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alexandralyman · 4 days

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Frankie Morales x Reader fic

A little "friends with benefits" Frankie fic for my partner in crime @meanderingcaptainswanmusings - who loves Frankie Morales like I love Dave York!

Summary: You and Frankie are friends. Just friends and nothing more. But after a bad breakup with your dickhead ex and a failed attempt at a Tinder hookup, you find yourself on Frankie's doorstep one Saturday night in a bodycon dress and fuck-me heels. Turns out, Frankie is more than willing to oblige. After all, what are friends for?

8,221 words, rated E for general sexytimes and Frankie's skill with his mouth. AO3 link here

Hope you Frankie fans enjoy!

Frankie With Benefits

You step out of the Uber, muttering your thanks to the driver while closing the door with your phone already in hand to give him five stars and a good tip despite your foul mood. It wasn’t his fault that your date was such a disaster after all, plus he didn’t try to make small talk and played good music instead of some douchey podcast. You can still hear the faint Cuban rhythms as he drives off into the sultry Florida night, it’s both hot and humid as per usual and the contrast between the ice-cold AC in the car to the nearly triple-digit temps outside is a shock to your system that distracts you from noticing something is off until it’s too late.

”Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

While the building in front of you is very familiar, it’s decidedly not your apartment complex. Your plans of changing out of your tight dress and fuck-me heels into some ratty old pjs and killing the bottle of wine chilling away in your fridge while you delete Tinder for good because men fucking suck has just been thrown a major curveball. You open Uber back up to check your ride history and squint at the screen through the false eyelashes that took forever to put on, realizing with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that you must have tapped on the wrong destination when you left the bar in such a rush while telling your date where to shove it. That’s the only explanation as to why you’re not currently looking at your front entrance.

You’re looking directly at Frankie’s house instead.

Fuck.

Standing at the end of his driveway feeling very self-conscious in your bodycon dress with your driver already long gone, you go to book a new ride so you can slip away before any of Frankie’s nosy neighbors start to wonder about the woman loitering on their quiet little street in an outfit that’s decidedly not “family friendly.” Or worse, before Frankie sees you. A minute ticks by, then two, and no drivers pop up, not even with ridiculous surge pricing that you’ll gladly pay just to get home.

“C’mon, c’mon. Ugh!”

You finally give up as the streets nearby stay frustratingly empty on the little map, stuffing your phone into your purse with a sigh and turning to face Frankie’s house. His living room light is on so he’s obviously home and not out with the guys tonight, you can see the soft yellow glow through the curtains like a beacon offering safe harbor after a shitty evening.

It’s Frankie. If you can’t be alone in your apartment drowning your sorrows in grocery store wine, there’s really nowhere else you’d rather be.

“He needs to resurface his driveway,” you mutter under your breath as you carefully pick your way up the asphalt towards his front door. You’re certainly not wobbling with every step because you wore stilettos that make your butt look great but you can’t actually walk properly in. That’s your story and you’re sticking to it. You manage to make it all the way without breaking an ankle, knocking and wondering if it would be less embarrassing to head barefoot to the bus stop at the corner instead of admitting why you’re here. But before you can kick them off and make a break for it Frankie answers, blinking in confusion when he sees you standing on his doorstep in a dress with a neckline that plunges more than an Olympic diver and shoes that cost half a month’s rent, feeling like a complete idiot.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up to scratch behind his neck as he takes you in with those dark, expressive eyes of his. “Um…did we have plans tonight, or something?

He stares openly at your cleavage for a moment before his gaze snaps back up to your face with a sheepish look. If it was any other man you’d be annoyed, but Frankie has never ogled or leered at you in all the time you’ve been friends, and you did just show up unannounced at his door with your tits on full display, after all. You don’t mind if he takes a peek, someone might as well get to appreciate them tonight.

“No,” you reassure him. “Can I come in? I just bailed on a shitty date and must have accidentally picked your address when I ordered an Uber instead of mine. I tried to book another one to take me home but there’s no drivers around right now.”

Frankie nods. “Sure, sure, of course,” he says, shuffling aside to let you in and closing the door behind you with a soft click. You kick off your heels with a sigh because it would be rude to wear them in his house and not because they’re absolutely killing your feet, letting them tangle with his sneakers and already feeling a little better.

“Mi casa et su casa,” he adds with a gallant sweep of his arm once you’re safely inside.

You’ve spent a decent amount of time at Casa Morales since you first met Frankie a few years ago and quickly became friends with him, coming over for everything from backyard BBQs with his Delta Force buddies and their families, to movie nights on his couch just the two of you, to hauling your laundry over in his truck when the machines in your building went out of order again and he insisted that you use his instead of spending money at a laundromat. You know your way around his place. His house is small, but it’s bright and airy just like the ones you sigh over while browsing Zillow in your apartment, and while Frankie’s life can be messy at times (mainly thanks to said Delta Force buddies, Santiago Garcia in particular) he keeps his home neat and tidy and welcoming. When you go into the living room there’s nothing out of place, just a half-eaten bowl of chips and a bottle of beer on the coffee table. On a coaster, no less. The TV is still on, he was obviously enjoying a quiet night in for one when you crashed his evening in a dress that revealed more than it covered and shoes your credit card and arches were both still recovering from.

He follows you in, his presence at your back familiar and comforting despite your current “men fucking suck” state of mind. Frankie’s the lone exception at the moment.

“I’d drive you home but I’ve already had a few beers tonight. Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

You wave off the apology in his voice. “It’s fine, I’ll just give it a few minutes and book another ride.”

“Uh, about that….”

You turn and look at him, confused. He gives you a “don’t shoot the messenger” look with both hands raised and nods towards the TV.

“The game just finished. All the Uber drivers are going to be down at the stadium by now.”

“Son of a bitch,” you swear, closing your eyes in frustration. You couldn’t have picked a worse night to get stranded without a ride, everyone within a twenty mile radius of the stadium knows it’s impossible to get an Uber after any big event. Frankie knows it, you know it, you just didn’t plan on your date being a lying asshole and having to compete with twenty thousand sportsball fans for a lift home. That’s it, you were done with dating apps for good, if you hadn’t downloaded Tinder again you could be at home in bed right now having a threesome with your wine and your vibrator and as a bonus your feet wouldn’t hurt.

Yeah, you’re pretty sure you have a few blisters. The damn shoes were just like men, looked so great at first and then rubbed you in all the wrong places.

“Sooooo,” Frankie drawls when you flop down ungracefully on his couch, eyeing you carefully from his tactical position behind the coffee table. “You were on a date tonight? I thought you said you’d given up on dating after Dickface McDickhead….oh fuck, please tell me you’re not back together with that asshole again?”

His nickname for your ex always makes you snort. Frankie was never his biggest fan. He wasn’t Frankie’s either, hating the fact that you two were such good friends. When you finally broke up with him for good, Frankie threw a BBQ the following weekend and grilled you the best steak you’d ever eaten with a huge smile on his face.

”What are we celebrating?” Santi asked when he arrived, putting down the beer he’d brought and eyeing the streamers and balloons decorating Frankie’s backyard in confusion.

“The fact that I won’t go to jail for throwing trash out of my helicopter,” Frankie said.

Santi stared blankly at him. “The fuck are you on about, Fish?”

Frankie just grinned at you over Santi’s shoulder while you rolled your eyes and grabbed one of the drinks. He even had a party hat perched jauntily on top of his ballcap, and a piñata hanging up in the yard, “for the kids”.

