selling the same food but with the addition of a whole selection of spirits and cocktails. It was a full two weeks before I plucked up the courage to ask him out. There was just something about him that drew me in. Reflecting back I don’t know if we actually spoke about much. Even now I know very little about him. All I remember is his huge belly, round and tight, every day staring at me. Perfection in a fursuit. I remember that he had a few piercings. The medallion round his neck had chains coming off it connecting to nipple piercings. He also had a heavy gold nose ring, which, if I wasn’t thinking with my dick, might have been a bit of a clue. I was looking out for whatever Obi was, not whatever he was. And is, I guess?

On reflection, and with what I know now, he was strategically increasing my already substantial belly capacity for the game. (More on that later) Every meal, he would give me a little bit more food. A bag of stuffed vine leaves here, some baklava there, extra meat in the wrap, a special sauce, larger wraps. Before I knew it I was eating 6 of his gyros twice a day with whatever accompaniments he palmed off on me that day. Every evening I would spend bloated and swollen, nursing my aching stomach whilst thinking of Aster. (Oh I forgot, one thing I did get out of him was his name) I guess I should add that I didn’t twig what was happening in case that’s not obvious. I was bewitched by everything about him to the point where I didn’t realise he was testing me out for something much bigger.

A few weeks in I had a penny drop moment, I’d just finished my 6th evening gyro and he was making me one more to finish me off. My belly was huge, packed with the supply of food he’d been encouraging me to eat. I was wearing a now painted-on shirt and I was standing in the street at 5pm obediently stuffing myself silly with his street food. I’d gone past full a few gyros ago and it was now simply pushing and stretching my stomach more and more. The feeling of the stretch (as some of you probably know) is exquisite. I’d experienced it fully with Obi and I’d been chasing that feeling all over the world to get to that place of total engorged capacity and it dawned on me suddenly I was there again. Something about that day made me realise I'd met another one of these creatures. Aster wasn’t human.

I swallowed down my last bite and took the next one from his massive hairy hand. I looked at him properly for maybe the first time. Looking past my own lust and attraction and I saw that he wasn’t quite ‘right’. His hair was shaped in such a way that hair didn’t really grow. His side burns were much more than a side beard and that ring in his nose was huge because his nose was so large and flat. And his belly! No human belly would ever be that size and rounded shape when it was that big. It would be sagging down over his belt, not sitting proudly on top of it defying gravity. I started eating the food he’d made me and asked him outright. ‘Who are you?’ He looked me in the eye and said with a slightly crooked grin ‘Obi said you could eat.’

I stood back aghast. He was one of them. I had so many questions. But before I could ask any of them he started packing up his cart. I found myself rooted to the spot while he packed away. I literally couldn’t move. As he grabbed the handles he turned to me and put his large hand on top of my distended stomach and winked. And that’s when I saw it. The little purple twinkle in his eye. With that, he was gone and I was finally able to move. The fullness I was not noticing yet hit me and I nearly sat down on the pavement where I stood but I managed to pull myself together and make it back to the site where I did very little work. He’d fed me as much as Obi had done but without me noticing. And I let him!

I could hardly wait for opening time at the restaurant that evening. Still full from lunch, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to ask him out or just demand some answers. When I saw him behind the bar, cleaning a glass with a tea towel I knew what I wanted. I marched right up to the counter but before I had a chance to speak he pulled out a single purple rose which he handed me. As I looked at him in the low light, I realised all his confidence had fallen away and he was genuinely a little nervous. Turns out he’d fallen for me too. He ended up asking me on a date. Who knew a 7 foot tall Minotaur would be such a hopeless romantic. (Yeah I just dropped that in. I didn’t know how else to say it really! It is what it is?) He told me that he finished around midnight but that he had somewhere he wanted to take me and would that be alright. I agreed, obviously! And parked myself on a table by the window to wait for him.

Even though the restaurant was pretty busy, he found time to be quite attentive. Every hour he brought me another rose and a plate of something to eat. By the time it was midnight I had a vase full of flowers and a belly full of Greek food! Bear in mind I was stuffed from lunch and I arrived at the restaurant at 6. So do the math to work out how full I currently am. That’s important for the rest of the story! As the final customers left I watched as he whipped round the place lifting the chairs and sweeping up as fast as he could. It was kind of cute to see how keen he was. When it was all done he explained to me that he wanted to take me somewhere that was special to him, somewhere he thought I would enjoy. He looked a little sheepish but I agreed. We walked through town (slowly I might add, I was basically round at this point) as he held my hand. Not many people can make me feel small but walking around holding this giant's hand was quite humbling. At this point I think my belly was bigger than his but he was still over half a foot taller than me. Being near him calmed my stomach too. It was like I was just pleasantly full when I was near him, not dangerously packed to bursting. We chatted a little bit but we mainly walked in silence, happy in each other's company.

We arrived at a sort of park on the edge of town. There were a few ruins we walked past but we ended up at the edge of what looked like a small cave. In any other setting I would have run a mile but he has been so tender with me I just felt super safe. In the moonlight, at the edge of the cave we stood looking into each other's eyes. He slowly leant in to kiss me and I let him. As he leant back I felt myself rooted to the spot again unable to move. He started walking backwards into the cave and as the dark consumed him he winked again and beckoned me to follow him. After a minute the effects of whatever it was wore off and I was able to slowly walk into the cave. After a few steps I discovered that it was lit all along by torches and it started to become more of a corridor. There was no sign of Aster but I carried on into the maze. As I walked I felt a little rumble in my stomach. I brushed it off as just digestion starting and kept going. After a few turns it saw a few petals in the ground. The massive softie had left me a trail to follow.

Eventually, I came across a small recess in the wall with a little table set into it and a candle. I sat down on one of the chairs and Aster emerged from out of the darkness with two heavy cloched plates. He sat down and put the plates in front of us. He pulled the cloches off to reveal a sizeable plate of oysters. I smiled and he smiled back. I found myself inexplicably hungry and went to take my first one, but he leant over and stopped me. He picked up a large oyster and lifted it to my lips. I smiled and opened my mouth and titled my head back. If I’m totally honest I’ve never eaten oysters before but I’d seen it in films. I knew I was supposed to swallow them whole so fortunately I didn’t make a tit of myself. I don’t know if you’ve had them before but I’m not gonna lie, they taste good but they are like swallowing snot! Being fed them was hot though! Knowing I had the full attention of this slab of man was really doing it for me! He fed me a few and then sat back and I did the same for him! Watching his heavy Adam's Apple bob up and down as he swallowed was a surprising new kink I discovered in that cave!

Suffice to say, it was like time worked differently in that cave. We’d only been there a few minutes and there were a fair few oysters on each of our plates. Maybe 3 dozen each? They didn’t really take long to eat but it felt like we were there for hours. I wasn’t counting the oysters but by the time we’d cleared the plates, my belly had advanced quite a way. Like way more than a few dozen oysters would have done. It was still tight and round but it was a lot bigger and heavier. It appeared that my tank top had ripped at the edges and so I just took it off. Even though we were underground it wasn’t cold so I was happy in just my jeans.

I looked at Aster and he had the biggest grin on his face. His own belly was beginning to blow out from our oyster binge. I could see even more of his substantial furry belly pushing out from his shirt. I wasn’t sure if he looked taller at that point? Everything about him was larger in some way and he was meatier and hairier too. (Yes every part of him was bigger. I won’t say more than that!) He was absentmindedly rubbing the underneath of his belly curve as he watched me readjust to my new bloated mass. His eyes were both kind and predatory at the same time. We stood there for a little while admiring one another until he winked and shimmered like Obi used to. With that he was gone and the chase was back on. I lumbered on further into the maze of tunnels, my swollen midsection slowing me down considerably. The path twisted and turned as I was led deeper in.

I couldn’t tell you how long it was until I found him. At first, I began to hear running water and so, for want of any other clues, I followed the noise. The walls of the maze were beginning to look less constructed by human hands and more cave-like, I guess? Stone bricks giving way to actual stone. I even thought I saw a few flashes of gemstones here and there but I was more interested in my next meal. Even though I must have eaten a week's worth of food so far, I was still inexplicably hungry. I don’t know if I can describe how it felt. My insides felt packed full. Like totally solid. There was very little give to my belly. And yet I knew I wanted more. Actually I needed more. The stretched feeling I have when I’m around these guys is something I’ve never experienced before.

Eventually, the water got louder and louder until I walked through a stone archway and found myself in a cavernous expanse. The sound of water turned out to be an underground waterfall, the water cascading down into a piercing blue lagoon. The ceiling was lit with some sort of glowing insects which were making a melodic rhythmic chirping sound. I searched around the expanse until I found him. He was sitting with his legs in the water next to a fire where he seemed to be grilling fish. It was the first time I’d seen his legs and they were indeed as you would imagine them to be. Covered in thick black hair. I couldn’t see his feet as they were in the water but I am guessing he didn’t have five toes at this point. It seemed that he was becoming more of his true self the closer we got to the centre. I made my way round and joined him sitting by the water. It was one of the most beautiful places I’d ever been. We sat there for a few moments in silence. Enjoying the beauty. I realised after a while that he was holding my hand. He turned his attention to the fire and pulled out a perfectly grilled fish which he placed next to himself and he began to break off pieces of the succulent meat and began feeding it to me. The fish melted in my mouth. It was so succulent and tender. I ate the whole thing quickly and he brought a second fish over and put his hands back on the floor as a signal for me to feed him. I obliged, tenderly placing it into his mouth. We did this for a while until all the fish he was cooking had gone. He leant forward and I thought he was going to kiss me again but instead he plunged his hand into the water and pulled out more fish. I’m no expert but I know one of them was a Salmon, and a pretty big one at that. And I think there was a rainbow trout and something else sort of blue? We carried on eating and cooking and eating and cooking for hours. The time weirdness means I have no idea how long we were there or how many I ate at this point, but looking at the both of us we were both much bigger. I don’t know if it’s part of the atmosphere or I genuinely ate that much but there it was. My own belly was enormous. Way bigger than I had been in the diner. His gut was spectacular. Round and hairy and now totally free from his shirt. Bear in mind he was nearly 8 feet at this point.

He reached over and tenderly began to massage my own swollen stomach. His hands, surprisingly gentle, but firm. I closed my eyes and relaxed and basically let him do what he wanted to me. All of my senses seemed to be heightened, every little touch was like a wave of ecstasy flowing across my skin. His smell was heady, strong and potent and filling my nostrils. Eventually, I realised he’d gone but I stayed there for a little while longer. Partly because it was so beautiful but also partly because I could hardly move.

I pulled myself to my feet, hauling my cantilevered belly up. It was still self supporting and jutting straight out from me into the air. I wished there was a mirror somewhere so I could have seen it properly. I saw an opening in the wall near the waterfall so I followed it through into a darker and more narrow part of the maze. The walls were closer than before and there were a few parts where I was worried I might not get through with my newly ballooned gut. After a while I started to smell the aromatic smell of cooking pork which made me instantly hungry again. I followed the smell and found three doors with a riddle written above it. I can’t remember the riddle but it was something about liars and guessing the way. You can probably guess that I’m not the smartest guy, I’m not dumb, but when it comes to stuff like riddles I’m out. My belly was rumbling loud at this point too so I was distracted. I decided to just listen at each of the doors. Door one I could hear a whistling noise which I reckoned was some sort of drop. Door two was a distinct growling snore. Although Aster was super stuffed I was pretty sure it wasn’t him asleep, and having met some of these guys I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a cute teddy bear behind there! I approached door three and had a listen. I could just about hear a sizzling sound and with the smell of pork I couldn’t handle it so I threw the door open. I wasn’t disappointed!

The room was a small stone cell with a fire pit sunk in the bottom. On top of it was a decently sized pig on a spit. I couldn’t see Aster so I stepped in gingerly. The door closed behind me and as I turned it dissolved into the wall. There was no way out. I stepped into the room and looked into the shadows at the edges. And there he was, taller than ever. As he stepped out into the light of the fire I could see he’d changed more. The first thing I noticed were the horns that had now sprouted from the top of his head. They weren’t massive but they were slightly curved and protruding from his thicker hair. The hair wasn’t just thicker on his head either. He’d now taken off his shirt and I could see the extent of it. He was pretty much covered in thick black hair all over his arms and sides. Virtually the only skin visible was across his bloated sphere of a belly. And that had a decent covering all along the bottom of the curve stretching up to a thick happy trail that snaked up to his hairy pierced pecs. The thick gold chain connects to his medallion.

He spoke with a deep gravelly voice that I could literally feel in my feet. He told me under no circumstances was there to be any pork left before we left this place. Under any other situation I would have laughed. The pig had to be 200 lbs of meat. That would literally have taken any normal person a few weeks to eat. But here, with him, I knew right there that we would do it. I was apprehensive to think about how much my stomach would distend after that but I knew that whatever this place was it would be ok. I walked up to him and put my hands firmly on the sides of his thick belly and looked up. He looked down at me and bent his head to kiss me on the lips again. I smiled and sighed with contentment. Something special was about to happen.

He pulled back and handed me a sharp knife, and took out one of his own and cut a slab of meat. The juices were rubbing down his arm. He pulled off the crackling and greedily began to eat it, crunching and swallowing it down. He offered me the meat and I eagerly opened my mouth to receive it. It tasted even better than it smelt and within minutes the whole slab had disappeared into me. We continued to feed one another the pork for a while, taking it in turns to slice off large chunks of flesh and sharing the delicious meat. We were soon covered in the stuff, our bellies continuing their rapid expansions. As we progressed, instead of slowing down we began to speed up. We even abandoned the knives and took to simply ripping off our next portions and guzzling down our haul. He fed me and I fed him and we ate ourselves. The boundaries of reality slipped away as we gorged on the meal together. (Yes I know that sounded a bit twatty but that’s how it felt. How many pigs have you shared with a fucking Minotaur?)

We didn’t take any breaks in our gluttony, the pig simply ended up inside both of us. I’d guess Aster ate more, simply because he is a good few feet taller than me but I didn’t notice him actually eating more. By the time the pig was reduced to bones we were both insanely swollen. My own gut was packed so big I couldn’t see anything else when I looked down. The skin tightly stretched over the vast quality of food it held inside itself. If I thought for a second about how much food I contained I’m not sure my brain could handle it. I looked like someone had slipped an air compressor up my arse and turned it on for a good half an hour. Physics had to be different in there because there was no way I’d have been able to stand up without some supernatural help. Looking at Aster, he was the same. Comically swollen, his huge abdomen surrounded by a sea of hair. The only difference between us is that you could still see some of his muscle definition. The power and strength he contained was tangible when you looked at his animal-like frame.

Covered in grease and bits of food we sat back admiring each other's new size. I wanna keep the story a touch modest, but he was clearly aroused by our efforts. I won’t go into details because I never kiss and tell, but fuck me he was a big boy! I’m glad there was magic in the site because after what we did next I could have ended up in hospital!

After we had, erm, cuddled, we lay back with our heads next to one another. Our engorged stomachs stuck high into the air, solid and packed with food, unyielding in their size and volume. We stayed for a period of time and chatted about our lives. Aster clearly wasn’t wanting this to be a one off encounter. He was surprisingly affectionate and romantic for a half man half bull. He wanted to know all about me and my life and what my plans for the future were. It was such a tender moment I could have stayed there forever but Aster had one more plan up his sleeve. He pulled himself up easily and offered me a hand to help me up. I just about managed to get to my feet, helped by his superhuman strength I assume! Kissing me again he led me by the hand into the shadows where we found a new door. Fortunately, it was a double door as neither of us would have fit through anything smaller at this stage. We walked into a vast cavernous space. I didn’t think it was possible but it was even more beautiful than the underwater lagoon where we ate the fish. The glowing insects were back and this time other glowing creatures joined them. Small colourful lizards darted from rock to rock making patterns in the water that filled half the floor. Several smaller waterfalls fed this one, each framed by cascades of glowing plants with brightly shining flowers falling down. Alongside the water was a long banqueting table covered with food. There were golden bowls and plates full of oversized fruits and bread. Huge slabs of roasted meats and wheels of cheese. At the end there appeared a large ornately decorated cornucopia which seemed to be the source of the food. Aster led me to the table and sat us both down in large oversized thrones. We’d made it to the centre of the labyrinth!

As we sat down, our swollen bellies resting on our legs I realised he had plans to carry on eating. Whatever magic was present meant I definitely felt hungry but there was no way I could physically move to get the food. I was practically pinned down underneath the sheer ridiculous size of my own belly. I was about to say this to Aster when I heard something move in the water. I looked across to see six men emerge from the water. I say men, we both know they weren’t that. If I had to guess I would say they were some sort of water nymphs? They had a pale bluey green tinge to their skin which had a faint shimmer to it as well. They were lithe and incredibly beautiful, their muscles and sinews visible underneath their skin. Their tight shorts left very little to the imagination and their eyes looked as hungry as I felt. They were here to feed us.

I don’t know whether we were there for a few days or weeks or months. The food from the cornucopia kept coming and we kept eating. Non stop gorging, all enabled by the blue dudes. Their dexterous long fingers feeding us food and massaging our swelling bellies. We both ended up the size of trucks, our inhumanly swollen bellies stretching way past what was physically or morally possible.

At some point we were done and we were pushed or rolled to the edge of the water. I slipped in and sank heavily to the bottom. Whether I was magically able to breathe underwater or whether I somehow didn’t need to breathe, I’m not sure, but Aster and I were able to move freely under the water. We swam for a while through caverns and caves, snaking away from the maze. When we surfaced we found ourselves on a small island just off the coast of the town. Away from the magical influence of the labyrinth, Aster was back to his more human form and his belly was vastly reduced but still clearly swollen. I was the same, my belly was huge, but it at least was obeying the laws of physics. Again, I don’t want to make the story any more r-rated than it needs to be so let’s say we spent some time with each other there. We needed some time to digest and recover as well.

Friends, I don’t know whether what happened was a dream or some sort of vision, but I do know I’ve gained 50lbs in a few days. I have a very definite and prominent ball belly now, which I’m not unhappy about. I also have a new boyfriend. Unlike Obi, Aster was happy to stick around, so I do know that something happened. I don’t really want to ask too many questions from Aster because I don’t really mind if it was real or not. I know he’s here and I know we ate a shit ton of food and I know he’s not going anywhere

For the rest of my stories click here

#belly expansion #gainer fiction #gay gainer #stuffing #belly fiction #gainer stories #male gaining #stuffing art #gainer artwork #gainer story

508 notes · View notes

daleyeahson · 2 years

Text

Girl on Film | Perv!Eddie Munson x Best Friend Reader: Part 3

Summary: After days of not seeing or hearing anything from Eddie, you finally snap. When you confront him about your feelings, it’s not exactly what he had hoped to hear.

Warnings: angst, cursing, I’m just gonna go ahead and say 18+ minors dni mainly bc of what has happened before and that stuff gets briefly mentioned in here so… yeah lol

Word count: 2.9k

previous part | next part

A/n: I’m sorry this took a little longer than expected to get released! I’ve been a little busy and tbh at first I didn’t know where I wanted this story to go so that also slowed the whole process lol thank you guys for your continued love and support! You have no idea how much it truly means to me.. Enjoy! x

It’s Monday morning and Eddie slowly stirs awake. Stretching as much as he could, he turns his head over to look at the alarm clock. 6:45am. He then turns his head to the opposite side only to be met with the sight of your naked body. Your back facing him and the sheets covering just the lower half of you. Panic sets in before he has a chance to really take in the view. He starts to freak out as his questions from last night enter his mind once again.

He tries to convince himself that he’s just overreacting and that you must’ve genuinely felt the same way he did, right? If you didn’t, why would you do all of that with him? Why would you play along with the whole camcorder situation? He began to think that maybe it was just a spur of the moment thing for you. That maybe you just wanted to have fun with this and not get romantically involved. He also thought of how maybe you’d wake up and regret this whole weekend and then things would be forever changed between the two of you.

With every question of “what if?” or “why?” that crossed his mind, he knew one thing for sure. He did not want to stick around and find out. He couldn’t handle the possibility of rejection or the idea of losing you as his best friend. He needed to think things over before diving into that conversation with you. So, without a moments notice, Eddie does what he does best. He runs.

Or at least he tries too. He gently gets out of the bed, trying his best not to wake you and rushes to go take a quick shower. While he’s in the bathroom, you wake up to the sound of the water running. Still a little bit groggy, you slip on another oversized t-shirt since the one you had on yesterday was now torn in two thanks to a certain someone. You decided against wearing pants, not having the energy this morning to deal with putting them on. Plus, at this point, Eddie has seen you in a lot less, so you figured he wouldn’t have a problem with it.

You make your way to the kitchen in desperate need of something to drink. You pour yourself a glass of water and casually sip on it while having your back leaned against the counter. You hear the shower turn off and soon afterwards, the bathroom door opens. In such a hurry to leave, Eddie doesn’t even notice that you’re standing in the kitchen.

“Mornin’ Eddie, sleep well?”

“Jesus Christ!” He jumps at the sound of your voice. “I didn’t know you were awake,” he gives a nervous chuckle, “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I haven’t been up for long.. What’s got you up and ready to go out the door so early?”

“Uh…” Eddie pauses for a second, trying to find what to say. He doesn’t want to bring up the real reason he’s leaving, so he says the next thing that comes to mind. “School! Gotta head off the school, ya know, don’t wanna be late.”

You look at him and say with a raised eyebrow, “Since when did you, Eddie Munson, care about going to school, let alone getting there on time?”

He smiles softly at your comment, knowing that you had a good point.

“I figured dealing with the third go around of this shit, I might actually want to try for once before I end up graduating with Henderson’s class.”

You laugh. You know you’d never let that happen, but it was funny to picture him and Dustin posing for a photo together with their cap and gowns on holding their diplomas.

“Well before you go, do you want some breakfast? I can fix you something real quick. I know the stuff they serve in the cafeteria isn’t the best.”

Growing more anxious the longer he stands there, Eddie shakes his head, “N-no thanks. As much as I would love to, I don’t have the time. Still have to run home and change out of this,” he gestures to his sweats, “and you know how long it takes to get my whole get up on. At this rate, I’ll be lucky if I get there before the first bell rings.”

You try not to show a look of disappointment on your face. You wished he would stay a little longer, but you understood his reasons. If you were in his shoes, you’d want to do everything possible to make sure you didn’t have to repeat your senior year again too.

“Oh, well, I’ve got to start getting ready for work in a few anyway, so no biggie. Give me a call though afterwards, yeah? I’ll be back home this evening, probably around six.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just gives you a slight nod and walks out the door. Driving off in his van, he makes his way back home. Once there, he heads to his room and spots the camcorder still sitting in the same spot he left it. He really did plan on going to school, but after seeing that and being reminded once again how all of this got started, he decided to stay home. There was no way he could focus on any of his classes after that.

You started getting ready for work not long after Eddie left. Taking a quick shower yourself and changing into your uniform. You pulled your hair back to keep it out of your face and applied a light, natural makeup look. You weren’t one to really wear makeup to begin with, but being a waitress, it seemed to help get you better tips so you didn’t mind having to wear it while you were at work.

You worked at a small diner right on the edge of town, only a 15 minute drive from your place. It wasn’t the best job, but it paid the bills. It’s not like you didn’t enjoy it, you loved your coworkers and got along well with the regulars you had, but being on your feet for hours on end for most days of the week was exhausting.

Your work day was the same as always. A group of older gentlemen would always come in early for some breakfast which usually consisted of biscuits and gravy all while talking for hours, getting refill after refill of coffee. You gained a few more customers when lunch rush hit, but things never picked up until it came closer to dinner time. You’d always get busy around then, mainly having truckers stop by for a good hot meal after being on the road all day. You didn’t mind though, you loved hearing the stories they’d tell about the places they’ve been and things they’ve seen. It always helped make the work day go by a little faster.