You took a few good swings at it with the bat he handed you while picturing your ex’s face on the paper-mache.

The mere thought of getting back with Drew, aka Dickface, makes you shudder. “No, I’m not back with him, and I’m still done with dating.”

You swipe some chips out of the bowl and tuck your legs under you, ignoring how high it makes your dress ride up your thighs with only a token effort to tug it back down.

“You’re done with dating, but you were out on a date? Little confused here.”

Frankie sits down on the other end of the couch, muting the post-game recap on the TV and turning so that he’s facing you. He’s all casual in jeans and a faded T-shirt that stretches over his broad shoulders when he twists, hair falling on his forehead in a mop of messy curls without his usual hat to cover them. You should feel out of place in your sexy little dress, full-glam makeup and the “effortless beachy waves” that took you an hour, three different tutorials and a whole fucking lot of effort to achieve, but you’re far more comfortable here with him than you were with the man you ditched back at the trendy bar full of wannabe influencers with insanely overpriced cocktails. Comfortable enough to tell him the truth, with a little help from the tequila in the deconstructed margaritas that you drank.

“It was supposed to be a hookup,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks go warm in a combination of embarrassment and alcohol.

His eyes go wide at that and he lets out a little cough of surprise. “That explains the dress,” he says, glancing down at it again before quickly looking back up at your face.

You wave a hand up and down yourself. “Dress, shoes, lip gloss,” you list off, not mentioning the rather skimpy new underwear that you’re one wrong move away from flashing him with. “I was tired of sitting home alone on Saturday nights, you know?”

”Hey!” he protests, and you duck your head with a wince. It’s Saturday night and he was sitting home alone until you showed up.

“Sorry. No offense, Frankie.”

“None taken, cariño. But only because it’s you.”

The casual endearment makes you feel even warmer, or maybe it’s just the Patrón you downed before leaving Mr. Talk, Dark, and Liar Liar Pants on Fire back at the bar hitting your system.

“Deconstructed margarita” your ass, it was a shot of triple sec and a shot of tequila with a hideous up charge, and they didn’t even include the lime.

You could leave it at that, suggest watching a shitty Netflix movie to pass the time until you can finally book an Uber and go home to change into something that isn’t squeezing your ribs into new and interesting positions and drink the finest chardonnay Publix had for under ten dollars. Frankie won’t push, won’t judge, you’ve been friends long enough to know that. You’ve seen each other through various highs and lows over the years, he was the first person you called when you got a promotion that you’d worked your ass off for, and when he found out his ex-fiancée was getting married you were the one who picked him up at the bar where he was drowning his sorrows and brought him home to drunkenly cry on your shoulder until he passed out.

If there’s anyone in the world who you can trust with this, it’s him.

“Those last few months with You Know Who,” you start, meaning your ex and not Voldemort despite their many similarities, “we were fighting like all the time. I knew deep down our relationship had become this flaming dumpster fire, but for some stupid reason I kept splashing water on it trying to put it out instead of walking away. And then we had the worst fight ever, and he said…he said-”

You could really do with another shot of tequila for some liquid courage right now. You settle for drinking the last of Frankie’s beer instead while he watches you carefully, tipping the bottle back to get every drop and then setting it down on the coaster with an audible thump.

“-he said I was a frigid bitch in bed and he would have better sex fucking a blow up doll instead of me. That’s what finally did it, I told him we were over. He tried to apologize and begged for another chance, but I just kept hearing it over and over again in my head and I was done. Finally done.”

A muscle ticks in Frankie’s jaw like the countdown clock on a bomb, you can see it even through the scruff of his patchy beard. He glances away for a second and you see his eyes close while he mutters under his breath in Spanish too soft and too fast for you to understand before his gaze snaps back to yours.

“I take it back, he’s not a dickhead,” he says, sounding completely calm. “That’s an insult to actual dickheads. And he’s going to be lucky if he can still run his mouth like that once I’ve knocked out all his teeth.”

Even though he’s ex-military Frankie has never been one for that bullshit macho posturing, which is one of the things you like so much about him. He breaks up bar fights, he doesn’t start them. To see him now, so calm and collected but with such an intense expression and not a hint on his face that he’s kidding or exaggerating, it sends a jolt right through you. His threat to your dickhead of an ex-boyfriend shouldn’t be so sexy, but….

Damn.

You reach out and flick him lightly on the shoulder. “He’s not worth it, and I really don’t want to have to bail your ass out of jail at three in the morning again, Morales.”

“Hey, that was one time!” he protests, adding in a mumble. “And it was Santi’s dumb idea.”

His annoyed pout just makes you laugh, shaking your head at how closely he resembles his namesake when he juts his lower lip out like that. Cutest catfish ever.

“So,” he drawls, after you stop chuckling, “since you didn’t go back to that asshole, thank fuck, then who was the lucky guy tonight? Or unlucky guy, since you ditched him for far better company.”

You shrug, plucking idly at the fabric of your dress. “Just someone I matched with on Tinder. I really wanted to prove Dickface wrong, you know? That I wasn’t uptight and sucked in bed. Swiped right on someone who didn’t have a douchey shirtless mirror selfie in his profile, we met for drinks and everything was going great until a text popped up on his phone while he was showing me a picture of his dog. From his wife.”

Frankie winces. “Seriously?”

The notification lingered on the screen while he frantically tried to swipe it away, not that it would do any good. You were a fast reader, you’d already read the whole thing.

“Yeah. Letting him know there were leftovers waiting for him in the fridge when he got home from work, with a bunch of kiss emojis and a ‘love you babe’. He tried to do the whole, ‘it’s not what you think, we have an open marriage’ bullshit, which sure, I bet he does, so I told him to call his wife and put her on speaker so we could clear that right up.”

“That’s my girl,” Frankie grins.

The praise flows through you like the tequila, remembering how your date went pale as a ghost while you stared him down and his immediate attempts to backpedal.

“Obviously he suddenly had a million reasons why he couldn’t, so I stuck him with the bill and left. Hope he had the decency to tip, at least.”

You let your head fall back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The adrenaline rush you’ve been riding since you told off Dickhead McDickface the Second and stormed out of the bar on your fuck-me heels is wearing off. You got fucked all right, fucked over.

“I really can pick em, can’t I?” you ask, a rhetorical question if ever there was one. “Went from one asshole to another. A married asshole, no less.”

There’s a rustle of movement to your left and a touch to your shoulder that makes you turn your head to see Frankie has shifted closer to you on the couch and tilted his head to match the angle of yours while he brushes his knuckles lightly down your arm.

“Hey, do you remember that woman I went on a first date with last year who brought her fifteen year old brother along? And we were supposed to see Poor Things? Who brings their brother on a date, let alone to a movie with that many sex scenes? Really, really, explicit sex scenes?”

You do remember, thanks to the texts he sent you with increasing speed until he was blowing up your phone and you’d barely finished one before the next popped up.

She brought her kid with her?

Wait, not her kid, it’s her brother.

Dude’s like 13, what the hell?????

Okay, apparently he’s 15 he’s just “short”. THAT’S NOT THE POINT!!!!!!!

WE’RE SEEING POOR THINGS??!!!!!

WHAT?

WTF?????????

PLEASE TELL ME THERE’S ANOTHER MOVIE WITH THE SAME TITLE THAT DOESN’T HAVE NAKED EMMA STONE IN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fuck, what do I do?

This is so fucking weird!!!!!!!! SHE BROUGHT HER BROTHER TO THE WEIRD NAKED EMMA STONE SEX MOVIE!!!!!!!!! HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

His bewilderment came right through the screen with the increasing number of exclamation points and the memory makes you giggle. You still can’t think of Poor Things as anything except The Weird Naked Emma Stone Sex Movie thanks to Frankie.

“See?” he says with a smile, “I can’t pick ‘em either. First date was over before the movie even started and I’d already spent like fifty bucks on popcorn and drinks. Still follow her brother on Instagram though, he’s cool.”

You laugh even harder at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Dating suuuucks,” you whine in your best angsty teenager impression.

“It sucks so much,” Frankie agrees. “Fuck that married guy. Wait, no, don’t fuck that married guy.”

Now you’re both laughing, so close to each other on the couch that you’re practically touching at the knees. You think to yourself that Frankie has such a nice smile, none of that closed-mouth, thin-lipped thing some guys do as if smiling is an affront to their manhood. Frankie’s smile takes over his whole face, his eyes going squinty and crinkling adorably at the corners.

“I promise I won’t fuck that married guy,” you swear with mock solemnity, crossing your fingers over your heart like a Boy Scout when you finally stop laughing. You let your hand drop to the cushion in between the two of you and close your eyes with a sigh. “Even though I really, really, really need to get laid.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth you freeze, scarcely daring to breathe even as you’re sure you hear a sharp inhale from Frankie at the unguarded confession. He’s so close to you on the couch. So close.

When you gather the courage to open your eyes and meet his dark gaze the air around you has changed, heavy with the weight of what you just said. Neither one of you moves to put a platonic distance back between you like so many other evenings on this couch when you get too close, sharing pizza and drinks and conversation for hours.

Maybe it wasn’t such an accident that you ended up here, with him, tonight.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he asks in a voice so low and thick with promise that it makes your stomach flip and a sharp throb hits you even lower down.

“Anything?” you repeat, your own voice higher than normal. Is he really offering that?

Frankie picks up your hand from where it lays on the couch, lifting it and keeping your eyes locked while he raises it to his mouth and brushes a slow, deliberate kiss along the back that makes you shiver as every last nerve ending rises to attention and begs for more.

“Anything,” he murmurs against your skin. “Say the word.”

His large thumb strokes over the fluttering pulse in your wrist, back and forth, back and forth, while his heavy-lidded eyes stare into yours.

You can’t say you’ve never thought about it, because you definitely have. Frankie’s stupidly attractive, with those thick curls that always escape out from under his baseball caps and his Roman coin profile. But when you first met he was still with his ex, and then he was single but you weren’t, the timing never quite working out for anything between you except friendship and nothing else. Hell, by now he’s pretty much your best friend, the one you would call if you needed to bury a body knowing he’d bring the shovel. There’s no one else you trust as much as Frankie Morales, and there’s no one else you want as much as you want him, right here, right now.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, saying the words you always wanted to say to him.

He shuffles closer, his other hand sliding behind your neck as he brings your lips together. It’s a little clumsy at first, your nose bumping his before he fits his mouth to yours. You feel his fingers press to the nape of your neck and the brush of his knee against your while he kisses you carefully, so soft and sweet and gentle.

At first.

Heat washes over you and it’s all because of Frankie, his kiss turning hot and hungry and demanding. You gasp into his mouth and kiss him back just as eagerly, hands fisting in his T-shirt to pull him closer. He makes a low noise in the back of his throat that you can practically feel, a sexy cross between a groan and a grunt, and pulls away from your mouth far too soon. But before you can protest the loss with more than a pout and pull him back, he’s dusting more kisses under the hinge of your jaw and along your neck, mapping a hot trail down the wide swath of bare skin your dress reveals between your breasts and nuzzling his face right into your cleavage. His hands go to your hips, bunching the fabric and pulling it up impatiently to your waist as he moves even lower. Everything happens so fast that it makes your head spin far more than the tequila and you lean back on the couch for support with your chest heaving and groping for any part of him you can reach. Frankie kneels on the floor, pulling your new underwear off as he goes and you lift your hips to help with anticipation pooling low in your stomach at the realization of what he’s planning to do.

He spreads your thighs apart and looks down between them at where you’re now completely bare and practically dripping with a rush of arousal. His gaze is dark, hungry, a look like nothing you’ve ever seen before on his face replacing his usual easygoing expression.

“She’s fucking gorgeous,” he says in that low voice, staring straight at your pussy. “All pink and perfect and needy for some attention, isn’t she? Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna take very good care of her.”

The breath catches in your throat at that, more than a little shocked by the filthy promise in his words. No man you’ve ever been with has ever said anything remotely like that. Your nipples are firm points against your dress and you must be glistening with how wet you already are. Frankie kisses your inner thigh and mumbles, “lie back a little more for me,” while pulling gently on your hips to position you the way he wants. You’re not about to refuse him anything at this point and you slide lower, feeling your dress ride up even more as you do. While you’re not fully naked yet you feel so exposed, lying with your legs wide open on the same couch where you’ve watched so many bad movies and argued over words while playing Scrabble, because military acronyms don’t fucking count, Catfish! Now he’s nestled between your bare thighs with his wide shoulders wedging them apart and you wonder dimly why you spent all that time not doing this, his insanely kissable mouth so close to your pussy that you can feel his warm breath when he exhales. It makes you tremble with anticipation and Frankie looks up, his eyes meeting yours with an unspoken question behind them. You nod, answering without words. You want this.

He licks you, a slow, broad swipe with the flat of his tongue that has your head falling back and your legs spreading shamelessly wider. Then he does it again, and again, and again, burying his face so deep that you wonder vaguely how he’s even managing to breathe. He doesn’t come up for air anytime soon, holding you firm against his mouth with his hands wrapped around your thighs and seeking out every last spot that makes you writhe and grind against him with moans and cries that you can’t hold back spilling from your lips. It’s loud, both the noises you make and the wet sound of him eating you out like you’re a feast and he’s been starved for days. Frankie makes his tongue a firm point and thrusts it inside you while keeping you spread, the feeling so intimate and erotic that your clit throbs and you absently cup a breast to ease the ache in your stiff nipple. He fucks you with his tongue a few times before he gives you another one of those long, slow licks that go the full length from bottom to top and he zeroes in on your needy clit as if he had a map leading him right to it. You feel his lips close around the swollen bud with a hard suck that has you squeezing your breast with one hand and sinking the other into his messy curls.

“Oh fuck,” you manage to gasp, “Frankie, it’s so good. So good.”

He finally pulls back long enough to rasp, “I want you to come all over my face, baby,” before diving back in. You feel the prod of a thick finger against your dripping entrance, slipping in easily and soon it’s moving in tandem with the flick of his tongue over your clit. The dual sensation makes you whimper, tugging on his hair to urge him closer and rocking your hips. Another finger joins the first, stretching you even more and pressing along your velvety inner walls until he suddenly curls them and hits that spot, the one you almost forgot was there. He strokes it and it’s nothing but bone-melting, toe-curling pleasure that builds and builds relentlessly under your skin until there’s nowhere else for it to go.