When your shift came to an end, you made your way back home. Feet aching from the day, all you wanted was to get out of these clothes and go to bed. You didn’t even think about the fact that Eddie said he would call. All that was on your mind now was getting some much needed rest.

When Tuesday had came and gone and still no word from him, you started to wonder why Eddie hasn’t been back over or called. You didn’t really pay much mind to it, thinking he must’ve been exhausted like you were last night after playing his gig at the Hideout with the Corroded Coffin boys.

Wednesday was a different story though. That evening, you made your way over to Family Video to pick out movies for the sleepover this weekend. It was supposed to be at Eddie’s place this time, but after not hearing from him for days, you weren’t sure if he even wanted to have it. You walk in and was greeted by Robin who stood at the front counter.

“Hey, y/n! Picking out more movies for you and Eddie this weekend?”

“Yeah,” you say in an unsure tone, “I guess I am.”

“You guess? What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sigh and start to explain everything to her. Just the part of not hearing from Eddie in a while, she didn’t need to know the rest and you still hadn’t even talked about it with Eddie himself. It would feel wrong to discuss those things with another person before him, even if Robin was one of your closest friends.

“It’s just, I don’t know. I’m not sure if he wants to have the sleepover this weekend. After he left my place Monday morning for school, I haven’t heard from him since. I figured maybe he was tired from his gig last night, but I still haven’t heard anything from him today either. It’s just weird not seeing or hearing from him, ya know? He’s never done this before.”

“Wait, you said he left Monday morning for school?” She asks and you give her a nod. “Eddie wasn’t at school Monday. Like at all.”

“What?” You looked at her with confusion written all over your face.

Not at school? What does she mean not at school? Why would he say that’s why he had to leave your place so early and then not go? Maybe he was late getting there and she just didn’t see him.

Robin went on to explain, “Yeah. He borrowed my biology notes and was supposed to give them back to me at lunch, but he wasn’t there. I asked the guys at the Hellfire table if they’d seen him but they said he never showed up that morning.”

What the hell? Why didn’t he go? More importantly, why did he lie to you about going in the first place? Your blood started to boil at the thought of him lying to you. You had been friends forever, why would he feel the need to lie? You explained to Robin that you had to go, not getting the movies you had planned on picking up. You needed to get home to think about some things. What the fuck was Eddie’s problem?

Thursday evening rolled around and still no word. You finally decided to give him a call instead of waiting for him. You knew he should be home from school right now, if he even went this time, and he didn’t have band practice or anything like that. You reach for the phone and dial his number. After a few rings, a mans voice spoke on the line.

“Hello?” Wayne. You didn’t think he’d be home right now. He must’ve been getting ready to leave for work when you called.

“Hey, Uncle Wayne, is Eddie around?” You ask.

Wayne looks over at Eddie standing in the living room, signaling for him to say that he wasn’t there and couldn’t talk.

Wayne sighs before answering, “No, I’m sorry, sweetheart. He’s not here at the moment. I could take a message for him if you’d like though.”

There it was, another lie. Now he’s even getting other people to do it for him? Unbelievable.

“Just tell him to give me a call when he gets a chance, okay?” You tried to not sound frustrated, but Wayne could tell you were upset.

“Will do.” He hangs up the phone and looks up at Eddie once again.

“Boy, I don’t know what the hell is going on between you two, but whatever it is, not talking to her about it isn’t going to solve the problem.”

Eddie looks down at his feet, embarrassed that Wayne is lecturing him over something that he should’ve already taken care of.

“I know, Wayne, it’s just..” he tries to think of the best way to explain this to his uncle without having to go further into detail about it all, “things are just a bit..complicated right now, okay? I promise I’ll talk to her soon. I just need some time to think about things.”

Wayne takes the hint that Eddie doesn’t want to get into the subject of what’s going on and gives him a sympathetic look. Not really knowing what it was that was making things complicated between you both, but knew whatever it may be was causing his boy to be in misery.

Grabbing his jacket and getting ready to head out the door, he turns and with a sigh he says to Eddie, “Well, whatever it is, you guys have been friends all your lives. You’ll be able to get through it, okay? Don’t sweat it, kid.”

And with that he heads out the door, leaving Eddie to stew in his own thoughts about everything.

You on the other hand, were pissed. Outraged. Angry.

How could he lie to you like that? Why would he even do such a thing? And then ignore your call when you finally reach out to him?

No, you weren’t gonna have it. Eddie was going to talk to you face to face about this whether he liked it or not. It was something that needed to be done, and you knew exactly when to do it.

It was finally Friday, you had just finished your shift at work and was heading home to change and shower. Eddie was making his way over to the high school to start setting up for his Hellfire campaign. You knew if he wasn’t going to come to you and talk about things, you’d have to go to him. And that’s exactly what you planned on doing. You knew he wouldn’t miss a Hellfire meeting no matter what, so he would definitely be there. He wouldn’t be able to hide from you no longer.

You arrived at the high school and made your way to the room where the boys would be at. As you got closer to the door, you could hear them screaming at one another. Most likely over something that just happened during the campaign. You then heard a familiar sound. One that usually filled you with joy, but this time it just made you fill up with more rage than you already had.

Eddie’s laugh.

It pissed you off to no end hearing it. Hearing him having a good time, as if nothing was wrong. As if he hasn’t been avoiding you like the plague all week.

Without any hesitation, you burst through the door. The room falls silent as everyone looks over to see who interrupted them in the middle of their campaign. When Eddie’s eyes finally met yours, he could see how upset you were.

“Oh shit.”, He whispers to himself.

You march your way over where he was, sat on his throne, and you point your finger at his face.

“Where the hell have you been? Hm?”

Before Eddie has a chance to say anything, you continue on with your rant.

“All week! You haven’t called or stopped by to see me all fucking week! You never do that. Ever. We have been best friends forever and now suddenly, without warning you decide to just disappear? What the hell is your problem? Why have you been ignoring me?”

Eddie sat there, speechless and paralyzed from shock. He wasn’t expecting you to just show up randomly. He thought he would have more time to think over things before talking to you. He also didn’t expect to be having this conversation in front of the entire Hellfire Club, either.

“Say something!” You yell at him. Still, Eddie can’t find the words. Mouth moving as if he wants to say something but nothing comes out. You were mad before, but now standing here having him just stare at you not saying a word, it sends you over the edge.

“Fuck you, Eddie.” You spewed hatred towards him. “I can not believe after everything you did to me this weekend, you have the fucking audacity to not only ignore me and my calls, but blatantly lie to my face and have Wayne lie for you too. I already know you didn’t go to school Monday, Robin confirmed it for me. I seriously can’t believe you right now!”

You were fuming and after a few seconds of Eddie still not saying a word, you look at him and reach your hand out.

“Give me my key.”

“W-what?” Eddie finally is able to breathe out a word, and of course, it’s not what you wanted to hear.

“You heard me…Give. me. my. key.”

When he doesn’t move to give it, you yell again, still beyond frustrated with him.

“NOW!”

With trembling hands, Eddie reaches for it. He slowly takes the spare key to your apartment off the key ring and places it in your hand. You walk back over to the door, turning to him one last time before you leave.

“Don’t bother calling or coming over anymore. Not until you actually grow the fuck up for once. Until then, I’m done. I don’t need to put up with you and all of your bullshit, especially not after what happened.”

You slam the door shut, leaving the boys there in silence. Walking back out of the school, you feel hot tears running down your face. In this moment, you could care less. You just wanted to go home and forget about everything that has happened this past week.

Eddie is left sitting there, staring at the door trying to hold back the tears in his eyes that are fighting to spill over the edge. Gareth is the first one to break the silence.

“Dude, I don’t know what you did” he says looking away from the door and back over to Eddie, “but whatever it was, you really fucked up.”

Still not saying a word, Eddie thought to himself.

He really did fuck up this time.

Taglist: @lightvixxen @50shadesofuncomfortable @samunson83 @mybffjoe @choke-me-eddie @xxbookdrunkdemigodxx @siriuslysmoking @anaisweird @marvelnbangtanslut @bimbobaggins69 @ajkamins @fckyeahlames @steamystrangerfics @ceriseheaven @hellkaisersangel @e-munson666 @musicmoviestv @ankokubunka @fireandsaltydogs @quinnsfineline @sleepyghostygirl @lola--ebola @hargrovesswifee

Wanna join my taglist? Click here

#perv!eddie #part 3 #it’s finally here #eddie stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #joe quinn #daleyeahson #joseph quinn #joe quinn smut

990 notes · View notes

theficpusher · 6 days

Text

Chasing Feelings by Neondiamond | M | 20029 When homicide detective Louis Tomlinson first gets assigned to work with detective Harry Styles, the newest addition to the Doncaster police station, on the biggest case of his career, he’s less than enthused about it. There’s a serial killer on the loose, and Louis has no time to waste working with a newbie, despite how attracted his inner Alpha may be to Harry’s sweet scent. Along the way, he finds he may have been too quick to judge the Omega.

Into This Mess by crimsontheory | E | 20561 The first day of Louis’ promotion is going well, far better than he expected. That is until his new partner shows up, who just so happens to be the guy who stumbled half-dressed out of his flat that same morning. Or the enemies to lovers detective AU.

a long way down (to the bottom of the river) by MediaWhore | M | 24184 “Most people would call Harry silly for believing in curses. Childish would also be a probable insult thrown his way. In their little town full of little people, Harry’s whimsical nature and beliefs mean that he’s subjected to frequent judgemental looks and whispers. It doesn’t usually bother him. Most people don’t know about the magic thrumming through his veins or about how powerful words can truly be. Most people don’t carry around their ancestors grief like a burden. They don’t have to pay for deeds hundreds of years old like Harry and his family have. They get to love freely without fear. Harry and his kin aren’t so lucky.” a practical magic au in which Harry and his sister accidentally kill her abusive boyfriend with magic and Louis is the D.I working the case.

A Study in Love by Rearviewdreamer | M | 24307 Louis knows everything about everyone which has put him at a great and weird advantage over nearly all of them since the very beginning. He can solve any puzzle before most people know where to begin. He is rarely perplexed, mistaken, or wrong, and obviously, Louis is never ever surprised. And yet, his new flatmate after a very long string of failed ones has Louis questioning how he ever did any of it without him.

Catching a Partner by berzerkshires | M | 24936 This documentary follows the story of two people who fell in love in the last place you'd expect. Louis is a detective at the Boston Police Department investigating a trail of recent murders. Harry is the latest victim who survived an attempted murder and is sent to live at a safe house with Detective Tomlinson as the killer is still at large. This is their story.

i've heard it both ways by vintagehistories | E | 26331 “I, uh.” Harry is scrambling, trying to think of something believable on the spot. He remembers the woman from reception and her phone call and says the only thing he can think of. “I’m a psychic.” Everyone stills. Zayn laughs, Detective Edwards looks confused, and the officer holding the door open looks mildly frightened. “A psychic?” Zayn gets out between his laughs. “I’ve heard it all. You’re definitely spending the night in the holding cell now. You’re wasting all of our time here.” an au based on the tv show psych where harry is shawn, louis is jules, liam is gus, niall is mcnabb, and zayn is lassie.

When Darkness Strikes by he_wants_to_write | E | 58766 Private Investigator Harry Styles is called to help solve a brutal homicide case in a small town by the North of England. There, he stumbles upon Detective Louis Tomlinson, and although their personalities crash and dark mysteries haunt their circumstances, the pair does have one thing in common; the will to catch the responsible behind the murder. Or, the suspenseful, thrilling Enemies to Lovers that evolves more than romance and slow burn.

technicolor by creamcoffeelou | E | 81386 When the small town of Twin Lakes begins experiencing a string of serial murders, a team of detectives is called in to help. Louis is the head of the team and meets a hard-headed psychic who everyone else seems to believe is the one who will solve the case. Louis isn't so sure. OR The slow-burn, hate-to-love, crime au where Harry is a psychic, Louis is a detective, and the world is against them.

Where you'd rather be by Itsmotivatingcara | M | 103456 Louis runs the best Canine Search and Rescue school in Augusta, Maine, one that trains dogs to track missing persons. He lives an idyllic life on Togus Pond where he's built his career from the ground up. He has everything he could ever want, a beautiful home, friends he adores and a dog that aids his students in their training. Romantic entanglements have never been high up on his list of priorities. That is, until he stumbles across a body in the woods. A woman was brutally murdered and dumped on his doorstep. It doesn't help that the Detective on the case happens to be devilishly handsome and just the right amount of broody. Detective Harry styles has a murder to solve, he's just gotten out of a long-term relationship and he's certainly not looking for another. Regardless of whether the man who run's the SAR unit's blue eyes sparkle with promise and a sense of belonging. Something he may or may not have been searching for all his life. Or Detective - Search and Rescue AU

#detectives #Chasing Feelings #Neondiamond #Into This Mess #crimsontheory #a long way down (to the bottom of the river)#MediaWhore #A Study in Love #Rearviewdreamer #Catching a Partner #berzerkshires #i've heard it both ways #vintagehistories #When Darkness Strikes #he_wants_to_write #technicolor #creamcoffeelou #Where you'd rather be #Itsmotivatingcara

53 notes · View notes

euripidestrousers · 2 months

Text

The Bridget Jones Wolfstar AU that No One Asked For

Dear Diary,

Even writing those words makes me physically ill so I’d like to start this off by disclosing that getting a diary was not my idea.

You see, my best friend, James - excellent, wonderful best friend who has recently become a family man by choice, and has therefore become one of the most insufferable people on earth - gave me this diary and said it’s either this or he’s buying me therapy because one more rubbish one-week relationship of mine is going to kill him.

And I don’t need a fucking therapist, so here you are, and here I am. I feel better already.

(haha)

Dear Diary,

James might be onto something. Today I found myself smoking my third morning cigarette while drinking my coffee and muttering that the drive to work is going to be hell because of the rain.

I’ve become my father.

Of course, I asked James if he ever looks in the mirror and sees Monty staring back and if it makes him want to buy a motorbike and he replied, ‘Uh, I’m literally his son, we look alike. Are you okay?’

My thirty third birthday is coming up.

Please don’t let this be a mid-life crisis. I’m not in a relationship because I don’t want one, and haven’t had one in over ten years because the men in London either want to meet you in the park or meet your parents. It’s the last hour of the buffet and all that’s left is the salad. And I don’t need a relationship either. James and Lily are a match made in heaven since the first time he told her ugly friend he was ugly (rightfully so, the man is still hideous and a complete prick), and she told him to watch his fucking mouth. Made for each other.

But the last time I met a guy that made me laugh and was any sort of attractive and not a complete knob about being attractive, was over three years ago.

Ie, it’s not for me. End of story.

I bought a motorbike

Dear Diary,

I’m going to do away with the whole ‘dear diary’ thing, it makes me feel like a schoolgirl and if James ever finds you when we’re drunk he’s going to read out at least one embarrassing entry at me. They’re all embarrassing.

I went on a blind date today.

“Long black for… Sirish?”

What? Oh. That vague jumble of mush must have been his name. Sirius grabs the takeaway cup and makes for the door briskly. He has the Binkley case to catch up on and write a piece on by the end of the week and he’s still not clear who the man is. A football star perhaps? He’s still being sidelined into the sports area of the paper because he did football for a year. Nevermind that he has an interest in politics and would very much like to report on where the country will be in ten years if it keeps going-

J: You busy after work?

Sirius grins, flopping his jacket over one arm to type back to James Potter, best friend and inarguably lesser half of Lily Potter.

S: drinks?

J: I have a one year old

S: too early for him to start?

S: kidding. Don’t tell Lily. She’s already started making him take his helmet every time I take him for a day.

J: It’s not for drinks. Lily has a friend who’s just come to town. I thought maybe you could show him around.

S: Worst lie ever.

J: I haven’t had coffee yet.

J: It’s actually true though. He just came to town and doesn’t know anyone other than Lily, and Harry has a cold so we’re both staying home.

J: He’s quite attractive I’m told. Lily told me to say ‘tall Martin Freeman’, and that you’d know what it means

S: Potter, if I was so desperate that I would open to a blind date, I definitely wouldn’t start with any of Lily’s friends, they’re all college professors and about 50 years old.

J: He’s 37

S: He has elbow patches. Guaranteed. Bet he says ‘but the Torries are actually not as conservative as they’re made out to be.’

S: Bet he has a mahogany desk and wanks to Aristotle

J: Jesus christ

J: Photo sent

Sirius glances down uninterestedly and sees a photo of a man. But instead of the expected stuffy looking balding man with a sour face, as most of Lily’s fellow professors are to be fair, instead he’s looking at a tall, brown haired man with flecks of grey at the temples and smiling softly at the camera, and he’s well, he’s not not handsome. Tall Martin Freeman is actually quite right. Hello.

He brings the phone closer to examine the photo as he blindly barges into the office building with the large Get Up, Britain sign gaudy and bright above him.

The man is younger on second glance, although he is wearing a suit jacket with elbow patches (told you, Jamie), and standing a little awkwardly, like he’s not used to photos being taken of him, and it’s entirely likely that he’s more accustomed to being nose deep in a book ninety percent of the time.

He’s shagged worse.

S: I was right about the elbow patches

J: I really tried to find one without them too

J: But he sounds nice. Funny. Lily likes him, she talks about him all the time. They were prefects together in school and used to bunk off and smoke behind the bins

One the one hand: prefect. Disgusting. Hall monitors. Pigs-to-be, snooty, law-abiding to the most irritating degree (Lily being the exception, of course). On the other hand: smoking behind the bins is more his style. Speaking of, he’d love one right now-

J: I really think you’d like him. Even just friends. Moving cities is lonely and he sounds alright. He likes Manchester U?

S: Fine, I’m free after 6

S: Don’t yell at me if I shag him, work has been shit.

So that’s how Sirius finds himself, half past six, swearing up a storm and running with his tote bag over his head in the pouring rain, late for his blind date (or something).

He slams into the restaurant door, shaking himself off like a wet dog, his casual Friday jeans and black t-shirt soaking wet, his shoulder length, black hair is dripping around his face, hoping his laptop has survived, and shivering like a chihuahua at a children’s party.

“Uh, I’m here for uh-” he consults his phone again and reads the name to the maitre d, “Reh-mus?”

“It’s Remus, actually”, comes a soft voice from his left.

Sirius turns quickly and immediately drenches the man standing at his elbow in droplets of water from his hair and coat. Tall Martin Freeman indeed - he has one of those faces that’s even better in person, where the way he stoops his shoulders and holds himself makes him look soft and welcoming, and the warm lighting gives him that attractive, cozy professor look, rather than an uptight old man.

“Oh”, Sirius grins quickly, hoping his dazzling smile will make up for their flimsy introduction, “Right, Sirius. Are you still waiting for a table-?”

“I er, well, I was about to leave actually”, Remus says, glancing at the maitre d awkwardly, “You’re quite late.”

Sirius’ smile freezes. Well, then.

“Got caught up at work”, he replies stiffly, brushing his hair back and letting his eyes go cold, “If you’d prefer we don’t-”

“No, no, of course not”, Remus appears to snap back, as if remembering his manners and seeming oddly distracted, “Please, let’s sit. You look like you could use a drink.”

Sirius runs his tongue along his bottom lip as he follows Remus to the table and wonders if that was a slight about him looking like a drowned rat. He notices the man has worn an absolutely hideous brown jumper that wouldn’t be out of place in an aged care home, so he doesn’t really have the right to judge Sirius’ appearance.

“Wine?” The waiter offers politely. It’s a nice place - James said Lily had picked it because she thought Remus would like it. It is a little stuffy, honestly. Something his parents might have stopped by and deemed adequate, which is to say, the beer is fucking overpriced, Jesus-

“I’ll have the Stout again, please”, Remus answers briskly, nodding at Sirius to order his.

“Uh, yeah, Stout. Cheers”, Sirius adds, dumping his bag beneath the table and trying to surreptitiously dry his hair in the napkin. Remus looks away as if embarrassed by him. Swot.

“So, you know Lily through school?” Sirius starts, unable to keep the boredom completely out of his voice.

“Yes. I take it you know James through yours”, Remus answers, very politely but also sounding just as bored.

“Yeah, grew up together”, Sirius nods.

Remus doesn’t say anything to that, just hums and sips some water.

It’s fucking awkward. Normally, Sirius would give him an ultimatum - ‘look, do you want to liven it up a bit and turn this into a fun one-night thing? Because otherwise, I’m not feeling it and I’ve got work to do.’

But Lily knows this guy, they have mutual friends, and if this isn’t what makes blind dates the most excruciating, hellish thing on earth, worse than job interviews, worse than-

“I don’t really do blind dates”, Remus says suddenly, and then blinks as if he hadn’t meant to say anything at all.

“Right”, Sirius says, bewildered.

“I, er, the dating scene. Not really my thing”, he says quietly, still not looking Sirius in the eye, “But I just moved here from Wales and I don’t know anyone, so this doesn’t have to be… anything. Just-”

“Oh- oh yeah. Fine with me”, Sirius finds himself swallowing down a touch of regret, offended really, because he’s not used to someone not immediately being ready to come home with him. “I’m not really looking for anything and blind dates are, well - eugh, you know? Like, thanks, my friends think I can’t get laid on my own or something so they set me up with whoever they think isn’t a serial killer, like any gay dude will do-”

“Yes, well”, Remus says tightly, taking another sip, “I rather thought Lily knew me better than that.”

His tone is rather pointed and Sirius realises he’s let his mouth run. Well… to be fair, the guy is kind of a snob. What was Lily thinking anyway?

“Yeah”, he agrees through his teeth, crossing his arms and legs and sitting back in his chair to wait for his beer. Maybe he can make an excuse after one drink. He can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t have a sense of humour and if this bloke doesn’t want to be a one-night stand, then he’d much rather be home. Alone.

“Is there anything around here you’d recommend?” Remus tries, voice clipped and still sounding slightly offended, “Restaurants? More importantly, ones you don’t recommend?”

“There’s a place that does turkey curry. It’s awful.”

“What? What curry?” The tightness in Remus’ face slips momentarily and he looks genuinely bewildered. He’s actually not a bad looker when he’s not frowning.

“Turkey. It’s as bad as it sounds. Actually it’s worse, like eating a lamb burrito, it’s just not right. Shittest fucking curry and it’s as bad going in as it is bad going ou-”

“Two Stouts.”

The waiter delivers their beers and they fade off into silence as they drink.

Remus sips delicately, in a way that’s completely inappropriate for a beer, and says awkwardly, “Yes well, thank you for the tip. I’ll rest easy never knowing what turkey curry tastes like.”

“Yeah, I mean, if you can avoid it then I guess this date wasn’t a waste after all.”

Remus blinks, expression dropping.

Oh. Oh fuck. Double fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom”, Remus says abruptly and stands. He stalks away quickly and leaves Sirius gnawing at his lip and furious at both himself and this infuriating man who seems to loathe him, minutes after meeting him and who Lily apparently thinks is nice.

He’s got other shit to be getting on with, he decides. And this bloke probably shags like a limp fish anyway, an Oxford type that thinks poetry is foreplay and once a month sex is scandalously frequent.

He drains his beer and half of Remus’ for good measure, and heads to the bathroom so he can catch Remus on his way out, only to hear his own name hissed furiously. He sees Remus standing out the front of the restaurant, shoulders raised against the cold and holding the phone to his ear. He steps closer and half opens the door to tell him he’s going to head off when he hears the conversation.

“... how did you think someone like Sirius would be good for me? After the hell I’ve had in the last year? Going on a date with someone like him? He showed up thirty minutes late, dressed like he’s going to a bar playing exclusively Metallica, and insulted me immediately. I told you, I don’t mind being alone for a while, especially after the divorce. I certainly don’t want to be shown around London by a rude, arrogant berk who dresses like a teenager and doesn’t seem to have a filter between his brain and his mouth. He probably thinks the bar scene is-oh”

Remus catches sight of him out of the corner of his eye and he spins. They stare at each other for a few excruciation moments, Remus still holding the phone to his ear.