You cry out, your climax hitting with the force of a tidal wave and crashing over you. Frankie groans, a low rumble coming from his position between your legs as he clearly feels it in the squeeze around his fingers and the rush of more hot arousal that makes you even wetter and slicker. He rubs it all over his face just like he wanted, his fingers pumping in a lazy rhythm in and out of you until it’s finally over and you’re left limp and boneless on his couch with your dress bunched to your waist and one strap hanging off your shoulder. You’re not sure exactly how you ended up like this, from knocking on his door ready to swear off men forever less than an hour ago to half-naked and panting from the best orgasm you’ve had since….ever. When you manage to lift your head from the cushion to look at him his expression is just as dazed as yours must be even as his lips gleam and his cheeks and chin are damp with you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his chest heaving under his T-shirt like he just ran a marathon. “Fuck, are you okay? Was that okay?”

Even with the AC blasting there’s still not enough air in the room, it takes you a moment to find some so you can answer him. “Yeah….yeah, I’m okay. It’s okay.”

Okay is an understatement, you don’t even smoke and yet you’re ready for a cigarette now. You don’t even make any move to tug your dress down and cover yourself, one leg still loosely propped on Frankie’s shoulder. He rubs a soothing hand on your thigh and carefully dislodges it so he can stand up, revealing the prominent bulge in his jeans that’s now perfectly at your eye level. Your pussy clenches and throbs at the sight, he got that hard just from going down on you? He follows your gaze and smirks a little when he sees where you’re looking, brushing his hand against his fly.

“All for you, baby,” he says, and reaches to pull you to your feet. “Not on the couch though. Bedroom. I want you in my bed.”

Bed, couch, floor, you really don’t care and you’re already fumbling with his belt buckle and tugging his T-shirt out of his jeans. You drag your nails along the sensitive skin of his stomach right above his waistband and relish the way it makes him shudder, the muscles contracting under your touch. When you look up again he immediately swoops down and kisses you, this time with the taste of you still clinging to his lips and your scent all over his face. It’s raw and messy, tongues and teeth and the little sound of triumph you make when you finally get his belt open. You feel him smile against your mouth while he starts to walk backwards and you have to follow him to work on your next goal, getting his T-shirt off. He’s leading you towards his bedroom, and thank God his house is a bungalow so you don’t have to waste time going up stairs. All that’s between the two of you and his bed is a hallway, and it might as well be one of those funhouse corridors at the county fair with the way you’re both bumping against the walls and tripping over your own feet trying to navigate it. Frankie unabashedly gropes your ass with those large hands of his while he kisses you, not paying attention to where he’s going and knocking pictures on the wall askew with his shoulders. You keep tugging and pulling at his T-shirt, trying to get it off and thwarted by the fact that he won’t let go of your butt long enough to lift his arms.

“Frankie,” you whine against his mouth, shoving fistfuls of cotton up his back, “off!”

He finally pulls back and yanks the shirt over his head with enough force that you’re sure he just completely stretched out the neck, tossing it aside without bothering to see where it lands. The warm expanse of his broad chest presses against you almost immediately, with what feels like miles and miles of bare skin under your exploring hands. His lips fasten to your neck and you tilt your head back, holding onto his shoulders for dear life while he sucks hard enough to leave a mark. You’ll have to cover it before work on Monday, but, fuck it. That’s what concealer is for. If he wants to cover you in hickies like you’re teenagers having their first makeout session, you’ll let him. You’ll let him do whatever he wants at this point.

“Hang on.”

“It’s the only warning you get before he hauls you up with his hands under your thighs, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. He carries you the last few steps into the bedroom and closes the door with a kick of his foot that makes it slam shut. The sound makes you start before you grin down at him.

“Impatient, much?”

“To have you in my bed at last?” he says, matching your grin with his own goofy smile. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

You can take the man out of the military but you can’t take the military out of the man, Frankie’s bed is made with such sharp precision that it seems a shame to mess it up.

Almost.

The mattress dips when he sets you down, knocking a pillow aside and the duvet no longer perfectly crisp at the edges. You go up on your knees while he stands next to the bed, reaching for where his belt hangs open and using it to tug him closer. It doesn’t take much work to pop open the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down, the sound of the metal teeth parting shockingly loud against the quiet of the room. You reach a hand in and feel the heat of his skin even through the soft material of his underwear, while he stands as still as a statue except for the rise and fall of his chest. He lets you touch and explore and you trace the very long and thick outline of his erection as it twitches and presses eagerly against your hand. Fuck, Frankie is big. The kind of big that’s going to stretch you so deliciously. The kind of big that you’re going to feel the day after. Maybe even longer.

And it’s all yours tonight.

His jeans are quickly joined on the floor by your dress, as you go from bodycon to full frontal. You might have been nervous about finally getting completely naked, if it wasn’t for the unexpected sight of the pattern on his boxer-briefs.

“Frankie,” you laugh, “you actually have fish themed underwear?”

Sure enough, there’s several different types of fish swimming around on the fabric, including his whiskered namesake. When you look back up from the cartoon catfish smiling jauntily across his groin you can see that his ears have gone bright red in embarrassment.

“It was a gag gift from the guys,” he mumbles, not meeting your eyes, “they’re really comfortable, and well, I wasn’t exactly expecting to take my pants off in front of anyone tonight, you know.”

You rest your hands on the waistband and trace a nail along the bare skin just above, trying and failing to stifle the urge to giggle.

“Wanna put your pants back on then?” you ask, teasing the sensitive spot below his navel.

“Fuck no.”

His lips crash back down on yours again, his arms circling your waist. The Finding Nemo joke you were about to make is immediately forgotten as you blindly peel the boxers off, letting the school of fish puddle at his feet and immediately get kicked away. You wrap a hand around his cock, so long and thick that it makes you ache with the thought of having it inside you. God, you need this. You need him.

Frankie lets out a deep groan against your mouth when you start to stroke, dragging your hand up and down the length of him from root to tip and back again. You rub your thumb over the sensitive head and twist your fingers under the crown, teasing out all the sensitive spots and figuring out what he likes. A hard grip, bordering on rough, has his chest heaving and his hips jerking while his cock throbs in your hand.

“Jesus Christ,” he bites out. “Like that, baby, just like that.”

The sheer unguarded pleasure on his face gives you everything you wanted tonight with your dress and the heels and the lacy underwear. You feel sexy. Desired. Powerful. Able to bring a man to his knees with your touch. Literally, Frankie’s legs start to buckle and he has to brace himself against the bed to stay upright. You keep stroking him until he finally pulls your hand away gently and kisses your open palm before joining you on the bed. He practically jumps onto it in his eagerness, making you bounce with the movement.

“Condom?” he asks, twisting towards his nightstand, “I have some-“

“I’m good,” you interrupt. You want to feel him inside you without that barrier. “I’m on the pill.”

His arm drops from where he was reaching for the drawer. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all month.”

You never would have fucked your Tinder date without a condom, but this is Frankie. Your Frankie. You trust him. He rolls on top of you and your trust only grows when he hesitates, looking down into your eyes.

“Are you absolutely sure about this? We can always stop.”

He pushes a lock of hair out of your face with a gentle touch and you know without a doubt that if you wanted to stop he would without complaint even though he hasn’t come yet. You run your hands up his arms and feel the tension in his biceps, the strain of holding himself back. He’s braced above you, his hair a complete mess, gorgeously naked and hard as a rock, and you are one hundred percent sure about this.