Sirius breaks the tension with a forced laugh, “Right. I’m definitely going home.”

“Wait, shit, I’ll call you back”, Remus mutters into the phone and hangs up, stepping forward but Sirius pushes past him, temper steadily rising into a roaring bonfire within his chest.

“Sirius, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“You’re absolutely right, I wouldn’t know the first thing about showing a bloke like you around London”, he turns and says loudly so it carries over the sounds of the cars driving by on the busy street, “You’d be more comfortable in a fucking graveyard, honestly. There’s one ten minutes that way-” he turns his back and points over to the left, calling back over his shoulder, “You’ll find someone much more your speed there, Remus.”

Blind date disastrous as expected.

Remus fucking Lupin, a professor extraordinaire who wouldn’t be able to find his funny bone if it conked him on the fucking head, is not an exception to the blind date rule, even though he’s easy on the eyes at first glance. At second glance, he is a miserable, dried up academic whose own self-importance has completely consumed him despite dressing like his grandfather for Halloween.

If this is what my friends think of me, I need to sort my fucking shit out.

I should have asked him to shag before he opened his stupid fucking mouth.

#i have too many WIPs and I should NOT be doing this #am I doing this?#idk if this is just something I think is a wildly good idea at 1 am and then wake up in the morning like what #what have you done kat #anyway pls enjoy the snippet #this is the weirdest AU idea I've had tbh #Wolfstar but make it bridget jones?#And you know I had to make Remus Lupin the awkward #well dressed gentleman who says all the wrong things until he doesn't #sirius black #wolfstar snippet #wolfstar #remus lupin #wolfstar fanfic #sirius black x remus lupin

35 notes · View notes

something-tofightfor · 5 months

Text

Liminality: Part 8

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Word Count: 11,224

Rating: M? R? There's no smut but the overall mood of this one is adult.

Summary: With everything out in the open, you and Frankie begin to navigate finding the balance between what's going on between the two of you and what that means when it comes to his friends.

You can only tell them so much, but what you do choose to tell them speaks volumes.

Author’s note:

Hello, friends! This is a setup chapter, but it's really, really important. As always, thank you so much for reading! I am always around for questions and comments about this (and any of my other) stories ... so please feel free to reach out.

Masterlist (for the journal entries and all of the other 'extras' + previous chapters)

Frankie woke you up the following morning, and unlike the first night you’d spent together, there was no apology.

He was touching you, though, his entire hand moving up and down your side beneath the blankets. “Morning.” He smiled, half of his face hidden by the pillow. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I thought I would, to be honest.” Ducking your head and pressing your face to his chest as you yawned, you were very aware of the way his fingers curled in against your skin, his hand settled atop your hip. “You?”

“I didn’t dream.” Frankie murmured the words, shifting closer to you as he spoke. “And I always dream, especially after the full moon. It gets real vivid for a couple days, but not this time.” You wondered why that was, and if him having some answers had settled his mind. “I like waking up next to someone.”

“Someone?” Backing away enough so that you could look into his eyes, you arched a brow. “Ouch.”

“You know what I mean.” He rolled his eyes, lifting one leg to hook it over yours. “Do you always give guys such a hard time first thing in the morning when they’re still waking up?” I could make so many comments about hard things, but I’ll spare him this one time.

“No.” Biting down on the corner of your lip, briefly closed your eyes before reaching up and running your fingers through his curls. “Not all of them. Just you.”

He was silent for a few seconds but then said your name, Frankie speaking quietly and waiting until you were looking back at him before he leaned in.

Unlike the first morning with him, he didn’t hold back, lips pressing against yours for a lingering kiss. No matter what had been discussed, it was still dangerous for you to let yourself get used to it - to his proximity, to the way he made you feel, to the fact that with every kiss and touch, you wanted another immediately after. But I can’t help it. And even if I tried, I … I don’t think it would matter.

“I meant it.” He spoke again when he pulled away, the hand on your hip sliding back and around your waist, his fingers spread over your lower back. “Everything I said last night. I know when we met I said I wasn’t looking for anything long term, but … fuck. The idea of not having this anymore? Not knowing if you’re safe? I don’t like that at all.”

“This is fast, Frankie.” You took a deep breath, unwilling to break eye contact. It’s really fast. And that scares me. ��I meant what I said too, but I just worry.” I don’t know how to say this. “What if what you’re feeling - what we’re feeling is because of how fucked up this situation is? What if it’s just because we’re both on high alert because of the Chaos wolf?”

You saw the hurt flash across his features, and for a few seconds, you wondered if you’d said the wrong thing. But he finally nodded, closing his eyes. “It is. And I’ve never moved this fast before, either.” Frankie sat up then, the movement startling you. When he looked down, you saw the determined look in his eyes, his shoulders settling as he nodded. “I have to trust what I’m feeling. I’ve been with more than a few women since I got bitten. One of them was the woman that I loved for years. It’s never been like this with any of them. Ever.”

You sat up, too, holding the blankets over your chest in an attempt to keep yourself covered. “Did Ashley talk to you about the trust thing?” He nodded, a small frown putting a crease between his brows. “I’m not surprised. Alec said she doesn’t really have a filter.”

“I don’t either, so it was a good conversation.” He grinned then, the expression breaking the tension. “And like I said last night, too, I don’t expect a lifelong commitment, just … I want a real shot at this.” Frankie gestured between the two of you, cocking his head to the side. “Because you’ve got to admit that there’s something here, and it’s not just sex.”

“It’s not.” It never has been. “But if we’re going to do this, Frankie? What do we tell people? And by people I mean your friends, because -”

“We tell them the truth. Or some of it, at least.” He reached for your hand, sliding his fingers between yours and squeezing. “Pope already knows about why you’re here, but he said we should be careful.” Careful? What do you mean? “The guys knowing that you know what I am is one thing, but them knowing what you’re doing here?” He shook his head. “That’s too many people, especially with this other wolf on the loose.”

“Why? Would they say something?” You were confused - none of his friends seemed like the type to let a secret like yours slip. Especially after they kept Frankie’s for so long. “Who -”

“None of them would say anything.” He sighed, looking away for a minute and then back at you. “On purpose anyway. But Benny and Will have the bar, and all it would take was one of them opening their mouths to the wrong person, and it could be dangerous for you.”

You hadn’t thought of that, but his reasoning made sense. “Alec said… Alec said that the wolf that bit him was methodical, that it was smart.” He nodded, eyes still on you. “And you said there’s a lot of cops and military in the bar, right?”

“Right.” Frankie swallowed hard. “And if it’s one of them? Or someone one of them knows and they’re protecting him?” He reached up with his free hand, swiping his thumb beneath your eye. “Puts a target on your back that doesn’t have to be there.” You shivered at his words, but Frankie didn’t flinch. “You knowing about me is fine, but anyone else knowing about you?” He shook his head. “It’s an unnecessary risk that I’m not interested in taking.”

“That makes sense, but then how would I know about you?” Licking your lips, you reached up to rub the back of your neck. “You haven’t told anyone. Why would you tell me? I’m a stranger, Frankie. And as far as any of them know, I’m just someone you’re occasionally sleeping with for a little while while I’m here working, and -”

“That’s not at all what you are, and you know it.” You heard the hurt in his voice, almost like even thinking that that was the case made him angry. “And… I thought about that when I woke up this morning.” He inched closer, taking both of your hands in his and holding them, the man saying your name quietly. “It’ll be a lie, but I think I figured something out.”

“I don’t want you to lie to your friends.” He can’t do that. Not for me. Not about this. “It -”

“I’m going to tell them that I told you because once I found out how close you were to where the attack happened?” He squeezed harder, his hands warm in yours. “I lost control. And I started to shift in front of you and there was no option but to tell you.” That could work. You were silent, thinking, and Frankie was too.

It was a plausible explanation, and since all of them had seen Frankie change before, they would know how much of a shock it was to see unexpectedly. But it’s still a lie. “That would mean telling them that you can change when the moon’s not full.” He nodded slowly. “And it would mean that they’d know you’re reacting emotionally to the thought of -”

“Yeah.” He let go of one of your hands, gaze falling to the inside of his forearm as you ran your fingers over the scarring beneath the ink. “And I can already hear the shit they’ll give me for falling so fast for someone, but …” He looked up again and shrugged. “It’s the truth. You’ve seen it with your own eyes more than once. My focus is not the best around you.” That made you smile, heat rising to your cheeks as you bit down on the inside of one. Falling for me? Is he … did he just? Oh, fuck. “You’d have to sell it, though. Act like it was a big adjustment, like the idea of -”

“I can do that.” Your smile widened. “Pope’s going to know that we’re full of shit.” You shrugged, laughing. “Despite my overall reaction, Frankie, this is a shock to me. And even though I’ve seen you start to shift, I’ve never seen anyone go all the way.” Closing your eyes, you took a breath to steady yourself. “I’ve never seen an actual wolf or anyone become a wolf. So I only know bare minimum about what actually happens when you turn.”

“Would you want to?” You heard fear in his voice, Frankie’s breathing shallow. “See a wolf, I mean.” Has he ever asked that of anyone? I doubt it.

“Would I want to see you?” He nodded, the motion hesitant. “I’d like that very much.” You could feel his relief at that, Frankie closing his eyes and letting out a woosh of breath as his posture loosened. “Is that possible?”

“You could come with me next time.” He leaned in, nodding. “It’s September second, so we have what, a little more than three weeks until the next full moon? It would mean that you can’t look for the Chaos wolf that night, but it might still be useful.”

He was offering you a true glimpse into the most private part of his life - something that he’d reserved only for his brothers for three years. But that delays me by a month. It meant that there’d likely be another attack, someone else getting hurt because you’d chosen to spend the full moon with Frankie. But I want to. And it’s just as likely that this wolf will be in that area as any other, so … “Ok.” The single word made you feel lighter, and you watched as Frankie’s eyes widened in response. Did he think I’d say no? “But only if you’re sure, Frankie. I don’t want you to feel like you need to show me if you’re not ready.”

“I said I wanted to give this a shot.” He swallowed and then rubbed his fingers against his cheek, his frown returning. “And that means showing you what you’d really be agreeing to, wolf and all.” It was a big step - and you both knew it. I don’t even know what to say. “But that’s enough about that right now. Do you know when the last time I had a Saturday off was?”

“No, I don’t.” Covering your mouth as you yawned, you you hummed with your exhale. “And I didn’t know you were off today. How’d you manage that?”

“Only had a single flight booked and they canceled.” His smile grew. “And that means I’ve got all day free today, if you wanted to hang out.” You grinned back, deciding that if Frankie could let everything go for the time being, you could, too. It’s not like we’re going to find this wolf today anyway. There’s plenty of time to focus on that.

“Does hanging out with you include breakfast, Francisco?”

—

For the next two days, you and Frankie kept to yourselves, only leaving his house to go back to yours for a change of clothes. He had Sunday off, too, and at his suggestion, you packed up the suitcase full of research and your laptop and took it to his place so that you could spend time going over it together.

He read quietly, eyes moving over the writing in each of the journals. Frankie flipped back and forth between pages, occasionally reaching for corresponding photos and then studying them. He asked you questions and you did your best to answer him, filling him in on more things that you’d learned throughout the years whenever you could.

You liked his curiosity and appreciated the way he actually listened when you spoke, dark eyes locked with yours. You could almost feel the change in him as the hours passed, his mood much different than it had been prior to the two of you coming clean with each other. Part of you wondered if it was just that he’d finally been able to open up to someone about himself and didn’t have to hide everything during conversation. But the other part of you - the rational part - assumed that it had more to do with the fact that he knew more about what he’d been turned into and what he could expect from his life moving forward.

It didn’t really matter though. Whatever it was that had lightened his mood, you were thankful for it. Because Frankie seemed happier - smiling and loose, making the best of the situation that you found yourselves in without pushing you away. And if this is the first time it’s been that way since it happened? It’s all worth it.

You knew the bubble would burst sooner than you liked when it came to getting back on track with your search - and back into the routine of him going to work and hanging out with his friends. So when you said goodbye to him on Monday morning, it was you that brought it up as the two of you stood in his driveway, the early morning sun just beginning to warm the air.

“When are we going to tell them?” Your arms were crossed, eyes on Frankie as he sipped from the travel mug that you’d given back to him. “Don’t you guys usually meet up during the week at the bar? Would that be a good time?”

“It would.” He nodded, adjusting the baseball cap on his head. “And I’m not sure when I’ll see them this week. Maybe Wednesday? The holiday today fucks everyone up, but I haven’t really talked to anyone about it.” Frankie lifted a brow, staring at you. “Just been talking to you a hell of a lot these last few days.”

That made you laugh, the sound turning into a sigh as you ducked your head. He has. We’ve spent a lot of time together. Maybe too much. “Are you saying that you want to talk to me less Frankie?”

“Hell no.” He leaned in through the open window to set the mug down in the center console and then moved toward you, reaching out to put his arms around your waist. “I’m just saying that I haven’t made plans with any of them because I’ve been with you.” You nodded, but before you could speak he leaned in closer, tilting his head so that he could kiss you softly. “The next couple days are pretty busy for me. I’ve got scheduled maintenance tomorrow for the helo. I never know how long that’s going to take but I have to be there early.” You nodded, the tips of your fingers moving through the curls at the back of his neck. “So I might not be able to see you ‘til Wednesday. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“Of course not.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s work, Frankie. You have people depending on you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t need to work. I -”

“Having an ungodly amount of money doesn’t mean you should stop doing the things you love.” You pointed up. “And you love flying. I’ve seen how happy you are up there. You might not need to work for financial reasons, but you need it for emotional ones.” Leaning in, you kissed him again, mouth lingering and your teeth closing around his lower lip as you pulled away. “Believe it or not, I can find something to keep myself occupied for a few days.”

“Not too occupied, though.” He mumbled your name, one hand sliding beneath the bottom hem of your shirt so that he could rest his palm against the center of your lower back. “Right?”

“We’ll see.” You winked and backed away, reaching for your keys. “You should go, though. I don’t want to make you late.” He looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t, nodding before he turned back toward the door of the truck. Wait, though. “Frankie?” He stopped immediately, looking back at you over his shoulder. “These last couple days?” Frankie nodded, waiting. “I… they’ve been…” Biting your lip, you reached up to scrub at your face. “They’ve been really good days. Really fuc-”

“Yeah. They have.” His fingers tightened on the door, Frankie nodding once. “I’m looking forward to having more of them.” Neither of you said anything after that, and by the time you’d buckled yourself in and started your car, you were breathing normally again.

There were things you could do to keep yourself busy. There were places you could go, people you could talk to, preparations you could make. It would have been nice to have a partner, but you didn’t need one, and you didn’t want Frankie to think that you did. Because I managed just fine before him. I found the wolf… wolves here, and that was on my own.

But at the thought of the other wolf, you thought of Alec, and realized that you hadn’t heard from him or Ashley since you left the hospital. And I should I have.

On the way home, you called Ashley’s number, the ringing filling the interior of your car until she answered on the fourth one, greeting you warily. “Ashley? What’s wrong. Is the b-”

“The baby’s fine. It’s Alec.” Sitting up straighter, you tightened your hold on the steering wheel. “He’s going to be ok, but the antibiotics weren’t strong enough, and his side is … it’s infected.” You swore, groaning as you pulled into the driveway of your rental and parked the car. “Everything else is good. We were actually planning on leaving this week, but now we don’t know if that’s going to happen.”

“You’ve got to be going stir-crazy in there.” She confirmed, but didn’t say anything else. “Is there anything I can bring you guys? Anything you need? Do you need me to come sit with him so you can take a shower, or -”

“I’m using the shower in his room.” She sighed. “And I’ve left a few times to go out and get things, but yeah. When I was with Frankie in the courtyard, that was the longest I’ve been outside in days.”

“I was going to see if you wanted me to come visit.” You sighed, eyes on the dashboard. “Now I don’t think it’s not a good idea.”

“It probably isn’t.” She cleared her throat. “He’s in and out of it. They changed his medicine, and he’s been kind of an asshole because he feels like shit, and we’re both tense.” She paused. “But how are you? How’s he doing? Did you talk more?”

“We did. He’s good. He just went to work.” You got out of the car, slinging your bag over one shoulder. “I spent the weekend with him. We talked a lot. It’s…” Entering the living room, you dropped the bag onto the chair and then lowered yourself onto the couch. “It felt really good to be so honest with him, Ashley. Whatever you said to him, he seems much different now.”

“Bad different?”

“No. Fucking great different. He knows that there are actual answers out there and I think he’s determined to find them.”

“He’s a smart guy.” You could hear the smile in her voice as she continued. “He just needed some help.” You didn’t disagree, but Ashley’s next words stunned you. “I hope he told you how much you mean to him.”

“He told you?” She confirmed with a single word, but didn’t elaborate. “I… yes. He did. He told me that he wants to help me with the Chaos wolf and then … see what happens.”

“You should do that.” She said your name and then paused, the tone of her voice changing. “The world’s not going to end if you stop looking for these wolves. You and Alec… it’s not on you to try and save everyone.”

You knew that she was right - and she was the third person in less than a week that had said the same thing, though in a different way. “We’re going to try. I don’t know what’s going to happen.” You didn’t need to elaborate. If there was anyone that would understand, it was Ashley. “Will you let me know when Alec’s feeling better? I’ve got nothing planned for the next couple days, and I’d like to see him before you leave.”

“Of course.” You heard the sound of another voice on her end, and then the woman apologized, letting you know that your cousin’s doctor had arrived. You hung up soon after that, standing and turning in a slow circle in the sun-drenched living room. For the first time in a long time, you were totally content - and it was a shock.

You had a man that cared about you, and wasn’t just a one-time fling. You had a solid lead on one of the wolves that you’d been hunting, and time to prepare. Your cousin was free to live his life, had a woman that loved him along with a baby on the way. You were under no pressure to keep doing pointless research in the area, and could focus entirely on your real work. And I’m not alone. I have help. I have Frankie.

It was fast - almost too fast, if you were being honest - but it felt right in a way that you hadn’t ever experienced before. Frankie being a wolf should have thrown you. It should have been setting off alarm bells in your head, and giving you pause before continuing the physicality between you. It doesn’t, though. And it hasn’t.

You’d never truly been afraid of him, even the morning you’d held him at gunpoint. He’d never posed any sort of threat to you, even in wolf form. Or when he’s started to change in front of me. There were plenty of reasons to fear Frankie, and you had an idea that there were things he’d done that scared him, especially while enlisted. And after, too. But he was loyal. He was kind. He was protective of the things and people that he cared about - and one of those things was you.

Of all the things that you and Frankie had talked about over the weekend, the one you were absolutely certain of was that whatever was going on between you had already reached and passed the point of no return. Promises of protection and help, the way he touched you, the way your body responded to him - the way you wanted to be around him at all times - there was no way to ignore any of it.

He’d broken rules with you from almost the start, beginning with the fact that he’d put his teeth to your throat the night you’d met. Despite the fact that he’d managed to restrain himself somewhat in the weeks between your first time together and his admission, the feeling that he was holding back - and that it was hard for him - had always been there.

“Fuck.”

You spoke to the empty room, bringing both hands up to your face and covering it. Thinking back to his words from that morning - that he’d fallen for you - you nodded slowly. There was no denying it.

You’d always believed in the supernatural and had actively hunted werewolves from the age of 18 on, but the truth was that you’d never thought that you were in over your head more than you did when it came to Frankie - and the way you felt about him.

Lowering your hands, you opened your eyes and then looked around again, chewing on your bottom lip. But if I’m in over my head, then so is he. The thought made you smile, your shoulders dropping in relief. We’re in this together.

It was still early enough in the day that going back to bed wouldn’t have been out of the question, but instead of doing that, you made your way into the bedroom. Until he’d mentioned it that morning, you’d forgotten that it was Labor Day, which meant that the beach would probably be packed with tourists and people enjoying the last official hours of summer. You didn’t care, though, stuffing things into a shoulder bag before changing your clothes into more appropriate beach attire.

For what it was worth, while you were in Florida, you were a tourist … and you were going to make the most of it.

—

Wednesday night, though, you felt like a local.

Frankie drove to your place after work, and then you drove the two of you to Ironhead’s,

After you parked, you sat in the car for a few minutes, going over the plan. He was going to bring up the fact that you knew. He was going to lead the conversation, and you were supposed to follow, only concealing that you were in Florida to hunt the wolf - and that the person that had been most recently attacked was your cousin. Everything else was fair game, including your relationship with him.

It was a simple enough plan for you to stick with, and even though you reminded him that you hated the thought of having to lie to his friends, Frankie didn’t budge. “Pope knows what the truth is,” he reminded you as you headed across the parking lot. “But he’s the only one. He’s going to go along with us, too.”

Frankie squeezed your hand before you stepped into the building, but he opened the door and let you walk in first, following a half step behind you. Here we go.

Benny saw you immediately, the blonde raising his hand in a wave from his place behind the bar. You smiled back, meeting his eyes as the two of you headed for where Will and Pope were already sitting. You slid into the booth first and Frankie followed, neither of you speaking until Will pushed an already full glass toward you.

“What’s this?” His grin widened and one brow rose but he kept quiet, pushing another drink toward Frankie. “I’ve never walked into a bar and had a drink waiting for me, what is -”

“It’s just a beer.” Frankie lifted his glass, taking a long swallow. “Ironhead literally poured it from a pitcher.”

“It’s the thought that counts, asshole.” Will rolled his eyes and then Pope laughed out loud, dragging a hand through the curls atop his head. “But you’re right. It’s just a new beer we’ve got on tap, and I’m trying to figure out if it’s one we should keep.”

You sipped from the drink, not knowing what to expect. To your surprise, it was delicious - crisp and light, perfectly chilled … and exactly what you needed to prepare you for what was coming. You told him that you liked it and were gifted a brilliant smile from the blonde man, Will’s eyes locked on your face. “I’d order it again.” You took another drink, nodding as you swallowed. “What about you, Frankie?”

“It’s good.” He shrugged, one thumb rubbing over the condensation on the outside of the glass. “I usually go for something stronger, but this works.”

“Stronger like whiskey?” Your attention shifted at the new voice and you widened your eyes as you watched Tom walk up to the table, a small tray of shot glasses held in one hand. “Because that’s what I have.”

“Didn’t think you were gonna make it, Redfly.” Tom set the tray down and then took a seat next to Will, getting comfortable before he started passing out the shots. “You said you felt like shit.”

“No, that is not what I said.” He rolled his eyes, giving you a half smile before looking at his friend. “I said I’m sore as shit because Tessa’s playing volleyball now, and I’ve been playing with her so she can practice her serves.” He scratched at his cheek, wrinkling his nose. “And I am way too fuckin’ old to be diving around after a ball, but …” He lifted the shot glass, holding it out. “The things we do for our kids, right?”

“My kid’s not old enough to play volleyball or any other real sport yet, so I know nothing about that. But I can tell you just about anything you want to know about building sandcastles to be structurally sound or that Bluey dog.” Frankie laughed as he spoke, and then so did Pope, but you all reached for your shots, too. What about Benny? “But that explains why as soon as you walked over here, it smelled like Icy Hot, so -’

“Fuck off, ‘Fish.” Tom laughed, though, and soon enough everyone at the table was laughing - including Benny, who’d run over last minute and picked up his glass, too.

Once those were downed, the six of you started talking. Despite the fact that you were mostly silent, you didn’t feel left out. Instead, you were content to sit back and listen to them catch up.

You appreciated the level of camaraderie, and were entertained by the way they all interacted, finishing each other’s sentences at times and only needing a few words to get their points across during others. You were actually jealous of what they had, because aside from Alec, you’d never had that kind of close relationship with anyone. And that’s sad. I don’t even have friends, and they’ve had this for years.

“You doin’ alright?” Pope leaned closer, speaking quietly. “You’re quiet.”

“Not much to say.” You sipped your beer again, shrugging. “You guys are talking enough to make up for it.”