“I don’t wanna stop.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, a perfect fit between your thighs. Frankie angles his hips while he leans down for another kiss and you feel the hot slide of his cock as he finds your entrance with that pilot’s accuracy of his, then the press of the blunt head as he starts to push inside. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you time to adjust to the stretch and burn. And it does burn, in the very best way. It’s been months since you’ve had sex, and far longer since you’ve had good sex, your frustration had built to a fever pitch under your skin and Frankie just lit a match. You both feel it when you open for him fully, that final slide is smooth and easy and he buries himself right to the hilt.

“Fuuuck,” he bites out. “Took me so fucking good, perfect fucking pussy.”

His dick is pretty damn perfect too, in your opinion, filling you up and creating the most delicious friction when he starts to move. You pull his head down for another kiss before he buries his face in your neck and rocks his hips into yours, gradually building the rhythm while you run your hands along his back and feel the muscles ripple and flex with each thrust. It’s everything you needed and more, the thick drag of him inside you has you arching your back and crying out and it only seems to spur him on even more. He plants a knee on the bed and lifts your leg, shifting his hips so that he can go even deeper. You clutch helplessly at his sheets when the tip of his cock finds your sweet spot and make a noise you don’t even recognize, a throaty moan pulls from your throat while your toes curl and your pussy throbs.

“Frankie,” you manage to gasp, clutching both his shoulders and gripping him even tighter from the inside, “oh god, there! Right there!”

“That’s it baby,” he murmurs into your skin. “Come all over my cock.”

He leans over you, thrusting hard and balancing on one hand to reach down with the other so he can work your swollen clit. The first swipe of his fingers on the sensitive bud sends a jolt through your entire body that melts into sheer unadulterated pleasure. With a few more you’re teetering right on the edge, and then Frankie grinds especially deep on his next thrust and presses down hard with his thumb. It grips you and doesn’t let go, your second climax of the night is even stronger than the first and has you squeezing him as if you’re trying to drag him even further inside, contracting along the length of his cock while he grits his teeth and fucks you through it. When the aftershocks finally stop and you relax back into the mattress with a sigh Frankie pulls out, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips and laying down next to you.

It takes you a few moments in your post-orgasmic haze to notice that he’s still hard, his cock is practically flush to his stomach and glistening with your arousal.

“You didn’t?” you ask, confused as you glance down.

He follows your gaze with a strangely bashful look. “Not yet. I want…I want you to ride me.”

That sends another hot rush right between your legs, suddenly wanting it desperately too. You’re not sure if you’re going to be able to walk afterwards, especially not in those stupid heels, but it’s going to be so fucking worth it.

Frankie stretches out fully on the bed, those long legs and broad shoulders taking up so much space on it. Luckily there’s more than enough room for you right there on his lap. You swing a leg over, hands pressing down on his chest for balance while he looks up at you with that crooked grin he always gets when he’s especially pleased about something. A sinful roll of your hips along his thick erection only makes his smile wider when he feels how wet you still are.

“Take me in,” he begs shamelessly, hips moving under you and hands roaming over your skin. “Please, baby.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

It’s another delicious stretch, sliding down his thick erection and feeling him rub you in all sorts of interesting new ways from this angle. Once you’re seated fully you give yourself a moment before you start to move, his heart racing under your palm and his cock held snug and warm deep inside you.

Frankie’s done so much already for you tonight, this is for him. You want to give him just as much pleasure as he gave you, make it just as good for him when you start to roll your hips again to take him in again and again and again. His hands find your thighs and flex against them while he watches with a rapt expression, eyes glued to where you’re joined before looking up to take in the full sight of you riding him just as he wanted.

“Good?” you ask, gasping the word out.

“So fucking good,” he groans. His hips lift under you right as you go down on the next stroke and it’s even better, the way you just fit. You use muscles you didn’t even know you had, increasing your pace and riding him hard. The cords on his neck pop when he throws his head back against the pillow, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring with each exhale of breath. He has to be close, you can sense it in the increasingly desperate noises he makes and the way his fingers dig into your skin as he holds you steady on top of him. Your breasts bounce and your thighs are burning with the effort of maintaining the rhythm but you don’t stop, can’t stop, you need Frankie to fall apart just like he’s done for you twice already. You want to see the look on his face and hear the noises he makes when he comes, adding a circle of your hips that makes his eyes close and his body jerk under you. He feels even harder now, and your legs aren’t the only thing that’s burning. Frankie is hitting every sweet spot inside of you, filling you so deep and full that the familiar prickle and spark is starting again. You weren’t expecting to come for a third time, but then again you weren’t expecting anything else that happened tonight and it’s definitely happening. Frankie thrusts up with a growl, yanking you down on him with the same motion and holding you there while you feel him pulse hot and he lets out a long, loud moan like no other noise he’s made all night. The sound and the sensation make you molten, almost there and even deep in the throes of his own pleasure he reaches for your clit and gives it a pinch that’s all you need to fall over the edge with him. With your hands braced on his chest you throw your head back and let it wash over you while you keep rolling your hips to draw out more and more of those gorgeous sounds out of him until he finally starts to soften. You collapse in a heap on his chest and his arms immediately wrap around you, lips brushing against the top of your head while you bury your face against his sweaty chest and your heartbeats slowly go back to normal.

It’s nice.

It’s more than nice.

You could get used to it.

You can’t. You shouldn’t. You’re just friends.

Friends who just fucked rather spectacularly.

Fuck.

After a few moments you slide off of him to lie on your back, looking up at the ceiling instead of at him. Now things are going to be all weird and awkward and as amazing as the sex was, it wasn’t worth the inevitable end of your friendship. Silence stretches between you and creates more and more space in its wake.

“There’s probably Ubers available now,” you say at last, keeping your gaze away from his face so you don’t see his expression shift from lover to stranger. By the time the driver gets here you’ll have your dress back on and your feet shoved into your shoes and you and Frankie can start pretending this never happened. Maybe that will work.

There’s a snort from next to you. “Yeah. That’s not happening, I’m driving you home tomorrow. After we sleep. And shower. And stop at that diner on 53rd cause I’m gonna need one of those giant lumberjack breakfasts to recover from this.”

You feel yourself flush a bit, as ridiculous as it is considering you’re naked in his bed with “this” still sticky on your inner thighs.

“I’m not going to a diner in that dress,” you say, still looking at the ceiling and adding silently, “or those shoes that could double as torture devices.”

“So you wear one of my T-shirts or something,” Frankie’s voice trails away into a jaw-cracking yawn before he continues, “we’ll figure it out in the morning. Fuck, you really did a number on me.”

Yawning is contagious, you can feel one building and you’re suddenly on the verge of falling asleep thanks to the number he did on you and the incredibly comfortable bed that you never want to leave. Best sex you’ve had in….ever, all thanks to Frankie. But you don’t give in to the urge to just close your eyes and go to sleep, as tempting as it is, turning your head to look at your best friend instead and finding him looking back at you in the dark.

He’s still Frankie. You’re still you.

You’re still friends.

“Frankie? Will we figure…this out in the morning?”

His fingers lace with yours under the blankets and he gives you a soft smile.

“Yeah. We will, baby, I promise.”

When you fall asleep you’re on your side with Frankie plastered to your bare back, his arm firm around your waist like he’s afraid you might try to sneak away in the middle of the night. The thought had occurred to you, to escape all the morning after awkwardness. Frankie isn’t just a hookup or a one-night stand though, he means so much more to you than that. So you lay your hand over his and relax into his embrace with a sigh, wondering as you drift off if he’ll let you borrow his prized vintage AC/DC T-shirt to wear home…..