“We’re probably talking too much, right?” Tom drank from his glass, staring at you over the rim of it. “What have you been doing? Heard you and Ben went out on a boat last week.”

“We did.” Here goes nothing. “It was a lot less scary than I thought it would be.” You looked from Tom to Benny, the blonde’s smile small but still there. “Benny was very prepared for the gators, but they all behaved.”

“We saw a ton of ‘em.” He scoffed, finishing his drink. “They stayed away from the boat, though .And then when we heard the … whatever it was, we got the hell out of there.”

“Heard what?” Tom frowned, looking between the two of you. “You didn’t say anything about that.” You felt Frankie’s hand on your knee then, thumb sweeping over the inside of it as he squeezed. Before Benny could answer, you did, your voice steady.

“We heard what sounded like a wolf, Tom.” His eyebrows shot up, a quiet, disbelieving laugh following.

“A wolf? There are no wolves in Florida. Must have been your ears playing tricks on you or something.” He shook his head, looking between the others sitting at the table. “Ben, you’ve been around enough different kinds of animals to know what -”

“I grew up in Colorado, Redfly.” Benny drank again, eyes narrowed. “I know what a fuckin’ wolf sounds like.” Tom had no reply for that, though he did look between you and Benny again, his lips set in a thin line. He’s good. He’s not giving anything away.

“Yeah, and then the next morning, I heard on the radio there was another animal attack.” You drummed your fingers on the table, like you were thinking. “Only a few miles from where me and Benny were, actually. Which makes me believe that whatever it was that we heard was what attacked him.” You paused, looking over at Benny, who was watching you with a confused expression on his face. “I know what I heard. What we heard. And it sounded like a wolf.”

“You seem pretty sure.” Will leaned in, fingers steepled together. “There a reason for that?”

“She knows, Ironhead.” Frankie spoke up, taking and then releasing a deep breath. “She knows that she heard a wolf, and that it wasn’t a regular wolf, either.”

The table was completely silent, and as you looked between the other men, you felt a knot of unease growing in your stomach. We shouldn’t have said anything. This was a mistake. It -

“What do you mean she knows, ‘Fish?” It was Pope that broke the silence, looking first at you and then at Frankie, eyes filled with concern. He’s good too. “What did you -”

“She knows what happened to me. What I am.” Frankie’s voice was quiet but even. “I told her everything.” That time, it was Benny that reacted, the man pushing away from the table and swearing under his breath, eyes averted.

“Why the fuck, man? What -”

“She saw me start to turn.” Frankie leaned in, both hands on the table. “The morning after, Pope told me about the attack. Even though I knew she was home safe thanks to you, Benjamin, I was still worried. He dropped me off and I went over to her place, and I was just …” He looked over and met your eyes, and for the first time you saw apprehension in them. “I couldn’t stop it.”

“I wouldn’t have believed any of it if I hadn’t seen it.”

“Seen what?” Tom cut in, his voice rising and then falling, a scowl on his face. “What the fuck did you do? How did - ”

“Must have been because it was still so close to the full moon, but she saw me start to change, Tom. I’ve never done it before, but I was so worried it just… it happened.” Frankie pulled his hat off and let it drop onto the table, fingers running nervously through his hair. “I didn’t go all the way, just …”

“His eyes. His eyes and his nose a little and …” You let out a shaky breath, meeting Tom’s gaze. “I had no idea what was going on, but I was freaked out and he just started talking.” He didn’t look away, but his frown deepened, and when Will said your name, you looked over at him, waiting.

“He told you?” You nodded, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “And you believe what he told you?”

“What choice do I have? I watched his fucking eyes change color, Will. They were gold.” You kept your voice low, though the volume of the others in the bar around you was loud enough to disguise your words. “He asked me for a chance to explain, and I was confused, but let him, and …” You shrugged. “Here we are.”

“No, shit.” Benny’s grin grew as he looked back and forth between you and Frankie. “‘Fish finally told someone? And you just accepted it? No problem?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s no problem.” You forced a laugh, finishing your beer and then pushing the glass away. “I didn’t wake up last week thinking I’d find out that Frankie is …” Looking down, you took a deep breath to steady yourself. This is where I have to be convincing. “A wolf.” You said the last part with your head turned toward him, eyes locked with Frankie’s. “But he told me what happened, and based on what I saw and heard in those woods, I believe him.”

“I showed her the tracker.” Frankie nodded once at you and then looked away, making eye contact with everyone in turn. “So she knows I wasn’t the one she and Benny heard in the woods that night.” He sighed. “And she now knows that there’s a second wolf here, too. And that that one’s not as nice as me.”

“Well fuck.” Will swiped a hand over his hair, head shaking in disbelief. “That changes things.” It does.

“Are you going to write about him in your book?” Tom’s smile was sarcastic, his head tilted to one side. “Tampa’s very own resident -”

“No.” You spat the word out, recoiling. What the fuck? “Of course I’m not going to. Why would I?”

“Could be worth some big bucks.” He shrugged. “Even the hint of -”

“Knock it off, Tom.” Pope held up a hand. “Nobody’s saying shit to anyone. I’m sure ‘Fish told her how careful he’s been since South America. And she’s here alone, so it’s not like she’s got anyone else to -”

“I’m right here. I can speak for myself.” You cut Pope off, tone sharp. “And I’m not going to say a goddamn word, because first of all, who the fuck would believe me? And second of all, I don’t make it a habit to run around blurting out people’s secrets. My parents raised me a little better than that. Frankie’s my friend, and I understand the need for secrecy here.”

“I thought Morales understood secrecy, too. But he told you after only a couple weeks of fucking you, and he knows nothing about you. None of us do.” You felt Frankie’s posture change next to you, and sensed the others at the table’s moods changing, too. This isn’t good.

The anger you felt was real - partially at the fact that it seemed that at least Tom was livid that you knew, and partially because you felt like you and Frankie needed to defend yourselves. But this has to be a shock to them, too.

“You need to cool it the fuck off, Redfly.” Frankie leaned in, and when you looked over at him, you saw that his upper lip was curling, both eyes narrowed. “What I do and who I tell are not your goddamn concern.” It was quick - and if you hadn’t been looking, you would have missed it. But Frankie’s eyes flashed, his gaze never wavering away from Tom’s face. He needs to calm down. Not here. Not …

“Can I talk to you outside, Frankie?” Tom stood, staring down at where you sat. “Just the two -”

“Use the office.” Will finally looked away and then up at his friend, clearing his throat. “It’s quiet in there. Just don’t fucking destroy anything, alright?”

“Fine.” Frankie took a deep breath, lowering his head. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” Looking over at you, he parted his lips, head shaking back and forth. “You ok?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” Reaching over, you squeezed his hand. “Go. You convince him I won’t ruin things for you, and I’ll convince them.” That got a smile from him, though it was brief, and moments later, Frankie was following Tom toward the back hallway, leaving you with Pope and the Miller brothers. Silence stretched between you, but no one spoke up. One of us has to. And it should be me. “Well that was awkward.”

It was Pope that reacted first, reaching for the pitcher on the table and refilling his glass and then yours. “Sure fuckin’ was.”

That got Benny and Will laughing, and just as suddenly as the tension thickened, it was gone. Your only worry was that within a few minutes, Frankie would tear down the hallway in wolf form, chasing after Tom. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let himself get carried away like that. Not here.

“So you’re really OK with it?” Will wet his lips, his large hand rubbing over his bare forearm. “It’s a lot to handle. All of us were pretty freaked out.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m OK with it. I just … I had no choice but to accept it.” You stared down into your beer, watching the bubbles rise to the surface and then pop. “It wasn’t what I was expecting to hear from him, but he showed me that it wasn’t just me being exhausted and seeing things, you know? And I know he’s not lying about it. Why would he?”

“He hasn’t told anyone.” Benny closed his eyes, sighing. “Not even his ex. Yovanna doesn’t know, and she’s been with Pope since right after it happened.”

“I wouldn’t say she doesn’t know.” Pope actually laughed, reaching over and settling his hand atop yours. “I haven’t told her the truth, but she’s not stupid. She probably knew shit like that existed a hell of a long time before we did.”

“So you think she knows but won’t confirm it?” He nodded, eyeing you. “And Frankie’s never asked?”

“He hasn’t.” Pope looked away and then back at you, smiling sadly. “He’s had no answers for three years. He’s had to learn to deal with this all by himself. I don’t think she would have been able to tell him anything, but I donno. There’s only so much we can do.”

“If ‘Fish told you, then it means something.” Will leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “And if you aren’t completely freaked out by this, then that means something, too.” It does.

“He didn’t ask for this. And the fact that he’s able to keep from hurting people while he’s not himself means that the one attacking all of those people is dangerous to everyone. I haven’t known him for long, but I feel …” You didn’t know how to finish that sentence, and so you didn’t, looking down at the table, where the fingers of one hand were wrapped tightly around your drink. “I trust him. And that might be stupid of me because I’ve only known him a little while, but it’s the truth.”

“He’s never hurt a human as the wolf.” Benny cut in, saying your name. “Ever. I trust him, too. We all do.” Pope and Will agreed, both of them giving you broad smiles when you met their eyes. “And we’re protective of him. Probably much too protective of a grown man.”

“There’s no such thing.” You relaxed then, letting out a deep breath. “You’ve known him for years, and he’s like a brother to you. Protecting your family is the right thing to do.” You thought of Alec and Ashley then, and of the way you’d spent years fighting for your family’s payback. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“And he knows it.” Benny’s grin grew, the man leaning back in his chair as he stared at you. “None of us are ever going to let him forget it.” You laughed at that, despite the fact that you were worried about what was happening between Frankie and Tom in the office. They’ve known each other forever. They’ll work it out. They have to.

“You’re really calm.” Will cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. “You’ve only known for a couple days, but you seem … I don’t know. Unsurprised, maybe? Why is that?”

“Because my only option is to be calm.” You shrugged, reaching for your drink again. “What should I do? Run away? Freak out? Tell him I never want to see him again? This isn’t something that he can control, you know? He didn’t ask to get bitten.”

“A lot of people would do that, though.” Pope leaned closer. “Even if they didn’t mean to.”

“I’m not one of those people.” You touched your finger to the tabletop, pressing against a divot in the wood. “He trusted me enough to be honest with me, and I’m choosing to believe that that means he wants me in his life.”

“What will you do when you leave?” Benny crossed his arms, one eye narrowed. “The way Tom asked was pretty asshole-y, but it’s a valid question.” You didn’t quite know how to answer. Being truthful would mean telling them that you were planning on staying, even for a little while. But only if we can deal with this wolf.

“She’s not planning on leaving, is she.” Will’s voice was quiet, his eyes locked on your face. “Or … she’s not planning on leaving for good.” Oh, he’s … perceptive.

“I’ll still have to work.” You didn’t look away, wanting him to see your expression with each word you said. “But I… coming back to Florida between assignments is just as much of an option as me going anywhere else is.”

“‘Fish’s got a girlfriend!” Benny slammed his hand down, palm smacking the table’s surface. “Hell yeah.”

You didn’t even try to contain your laugher. Instead, you reached up and covered your face with both hands once the sound trailed off and let out a groan. “There’s no label on it or anything, Benny, but …” Peeking at him, you saw that the blonde was grinning, his eyes wide. “I would be coming back or staying here to be with him, yeah.”

Without warning, Pope leaned over and slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Good for you.” He kissed the top of your head, nodding. “Good for him.”

“It’s not going to be good for anyone if you keep doing that, Santiago.” Your head snapped up, and you saw that Frankie was standing a few steps away from the table, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. “I’m gone for ten minutes, and you move in? What would Yovanna think?” Where’s Tom? He’s not with him.

“Not moving in on anyone.” Pope squeezed your arm and then removed his, straightening up. “Just congratulating her.”

“Likely fuckin’ story.” Frankie rolled his eyes and then dropped down to sit next to you again. “And before anyone asks, no, I didn’t do anything to the office. Everything is exactly how you left it. Redfly’s …” He paused. “He’s not too happy with me, but we’ll be alright.”

“Did he leave?” Benny rubbed the space between his brows, continuing to frown. “Without saying goodbye?”

“No.” Frankie finished his beer, scoffing. “He went outside to smoke. He’ll be back in a couple minutes.” Oh. Well, that’s… sort of promising?

You wondered if Tom would say anything to you when he came back in, but tried not to dwell on it. What had been said between the two men was exactly that: between them, and even though it involved you, that didn’t mean you had any right to know what they’d talked about. But they didn’t physically fight, and that’s the important part.

Conversation slowly slipped back into the easy banter that it had been earlier. Will and Pope told a story about one of their first times deployed together and you listened intently, eyes flicking back and forth between them.

They were making an effort to include you, and the fact that they’d just accepted your knowledge of Frankie’s status and moved on said volumes. They might say something to him in private, you admitted to yourself as you downed the rest of your drink. But that’s also none of my business.

The sound of your name pulled your attention away from what was being said. When you looked up to find Tom standing at the end of the table, you were shocked to see that his posture was looser than it had been - and that there was some warmth in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t blink, maintaining eye contact. “I shouldn’t have blown up the way I did about you knowing. It’s none of my business who Morales tells. I just worry, you know? He’s my friend and I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

It seemed genuine. Tom’s apology was an explanation for his behavior, even if it shouldn’t have been necessary in the first place. So without even looking at Frankie, you nodded and swallowed hard, reaching your hand out so that he could shake it. “I understand, Tom. I’d want to protect him and this group, too. But I swear I’m not going to say anything. I don’t even know who I would tell, to be honest.”

“I get it.” He took a deep breath. “It’s just a shock that someone new knows after so long.”

“Wasn’t the plan to tell her, Redfly. Not so soon, anyway.” Frankie reached over and took your hand, linking your fingers together. “And it sure as shit wasn’t the plan to tell her the way I did, either.” You looked over at him then, hoping that he could see your appreciation for him in your expression. Yeah, I know. I kind of forced your hand. “But I’m still glad she knows.”

“Me too.” You squeezed his hand, closing your eyes as you nodded. “And I accept your apology, Tom. Thank you.” He nodded once and then sat again, reaching for his beer. It was tense for a few seconds and then Benny cleared his throat, reaching for the pitcher of beer.

“So uh…” He topped off his glass, picking it up and staring at the foam for a few seconds. “I’ve been thinking about getting back in the ring.”

It was the distraction that the entire table needed - because only seconds later, everyone was speaking, the chorus of their voices taking the focus off of you and Frankie and putting you at ease. Is this what it’s like to have friends?

Even though you didn’t speak out loud to ask the question, you felt Frankie’s hold on your hand tighten before he released it, the man reaching over to slip his arm across your shoulders before pulling you closer to his side. This is what it’s like to have him.

—

An hour later, the night was beginning to wind down.

The beer at the table was replaced with water, and Pope had texted Yovanna to let her know that he’d be leaving in a little while. Frankie’s arm hadn’t left its place over your shoulders, and as time passed you’d leaned in even closer, your arm and shoulder flush with his.

It was nice to be affectionate in public with someone. It was more than nice that that someone was Frankie. And it was a relief that none of his friends had even really reacted to the sight of the two of you, instead choosing to keep talking.

But when Tom stood up, throwing a $20 down onto the table, you sat up straight, keeping your eyes on him. “I’ve gotta head out too. I’m closing on an apartment with a guy tomorrow morning, and we’re meeting at 9 to do paperwork.”

“That’s rough, man.” Pope groaned, finishing the water in his glass and then staring down into it briefly. “Why’d you schedule it so early?”

“Because afterward, I’m going with Molly.” He smiled, his grin lopsided. “It’s winery day, and -” Wait a minute.

“You hinted at what Frankie is.” Pointing at Tom, you wet your lips. “The day I signed my lease, you gave me a bottle of wine that was …” His eyes widened and then, as he stuffed one hand into his front pocket, Tom nodded. “Howl At The Moon? Isn’t that a little on the nose?” Will swore under his breath and Benny laughed, lowering his chin to his chest and shaking his head. “He reacted to the bottle when he saw it, but I thought it was just because he didn’t drink wine. Now, though, it seems like more.”

“You got me.” He raised and lowered his shoulders in a shrug, never looking away from you. “My wife really does love that one, but I also … I donno. I suggested you reach out to ‘Fish to fly, and I thought it’d be funny to give you that bottle knowing what I did and what you didn’t. I never thought he’d actually tell you, so it wasn’t a big deal to me.”

It was a big deal to you, but you didn’t want to make it one, because you had no interest in ruining the night. Even though he already tried to. “Well whatever the reason you handed me that bottle, Tom, it was good. I drank it sitting in the back yard. So thank you. Your wife’s got good taste in alcohol.” Maybe not in men though.

They said their goodbyes then, Tom waving with one hand before he turned his attention back to you. “Seems like we’re gonna be seeing more of you around. Do you think you’ll be trying to renew that lease, or looking for somewhere else?” Unbelievable. “Couple places coming open, and -”

“I’ve still got some time to decide.” You pressed your lips together, humming. “We’ll see.” He didn’t say anything in reply, but you saw his nod, keeping your attention on the man as he reached for his jacket and pulled it on. Tom visibly winced as he shoved his left arm into one of the sleeves, muttering his daughter’s name as his head shook back and forth. Wait a minute.

You watched him for a few seconds longer, eyes narrowed. He hurt his arm, too? “Hey, you alright?” Frankie’s voice was low in your ear, breath warm where it hit your skin. “You’re holding your breath.” Shit.

Shaking yourself out of it, you turned toward him, forcing a smile on your face. Not here. Not now. “I’m fine. Just …” You used your chin to gesture at Tom, who was walking away from the table. “He threw me off. I wasn’t expecting that kind of excuse for the wine.”

“Kinda pissed me off, to be honest.” Will groaned, leaning in and saying your name. “Tom can be an asshole sometimes, but that’s way beyond even his usual limits.”

“We do have a couple wolf-themed drinks on the menu.” Benny raised an eyebrow, looking between you and his brother before settling his gaze on Frankie. “Raised By Wolves? The Full Moon? That’s no better than -”

“Why are you defending him?” Pope stood, too, grabbing for his jacket and slinging it over one shoulder. “You’ve talked about wanting to kick his ass because he’s annoying more than all of us combined.”

“I’m not defending him, I’m just making the point that Redfly’s not the only one that’s alluded to ‘Fish’s … condition.” That wasn’t how you would have described Frankie becoming a werewolf, but there was no point in arguing. I’m still new here. I have no right. I just … let it go. “Ours are a little more subtle, but they’re still there.”

“It’s not like I put two and two together or anything.” Reaching over, you settled your hand on Frankie’s knee. “Still came as a shock when he told me, so I guess there’s no harm done.” Frankie nodded at you, a small smile on his lips. He’s not that upset, so I shouldn’t be either.

You watched as Pope also threw a bill onto the table, and then stepped away from it, telling the others goodnight. Before anyone else could speak, Frankie chose to, clearing his throat before pulling his arm from around your shoulders. “We’re gonna head out, too. I’m flyin’ tomorrow morning, and I need to get some sleep.”

“Sleep?” Will smirked at the two of you. “That’s what they’re calling it these days?”

“Yes, Will, sleep.” You rolled your eyes, draining the last of your water as both blonde men laughed. “The last thing I want is to be responsible for Frankie taking off when he’s tired. I’m dropping him off and then going home.”

You followed Frankie as he exited the booth, and when he also dropped money onto the table, you finally spoke up and asked about it. But it wasn’t Frankie that answered - it was Benny.

“It’s just something we started doing when we meet up to have drinks. Since we’re taking up a table but getting our own refills, we’re taking away from the servers and bartenders making tips, so…” He pointed at the money. “We all throw in at least $20 and it goes straight to them.”

That wasn’t something you’d seen the other times you’d met the men at the bar, but you figured that there were times when the guys didn’t have cash on them. So one of them probably covers and the others pay them back. “Well then it’s only right that I contribute, too.” You dug through your wallet, adding your money to the pile. “That’s nice of you to do that for them.”

“Yeah, weeknights are usually a little slower anyway, but if it’s busy and we’re still all here?” Will rubbed at the back of his neck. “We kick in a little more. A lot of people will say drinking in the place you own is a no-no, but it’s only once a week if that, and we’re all pretty responsible about it.”

“None of us take advantage, you mean.” Frankie winked at his friends, and then put his hand on your back. “Have a good night, guys.” Neither of you spoke until you were outside and you were sitting in your car - and then it was Frankie that broke the silence. “What happened in there? You froze. You were looking at Tom, and you just went stiff.”

“Frankie, I -”

“No. Tell me. I know you’re not happy about the wine, but it was more than that.”

“It’s stupid.” You knew it was - and you also knew that the last thing you wanted to do was offend him by accusing one of his friends of something that was next to impossible. “When he put his coat on, he winced. And he winced when he tried to use his left arm, which is the one that Ashley said she bit. But there’s no way, Frankie. Right? You said he wasn’t injured in South America, and you’ve never hurt anyone. You guys weren’t able to find anything out about wolves, or find another one, so… how could he be a wolf, too?”

“It’s not stupid.” He sighed, reaching up to scrub at his beard with one hand. “It’s a natural reaction to the fact that you’re looking for answers and you only have so much to go on.” You started the car then, putting both hands on the wheel. “I didn’t bite him, and neither did the kid. He helped me out as much as any of the other guys did, and he only stopped when he and Molly seriously got back together.”

“How long ago was that?” The more he talked, the more at ease you felt, so you wanted him to continue.

“Maybe a year? I don’t remember exactly. They were kind of half-assing it after we got back from South America, but toward the end of Tessa’s junior year, he got serious about it. Tom’s … happier when he’s with her, so we encouraged him. He still checks in with whoever’s with me that night, he just doesn’t stay out anymore.”

“And it’s been a week.” You sighed, coming to a stop at a red light. “He would have healed already, right? Ashley didn’t bite him hard enough to do lasting damage, so whatever she did wouldn’t still be bothering him.” You caught his nod out of the corner of your eye, his silhouette moving in the low light.

“He’s pretty out of shape.” Frankie laughed as the car started moving again, the sound filling the small space. “So him not being able to keep up with his teenage daughter on the volleyball court is … not that far-fetched.” That got a smile out of you, and both of you were quiet for the rest of your drive. You didn’t know what he was thinking about, but you were running through scenarios in your head and examining his words from multiple angles.

Frankie knew his friends. Frankie had known his friends through years of difficult situations and important life changes. He trusted them with his life, and even though they were no longer in combat or in danger, he had no reason to trust them any less. In fact, because of his situation, he needed to trust them more. So I have to trust them, too. Even if I don’t like one of them much.

You pulled into his driveway and parked behind the truck, turning in your seat to face him. “I’m glad they know now. It makes this a little easier.”

“I am too.” Frankie took a deep breath and then released it slowly. “Why haven’t you asked what Tom and I talked about in the office?”

“Because it’s none of my business.” You shrugged. “If you want to tell me, you can, but whatever the two of you said isn’t something I need to know.”

“Come inside.” He took your hand, squeezing it. “I know you said you were going to go home, but you’ve got your car. You can lave tomorrow. Doesn’t even have to be when I get up to go to work.” It was tempting, and after thinking it over for a few seconds, you realized that you had no reason to turn him down.

“OK.” You shifted into reverse, backing up and then parking next to his truck. “This way if I don’t want to wake up when you do, we won’t have to worry about moving cars.”

His grin was visible even in the dark, and only a few minutes later, the two of you were inside and ready for bed.

Instead of laying down, though, you both leaned against the headboard, your temple resting against his bare shoulder. He had one arm draped over your thigh and was running his fingers idly over your skin, which was exposed beneath the hem of the oversized Ironhead’s tee you wore.

There was nothing sexual about the way he touched you. Instead it was comforting, Frankie’s presence beside you soothing without any need for conversation.

But when he spoke, it wasn’t to say anything that you’d anticipated.

“I told Tom you knew about Lorea, and the first thing he asked me was if I thought you’d try to blackmail me.”