….and if he’d be up for another round in the shower in the morning.

The answer to both turns out to be a resounding yes.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fic #frankie morales smut #my fic

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charliehoennam · 4 months

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beyond the badge pt. 2

a/n: special thanks to @strangergraphics-archive for the cute divider <3

pairing: david loki x f!reader

summary: his fianceé is abducted and a distraught david realizes some rules must be broken in order to save the one he loves.

warnings: 18+, dark themes such as language, violence, eventual smut, suicide, death, physical injuries, threats, blood and abuse of law enforcement

SHARING IS CARING, SO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

one | three | four | five

David's entire demeanor hardens like stone. His thick brows furrow and his pupils dilate with a controlled madness glooming beyond them.

His posture straightens as his eyes grow dark and determined, instilling fear in his captain, complete with a fleeting chill that runs up his spine. He wonders if this is the final drop that will send David into spiraling chaos.

Taking the bag of newly found evidence along and completely forgetting that he shouldn't, David turns quickly to march back to his car.

A rage-induced adrenaline surges through his veins. He's more than hellbent to continue his own personal investigation, now that he knows where to start.

“Loki, don’t do anything stupid. You gotta be smart here," O'Malley tries to reason, although he's sure David's anger nulls out all the noise around. "Loki, where're you going? Loki!"

He ignores his captain’s orders as he slams his car door shut. The wheels skid loudly as he backs up out of the parking lot and onto the freeway, leaving behind black tire marks on the cold asphalt. O'Malley knows he's up to no good.

He suspects David knows something they don't, which means he's withholding information. So, he calls Loki's phone, but the calls just keep going to voicemail.

As much as David hates to admit it and bend to the will of a criminal, he knows only a deal with the devil can bring you home.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he curses pounding his bandaged fist against the steering wheel.

The car swerves, causing passing cars to honk impatiently, but he’s able to shift it back onto the lane.

At this point, he can barely feel his hand anymore and he’s almost certain it might end up in nerve damage. The bandages he had wrapped over his knuckles dampen, intensifying the red marks as they bleed through the material.

David might be a cop, but he is never afraid of getting his hands dirty to get what he needs and he knows just where to start.

“Hi, honey! I’m sorry, I know you’re busy, but I just wanted to call and thank you for the flowers” you beam through the cellphone.

He can almost hear your smiling. On his end of the line, he frowns to himself wondering what flowers you could be referring to.

“They’re so beautiful, Dave! I can’t wait to get them in the kitchen. They’ll look so pretty on the island.”

“What? Babe, I-I don’t – I didn’t get you any flowers” he frowns standing confused in the precinct’s breakroom.

“Of course you did, baby” you laugh softly lifting the card to read. “It's gotta be you. Who else would it be?”

“No, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I didn’t get you flowers. I wish I had, but it’s not from me.”

“What? Dave, i-it has to be. The delivery guy confirmed my full name and work address. H-he confirmed the delivery. And-and there’s a card too. “You know what I want. See you soon. Love, D”.”

“Baby, they’re not from me.”

“David… This is getting too weird. First, the phone call. Now, the flowers? This can’t just be a coincidence.”

"Maybe it’s-it's just a mistake. It could be for someone else in the building or-"

"You mean there's someone else that works at the same place I do with the same name as me?"

"Maybe they got the address wrong or something."

"David, this doesn't feel right. Something feels wrong about this. It's really starting to freak me out."

“Hey,” he pauses as he steps over to close the breakroom door. “If this really is Donovan, he can’t do shit, alright? He’s in upstate in federal prison. He can’t get to us.”

“He doesn’t have to be free, David. People like him have contacts. They always have someone in their pocket.”

He can hear the worry in your voice. He understands you're scared, but, in his defense, he's seen plenty of these psychological mind tricks and empty threats from criminals before.

“No one is coming after us, alright? It’s just mind games, baby. They’ll get tired soon and they’ll stop, ok?”

“You need to tell someone, David. You need to tell O’Malley about this. This is not normal and I’m starting to get fucking scared.”

“Baby, it’s gonna be ok. I promise. I won’t let anyone hurt you or me.”

“I don’t wanna keep looking over my shoulder, David.”

“You won’t. Ok? It’ll blow over soon. I promise. I’ve seen this before.”

“You have?”

“Yes. They’re all bark and no bite. Just scare tactics to try and get what they want, but that’s all it is.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, alright?" A moment of silence lingers on the call. He knows he hasn't convinced you that everything is fine, but he's got mountains of paperwork on his desk to finish up." Listen, I gotta get back to work, sweetheart.”

“Yeah…” you nod to yourself, still disturbed by the situation. “Yeah, alright. Go, baby. I’ll see you at night. I love you, Dave.”

“I love you too, beautiful.”

His hand pulses with pain. The migraine throbbing in his skull reminds him of his lack of hydration and nourishment.

He’s been solely running on coffee and short 30-minute naps he’s taken on his late-night drives, searching for you, torturing questioning suspects that may be involved.

He’s given the department plenty of time to do their job but now, he needs to do his since he has now has the only piece of the puzzle that his fellow brothers-in-blue don’t.

He knows what he's about to do is far from correct procedure. Yet, in moments like these, he knows guidelines can only help him so much. This could be his only chance at getting you back.

Reaching his injured hand into his pocket, he takes his phone out. Ignoring the calls from O'Malley, he dials Michael Kemp’s number.

David had met the chubby and bubbly fellow years ago. Many of the fellow cadets would try to discourage Mike from accomplishing his dream of entering law enforcement. They would call him hurtful names and make fun of his size all the time, until David put an end to their bullying and befriended him.

They graduated together and have been friends since then, meeting up occasionally to catch up over a few beers.

Kemp encouraged David to become a detective meanwhile he, himself, preferred the calm desk duty working with evidence instead of criminals.

“Hey, Loki. What’s up?”

“Mike, are you still on evidence lock-up?” David doesn’t have time to bother with formalities.

“Yeah, man. Why?”

“I need the 500K we processed in the Donovan case.”

"What? T-that's evidence though. It's supposed to be collected by the bank. I can't just pull that much money without anyone noticing."

"I-I know, Mike. I realize this is a lot to ask for, but I need this, man. Please, just tell me if you can do it" David stutters desperately pleading.

“Do you realize I could lose my job and face time for that?” Mike lowers his voice to ensure no one can hear him.

“Yes, I know that, Mike. But this is some fucking serious shit, man. C'mon, I-I'm fucking desperate here! You gotta fucking help me out! Donovan's got my fianceé! I need to fucking get her back alive!”

He sighs taking a moment to try and calm himself down, remembering Kemp’s passive nature. Mike's one of the good guys; the kind of person that reminds him of the people he wants to protect.

“L-Look, Mike. Listen to me. I know this is off the record and you're risking your ass for me here, but I-I got a plan, alright? I can bring the money back into evidence. I just need Donovan to think he’s getting his fucking money back for this work, so can you do it or not?”

Kemp stays silent on the line, fueling David’s despair. Although this violates all the rules that Mike is sworn to follow, he knows David would do the same for him if the tables were turned.

“Mike!”

“Y-yeah, yeah. Hope you know what you’re doing, man.”

“Fuck… T-thanks, man.”