“What?” You sat straight up and his grip on your leg tightened. “Blackmail you? Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Frankie sighed. “Tom’s … really money motivated. Always has been. And to be honest, he’s the main reason why we ended up with so much of it from that trip. I’m not that surprised it’s where he went with it first.”

“Frankie, I would never. It doesn’t matter to me if you’ve got five dollars in your account, or -”

“I know.” He turned his head and then leaned in, kissing the side of yours. “You were just looking for wolves. There’s no money in this for you, and there never was.”

“That’s not entirely true. I make decent money with the books and the site, and …” You trailed off as you realized that that wasn’t at all what he meant. “If I found a wolf, the only thing I ever wanted was for it to be dead.”

“I hope that’s not true anymore.” He was smiling; you could hear it in his voice. “Because I really like being alive.”

“I like you alive, too, Francisco.” Reaching up, you chewed on the edge of your nail. “Very much. And I’d like to do whatever I can to help keep you that way.”

“Which means finding the other wolf before it attracts too much attention and other people come looking.” He sighed. “I know.”

He eased down onto the mattress and pulled you along with him. You let him, rolling onto your side to face Frankie. Even though you couldn’t see him clearly, you could feel the way he watched you, his gaze intent as his hand slid up and over your hip, pushing the shirt with it. “We’re not doing that tonight, Frankie. It’s already late.”

“I know.” His hand continued moving, palm flat against your skin as he reached your ribs. “That doesn’t mean that I can’t touch you, right?”

“The day I tell you to stop touching me and mean it is the day you’ll know it’s not me talking.” He snorted, moving even closer. His hand slid forward, Frankie’s fingers curling gently around the curve of your breast. “Frankie, come on, that’s not fair.”

“I’m just getting comfortable.” He dragged his thumb slowly over your nipple and then whispered your name. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah.” Your reply was breathy, and you hummed at the feeling of his continued touch, arching your back into it. “What’s up?”

“I never thought I’d ever have this.” He spoke quietly, but his voice was clear, his hand sliding away from your chest and back to your side. “Someone that knows. Someone that believes me. Someone that understands what I’m going through.” Oh, Frankie. “I never thought I’d get to be myself with someone again, and then you -”

“I’m here.” You reached up then, cupping his cheek in your palm. “You’ve got me.” You paused, steadying yourself. “All I’d ever want you to be is yourself.”

It was next to impossible that you’d fallen for him so hard and so fast after years of never letting yourself get close to anyone. But the attraction you felt toward Frankie was more than just sexual in nature - it was everything about him that drew you in - and it had since before you’d found out what he was. There was no denying it, and both of you knew it.

He didn’t answer verbally, though. Instead, Frankie leaned in and you felt his fingers curve against your skin as he anchored himself to you - first with his touch and then with his lips. The kiss was soft - softer than any you’d shared previously, and it wasn’t a prelude to anything. No, you thought as you slipped your fingers into the soft curls behind his ear. He’s just letting me know he gets it.

“I’ll be really quiet when I get up tomorrow.” He kissed the apple of your cheek and then backed off, settling on the pillow so that he could look at you again. “You can just lock the door when you leave.”

“You trust me in your house without you here?”

“What could you possibly find that would be worse than what you already know?” You laughed at that, rolling forward and burying your face against his bare chest. Good point.

“G’night, Frankie.” You mumbled the words, pressing a kiss to the skin above his heart. “I -” You froze, despite your heartbeat quickening, and were almost positive that he’d felt it. Shit. “I hope you sleep well.” It was a poor recovery, but he didn’t say anything in reply. His answer was a quiet hum and a slight tightening of his arms around you.

Slowly, the elevated rhythm of your heart returned to normal, and from your place pressed against his body, you felt Frankie’s slow, too. He fell asleep well before you did, his deep, even breaths - and the weight of his touch - helping you focus. But it didn’t help you sleep, and it wasn’t because of the things that had been said at the bar.

It was the slip you’d almost made - and the realization that even though you were glad you’d stopped yourself, it didn’t change the truth of the words you bit back. It’s not the right time for that. Not now. Not … yet.

As you finally drifted off, too, your arm loose over Frankie’s side and the tips of your fingers grazing the center of his back, you were certain that the time was coming when one - or both - of you weren’t going to be able to keep quiet.

—

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #liminality #liminality masterlist #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #writing #masterlist

62 notes · View notes

ken-dom · 6 months

Note

I’ve got a little idea if this interest you for Sebastian 💛 the ending of la la land is so gut wrenching to me. I’d love to read something where seb gets an ending I’d like even more where he not only makes the jazz club dream a reality but he has a wife that always comes to watch him play & they’ve got babies too. The club AND a family like he deserves and dreamed about!

I'd be lying if I said I haven't wondered what Seb has going on in his life after we see him at his jazz club. Maybe the club itself is enough for him, or maybe he finds love somewhere unexpected, maybe he starts a family along the way, too. Anon, I feel like your idea deserves a long post-canon fic, but I hope this little drabble is enough for now 💕 I also have a spicy Seb one in the works too if that interests you!

Dreams

Sebastian Wilder x gn!reader

∘₊✧ 400 words

∘₊✧ Fluff, kissing, comfort, Seb having children is vaguely alluded to but not explicitly stated

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

Visions of a life he had long left behind faded as Sebastian's consciousness pulled him away from the world of dreams.

The thorns left behind from the story his mind had chosen to tell him made his breath catch in his throat as he awoke. It was jarring. Despite this, the warmth of morning greeted him kindly. It was pleasant, and he chose not to fight that feeling.

His limbs were heavy with sleep, eyes only half-open as he adjusted to the bright room. The sounds of laughter from outside broke through into his waking senses. It was laughter he recognised, carried in on the gentle breeze through the open window, and it settled over his heart, softening the sharp edges that had been exposed while he slept.

Shifting against his pillow, he became aware of an external weight on his body - your arm, comfortable around his waist, fingers innocently grazing up and down the soft trail of hair below his belly button.

With a contented sigh, his lips instinctively pulled up into a relieved smile, and he turned to find you already awake beside him.

You, bathed in a dreamy warm glow. Perfect, and completely absorbed in him.

His lips were drawn to yours like a magnet, natural and easy, but there was no urgency in his kiss. He had forever to spend with you, and he intended to take every moment as it came, memorising as many as he could.

Slowly, tenderly, his lips slid over yours, stubble stinging at your flesh until the tip of his handsome nose brushed yours when he pulled back.

'There's a lot to do at the club. They're waiting for me,' he muttered reluctantly, husky with sleep and ever so slightly drunk on your kiss.

Your fingertips curled into his shoulders as you attempted to pull him back to you anyway. 'Aww... just five more minutes, Seb?'

'I can't, I've got to-'

'Please,' you begged, hitting him with your best puppy dog eyes.

Seb inhaled deeply, breathing all the warmth of you and this glorious morning in. How could he pass up on that? The club would still be there in five more minutes. Hell, it would still be there in half an hour.

'Alright. You're right. C'mere.'

And as his arms dragged you flush to his chest, his lips pressed to yours once more.

#sebastian wilder #sebastian wilder fluff #sebastian wilder x reader #sebastian wilder fic #la la land #ryan gosling #ryan gosling fluff #ryan gosling x reader #sebastian wilder imagines #ken-dom answers

104 notes · View notes

froggy-demon · 8 months

Text

Oh, Deer - Part Two

A/N: This is part two to my Alastor x OC slowburn story, I hope you enjoy <3

Chapter Summery: Lilly gets settled at the hotel and a stressful day of work leads her to getting a little closer to one particular staff member.

Part Three

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I woke up to my morning alarm blaring at me, shit I didn’t even think about how long it will take to get from here to work, fucking fantastic. And I have none of my clothes, also fantastic. I book it out the door and head to my old apartment. I grab a book bag I had laying around and stuff as much of my shit in it as I can fit, the less trips back and forth I can make while moving, the better. I change into an outfit for work, a pinstriped mini skirt and a turtleneck blouse with puffy sleeves with my trademark tights and kitten heel Maryjanes, throwing my backpack over my shoulder and getting to work as fast as possible. All in all, I was only 10 minutes late which is a fucking miracle if I’ve ever heard one. I busy myself by checking in with the other assistants and sorting out who is covering what assignments and shows today. Velvette slams open the studio door and is already looking pissed off, the day just started how can it already be going to shit? That question answered itself as behind her trailed in Valentino talking her ear off, switching between whining and yelling.

“Valentino it is time for at least one of us to actually do our jobs, fuck off already and find someone else to bitch to!” She yells at him and stomps off. This pushes him over the edge, he grabs a passing by assistant and snaps her in half, like it’s nothing. I duck my head down and find a way to be very busy and as unnoticeable as possible, hiding behind my clipboard as much as I can.

“No you fuck off Velvette! Tell me what the fuck I can do one more fucking time! Try to run anything once I’m done with you precious shitty studio!” He threw the couch he had trapped that studio aid on just the other day against the wall and it smashed into a hundred pieces. He reached for a fleeing model and ripped her head off, damn and she wasn’t even an annoying model. He rampaged through the room and Velvette just ignored him and stomped my way.

I straightened my back as she approached and tried to not seem bothered by the 10ft lunatic killing my coworkers and ripping apart anything else in his reach. “We are not getting off schedule, get my designers so we can keep our shit on the air! Get them here in the next five minutes while I get fucking Piss Baby out of here.” She Barked and I nodded

“Yes Ma’am.” She seemed pleased enough and walked off to order around anyone else still breathing. I used my ear piece to try to locate the desired designers, keeping my back to the scene behind me.

“Designers, if most of your limbs are still attached, your presence is requited by Ms. Velvette immediately, bring what you have been working on for her and try not to be killed on your way.” I received 4 affirmatives and glanced back to see Velvette on her phone to presumably Vox. Thank Satan, this was definitely a big guns problem. I looked around at a few cowering workers near me and smoothed out my clothes. “C’mon, get this place straightened up. It’s a fucking mess in here, get a broom and a mop, now.” The three jumped up, though a bit reluctantly, and went in search for the cleaning supplies. I saw Velvette manage to force Valentino out the studio door and lock it behind him, hopefully keeping him out. I saw two of the designers come in and waved them over, having them stand up on a small platform that wasn’t totally wrecked and Velvette made her way over.

She was clearly still not happy, but at least wasn’t getting worse. Vox appeared next to her with a cheeky smile plastered onto his plasma face, contrasting her fiery attitude. I thought I saw him give me a small scowl, but I've never spoken to Vox, it couldn't be personal. He asked her where Valentino had gone and was back on his way.

The day continued with far fewer bumps, minus the power outage caused by Vox's tantrum. Valentino stayed away so I guess Vox was able to calm him down well enough and Velvette stayed at a manageable level of pissed off until the outtage.

“Fucking hell! Fine fuck him, everyone go the fuck home!” She screeched and no one was waiting to confirm that order. I grabbed my bag and booked it out of the building and back to the hotel. Alastor’s broadcast was all I could hear people talking about, though they kept it hushed so close to the Vs. Losing was not something they, especially Vox, liked. When I walked through the door I was surprised to find a new face in the parlor. He was a snake demon and Charlie was excitedly chatting with him while Vaggie stood to the side looking apprehensive.

“Here she is!” Charlie exclaimed turning to me, smiling ear to ear. “Lilly! This is Sir. Pentious, he is our next guest at the hotel!” She motioned for us to shake hands, which I obliged. He seemed nervous, but still gave a small smile.

“Ah, Lilly, it isss quite nice to meet another future redemption-ee!” He said and I tried to return his smile.

“Lilly he blew up the hotel this morning.” Angel added dryly, I stopped smiling and looked at Charlie confused. Angel clearly wasn’t buying whatever the serpent was telling Charlie.

“He said he is sorry! That’s what we’re all about, second chances!” She defended and really tried to sell it. I looked between her and Sir. Pentious, a little skeptical myself honestly.

“If you are confident, I will trust your judgement.” I stated and turned to Angel, who filled me in on all of the details on the fight that had taken place that morning while Charlie taught Sir. Pentious how to apologize to Alastor. Geez, you go in for one shift and miss everything!

“Say, Dear, how did my little show go over at Vs HQ?” Alastor asked, appearing behind me and giving me a bit of a fright. He sounded particularly staticy. Angel rolled his eyes at his theatrics. I turned to face the demon and met his glowing eyes for a moment before looking back at Angel.

“I couldn’t say for sure, but I’d say not well. Vox particularly was still glitching and zapping about when Velvette dismissed us after the power shut down. We couldn’t do anything with him fucking up all of the tech.” I said and he laughed, clearly pleased with himself and patted my head. Angel was deeply distracted by his phone, someone was texting him quite a lot, every few seconds his phone would buzz with a new notification.

“Wonderful to hear! I’m glad I got my message across.” His eyes glowed a bit brighter, clearly there was some contempt held for Vox, and it went both ways. Seeing him like that sent a little zap of fear through me. I know what he’s done to those he doesn’t like to get what he wants, but he chooses to be so hands off with it this time? Maybe he just wanted to give a fair warning, I don’t know, but I do not want to get in the middle of it. “Speaking of your work,” He moved to stand between me and Angel now. “Why not find some new employment now that your housing is supplied? Something less television based maybe?” He eyed me, as though he suspected me of something. I tried to look past him to Angel again, but he blocked my vision, seemingly growing a little taller, a little more menacing.

“Well, as much as I’d like to,” I said a tad nervous of the overlord in front of me “I can’t. Velvette owns me, my soul that is. As a day job it isn’t too bad at least.” I mumble the last sentence and Alastor raises an eyebrow at me. Angel is still preoccupied, but I see him throw a look my way when I mention my deal.

“Deals aren’t usually Velvette’s style, she typically prefers to leave that work to the boys, how unfortunate for you then.” He says, returning to his normal chipper self and walks off. As he disappears I finally take stock of myself, I look like shit. There is dried blood on my shoes and spots of guts dotting my outfit for the Valentino’s carnage earlier, gross.

“Angel, I’m going to take a shower and unpack a little you know where to find me if you need anything okay?” He doesn’t look up, clearly in a mood, sitting down on a nearby chair and crossing his legs over the arm and mumbles out an okay. I make my way upstairs, to my room, and then turn on the hot water for the shower attached to my room. After peeling off my clothes it felt good to let the hot water wash over me. The water pressure was better here too. A little refresh is really what I needed after today. Once I felt better I rummaged through my bag until I found my pjs, a pair of little shorts and an oversized t-shirt VTech gave out during some marketing campaign, it was at least comfortable. I started to unpack more and realized Niffty must have been here earlier because there was significantly less dust everywhere and my bed spread seemed freshly laundered. I will have to thank her the next time I see her. Just as I’m finishing up I hear some kind of commotion coming from somewhere in the hotel, what the fuck was that? I poke my head out and hear more noise, like someone is fighting, is that Angel Dust? I run down to the noise and meet Charlie and Vaggie walking up to the same disturbance.

Angel says that Sir. Pentious is working for the Vs, but I can smell the liquor on him from here, and the snake denies the accusation. Angel rolls his eyes and points out the video camera hidden between two books on the shelf, causing Sir. Pentious to panic. He screams into his watch to help him as Vaggie face palms and it's my turn to roll my eyes. Not only is he a spy, he’s an absolutely terrible one at that. I can hear Vox laughing at him though the watch, but Charlie has big doe eyes. He begs for a quick murder, but Charlie welcomes him in with open arms, despite protests from the three of us. After a set of profuse apologies, we head back to bed.

Angel has his arms crossed, the whole walk. I want to say something, but he has been in a bad mood all day and I don’t want to accidentally make it worse. “Angel, y'know I-“ but he waves me off.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Work shit, and we said work shit stays at fucking work.” He snaps, but sighs and I know he isn’t mad at me, just someone else. My guess, Val. I wonder if that’s what Valentino was raging about this morning, I hope for Angel’s sake it’s not. He slams the door to his room and I turn towards mine, just to be greeted by Alastor, he sure does have a knack for popping up.

“Take off your shirt, Dear.” He glares at it, taking me back. This is a tone shift.

“Excuse me?” I ask, taking a step back, not there there is really anywhere to go if you want to run from a shadow walking overlord at night.

“Well, I’m going to burn it and I just figured you would want it off your body before I do that, but if you prefer,” Alaster smirked and lit a small fireball in his hand “you can keep it on!” He was very serious, I look back down at my shirt, I guess I set myself up for this one wearing a shirt with Vox’s face plastered on it, but hey it was a free shirt. I yanked it off and Alastor took two big steps towards me and took it from my hands, his eyes glowed devilishly as he set it on fire and watched Vox’s face burn away while he grinned ear to ear. “Much better! I appreciate your cooperation, however,” he bent down to my height and made me look him in the eyes. His voice grew more staticy as he said “I better not see anything else with his face on it here.”

I nodded, it was all I could manage, I felt frozen in place and suddenly self-conscious as I realized I was in my bra and shorts in front of a murderous overlord, not exactly confidence inspiring for me. He stood back up straight and spun his cane, pleased with himself. “Very well, Goodnight!” He sang and I didn’t wait before quickly going into my room. Great, now I need a new sleep shirt, that will be a tomorrow night problem. I got into bed and curled up. I’m not doing amazing at staying off Alastor’s bad side, maybe tomorrow I will break that streak.

The next morning I joined everyone else in the parlor downstairs, I had some time for once before I was needed at work. Charlie excitedly explained that we were doing some bonding activities as a group today, that it would help if we all trusted and got to know each other. I wanted to check in on Angel, but he was still hung up on his phone. Okay, so I’m going to have to make a second friend, it can’t be that hard can it? What do I have to work with?

Niffty is a little… crazy… maybe not my first choice. Let’s see Sir. Pentious is eager, but do I have anything at all in common with him? Let’s see he likes building things? Nope. He likes being a leader, of his egg boys at least, uh in the right light sometimes you could kinda say I like bossing people around. I think that’s everything I’ve learned about him though, and I’m not really someone who goes out looking for a fight anymore, even if Cherri wants me to. Vaggie is a little too focused on Charlie I think to start worrying about anyone else, I can’t blame her, as sweet as Charlie is she is also a handful. I think Alastor is waiting for me to sneeze wrong to justify breaking my neck and is no where to be seen sooooo… my new friend is going to have to be Husk! The only hard part about that is he doesn’t really ever want to participate in our activities. I can work with that though.

I take a seat next to Husk for activity time and give him a small smile. I haven’t really gotten what his deal is from Angel yet, maybe he just acts tough. “So, Husk, what brings you to the hotel? You don’t really seem like you’re here for redemption to me.” I ask trying to sound cheery. He just rolls his eyes at me though.

“My job.” He huffs out, motioning over to the bar. Okay smartass. I fold my arms and lean forward towards him.

“And out of all the bars in hell, why work at this one? Don’t tell me its for the dental insurance.” I quipped and he almost smiles. He leans back in his chair and looks across the room at nothing in particular.

“Alastor, he tells me to go so I go.” He finally says. Ah, could Alastor really own his soul? I won’t press for now. Satisfied with the answer I sit back in my seat and he slumps down more in his, but then my phone rings. Velvette, why is Velvette calling me? I don’t hear from her that much seeing as I never have a day off anyway, not even extermination days. I hop up out of my seat so not to bother anyone and answer the phone.

“Yes Ma’am?” I answer, stepping out of the room. She shouts that she needs me immediately, one of the models didn’t show up today and now she needs extra hands on deck and I better be there immediately. I try not to let her hear me sigh or sound disappointed. I guess I did get to sleep a couple extra hours which is more than enough to be grateful for. “Yes Ma’am.” I reply and she stresses I better hurry or I’ll be costuming for Valentino’s sets for the next year and she hangs up. I walked back in and the group looks up at me waiting for my explanation. “Okay guys, sorry to cut the team building short, but I’m needed at work sooner than expected, sorry Charlie.” Charlie looked disappointed.

“Oh.. so when do you have a day you don’t work anyway?” She asks. “We’ll just catch you up then!” She beams at her great idea. Angel chuckles, Cherri probably has told him before if he knows my situation.

“I don’t get any days off, sometimes I only work 10 hour days though!” I tried to make that sound like a good thing and gave her a thumbs up, but Charlie frowned again.

“Well that’s not good, you’ll never have any time for our activities then!” She protested and started pacing. “Can’t you just say you need a day off for something important?” She looked at me with those big doe and and I shook my head, crossing my arms.

“Some of us have jobs, dollface, contracts.” Angel points out dryly. He finally looks up from his phone to give Charlie a pointed look. It must be nice to be her.

“There are no days off for me, if Velvette says come in I can’t say no. It’s just the way it is. Now she’s waiting for me, I have to get going.” I slip on my shoes and head for the door leaving a protesting princess behind.

I get there as quickly as possible and as soon as I walk through the door Velvette is tapping her foot waiting for me. She looks as pissed as usual, but it isn’t usually my direct fault that she’s pissed off.

“Now, I happen to know that your apartment is all of five fucking minutes away so how the fuck did that take 25 minutes today?” She demands. Since when has she even known where I live? I straighten my back, I am not used to talking back to her, usually we even work pretty well together. “Well, spit out whatever pathetic excuse you have and get to begging for forgiveness! Some of us have important shit to be doing!” An assistant walked up to her and they quietly conversed while he showed her a different selection of blouses.

“I moved Ma’am.” I stated, adverting my eyes. She snapped her head away from her conversation to look at me again.

“Well who the fuck told you to do something stupid like that? I need you near here for when I call you, fucking move back.” She said it like it doesn’t matter where I live or what I think if it doesn't serve her needs. She might own my soul, but that is not our deal.

“Ma’am, with all the respect in hell, I cannot do that.” I stayed cool, that’s good. She walked over to me, until she was less than a foot away from my face. Her red eyes glowing and piercing into mine.

“The fuck you will. As fucking kind as I am to you every fucking day, whose dick you’re riding just to crash in their shitty bed anyway?” She snapped at me, glaring at me while waiting for my answer.

I took a deep breath. “Charlie Morningstar, Ma’am, well her hotel that is.” I added, looking down. Velvette was seething in front of me. She grabbed me and threw me to the ground. I hit my head hard on the stone floor, because exactly what I need is another head injury.

“Don’t give me that kind of bullshit ever again. Remember who you are speaking to.” She spoke through gritted teeth. She materialized the link between us, the chain attaching me to her, our deal. I knew exactly what I signed, but she was right. I should have held my tongue. She used it to pull me to my feet in front of her. “Now get to fucking work.” She spat and let me go. I stayed on my feet and smoothed my outfit and hair, composing myself for the coming day.

“Yes Ma’am.” I kept my eyes on the floor as she rolled her eyes.

“Good, now get Kelly Killjoy’s suit options ready, it’s almost time for her to be on air, then come back to me.” And then she waved me away and I was happy to be able to walk away. I did as I was ordered, bringing the approved wardrobe to the news host's dressing room for her to pick from once ready. I raced back to the studio room to see what was next and Velvette sneared at me when she saw me. "Perfect, the seamstresses need a pin cushion, go be that until they are done with their projects.” And she turned away from me again. A pin cushion, this was going to be a long day.

Twenty hours later I am still in the studio, but I have finished every task I’ve been given, skillfully I might add. Well, as skillfully as one can be a pin cushion, mannequin mover, and general studio bitch without a single moment to sit or even pee. I was back in front of Velvette awaiting her next order. She looked at me and shook her head.

“Morning, cunt. Your outfit is hideous and you look more terrible than usual.” She said and zapped me into a new outfit, honestly the highlight of my day to have on something fresh, but really it was just a toned down version of her own outfit, but is all grey. Of course she would think her outfit was better. “Now perk the fuck up, I need you to set up the lights for the shoot we’re doing for my fabulous new clothing line today! And set up all the looks we created for it. Make sure those fucking models look right too, I can’t stand shitty sloppy work.” She said and I nodded, hoping it will be easy to learn how to set up studio lights.