Arriving at a low-rate neighborhood widely known for drug-related activities, David comes to a rough stop in front of a house. The owner of it is two of Donovan’s slimy lackeys and brothers known as Ray and Vinny Becker.

The brothers used to sling drugs for him when Donovan was still free. David had cut a deal with Ray when his younger brother Vinny got jailed up on a drug bust: information on the big fish in exchange for his little brother's freedom.

Now that Donovan had been pinched, most of his 'loyal' buddies had all scattered, but Ray and Vinny remained, hoping that false loyalty could make him believe they didn't have anything to do with his imprisonment. So, if anyone could reach him without leaving tracks, it’d be them.

Gun in hand, David knocks on the door and turns away to hide his face out of concern they might not answer if they know who he is. He waits until the door creaks open to the limit of the door chain lock.

“The fuck do y-“

Before Vinny can finish his question, David quickly pushes the door in with his shoulder and slams the young man’s head against the wall, breaking his nose before shoving it into the mucky carpet on the floor.

He presses his gun to Vinny’s head as the older brother stands from the couch, lifting his hand to reach for the .9 millimeter on the coffee table, which is laden with cocaine, half-full ashtrays and thick rolls of money, tied together by rubber bands.

With no time with small-talk or warnings, kneeling on Vinny’s neck, he aims at the older brother and shoots a bullet into his leg, forcing Ray to fall back on the couch and grip at his thigh.

Shoving his gun back against Vinny’s head, the heat of the recently fired weapon burns his scalp. He groans and withers at the pain, kicking and screaming as the scent of burning flesh and hair fills the air.

“You know why I’m here,” David states with an eerily steady voice as Ray eyes the gun on the table. “Try it. Go ahead. I’ll shoot your brother too, I swear to fucking God.”

The smart detective knows their background too well to know Ray would do anything to protect his younger brother at all costs. Although Ray is in his late twenties, Vinny is still a kid just barely over the ripe young age of 18.

Distress pervades the stern detective, who stares down the older criminal with dark, empty eyes.

Ray refuses to take that risk well aware that David isn’t one to fuck around. He makes the smart decision to keep his brother alive and leans back on the couch sweating bullets as his hands put pressure to the wound on his leg.

“You’re gonna call your boss, tell em I got his fucking money.”

“C’mon, man. You know we don’t got that kinda power” Ray sneers.

“Yeah, you do. And you’re gonna do it, or I’ll tell Don who put his ass in prison.”

Ray pants heavily as he looks down his panicked brother and back at David. Everyone knows that snitches end up in ditches. If word gets out about their betrayal and false fidelity, Donovan won’t stop until they’re dead.

“The old mill on Oakland Falls, tonight.”

As Vinny grunts against your fianceé, Ray silently agrees with unspoken words.

David storms out of the house, tucking his gun back in his holster and quickly climbs into his car to race back downtown. As he drives, he checks his phone and sees Mike’s message.

“Good to go. Come by at 7.”

Having no other option, he drives to the station to finally come clean about everything to his captain. He doesn’t care about the backlash; he doesn’t care about possibly losing his shield. He cares only about getting you back alive.

O’Malley doesn’t take the news so lightly and gives David one hell of an earful for not having told him about the threats, no matter how small they might have seemed. Although reluctant, the captain decides to give him a chance to get you back.

They’ve got nothing else to lead them on except for the evidence found and being processed at the motel and David’s confession.

He knows this can go terribly wrong, but it’s their only hope of not ending up with another dead body floating in the river like Donovan’s previous victims. He orders Chemelinski to continue as first-in-command on the case, but allows Loki’s participation.

While the detectives and a team of uniformed officers plot in the briefing room, David’s phone rings with an unknown number. He excuses himself and steps out of the room to talk in private.

Even though there is no number on the screen, he suspects it’s from a burner. He lifts his hand while his body tenses with apprehension. It can only be one of two people and he wishes it’s you.

“About time I got your attention, detective,” Donovan’s grizzly voice chuckles. “You’re one stubborn son of a bitch. I gotta admit, I thought cops were better at protecting family. I been told she’s quite the fighter. You like ‘em feisty huh?”

David’s rage seethes within him as his fist balls, stretching the wounds on his white and numb knuckles.

“Are we doing this or not?”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, detective. I got your little message, so I’ll tell you what. No fucking guests. I want you and you alone with my fucking money. If my guys see anyone that’s not you, she’s dead. You hear me? Fucking dead.”

“Midnight then. You know where.”

The call clicks and ends.

David walks toward his desk while the team of offices and agents huddle in the conference room. He sits at his desk and takes the smiling photo of you and him stood together in front of your Christmas tree last year.

His thumb caresses your cheek on the glass as if it were your real skin. He misses you so much. He just wants to make sure you’re ok and all he can do is pray this one shot he has works out.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers. “Should’ve listened to you.”

He closes his eyes as he mentally repeats the words. The guilt and regret bubble inside him again like a pressure cooker on fire.

Another explosion of rage erupts from him as he pushes everything off his desk in one swift movement. The meeting halts as all the eyes in the briefing room move toward him and watch his outburst through the window.

“Should’ve! Fucking! Listened!” he shouts to himself, slamming his keyboard against the desk, keys flying everywhere as he throws it to the floor.

While he slams the portrait onto the hard surface on his desk, O'Malley rushes out of the room to contain him as the uniformed officers follow him out, bracing themselves to do their jobs as if David is any other desperate citizen.

"I know, Captain" David affirms as he stands and holds his bloodied hand up to stop them.

He shakes the broken glass from the picture and tucks the treasured image into his pocket. Storming out of the station, he makes a quick stop at the nearest convenience store to pick up a carton of red Marlboro and a light, returning to his bad habit that he'd left in the past.

Sheltered by the store's awning, he sits quietly on the sidewalk with his back to the exterior, smoking one cigarette after the next in his bandaged hand.

Taking the crumpled photo from his pocket, he holds back his threatening tears as he admires the photo of you both together. He stares at your smile wondering if he'll ever get to see it again.

He would never forgive himself if he didn't.

#david loki #david loki x reader #david loki x you #david loki x y/n #detective david loki #david loki fic #david loki imagine #david loki fanfiction #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal fic #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal fanfiction #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #prisoners #prisoners fic #prisoners imagine #david loki prisoners #prisoners fanfiction

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katareyoudrilling · 7 months

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The Sweepstakes: Dave York Epilogue (Porn Star AU)

Series: The Sweepstakes

Pairing: Porn Star Dave York x Female Reader

Summary: You learned a lot about yourself during your night with Dave York. What’s next?

Word count: ~1.5k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: kink club, bondage demonstration, a touch of voyeurism I guess

A/N: Thank you for all your support of porn star Dave York. He really is something special. I hope you like what I’ve imagined here! This follows The Sweepstakes: Dave York so read that first!

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist – link in bio or ask to be added!

You smooth down your dress with damp palms as you approach the building front of you. A simple sign hangs over the entrance. You’d never have looked twice at this place if you hadn’t been told to come here. You’ve never been to a kink club before.

Dave had brought it up as you lounged on the bed in the filming room, sharing some snacks he had found in the kitchen, while you recovered from your latest round.

You learned a lot from Dave that night. He talked you through several scenarios before giving some of them a try.

When he mentioned the member-only club, he explained how important it is to be with a partner who knows what they’re doing when it comes to kink and how the club could be a place to meet similarly minded people. He told you that he would be here tonight in his regular booth.