“Yes Ma’am.”

After falling off a ladder more than once setting up the lights, organizing all of the set groups of items for the photo shoot, and labeling them, and then adjusting every single item on the models throughout the 10 hour shoot, I was ready to beg for Velvette’s forgiveness. I hadn’t had a drop of rest or caffeine in nearly two full days.

Finally I was told to go home, but to be back tomorrow bright and early with a smile on my face. I don’t know what pissed Velvette off so badly in the first place that she felt the need to take it out on me, but maybe tomorrow will be different, unlikely, but maybe. I walked into the hotel and went straight to the bar, come to think of it that might be one of the best parts about living here. I slumped onto a stool putting my head down on the bar. Husk raised an eyebrow at me while he was organizing his bottles.

“I wasn’t sure if you were coming back when no one saw you last night, where ya been?” He asked, he didn’t sound concerned, but he did sound curious. I picked my head up and propped myself up on my elbows.

“Work. I’ve been at work since I left. Someone pissed off Velvette and that became my personal problem.” I muttered. I took a deep breath, I don’t need to bitch about my shitty day though that won’t have made it any better. No, I wanted a boost, I should go out I want to feel good about myself. I don’t want Velvette to be able to dictate my mood like this.

“My, my, someone looks a little worked over,” Alastor sang as he walked up. “Did someone mistake you for a pin cushion?” He asked lifting my arm to inspect the hundreds of tiny and sore pricks in my skin. I pulled my arm away from him, trying not to humor him.

“Hello to you too, Sir.” I said, holding back my irritation. I look at husk and he poured me a drink, I give him the best smile I could muster when he placed it in front of me. Alastor took the seat next to me, crossing one leg over the other and giving me his signature smile. I took a sip and let the warm feeling wash over me.

“Tell me, is television work loosing its charm? Such superficial work after all, but maybe that’s how you prefer it, dear.” He laughed at his own joke and tapped his cane on the ground. I drank more of the mixed drink Husk had made me, but it didn’t cool me off as much as I needed it too. I gave him another look and he went to pour me another but I looked up at him and motioned to just give me the bottle.

“Aye, take it easy kid.” He said, but still handed it over. I took three big gulps and set it down.

“Alastor, I’m not in the mood for your insults and condescension, I think I’ve had more than enough of those today.” I said dryly and took another drink. He looked at his nails, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, enjoying getting a rise out of me.

“Oh, but I’m positive they haven’t been as witty as mine will be! Humor me won’t you? It’s been so boring today.” He leaned towards me, it was another request that didn’t really sound like a request. I couldn’t push back against Velvette, but I could with Alastor, maybe. I finished the bottle for some confidence and got out of my seat.

"No." I told him flatly, that should have been enough to get him off my back, but not Alastor.

"come now, don't tell me the big bad overlords you've worked for for years just now broke your spirit! Where's your moxie dear?" the demon quipped, leaning an elbow on the bar. I could feel my misplaced anger building, but shit he didn't have to be such a prick when I clearly was in a bad mood. I can't have five fucking minutes of peace?

“I told you, fuck off!” And stomped out the door, throwing aside the now empty bottle.

Fucking Radio Demon, fucking Velvette! I’m more than that, I’m not just someone to shove around. I don’t have to take that, not when I’m not at work. She might be able to give me as much shit as she wants, hell she could actually assign me to fuck ass Valentino’s porno costuming I wouldn’t even care, but I will not go home and have some other demon make me feel like shit too. I’m worth something!

I look up from the sidewalk that I’ve been so concentrated on and realize I don’t really have anywhere to go, I’m tired of bars and clubs, but hell maybe it'll make me feel like a person again anyway. Maybe someone will talk to me like I’m just a fucking person. So at the next neon sign I see advertising a drink I walk in and order and get just that. It doesn’t take long, it never does in hell, until someone starts talking me up, buying me a drink, then another, and another, and then says we should get out of here. He's good looking for a demon, tall and thin with blood red hair and long black horns twisting out of it like a ram's. I agree. I follow him outside and he starts taking me down an odd way, its quiet and dark here, but maybe he lives on a quiet street in hell, what do I know. Then he turns around, smiling, and holding a handgun. It takes a moment to register. He closes the distant between us.

“What are you doing?” I ask, he laughs and grabs my arm. I’m not stable enough to avoid it and he pushes me up against the alleyway wall and points the gun at my chest.

“I’m robbing you, dipshit, cough up whatever you have on you. I know someone dressed as pretty as you has a couple of bucks to spare right?” He sneers and shifts the barrel to under my chin. The only problem was I really didn’t have anything else. I had maybe a single dollar on me after buying that first drink and I don’t think that’s what he wanted to hear.

Then all the sudden he was off of me, I fell a little and caught my breath which I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. What the fuck was that? I looked around and saw a familiar pair of eyes walking out of the darkness, blazing red. Shadow tentacles were holding up the attempted robber as Alastor emerged from the darkness, how is Alastor here? He was taller than his normal stature, and had a sinister smile, antlers protruding from his hair. This is the demon I’d heard on the broadcast those years ago, he had bloodlust in his eyes.

“I don’t think so.” His voice was thick and distorted cutting up the still night, I could feel the energy pouring off of him. I didn’t know if I should stay where I was or get the fuck away from there at this point, but my legs felt too heavy to run very far. I looked up at him with wide eyes, it was like a car accident I didn’t want to watch him rip this demon in half, but I also couldn’t look away. He laughed maniacally as the sinner he held begged for forgiveness and his life. The Radio Demon drew him closer “Is that anyway to treat a lady?” Static filled the air and there was ringing in my ears, it felt like it was pounding in my head to the point that it was difficult to keep looking up. Alastor met my eye for one brief moment and then, unexpectedly, threw the creature across the city rather than ripping him in half. His piercing eyes didn’t change as he began to return to his normal self as he walked toward me having eliminated the threat. The static softened and I felt a weight leave my chest. “Terribly sorry for the fright! Charlie sent me to make sure you came back to the hotel in one piece tonight, I didn’t expect to find you in so much trouble.” He put an arm around me for support, but I shook it off. As uneasy as I felt I’m not sure if he was the one I should take it from.

“I wasn’t expecting any help, especially from you.” It came out as a statement of near disbelief, but I was still angry. Recovering from the personality whiplash Alastor had given me I took a few steps away towards the entrance of the alley. How am I supposed to see that and then trust him? “I can handle myself.” My knees wobbled and I leaned my palm on the wall again for support.

“Clearly.” He said sarcastically and smoothed his hair back where his antlers had disrupted it. “You sure did seemed to have a handle on that one! Next time I’ll just let it run its course, how’s that sound?” He adjusted his tie and grinned. More of his bullshit. I took another step back, I was certainly afraid of the power I’d just witnessed, but looking at him now he was just another demon.

“Whatever, I don’t need to take this bullshit, you can’t just talk to me like that because you’re used to being scary, I get enough of this every other hour of my day. Maybe you can treat Husk however you want because you own his ass, or other people are just too scared to say shit, but I’m exhausted! I’m too tired to bite my tongue and,” I was running out of steam, and those burning red eyes were still bearing into mine “it seems I’ll never get out of that cycle.” I slid down the wall to my side and held my knees to my chest. “I just, I’m tired of filtering myself to fit the situation I’m in. Just to please someone who can’t even tell the difference anyway. Putting up the right front to help maintain her goddamn brand. I can't do it with you too.” I sighed. How disgusting. Here I am shouting at someone who would love to rip my head off my body, just because my boss is shitty and unappreciative, and now I’m pitying myself for it on the ground of a filthy alleyway. This might just be my rock bottom.

Alastor quietly walked to my side and placed a hand on my shoulder, sending a jolt through me. “If it’s any help, I’m condescending to everyone!” It was so stupid, so fucking stupid I had to let out a laugh. Geez, at least it isn’t personal I guess. I ran a hand through my hair, looking at my shoes in the dim light. “What was Charlie’s first lesson? Apologies.” I looked at him funny, his red hair nearly looked all black in this lighting, did he want an apology from me? He’s as crazy as Niffty if he thinks that’s happening. I picked at the ground next to my shoe to occupy myself. “Charlie also wanted me to apologize, I didn’t really mean to offend you. While I do find joy in watching the misery of sinners around me, on the other hand I am here to help Charlie and I can’t do that if I’m sending one of her guests spiraling now can I?” He offered me a hand up and I just stared at it for a second. “I’m sorry, Lilly.” He sounded as sincere as I’d ever heard him, which granted was likely a front to save face anyway, but I pushed my pride aside and took his hand, standing back up. It felt good to get that rant out of my system and it maybe even felt a little good to get an apology. I brushed the grime off of my skirt as best as I could, looking back at Alastor. He looked happy with his pep talk, but he kind of always had that demeanor so it’s hard to say.

“Thank you Alastor.” Was all I managed to say. Pleased, he hooked our arms and pointed us in the direction of the hotel. We were quiet for a minute, I knew it was my turn to say something more, but I couldn’t figure out what was right. I kept dwelling on how he looked back in the alley, how the energy he put off felt all the way down to my bones. Even now it made my skin crawl, I’m quite glad to have made it onto his team I suppose because I would not want to be on the receiving end of that fury. “Why do you want to help Charlie?” I said it as soon as I thought it, but it brought me back to earlier. Husk is here because Alastor is here, but why the hell is Alastor here?

“A good question! It’s really very simple, I think Charlie will succeed and I like to be on the winning team. Plus,” He looked at me with a wicked look in his eyes, “If I’m wrong I’m no worse off and I get to watch everyone else suffer!” And began laughing. Not very comforting, but does make sense. Still I have a feeling Alastor is a few steps ahead in whatever plan he is hatching than he is willing to share. I wonder what else he was working up in his head, he’s difficult to read that’s for sure. The only actual emotions I’m sure he experiences are joy and anger. “If we’re asking intrusive questions now, I must say it’s been plaguing my mind, what exactly do you get out of your deal with Velvette?” He smirked, “Don’t tell me it’s for the dental insurance.” He mocked me, is there anything that happens in that hotel he doesn’t know about?

“You mean besides a boss who won’t fire or fuck me? Well,” I chewed my lip for a moment. I always felt ashamed of my deal, how ironic as I landed myself in hell for the vice of pride in life. “You know it’s not easy starting out down here, one day I met Velvette and she, well she made it look easy.” In life I was the secretary to a man who ran a fashion magazine, I was so enthralled by his work I thought every piece that crossed his desk was genius. I fantasized about what I would design if I was able to. “When Velvette told me what she was doing down here I wanted in, hell a bit of me wanted to be like her, she told me there was only one way I could be on her team, but her success would be my success too and really I didn’t see any other opportunities coming my way. I was naïve and she was happy to take advantage of that. Don’t they all kinda go like that though?” I laughed awkwardly, mentally preparing myself for whatever shitty jab Alastor would make at my expense. He let me stew in it for a minute, or maybe for once he just didn’t know what to say. The sound of my heels rang in my ears as I was aware of his lack of response, buzzing with the city noises happening around us.

“How unfortunate!” He used my arm hooked with his to pull me closer and gave me a sideways smile. “I would have given you a much better deal than that!” And winked at me. I gave a small laugh, right like being his tailor for the rest of my afterlife, how fun. He glared at the window of a TV shop as we passed it, Vox was giving some interview, but it distorted more the longer he looked at it. Just as soon as we had passed it, the screens returned to normal. Another mystery to Alastor. “Don’t worry dear, you aren’t the only soul in hell who has made an unwise deal. I think half the inhabitants of our hotel are in that very same boat with you!” As dumb as it is, it kinda made me feel better that I’m not the only sucker that I know.

We reached the steps of the hotel and he followed me up.

“Well if you need any emergency alterations you know where to find me!” I smiled and opened the door. After all of that I do think Alastor made me feel better, and I still have the entire $1 to my name that I could have lost, or worse.

“Well someone is in a better mood than she was before.” Husk snarked from the bar and I shrugged.

“I didn’t die so I guess I can’t complain too much.” I threw a wink to him and he let out a small chuckle. Alastor cleared his throat to regain my attention, which I gave him, clasping my hands behind my back.

“As happy as I am to have been of service tonight, I must bid you adieu my dear, I have much to do!” He gave my head a pat and made his way up the grand staircase without waiting for a response. I watched him go and disappear down a hallway off to whatever chores awaited him. I let out a well earned yawn and looked back at Husk. Is he always behind the bar? Where does he sleep? When does he sleep? I shook the thoughts from my head and waved him goodnight.

I made my way up to my room but as soon as I drifted off to sleep all that filled my dreams was the image of Alastor in his demon form in the alley, but this time I was his prey. I would focus on his eyes and the intense fear they filled me with, shadow arms raising me higher and higher into the air as he laughed at my pleads for help. His whole body expanded and grew more wicked and disturbingly sharp. One of his claws dragged across my cheek, drawing blood. I woke up in a cold sweat and panting to catch my breath. I went to my bathroom to splash some cool water on my face, but struggled to feel much calmer. It was just a dream, but it was based on real events, even if they didn’t happen quite like that. I decided to throw on a robe and knock on Angel’s door, it was late, but hopefully he would be awake. He opened the door, rubbing his eyes.

“Lilly? What the hell are you doin’ up at this hour?” He asked, one set of arms hugged himself and the other attempted to straighten his hair. I realized how dumb the truth sounded. ‘Oh I had a bad dream and wanted to talk to you’ I couldn’t say that, he would close the door in my face.

I glanced up and down the hallway, surely even Alastor is asleep at this time of night? “I need to tell you about my day, now.” I tried to look very serious, but I was also pretty tired. Angel stepped to the side and let me in, giving me the first proper look of his room. It was very nicely decorated, it looked just like him. Everything was pink and there were little string lights hanging from the wall giving off a soft purple twinkle.

He sat on his bed and patted the spot next to him. “What can’t wait until the mornin’ doll?” I took the seat and crossed my legs in front of me, pulling my robe a little tighter for comfort. “Husk told me you walked out pissed, but nothing else.”

“I just needed to get out. After the last two days of nonstop I just wanted to feel like a person and I didn’t here. Listen, to make a long story short, Alastor showed up to get me out of some hot shit. Apparently Charlie had sent him, but I saw him attack this demon and I, I don’t know I just can’t stop seeing it now. I’ve seen some fucked up shit here, I literally saw my coworkers get torn limb by limb a few days ago, but I don’t know something about how he looked at that demon.” I shivered. “How he looked at me after. It just, it freaked me out a little.” I pulled my legs up to my chest and rested my chin on my knees. Angel rubbed my back to sooth me.

“Ah don’t worry about him too much, you’ve got Charlie’s stamp of ‘Do-Not-Kill’ on yah so he won’t lay a hand on you!” He crossed one set of arms “even if you want him to.” Apparently still making no progress in his flirtations. “Plus, if it’s dreams you’re worried about, maybe you just wish his arms were around you in another way!” He joked and lightly elbowed me in the side. I rolled my eyes at him and smiled.

“Angel if you can’t pull him I’ve got zero luck, plus I am not interested like that. He’s just such a mystery I can't keep him out of my head.” I said, thinking on it I know shockingly few things about him for the amount that he seems to pop up and know things about me.

“Oh baby, the best dick is!” We both giggled and I felt a lot better. I asked him how his day was and he lit up. “Me and Husk got to have some quality time, if you know what I mean!” And he gave a cheesy smile. “We shared a drink is what I actually mean though. I think I’m breaking him down!” He beamed and then told me about how Husk had once been an overlord, until he was too far in the hole with gambling and ended up making a deal with our very own Alastor, confirming what I thought. Once I was caught up on the hotel tea I noticed my eyelids feeling heavy and the idea of getting some more sleep sounded better and better. Angel laughed and pulled the blanket over me and before his head hit the pillow I was out.

Part Three

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x oc #radio demon #slow burn #angel dust

60 notes · View notes

beauregardlionett · 6 months

Text

we made peace with the empty hourglass (the word limit's gone and you came home)

AO3 Link

It wasn’t often that Fearne was the one awake and Orym the one out cold. Yet, here they were—Orym fast asleep with the fingers of one hand tangled in her leg fur, and Fearne on watch with Chetney.

Since they had returned from Ruidus, Fearne thought they might catch a break, maybe travel on their own whims for a while with the chance to breathe. But they had been so busy, leaving almost no time to think or talk unless it was regarding their current goal. Earlier that evening, they had finally completed their latest mission after several grueling days of sleuthing and fighting. After all that, the party decided to extend their return journey so they could rest and relax for a few days.

Which landed them here, with Orym deeply asleep for once. Fearne had watched him wear himself to the bone, had borne witness to fresh scars and new fears that would never be addressed. She loved her little Halfling so dearly, but sometimes she wished he would let her protect him the same way he protected all of them. It seemed the least she could do was to sit sentinel over him like this while his guard was down.

The night was quiet—peaceful. Fearne drank in the steady melody of Chetney carving away at a new project, underscored by the soft, slumbering breaths of Fearne’s friends. However, beneath this gentle chorus, Fearne picked up on a sudden, discordant note.

Straightening, careful not to jostle Orym, Fearne’s ears flicked as her eyes scanned the shadowed trees beyond the light of their campfire. Chetney’s carving paused as he glanced up at Fearne in silent question.

Snap.

Fearne’s head whipped around, staring off into the shadows on her left. Chetney tracked the sound as well, eyes sharp and carving forgotten. His knuckles were white where he tightened his grip around his chisel.

She caught sight of movement just outside the glow of the firelight, and opened her mouth to call out, to scare off whatever or whoever dared approach them.

“Fearne? Chet?”

Whatever Fearne was about to say choked off into a startled gasp, her heart leaping in her chest as the shadowed figure stepped into the light.

“Dorian?” Fearne said, voice thick with joyful disbelief. He grinned at her even as he pressed a finger to his lips, his gaze darting around to their sleeping companions. Dorian looked road weary, but otherwise unharmed. He looked stronger, too—a little sharper at the edges, more confident in the line of his posture.

Fearne had missed him so much.

“Holy crap,” Chetney breathed, grinning as he leapt to his feet and threw his arms around Dorian’s leg. “How did you find us, you little shit?”

Dorian laughed softly, reaching down to pat the top of Chetney’s head, looking unbearably fond.

“It’s a long story,” Dorian whispered. “One I’m happy to tell in the morning after I’ve slept and greeted everyone.”

Chetney released Dorian’s leg with a half-hearted grumble about having to wait, but went back to his project without further complaint. Dorian stepped around a slumbering Ashton to sink down next to Fearne and fall into her sideways hug. Fearne wrapped him up tight in her arms, content to never let him go again if she had any say in the matter. She let him pull away, though, only so she could get a good look at his face and hold his hand with ease.

“I missed you,” Fearne said, voice soft and wobbly. “We all did.”

“And I’ve missed you,” Dorian said. “The Crown Keepers send their regards, by the way.”

“How’s Opal?” Fearne asked, tightening her grip on Dorian’s hand. Her worry for their beloved friend was something she couldn’t put off or ignore until morning. “Is she doing alright?”

“She’s as well as we could expect her to be. Still annoying the shit out of Lolth, of course.”

Fearne relaxed minutely, laughing softly. “That’s good.”

She glanced around at the group, making sure they weren’t disturbing anyone with their hushed conversation. When she looked back at Dorian, however, she found him staring down at her opposite hip, his expression wistful and complicated. Fearne followed his eye line to Orym’s tiny fingers, barely visible over the top of her thigh. The rest of him remained hidden in the draping folds of her cape he was using as a blanket.

“How is he?” Dorian whispered, voice almost indiscernible over the fire and the lull of slumbering breaths.

Fearne hesitated. They never got the chance to tell Dorian the full scope of what had occurred since he left with his brother. He didn’t know both of them had died, the details of their mission on Ruidus, or that they had been separated following the events at the Key. In turn, they knew little of what Dorian had been through with his brother and the Crown Keepers. There was so much to say in response to such a simple question.

“Tired,” Fearne settled on, and felt exactly how lackluster an answer it was the moment she said it. Being able to say as much as she wanted after being constricted to twenty-five words for so long was not such a simple transition, it seemed. “A lot has happened, and he shoulders things he shouldn’t—just like always.”

Dorian’s face did something complicated as he kept staring at Orym’s hand.

“He missed you,” Fearne said at length, smiling sadly when Dorian’s gaze shot up to meet her own. “He tried to message you every day, even when we knew the Sending Stone wasn’t working.”

Dorian’s expression twisted into something pained as he huffed out a strained exhale, looking away. It took him a long moment to find his composure, but eventually he turned back to Fearne and spoke in a watery tone, “so did I.”

Fearne reached out and pulled him back into her side, sighing happily at the realization that she finally had both her boys here beside her.

Orym made a quiet noise beneath her cloak and shifted, fingers tightening in her fur. Dorian pulled back enough to peer down at him, expression bright and hesitant at once. Fearne moved her arm, giving Dorian the freedom to move around to her other side and shift the cloak away from Orym.

“Fearnie?” Orym mumbled, still half asleep. “Is it my watch?”

“Not quite,” Fearne said, her voice wobbling with emotion. Orym, ever perceptive, startled awake at her tone, concern lining his features before he was even fully upright. He opened his mouth, likely to ask if she was okay, before he caught sight of Dorian in his periphery and froze. Orym turned to Dorian and stared at him for a suspended moment of absolute silence.

“Hello,” Dorian whispered after a pause long enough to leave Fearne wondering if they would ever say anything. He smiled at Orym, shaky and hesitant, but intensely joyful.

“Dorian?” Orym said, his voice strained as it cracked over the syllables of his name. “Is this real?”

“Yes,” Dorian breathed, laughing wetly. “Quite real.”

“How…I mean–when did–?” Orym cut himself off with an unsteady exhale before launching himself into Dorian’s chest and wrapping him up in a hug so tight it almost looked painful. Fearne grinned, wide and aching, as Dorian gathered Orym closer and pressed a firm kiss to the top of Orym’s head. Both of their shoulders were shaking—from tears or joy Fearne couldn’t be sure. But she stared at them and her heart was full.

“You didn’t answer last time I messaged you,” Fearne heard Orym say where he had his face smushed into Dorian’s shoulder. “I thought you…I thought the worst.”

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said, voice pained. “I had already tried using the Stone that day when you called. And then I tried again the next day, and it was like the Stone never worked at all.”

“We were back on Ruidus by then,” Orym said with a quiet sniffle. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Dorian pressed another kiss to Orym’s head and glanced up at Fearne, his smile tired but real. “Me too.”

Fearne reached over and placed a hand on Orym’s back, her other cupping Dorian’s cheek. She had her boys, safe and whole.

“You should sleep,” Fearne whispered, pulling back to spread out her cloak beside her again, patting it invitingly. Orym made a soft, panicked noise before Dorian could move, making both Dorian and Fearne freeze.

“Orym?” Dorian said, trying to sound calm despite the concern on his face. Fearne watched him smooth a hand down Orym’s back without trying to get Orym to release his hold.

“Don’t leave.”

It was clear to Fearne that Orym had meant to say it like a question instead of the painful plea it ended up being. Her heart broke a little with the realization that he was scared—their tiny, unflappable guardian admitting a fraction of his loneliness.

“I won’t,” Dorian said with fierce conviction. “I will be here come sunrise, Orym—I promise.”

He glanced up at Fearne with a mix of emotions on his face as he clung to Orym. She patted her cloak again, gesturing for him to lie down beside her while she continued her shift with Chetney. Dorian, without releasing his hold on Orym, curled up on top of the soft fabric and pressed his forehead against Fearne’s hip. He tucked Orym’s head beneath his chin and exhaled at length. Fearne buried her fingers in Dorian’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp.

“Love,” Fearne whispered.

“Love,” Dorian responded immediately, his smile curling up at her.

“Love, love,” Orym mumbled from where he still refused to part from Dorian. “Missed you.”

Dorian didn’t respond, but Fearne saw the way he tightened his hold on Orym and curled up just a little more.

Big spoon, middle spoon, little spoon—a complete set once again.

#cr #critical role #my writing #writing #dorian storm #orym of the air ashari #fearne calloway #chetney pock o'pea #bell's hells #bh #dorym #exu trio #this is me avoiding the horrors don't look at me

40 notes · View notes

pedrito-friskito · 10 months

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

after - part thirty-one

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

you keep going. you have to keep going.

a/n: so I haven’t been on here in a hot second BUT I’ve been writing this story like a crazy person, lots more to come, thanks for all the love 🤍

word count: 7.2k

warnings: lil smut for your saturday, big emotions, ellie and liv forever 🤍

✨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/works✨

Joel knows that he’s dreaming.

He hasn’t let himself dream for a long time now. Every night, he’s feigned sleep, while you insist on taking watch, Ellie even offering herself up a few hours at a time. It’s partially a conscious decision, partially not. There are nights when he wants sleep, wants to drift off just for a few hours, but his body won’t let him. He lays there with his eyes shut, trying to keep his memories at bay, but it always takes more effort than he expects, and before he knows it, the sun is rising once again.

But right now? Definitely dreaming.

It’s a strange sensation, being conscious of a dream while you’re in it. But it’s the best dream he’s had in years, so he begs his body to stay asleep a while longer, just so he can see how this plays out.

He’s home. Back in Austin, not your shared apartment in Boston, but his old house, his old bedroom. More specifically, sprawled on his bed, mid-morning light filtering through the curtains. The mattress feels so real beneath him, the springs creaking as he moves, but it’s only a backdrop to what’s really happening.

You, wrapped in his arms, back pressed to his chest. He swears he can feel how sweat-slick your skin is, smell the scent of your hair, hear the rapid thunk of your heart beneath his palms. He’s buried in your body, deep as he can go, your back arching with the force of him, whines falling from your lips as you beg him for more.

“Please, Joel,” you murmur, one hand reaching back to fist the hair at the back of his head. “Oh my god, please, I’m—”

Never one to deny you, waking or asleep, he lets one hand drop, skimming the curve of your stomach and finding your clit with ease. You keen as he draws little circles, burying his face in your neck, kissing at your throat.

“C’mon, baby,” he rasps, teeth scraping your jaw. “Lemme feel it, lemme—”

A crashing sound rings through his ears, making his whole body jolt, and the dream vanishes, his eyes shooting open.

“Fuck!” you curse, and Joel turns to see you crouched near the old desk in the corner of the watchtower. One of the drawers has fallen to the floor — obviously the source of the noise — and you’re trying to scoop the contents back in; maps and notebooks and random photographs. Joel groans as he sits up straight, lifting his body off the mattress, and you look at him over your shoulder, brows shooting up to your hairline. “Shit, baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” The drawer literally collapses in your hands and Joel has to stifle his laugh as he gets to his feet. You groan at the mess on the floor, head dropping back on your shoulders.

“S’okay,” he tells you, reaching for your arm and pulling you up to stand. Your stance is sure now, but it’s old habit for him to support you, though your leg has healed. You’ve been in the tower for two and a half weeks now; the first two had you laid up in one of the mattresses, Joel and Ellie both refusing to let you up unless it was absolutely necessary. Your leg is still wrapped in a bandage — fresh ones from the first aid kit you found in the tower — but there’s no blood bloomed through, and it looked almost completely healed when Joel checked it last night. You’re out of the woods, and he knows you need to get going soon. You’re antsy, and he can see it. He’s just as bad.

You sigh into his grip, reaching up to drape your arms around his neck. “But you were sleeping,” you say with emphasis, and he knows you’ve been watching him just as much as he’s been watching you. “I didn’t want to wake you at all.”

Joel shakes his head, leaning forward to tuck his nose into your neck, lips grazing your jaw. “Slept enough, baby,” he murmurs, pulling you close to him. “Just interrupted a dream I was havin’.”

“A dream?” you repeat, and he hums, grabbing your hips and pulling yours flush with his. He’s hard, pressing against the zipper of his jeans, his whole body nearly shaking with need. Your lips part softly, a quiet inhale that makes him even harder. “Was it a good dream?”

“Lemme show you,” he replies, reaching for the button on your jeans. “Where’s the kid?”

“Downstairs,” you tell him, tilting your head to the door. “Told her to stay down there, to let you sleep.”

“Well, I’m done sleepin’, baby,” he grits as he unzips your fly. He brings his hand to his mouth, sucks two fingers past his lips, then slips them down the front of your pants, right past the band of your underwear. “Fuck, when’s the last time I touched you like this, huh?”

He watches your face, the way your bottom lip quivers, and right when he thinks you’re actually going to answer, he pushes his hand lower, curls his fingers up and into you. You squeak, nearly collapsing in his arms, and Joel can’t help the satisfaction that roils through him.

You clench around his fingers as he pushes deeper and your knees waver, your hands clinging to his shoulders. “Fuck,” you curse again, moaning when he wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling you closer, getting a better angle. “We need to be—” You cut yourself off, eyes rolling back when he finds that spot, the tips of his fingers rubbing circles. “Faster, Joel.”

“Faster, huh?” he almost taunts, but gives you what you ask for. “You want it just like this, huh? Y’know, I was dreamin’ we were back home, that I was fucking you in our bed. You were beggin’ me so pretty.”

“Please,” you gasp, your hand fisting the front of his flannel, pulling him close enough to make your noses brush. “Fuck me, please, baby.”

You whine when he drags his fingers from you, but he doesn’t waste any time, turning you around and pushing you against the table in the middle of the room. You plant your hands, bending over the edge as he shoves your pants down, just enough to see the shine of slick against the inside of your thighs, the evidence you need this just as badly as he does. He doesn’t have time to strip you down completely, but one of these days, he’ll—

“Joel.”

He frees himself from his jeans, his cock aching and leaking as he kicks your legs wide and lines himself up. Your whole body stutters as he drags himself along your heat, coating himself with your wetness. His other hand finds your hip, digging his fingers in hard. You call his name again, your voice a rasp in the air, and he pushes into you, breathy exhales filling the space between you as he fills you to the hilt. Just as fucking tight as he remembers, just as hot and perfect and…you.

The need and the desperation get the better of him, kicking his pace into high gear the instant he’s buried to the hilt. He can feel the shift, gripping both your hips, and your hands cover his, keeping him in place. Your head turns slightly, eyes meeting his, big and wide and just as full of lust as he feels.

He gets you impossibly closer, keeping his hips tight to your ass and thrusting so hard your boots nearly lift off the ground. It pulls the most delicious sound from your mouth, your hand shooting back to dig your nails into his ass. “Jesus Christ.”

Joel hauls you up, banding one arm under your chest, his lips at your ear. “Yeah, baby? Tell me how good it feels.”

“So fucking good,” you babble, squeezing his ass, canting your hips back into him, driving him deeper. “Missed you — ah! — touching me like…like this.”

He had more words, more dirty things to murmur in your ear, but you take his mouth for your own, squeaking against his lips when he moves his other hand between your legs, thumbing at your clit. You clench around him, your teeth sinking into his bottom lip so hard he’s sure you’ll draw blood, confirmed when he tastes iron a second later. But he doesn’t care, too engrossed in the way you twitch in his arms, thighs quaking around his hand, the breathy moans that fall out of you.

How is it possible to miss someone who’s been right beside you the entire time?

It hits him like a ton of bricks as he works you through your orgasm, his movements sharper, trying to draw out your pleasure as much as he can. Your body goes lax, your lips still kissing his, both of your mouths smeared with his blood, but Joel doesn’t care.

His own body goes tight, pleasure creeping up his spine, slithering through his aching bones. The pain in his chest hasn’t made an appearance since you found the watchtower, and in this moment, he doesn’t even remember what it felt like, too preoccupied with how good you feel, your body wringing pleasure from his the same way he did to you.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see his face, darting between his bloody lip and his eyes and back again. You kiss him again, sucking his bottom lip between your own, laving your tongue along the curve. His hips snap against your ass, that peak growing closer and closer with every touch you offer. He sees the recognition in your eyes, the spark of knowledge as you tighten your grip on him.

“Baby,” you murmur, your gaze softening, the corner of your lip curling up as his pace stutters. You cover his hands with your own, squeezing your fingers around his wrists, pushing your body back into his. “You fuck me so good, love me so good.” You steal another kiss. “Love you so goddamned much.”

His brow furrows, hands tightening on you, fingers curling against your ribs. He growls into your mouth, nerves set alight, the feeling barrelling up and down and side to side, making his toes numb in his boots. He cums with a shout, one you catch with your own lips as he staggers, nearly losing his grip on you as he spills himself deep. It makes you hum, your grip going tighter, and now it’s you holding him upright, your lips all over his cheek, one hand lifting to brush through his hair.

Once he’s caught his breath, you let out a little breathy giggle, your arms still around each other. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat as he slips out of you. “I just…needed that.”

You reach up, running your thumb over where you bit his lip. “You definitely don’t need to apologize for that, Joel. I’m sorry for biting you so hard.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I liked it.”

As you clean each other up, finding spare rags to clean the mess between your legs, wetting another to dab at the blood on Joel’s lip, he forgets, just for a moment. Forgets about the world outside, the terror and the violence that seem to follow you all around. For a moment, you’re just two people in love, as desperate for each other now as you were when you first met twenty-two years ago. You’re just…you.

You pull your jeans back up, inspecting your bandage after you do. Joel steps close to you. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, a relaxed smile on your face. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw you look like that — relaxed.

As you straighten, he pulls you back into the circle of his arms, fitting his arms around your shoulders. Your hands slip under his flannel, palms flat against his skin. He tugs at your hair, lifting your face until his nose brushes yours. Your lips part, words on the tip of your tongue, but he beats you to the punch.

“I love you,” he whispers, well aware that his hands are shaking. You nudge your nose against his, pulling him closer. He drops his jaw, capturing your lips again, but softly this time. He adjusts his grip, hands lifting to cup your face, thumb swiping across your cheek. The cut on your face has also healed, a thin scar left behind. Joel traces it as you deepen the kiss, your tongue touching his.

Ellie clears her throat in the doorway and you both jump apart, you covering your face with your hand while Joel braces his hands on his hips, staring at the floor. She doesn’t say anything at first, stepping into the tower and tossing her gun onto the table in the middle — the table he’d just—

“What happened to your mouth?” she asks suddenly, brow furrowing at Joel. His head snaps up, brows rising.

“Huh?”

“Your lip is bleeding.”

“Oh.” He lifts his hand to his mouth, feeling his cheeks heat. “Uh—”

You stifle a laugh, turning away with a guilty look on your face, finding something in the corner of the room infinitely more interesting.

The kid’s eyes dart between the two of you, and then she makes a face. “Gross.”

One month later, on the outskirts of Cody, Wyoming…

You’re all dragging your heels.

Ellie’s asleep on her feet, and Joel is so overtired that his senses are in overdrive. You can see it in the way his head swivels on his neck, eyes flitting every direction, coasting over where you’re stood on his bad side, bat over your shoulder, gun in hand. He’s still carting the rifle, knife at his hip, and Ellie has her not-so-secret gun. You feel better knowing she’s armed and feel shitty knowing how fucked up that thought process is.

Since you left the tower, winter has caught up with you. The snow came and left, then came and stuck, and it was very quickly apparent that the jackets you’d carried with you from Boston weren’t going to cut it. The chill in your bones had you detouring through neighbourhoods, reminiscent of your smuggling days, picking through houses over the remnants of people’s lives. You make Ellie and Joel keep watch most of the time, wanting to keep them safe from whatever horrors might be lurking behind closed doors.

You get lucky. You find a thick leather coat for Joel, wool-lined and worn in. For Ellie, what you think might have been a boy’s winter jacket, but it’s heavy enough to keep her warm and fits her fine. For you, one of those ridiculously patterned flannel-sherpa monstrosities you’re sure your mother had six of back in the nineties. It’s almost not warm enough, but you manage to find a few more layers to wear underneath and it works.

You find a few hats — one of which you have to all but force onto Ellie’s head — and leather gloves to match Joel’s jacket. It’s easy enough to find boots for you and Ellie, the tall, lace-up kind that hug your calves and keep the snow out. For Joel, every pair you find isn’t the right size, or the soles are worse off than the ones he’s been wearing. What you do find is duct tape, and he wraps his boots in it, waving you off when you try to help.

Part of you wishes you’d stayed in the watchtower. It wasn’t the perfect place — it got drafty as hell once the temperature started to drop — but you had a good vantage point. The supplies you found would have lasted a bit longer, and you could have gone back to Omaha to look for more.

Part of you wanted to stay, but a bigger part wanted to go. Once your leg was healed, you just wanted to keep moving. Whatever this is, you want to see it through. You’ve lost too much since leaving Boston, you refuse to tuck your tail between your legs and just give it up.

Another part, a part that’s small sometimes, and so big sometimes you think it might swallow you whole, that part doesn’t want any of this. It wants to find a place, somewhere safe, somewhere far from FEDRA and the Fireflies and the past you left behind, just for you. For you and for Joel and…

And for Ellie.

You can’t deny the protectiveness you feel for her. Right from that first night, you just had to keep her safe, had to keep her as whole as you possibly could in a world that wants the polar opposite. You look at her, remember what you’ve agreed to do, to just hand her over to the Fireflies. What will they do with her, what will they…?

Never mind your own feelings, but you’ve seen her and Joel lately, since you left Kansas City. Something’s changed, shifted. You know Joel will be the last person to admit it, but there’s a kinship, a kindness between them that didn’t exist before. He’s still your gruff old man, through and through, but his edges that were once soft only for you have smoothed out for her, too. It’s little things — passing a can of soup back and forth, Joel making sure she’s got a good grip on the warm metal before letting go — and the bigger ones too. When you first left the watchtower, shortly after the first snow, Ellie had nearly tumbled down the hill, but Joel had been closer than you, and he’d grabbed her before she could fall, hauling her back and onto steady feet, keeping her pressed to his chest until she caught her breath again.

You saw the flicker in his face when her arms wrapped around his middle, and the twinge in his expression when she let go, giving a shaky laugh and stepping away from him.

They’ve gotten closer, but Joel’s different on his own. He still has those pinched expressions when he thinks you’re not looking, looks of pain that he forces mild when he catches you looking. The closer you get to Cody, potentially to Tommy, the more antsy he gets. You know he’ll never admit it, but you know exactly what’s going on in his head. You’ve come all this way, and what if…

What if you don’t find Tommy?

Or worse, what if you do find him and—

No. You cut the thought short. You can’t let yourself think like that. No good will come of it.

You’ll find the Cody Tower. You’ll find Tommy and he’ll help you find the Fireflies, and this will all—

“Liv!”

You’ve only just reached the outskirts of the city. Wrapped in your own head, your mind going a million miles a minute, you didn’t realize you’d gotten close to the buildings, the flattened cityscape that looks like something out of an old Western. Joel grabs you from behind, clamping a hand over your mouth and wrenching you backwards, your boots scuffing against the pavement as he drags you, stifling your surprised noise when you see the sight before you.

Off in the distance, the control tower is plain as day. Your mind paints a taunting image of Tommy perched on the top platforms, speaking into a radio, talking to you and to Joel, telling you where he’s gone, what he’s doing.

The town below is less taunting, more nightmare.

Clickers, everywhere.

As far as your eye can see, wandering and twitching their way through the streets, tripping over abandoned cars and cracked hunks of pavement. The odd screech reaches your ears, sending chills down your spine. You let Joel drag you back, your body going willingly, pushing yourself back into his arms as you go. Ellie is frozen in place as you pass, her eyes glued to the sight before you, and you grab the hood of her coat as you pass, pulling her along with you.

Joel doesn’t release you until you’re back over the hill you’d just crested, until you’re out of earshot, out of sight. Your heart is racing, thumping against your ribs, and you get your bearings, letting go of Joel enough to grab his hand and Ellie’s, pulling them off the road and into the forest lining the road.

But Joel doesn’t move.

He’s still as a statue in the middle of the road, the hill stretching below, a straight shot through Cody. Even at a further distance now, you can hear them, those awful noises, like some kind of demonic birdsong. Ellie grips your hand tightly and you put yourself between her and the town below. “Joel, we need to move,” you say, tugging on his wrist. Nothing. “Joel—”

“He was in Cody,” he murmurs, his voice nearly carried away on the wind that sweeps through, ruffling your hair and his, making goosebumps rise on your skin. “He was there. D’you think that he…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. The rifle falls from his grip, hanging against his shoulder, and his hand flies to his throat, boots sliding as his body tilts. He’s white as a fucking ghost. You pull your hand from Ellie’s, reaching for him. He grunts as you move in front of him, bearing his weight, trying to keep him upright.

“Liv—” Ellie starts, but you cut her off.

“Go to the trees,” you tell her, giving her a pointed look. “Go, and don’t move till I say, you hear me?”

She nods, her face nearly solemn, and heads for the tree line.

“Joel,” you call, and he gives you no response, his hands on your shoulders and his breath wheezing out of his chest. It’s coming fast, his entire body shaking with every inhale, every exhale. “Joel, honey, I’m right here.”

“What if he…” He trails off again, his eyes moving past you, back to the town. “Tommy…”

“Tommy’s alive,” you say, making your voice as stern as you can be, ignoring the panic rising in your own chest. “He’s alive and he sure as hell isn’t down there. We need to get someplace safe, okay? We need to figure out where to go next.”

“But he—”

You grab his chin in your hand, force his eyes on yours. “Your brother is a smart man, Joel, much as you hate to admit it. And he left Boston a long time ago. He wouldn’t have stuck around long enough to get caught up in something like that. He’s alive, and we’re going to find him. You hear me?”

His chest is still rising rapidly, his hands shaking as they move down to your biceps, squeezing so tight you feel it through your jacket and sweater. “I don’t know what…” He shakes his head, some of the colour returning to his cheeks. The wind howls and his eyes finally drop, pinched shut as he relaxes slightly into your grip, his breath starting to come a touch slower.

“I know,” you tell him, pressing your chest to his, hoping he’ll feel your even breaths, that his body will respond and try to match them. “I’ve had that thought more times than I care to admit. We have to believe he’s alive, Joel, and that we’ll find him. We will.”

His shoulders sag and he pulls you against him, his temple against your forehead as he exhales slowly. “We will.”

“We’re lost.”

“We’re not fuckin’ lost,” Joel grumbles, swinging his bag from his shoulder. He pulls out the map, shoves it in your direction, and you give Ellie a glare as you unfold it, the lines and dots instantly giving you more of a headache than you already have.

“Really?” she quips, and you let your eyes flutter shut, pushing the map back at Joel. “Then where the fuck are we?”

He gives you a pointed look, brow raised, but you ignore it, scrubbing your gloved hand over your face. It’s fucking cold. You feel like you haven’t slept in three days — realistically, you know that’s not completely true, but the little sleep you have gotten hasn’t been nearly enough, and the thrum in the back of your mind has been near constant. You’re burning out, desperate for some real food, water that hasn’t been hastily boiled over a campfire, and at least eighteen hours of sleep. Hell, even eight would do the trick.

You’ve been walking since sunrise. Almost three days past Cody. You walked through (past? You can’t be sure…) Yellowstone a day and a half in, and you’re all dragging each other along. The roads are hell, covered in snow, the blanket of white a welcome repaint to the landscape, but it helps hide the things that go bump in the night. Infected aren’t the only things you have to worry about in the mountains.

Joel furrows his brow at the map, yanking his gloves off to trace the path he’s after. You’ve been following the map, using whatever landmarks you can to find the next town. Joel mentioned Jackson, you thought maybe Yellowstone would have a camp of some sort — the park was big enough they could have put up some sort of outpost or camp when the outbreak came — but your path proved otherwise. Whatever had been set up in the park’s boundary was long gone.

There’s a marked path Joel’s been trying to follow, but the snow is not helpful. You think you’ve been sticking to it, but with every step, you feel more and more unsure. What if you’re going in the wrong direction? You trust Joel, you know he’s good for this stuff, that he wouldn’t risk it — risk you — if he wasn’t sure, but after his episode outside Cody, your worry for him has only grown stronger.

But you have to keep going.

It’s Ellie, that spots the cabin off in the distance. Small, tucked behind a wooden fence you’d guess is about chest height. Smoke pours out of the chimney. The relief that floods you is tinged with wariness, but it’s the first sign of actual living human life since you left Kansas City, and part of you wants to grab onto it as tight as you can.

The other part knows you can’t be stupid about this. You have to be careful.

By the time you get close enough to scope the place out, night has nearly fallen, and you make camp just inside the trees, out of line of sight from the cabin, but still able to keep an eye out. Joel insists on taking the majority of watch, and you let him, honestly too tired to fight with him otherwise. The little sleep you get is fitful, too many noises in the forest keeping you awake, Ellie’s murmurs in her sleep putting you on high alert, listening closely for any sounds of distress. You huddle close on the sleeping bags, keeping each other warm while Joel paces the small camp you’ve made.

You’re up with the sun, feeling like you barely got back to sleep when you’re being pulled out of it, and Joel has a plan. “It’s an older couple,” he informs you, scratching at his forehead, passing you a cup of coffee. You’ve rationed what you found back in KC best you can, but you’re getting down to the dregs and the grounds are more and more stale. But it’s caffeine, and you’re grateful all the same. “Husband looks like a hunter. I say we wait it out, wait for him to leave, then get in there. Get the wife to point us in the right direction. Figure out where the hell we are, if they’ve ever heard of Tommy, if he passed through here.”

“What if she doesn’t want to help us?” Ellie asks, and the waver in her voice pulls at something in your chest. You stare down into your coffee.

Joel pulls his gun out of his pocket, bare fingers curled around the handle. “We make sure she does.”

“Joel—” you start, but he shakes his head.

“We’ve been walking for days, Liv. I know you’ve been thinkin’ the same as I have. This is the first real thing we’ve found; I won’t walk away until we’ve found all we can.”

You swallow hard, the coffee bitter on your tongue. “Okay,” you nod, “but we ask politely first.”

His jaw ticks. “Yes, dear.”

Florence lets you inside with little issue. She actually laughs at Ellie’s whispered what the fuuuuuuck when you step into the cabin. The warmth that floods your body nearly makes you crumple on the spot, but you keep upright, taking in the log interior, the animal skulls and all manner of tools and equipment hanging from the walls.

Joel pushes ahead of the two of you, gun raised, scanning the space. “Anyone else here?”

“Just me,” the older woman says, almost smiling. “You waited until Marlon left.”

“He looked like a shoot first, ask questions later type,” Joel says, and she laughs again.

“He is.”

Keeping the gun at hand, Joel steps through the cabin, poking around doors, heading up to the loft to make sure it’s empty too. You and Ellie stand there awkwardly, teeth chattering as your bodies get used to the warmth.

“Sit down, girls,” Florence instructs, getting out of her chair with some effort. “I’ll make you some soup.”

“You don’t have t—” you protest, but she waves you off as she heads to the kitchen area.

“It’s cold out there.”

Joel comes back down the stairs, satisfied with his search, and Ellie sinks down on the couch, clearly unable to resist a soft seat. You’re tense, and Joel stands beside you, one hand in the middle of your back, the other still holding his gun aloft.

“Joel,” you start, but he shakes his head again, just like he had.

“Where is she?”

“Making soup,” Ellie answers and his brows shoot up.

It’s a good few minutes of quiet, and you sit down beside Ellie, every bone in your body creaking as you hit the cushion. Joel puts himself between the two of you and Florence, her back to you, the clatter of dishes the only sound.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Joel says, “just need to know where we are.”

The woman nods as she turns back, two bowls of soup in her hands as she walks back toward the couch. You and Ellie accept them with mumbled thanks, and she goes back to get a third bowl for Joel before sinking back into her rocking chair, regarding the three of you.

“You got a map?”

About an hour later, the bowls are empty, you can feel your toes again, and Ellie’s cheeks are not nearly as rosy as they’d been when she woke up this morning. The map sits on the table in front of you, and your eyes are trained on the spot Florence had pointed to. Joel is still rigid, pacing the cabin with the gun in his hand, ignoring you when you tell him to put it away.

Florence is still in her rocking chair, and she pauses mid-rock, head turning toward the door. “He’s back.”

“Ellie, upstairs,” you say, and she shoots you a wide-eyed look, but you press. “Now.”

She sighs as she darts upstairs, like she’s annoyed to not be in the line of fire, and Joel pulls you up off the couch, bringing you with him into the kitchen, out of sight of the front door.

The man you assume to be Marlon steps through the front door a beat later, unzipping his coat and setting a hunting bow down on the nearby table. Florence just watches, rocking back and forth in her chair, but you don’t miss the way her eyes meet his and then flick to the pair of you tucked to the side.

Marlon takes a step forward, and Joel moves at the same time. “And the gun, too.”

Your brow lifts. You hadn’t noticed the holster at Marlon’s belt, but Joel had. “Who the hell are you?”

Joel steps around the room slowly, his own gun lifted and pointed at the older man. “Just someone passin’ through.” You stay where you are, watching the scene unfold before you. Joel stops, gestures to Marlon. “Take the gun out, two fingers only, put it outta reach.”

You have to admit the thread of power in his voice makes a shiver race down your spine. And it’s not from the cold.

Marlon does as asked, pulling the pistol out almost mockingly, shaking it in the air before setting it down — out of reach, like Joel said.

“Why didn’t you shoot ‘em?” Marlon asks, jutting his chin at his wife.

“Gun’s all the way over there,” Florence replies, looking toward the kitchen. You realize she could have — when she went to make you all soup, she easily could have grabbed the gun and started shooting. Three against one wouldn’t be an easy fight for the woman, but it would have been something. “He didn’t hurt me, by the way,” she tacks onto the end, her voice almost sarcastic.

“Yeah, I got eyes,” Marlon grumbles, and steps a little closer, gesturing at the table in front of the couch, your empty bowls of soup and the map. “You made him soup?”

“Yeah,” Florence replies, “I did. It’s cold out.”

Marlon sinks down into one of the empty chairs, and you can see Joel’s patience wearing thin. “I’m lookin’ for my brother.”

The old man scoffs, pulling his hat off. “Well, I ain’t seen him.”

“I haven’t told you what he looks like,” Joel retorts, matching his tone.

“He look anything like you?”

“A bit,” Joel answers, and you can’t stop yourself from stepping forward.

“Not really,” you say, and Marlon’s brows shoot up as you make yourself seen, your own gun dangling from your hand. “Darker hair, a bit shorter, more mustache than beard.”

Another scoff. “I ain’t seen him.”

“They’ve got a girl with them,” Florence says, lifting her chin toward the loft.

“Can I come down?” Ellie’s voice floats down, and Joel bristles.

“No,” he calls, his voice stern, and you both look up to see her lean over the railing.

“Ellie!” you call, trying to strengthen Joel’s command, but it doesn’t work. She comes bounding down the stairs, gun rattling in her hand.

“Ooh-wa,” Marlon grumbles, and both he and Florence start laughing.

“What did I just say?” Joel grits and you sigh, rubbing your hand over your forehead.

“Joel, come on,” Ellie retorts, almost rolling her eyes. “They’re like, a thousand.”

“Who’s this little psycho?” Marlon asks, gesturing to Ellie, looking between you and Joel. “Your daughter?”

“She’s—” you start, but Joel cuts you off.

“Never mind her,” he says, stepping forward and poking at the map on the table. “I need you to tell us where we are.”

“If you got a map, why you lost?”

“Must have missed all the street signs in the enormous fucking forest,” Ellie bites out, and you grab her shoulder, yanking her backward and beside you.

“Ho-ly,” Marlon laughs, and Florence chuckles. The whole scene is making your head hurt. It’s like whiplash.

Joel gives you a pointed look as the older couple laughs. Your jaw goes tight and you shake your head ever so slightly, gripping Ellie’s shoulder as he leans in again, pointing at the map. “We’re somewhere here. Exactly where? And your answer better be the same as your wife’s.”

Marlon stares at Joel for a long moment before his eyes cut to Florence. “You tell him the truth?”

“Yeah,” she says, still rocking back and forth.

“You tellin’ me the truth?”

“Yeah.”

Another glare from the old man before he leans forward in the chair and pokes at the map. Exactly the same spot Florence had pointed out. Middle of fucking nowhere. You can feel Ellie’s eyes on your face, but you can’t bring yourself to look in her direction.

With a sigh, Joel tucks his gun away. “Well, you found a great place to hide, I guess.” He sinks down onto the couch, putting his head in his palm.

“Hide?” Marlon laughs. “Came here before you were born, sonny. Get the hell away from everybody.”

“I didn’t want to,” Florence interjects, and despite it all, you laugh.

Marlon waves her off. “Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you about your brother, but if you’ve come this far, then you know what’s out there. You’ve seen Cody?”

At the mention, you step away from Ellie, to the other side of the couch, hovering near Joel’s shoulder, reaching out and curling your fingers in his coat. Ellie sinks onto the corner of the couch and answers for you. “Yeah, got close enough. It’s crawling with Infected.”

“Yeah, Laramie and Wind River Reservation,” Marlon tells you, his eyes flitting from Ellie to Joel to you and back again. “Anywhere people used to be, you can’t go there no more.”

You can feel Joel tensing under your hand like a drawn bowstring. “So you haven’t heard the name Tommy? Tommy Miller?”

“Nope.”

“What about the Fireflies?” you ask, finding your voice.

“We get those in the summer,” Florence answers innocently.

“Not the bugs,” Ellie bites out, “the people.”

“There are firefly people?” the old woman asks and the pair starts laughing again.

Ellie has more to say, but you call her name, your voice as stern as Joel’s had been, and this time she listens, shrinking down onto the couch.

“You got any advice on the best way West?” Joel asks, and you can feel his shoulders going tighter and tighter.

“Yeah,” Marlon answers, “go East. But you never go past the river here.” He points at the map, not far from where he’d pointed before. “Ever.”

“What’s past the river?” you ask, stepping around and sitting on the arm of the couch, your hand still squeezing Joel’s shoulder.

“Death,” Florence says, and an icy chill shoots through you. “We never see who’s out there, but we see the bodies they leave behind. Some Infected, some not. If your brother’s West of the river, he’s gone.”

Joel deflates. You feel it beneath your hand, the slump to his shoulder, the defeat that starts to roil through him. You know him too well not to see it for what it is. He’s giving up.

And Ellie is staring at you. You let yourself meet her gaze, and see your own fear mirrored in her eyes. But despite it all, what comes out of your mouth is, “You aren’t gonna scare us.”

“Scared him,” Florence says, chin lifted toward Joel.

Marlon laughs again and Joel snatches the map up off the table, moving out from under your grip and getting to his feet. “We need to leave.” You move to follow, grabbing Ellie by the shoulder again. You grab your bags from where you stashed them near the stairs. Joel swings the rifle over his shoulder and as he steps past you to get to the door, you hear the wheeze in his breath. Without another word, he steps out of the door, Ellie following.

You turn back to the older couple. “Thank you for the…hospitality.”

Marlon gives you a strange look. “Don’t get yourself killed out there, girl.”

You give a curt nod before turning on your heel, following Joel and Ellie. Ellie is nearly running to keep up with him, a dead rabbit hanging from her grip — where the hell did she get a dead rabbit?

“They don’t know anything,” she’s saying, like she’s trying to reason with him. “Never heard of the Fireflies.”

They’re at the fence by the time you catch up, your boots nearly slipping through the snow. Joel’s stock-still, one hand reached out, gripping the wooden fence for support.

“Joel, are you okay?” Ellie calls, and you hear him grumble at her to shut up. “Holy shit, are you dying?” She whirls, panic in her eyes as she stares at you. “Liv, is he dying? This is the second time.”

Joel shakes his head, the movement almost frantic, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m okay,” he wheezes, and you step past Ellie, moving beside him. “Okay, okay, I’m fine.”

“Joel,” you call, your voice soft, reaching for his free hand, threading your fingers through his. “I’m right here.”

“No, no, but are you okay?” Ellie continues, her voice climbing. “Because just a reminder, that if you’re dead, we’re fucked.”

“Ellie, stop it,” you snap, squeezing Joel’s fingers as your head whips in her direction. The anger that spikes through you is there and gone in a flash, but you see it flicker across her face all the same.

“I’m fine,” Joel repeats, lifting your joined hands to his chest, rubbing your knuckles against his sternum. “Just the…cold air, all of a sudden.” He’s still panting, his breaths still wheezing, and he bends slightly, still gripping the fence for support.

Ellie’s still staring at you. The guilt is immediate as she ducks under the fence, putting distance between the pair of you. “Alright, uh, so let’s go and find Tommy and the Fireflies.”

Joel straightens, taking a deep, even breath, and you relax slightly, turning your attention to him fully. His lips form the words I’m okay and you wish to God you could believe him, but his eyes tell a different story. One you don’t have time to hash out here and now.

“It’s gonna be easy,” Ellie is still carrying on, nearly crawling up the hill that leads away from the cabin. “All we have to do is cross the River of Death.”

PREV | NEXT

#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

100 notes · View notes

lemoncrushh · 4 months

Text

The Entertainer II - Track 06 - Making New Memories

Summary: What if it wasn’t the end? What if Sky did actually see Harry at the Forum in the early 80s, and he saw her too? What if fate took hold of them both, and they realized their journey was not over? Set in 1981, Harry and Sky’s story continues with more music, more romance, and a few more twists and turns.

STORY PAGE

Track 06 Word Count: 2.8k+

Read The Entertainer

I’d never heard a phone ring so much in my life. Especially before I was out of bed.

Harry was already downstairs, having unplugged the phone in the bedroom so I could keep sleeping, apologizing profusely on his way out. But I could still hear the irritating ring echoing upstairs, like the cry of a child who wasn’t getting enough attention.

I finally threw back the covers and padded into the adjoining bathroom. After relieving myself and washing my hands, I carefully opened the cupboards to find an assortment of clean towels and washcloths. Choosing a dark green set that reminded me of Christmas, I set them on the vanity, opened the shower door and turned on the water. I could still hear the muffled sound of Harry talking on the phone downstairs as I undressed and stepped underneath the warm stream.

“Hi baby,” I heard a few minutes later as I wet my hair. I opened my eyes to see his outline through the glass.

“Hi yourself,” I called.

“I’m so sorry. I hadn’t meant to leave you alone that long.”

“It’s okay, I can manage. I’m a big girl.”

I reached for the shampoo just as the shower door opened and Harry stood naked before me.

“No argument here,” he said, stepping inside. “But I’d much rather join you.”

I grinned as he tested the temperature of the water and leaned over for a kiss.

“Good morning,” I greeted.

“It is, indeed,” Harry wiggled his brows.

“I take it the phone calls went well?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, standing under the shower. “I am truly sorry about that. Irving is already working on some things for me, but I hadn’t realized we’d be discussing them so soon.”

“Good things, I hope,” I commented.

“Yeah.”

I looked at him. “Want me to wash you up while you tell me about them?”

His sexy smile returned as I poured the shampoo into my hand.

“Mmm, that feels nice,” he murmured, his eyes shut as I scrubbed his scalp.

“So tell me the plans.”

“Well…turns out the owner of the club saw me sing with Stargazer last night. He contacted Irving and asked to book Wildfire. But Irving explained we’re not a band anymore.”

“Yeah…” I cringed.

“He insisted he wanted me - that he hadn’t seen a crowd go nuts like that in a while. So…Irving’s been in touch with some other musicians.”

“Well, that’s exciting!”

“It can be. It’s just…”

I had Harry lean his head back then to rinse out the shampoo. Then I grabbed the soap and lathered it in my hands.

“Just what?” I asked.

“I won’t be Wildfire anymore. I mean…I knew that, going into this solo thing. But people are still gonna expect to see me with that band. Not some new band.”

“You don’t know that,” I reassured him. “Yeah, some people won’t get it right away. And you may have to keep playing Wildfire songs for a while to get them in, to get them to notice. But you don’t need the band name to make your own place in music. You are who you are. With or without Wildfire. You can’t change that.”

I’d just finished lathering his arms and chest, working my way down his legs when he pulled me back up to look at him.

“You always have the most perfect thing to say,” he said softly, his lips inches from mine. “Whenever I’ve been in doubt, you’ve always made me feel better. How do you do that?”

I grinned and shrugged, my hands full of soap.

“C’mere,” he smiled, taking the bar from my hand and half the suds. “It’s my turn.”

Harry took me home that afternoon after stopping for burgers. He’d offered to cook breakfast for me, but I insisted I was craving greasy fast food.

“See, this is another thing I like about you,” Harry voiced as we sat in his car, my hand digging into a bag of fries.

“What, that I like junk food?”

“Yeah, why not? You could have had anything you wanted to eat, but you chose the In-N-Out. It’s so…normal. It’s refreshing. I don’t think I’ve had a cheeseburger in over a year.”

I snorted. “Famous people don’t eat cheeseburgers?”

Harry frowned. “Not often, no. Anyway, most girls I meet just pick at their food, if they eat anything at all.”

Reaching for my milkshake, I gave him a look.

“I like food,” I admitted. “I’m not going to stop eating what I enjoy to impress some guy.”

“Exactly my point. I like that.”

I smiled and tilted my head. “What else do you like?”

Harry bit into his burger and thought for a moment. “I like that you still have all your records alphabetized. And I like how you usually have the news playing low on the telly when we’re chatting on the phone, but you turn it off after the weather.”

Nearly choking on my milkshake, I laughed. “I didn’t know you noticed that.”

“Mmhmm. And I like how whenever you’re wanting me to kiss you, you lick your lips and then bite your bottom one.”

“Get out! I do not!” I argued, poking him in the arm.

“Yeah, you do,” Harry chuckled, his eyes dancing. “It drives me wild.”

I stared at him incredulously, my jaw wide open. Then I sat back, biting into my own cheeseburger as I tried not to show my embarrassment. Hall and Oates weren’t helping though, as their words played through the speakers.

“If you wanna know what the reason is I only smile when I lie, then I’ll tell you why…”

“I embarrassed you, baby,” Harry said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” I lied, turning my head to look out the window.

“Sky,” Harry pleaded, a laugh in his tone, “Baby, come ‘ere.”

He set his burger down on the dash and reached for me. I looked at my lap as he tugged on my arm.

“I feel so exposed,” I whined.

Harry laughed harder until I finally looked at him.

“Baby. It’s sexy as hell. Don’t be ashamed.”

“I honestly wasn’t aware I do that,” I admitted, pushing my hair behind my ear.

“Even better. Hopefully, that means you only do that for me.”

“I must do it a lot then,” I grinned as I turned towards him. “Because I always want you to kiss me.”

“Yeah?,” Harry beamed, his hand on my cheek. “See how lucky I am?”

“Because your kiss is on my list Of the best things in life…”

I caught myself biting my lip as Harry chuckled low. Then he leaned in to kiss me.

“Another thing I like about you…” he added. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re embarrassed.”

The next few days were long and uneventful as I didn’t see Harry at all. He continued to call me every night, but he got busy with Mitch and Irving, trying out potential new band members. He said so far he thought he might have a bassist, but hadn’t found the perfect drummer yet.

Donna continued to tease me at work, catching me daydreaming when I should have been filing. I finally told her I had been seeing that old friend, that things were going well, and that his name was Harry.

“Are you bringing him to the Christmas party?” she asked me. “I’d love to meet him.”

“Oh. I don’t know…” I muttered. “I haven’t asked him yet.”

“Mary! Why the heck not?”

The truth was, I hadn’t thought to ask him. I supposed even I thought of him as a rockstar, and not someone who went to office holiday parties.

I shrugged. “Just hasn’t come up yet.”

Donna laughed. “You better ask him soon. It’s next Saturday. And they need a headcount by Friday.”

“Damn,” I cringed. “That came up fast.”

“Well, you’ve had your head in the clouds, little lovebird. It’s no wonder.”

That night I anxiously anticipated Harry’s call. I wondered how I would bring it up, and what his reaction might be.

“Hey babe, I can’t talk long,” he said as soon as I picked up the phone. “We’re taking a break from rehearsing, but I wanted to make sure I called you before you fell asleep.”

“Oh…well that’s sweet,” I commented, a little ashamed that I’d been annoyed he hadn’t called sooner. The news was almost over.

“I think we may have found our drummer,” he continued. “His name’s Bret, and he’s wicked good.”

“That’s great news.”

“Yeah. Irving thinks we can get into the studio next week. And he’s already talking to Carl about booking us for a gig.”

“Carl?” I asked.

“The manager from the club Friday night.”

“Oh. Fantastic!”

“Yeah. Anyway, I just wanted to hear your voice. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, Harry, about that…” I started.

I could hear some voices in the background and Harry mumbled something.

“Sorry, love, I didn’t catch that. Mitch was saying something to me.”

“It’s nothing really important,” I said stoically. “I just…my office is having a Christmas party, and I wondered if you’d like to go with me.”

“Oh. Yeah. When is it?”

“Next Saturday,” I replied, talking fast. “The nineteenth. You don’t have to, it’s just…I have to let my boss know by Friday if I’m a plus one. And since…I uh, well…since you’re my boyfriend I thought it might be fun. But you know…you don’t have to.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like to.”

I thought my heart might fly right out of my chest. “Really? I know you’re busy getting your band together and everything, I-”

“Baby, I want to go. Like you said, I’m your boyfriend now. I should do boyfriend things.”

“Well, I don’t want you to feel obligated,” I said, trying not to sound cynical.

Harry chuckled. “Sky, I want to go with you. Next Saturday?”

“Yes,” I smiled.

“You got it, baby. I’ll be there.”

“Okay. Great.” If I could have, I would have leaped through the phone and hugged him. “It’s at the Westin Bonaventure Hotel. I’ve never been there, but I’m excited.”

“Sounds wonderful, babe. I do have to go now though, okay?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Have fun rehearsing.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

For some reason, I felt a little empty sadness when I hung up the phone. I was thrilled Harry had agreed to go with me to the party. I was also happy that his career was taking off again. So, why did I feel sad?

Chalking it up to the fact that I was used to having hour-long conversations with him each night and I missed his touch, I decided to practice guitar for a little while before getting into bed.

“I have my own life And I am stronger than you know…”

I sang along as I played the second song I had been working on recently before Harry and I had reconnected. It was strange how fitting the lyrics had become. In the last year or so, since Alan and I had broken up, I had convinced myself that I was an independent woman, and that I didn’t need anyone else. But now Harry had returned, and in just a week, my life had turned upside down.

“Still I carry this feeling When you walked into my house That you won’t be walking out the door…”

Even with Harry’s declaration of feelings for me, and wanting to be mine, I couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same as I did. Did he feel like Don Henley when he sang his words to Stevie Nicks? Was this a forever thing to him, or would he change his mind?

“Guess what, baby!” Harry sounded excited on the phone the next evening. It was Thursday and I was in the kitchen cooking dinner.

“What?” I asked, mimicking his tone.

“The new band is official! We’re booked for Saturday!”

“Wow, that was quick,” I said.

“Yeah, well, once we found Bret, things moved pretty fast. We sound great, really tight. And Carl wants our first gig to be at his club.”

“Oh.”

“He wanted next Saturday, but I told him I couldn’t, I have other plans. So Irving pulled some strings and got us in this weekend.”

My jaw dropped. “You…told him you have other plans…because of me?”

“Well, yeah, Sky. I mean, I didn’t tell him what it was for, just that I had a prior commitment. But…you’re my girl, and I know it’s important to you.”

A tear trickled down my cheek before I could stop it.

“Babe? Are you there?”

Sniffling, I wiped my cheek. “That’s really sweet of you, Harry. But you shouldn’t give up your chances for me.”

“Hey, I’m not giving up anything. It worked out. Everyone wins.”

“Yeah but…” I gulped. “What if something even bigger comes up that you can’t get out of? I can’t expect you to change your plans for me.”

“Baby,” Harry chuckled. “What’s all this about? We’re not talking about anything huge. If something else comes up down the line, we’ll work it out okay? Let’s just be happy.”

I sighed. “You’re right. I’m being ridiculous and ungrateful. And unsupportive. What kind of girlfriend am I?”

Harry giggled and I thought my heart would burst. “You're mine, and that’s all that matters.”

“No, it’s not,” I smiled. “I’m so happy for you, Harry.”

“Thanks, love. So, will you come Saturday and cheer from the front row?”

“Of course,” I laughed.

“Good. See if Halo can come too. Like old times.”

“Good idea.”

“So tomorrow…I’d love to see you, but we need to rehearse. Get the loose ends tied and all that.”

“I understand,” I said, even though I was dying to be with him.

“If it’s not too late when we finish, I’ll ring you, yeah?”

“Even if it is late,” I argued. “I don’t mind.”

After dinner, I phoned Halo to see if she’d like to join me on Saturday.

“Oh, hell yeah!” she practically screeched in my ear. “It’ll be like old times!”

“That’s what Harry said,” I laughed.

“Except I won’t be sleeping with Mitch.”

“Yeah, that’s what you say,” I scoffed.

“No, I mean it. I’m done with musicians. Besides, I heard he’s dating some model.”

“Oh,” I muttered. “I didn’t know that.”

“But hey, this is perfect. If you’re not busy, let’s do some shopping before we go out.”

“That sounds great,” I said. Halo and I hadn’t spent an entire day together in a long time. I missed her company.

“I’m so happy for you, Sky. For you and Harry. It’s like it was meant to be.”

I hung up the phone with another tear on my cheek, but it was a happy one. Maybe Halo was right. Maybe this time, I thought, I could be lucky enough to get everything I wanted.

The knock at the door woke me, but I thought I was dreaming. Rubbing my eyes, however, I heard it again. Switching on my lamp, I grabbed my robe and nervously tiptoed to the front door.

“Who is it?” I called.

“It’s me, baby.”

“Harry?”

Opening the door, I let the chain catch. I could make out his face in the dim light before I unhooked the chain and let him in.

“What are you doing here?” I breathed as he pulled me into a hug.

“I wanted to see you.”

“What time is it?” I ran my hand through my hair.

“A little after two. I’m sorry. You said I could call if it was late, but I had to be with you.”

“Oh!” I gasped just before he kissed me.

His clothes and hair felt cold from the night air, but his mouth was warm. I involuntarily moaned against his lips, sliding my hands down his chest.

“I missed you,” I whispered.

“Oh, baby, you have no idea,” Harry groaned.

I quickly shut the door and replaced the chain, then I started to pull Harry toward the bedroom.

“Do you need anything?” I asked, stopping in the hallway. “Something to drink?”

“Just you,” he replied, pushing me the rest of the way to my bed.

I watched Harry remove his jacket and shoes while I took off my robe. Then he pulled off his t-shirt and jeans, eyeing me with a smirk.

“Quite a change from the yellow pajamas,” he commented, lacing his fingers through the strap of my silky nightgown.

“I still can’t believe you remember those.”

“I remember everything, my love. I told you.”

I sighed when his lips met my neck. He tenderly kissed me as he let my strap fall off my shoulder, his hand cupping my breast.

“I guess that means we should start making new memories,” I managed to say between breaths.

“That’s the plan,” declared Harry as he let the other strap fall and I stepped out of my gown.

“Good,” I agreed, joining him on the bed. His warm mouth quickly started a trail down my throat to my chest while his hand touched me where I ached for him the most. “Because…I never wanna forget how amazing this feels.”

Songs mentioned:

Hall & Oates - Kiss on My List

Stevie Nicks - Leather & Lace (with Don Henley)

A/N: This was somewhat of a filler chapter to really set off the stuff coming :).

Taglist: @fkinavocado, @daphnesutton, @freedomfireflies

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

29 notes · View notes