He said he would add you to the guest list.

You push open the door and find yourself in a small vestibule facing a friendly woman at a hostess stand.

“Hi, I’m.. uhh.. I should be on the guest list.”

She finds your name and opens the door behind her.

You thank her and step into the room. It doesn’t look much different than other clubs. The bar sits along the back wall, back-lit liquor bottles rising above it on shelves up to the ceiling. Tables fill the middle of the room, with U-shaped booths lining the walls. The moody lighting and low thumping music add to the standard bar aesthetic.

There’s a stage at the other end of the room, where you might expect to see a band set-up to play. Instead, you watch as two women step onto it to a smattering of applause. One is dressed in tall boots, a tiny skirt, and a bustier top, the other is in a silk robe. Once on stage, she lets the robe fall to the ground revealing only a thong underneath.

Many of the patrons adjust in their seats to give the women their attention. No one jeers or makes lewd comments. They are respectful, almost reverent. You watch with bated breath as the nearly naked woman lifts her arms over her head for the other to secure her wrists to a chain hanging from the ceiling.

Adrenaline surges through your body at the sight of such sexual freedom. You’ve never seen anything like this.

You have to drag your eyes away from what’s happening on the stage to look for Dave.

You spot him across the room in a booth, right where he said he would be, wearing his signature all black outfit. This time it’s a black button down with the cuffs rolled up to reveal his chiseled forearms. Gorgeous. He sips a glass of caramel colored liquor as he watches the stage intently. His dark, piercing gaze taking in every detail of what’s happening.

You make your way over, summoning all the courage you have, to interrupt his focus. Even though you spent an incredible night together, he is still intimidating.

He must sense your approach though and turns to you before you can say his name, a genuine smile lighting up his face.

“You came!”

“Thanks for inviting me.” You offer a shaky smile in return.

“Here. Sit. You’re just in time for the demonstration.” He makes room for you next to him in the booth and waves down a server to take your drink order.

Your gaze travels back to the stage, now conveniently in front of you. The nearly naked woman sways from the chain from the ceiling. Her feet touch the ground, but she doesn’t seem to want to use her legs to hold herself up. Her dark hair falls in waves around her shoulders and breasts as her head lolls to one side.

The other woman has a length of red rope that she has wrapped and tied around the other woman’s waist. You watch, entranced, as she knots the rope and wraps it around her body forming intricate patterns.

“Have you ever seen shibari before?” Dave interrupts your focused observation.

You clear your throat and find your voice. “The word sounds a little familiar, but no, I haven’t.”

“It’s mesmerizing, isn’t it? See how she allows herself to be moved and tied? She can just trust and relax into it, like she’s in a trance,” he murmurs into your ear, and you allow yourself to imagine what it would feel like to be the woman up on that stage. You think you’d like it.

“Who are they?”

“The one tying is Nina. She teaches shibari workshops here, among other things. The other is Carol, my wife.”

You turn to him in surprise. “You’re married?”

He smiles and nods. “We have an open relationship. With my job, that comes with the territory. But also, outside of that, we can date other people, just not get emotionally involved. She is my person.” Dave watches his wife on stage again and you can see it in his eyes—the love he has for her. It makes you feel warm inside.

So many possibilities have opened to you now that you’re learning where you look for them. There are partners willing to experiment with you. There are people in the types of relationships you’ve only dared to imagine in your most private thoughts.

The ropes cross Carol’s torso now, framing her breasts, digging into the soft flesh at her sides. They circle her ass and thighs, wrapping down around her legs in intricate twists and loops. You notice how her nipples pebble when the other woman whispers in her ear and moves her with the ropes. Your own nipples seem to be responding the same way and wetness grows between your legs.

You take a deep gulp of your drink to cool down.

“It’s turning you on, watching them.” Dave leans close to you to speak quietly in your ear, one arm stretched behind you on the back of the booth, breath ghosting across your cheek. “That’s good. It’s supposed to.”

His deep voice in your ear takes you right back to the night you spent with him, and your body responds accordingly. Your breath hitches as Dave drags his fingers up your bare arm, goosebumps rising in their wake.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “I would play with you again anytime, you know, but I think there are others here who would like to too, and it would be selfish of me to keep you all to myself.”

You look at Dave in surprise, shivers running down your spine at his words. He nods towards the tables in the middle of the room. You follow his gaze to find a handsome man looking right at you. He raises his glass and winks.

“He’s a good guy. I think you’d like him.”

Applause erupts from the crowd as the women on stage finish their demonstration. Nina spins Carol around showing off all her handiwork before taking a quick bow and releasing Carol’s wrists. You take a moment to gather yourself as you clap along. Dave pulls back from you slightly to give an appreciative whistle.

He turns back to you and holds your gaze. “If you are ok here, I’m going to go take my wife to a private room and let him,” he cocks his head towards the tables, “come over and talk to you. Is that ok with you?”

You nod. Your heart flutters with excitement and possibility. This place could be exactly what you need, and you think you’re ready to find out.

“Words, remember?”

“Yes. That’s ok.” Your words come out confidently despite your fizzing nerves and Dave smiles.

“Everyone knows me here, so if you need me, just ask.” Dave places a kiss on your cheek before making his way out of the booth. “Have fun, beautiful.”

You take another bracing drink and watch Dave make his way over to Carol, passing by the man at the table and patting him on the shoulder as he goes.

Carol’s arms have been let down, but her body is still tied up. Dave pulls her to him by the knot at her sternum. You know he’s speaking to her in that deep, gravelly voice, telling her exactly what he wants to do to her. It’s so fucking hot. You watch as they make their way off the stage and down a hallway to the side you hadn’t noticed before.

As they disappear from view, a man clears his throat at your side.

“Can I join you?” he gestures to the seat across from you. It’s the man Dave had pointed out to you.

You nod, but then remember Dave’s instruction to use words. “Uhh… sure.. yes,” you stammer.

He takes his seat and smiles at you. You’re immediately taken in by the crinkles that form at the corners of his warm, brown eyes. You feel yourself relax and return his smile.

“Is it your first time here? I don’t think I’ve seen you around. I’m….”

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: Who do you want it to be??? I considered many options but couldn’t decide. So, I’ve left it up to you! Don’t be mad lol

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#the sweepstakes #dave york #dave york x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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baronessvonglitter · 3 months

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if love be rough with you, be rough with love | chapter 11 | "if it hurts, that means it's working"

Dave York x f!Reader

Word count: 2,566

Summary: scared that Carol will catch on to you and Dave, you create a little white lie that brings out Dave's darker side.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, fingering, squirting, pet name (‘sweetpea, silly girl’), mention of breast fucking, anal sex/fingering, use of sex toys, fake relationship, jealousy, verbal threats, coercion, gaslighting, slight harm done to reader (he grabs her jaw), emotional bullying, brief flashback of childhood abuse/trauma, lotta red flags here, auralism, masturbation. If I’ve left anything out please let me know.

Author’s Note: The week I’ve had!!! (Hurricane Beryl was quite the bitch.) I’m just glad to be able to post this 💗 This particular chapter gets pretty dark (read the tags above) so if you’re not in a great headspace to read, please don’t.

For help in leaving real life abusive relationships, please contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline 800-799-7233 Abuse is never love.

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“Quiet, sweetpea.." Dave warns, a growl in your ear. One of his hands gently muffles your mouth while the other fingers your slickness, three of his fingers filling you up. Your legs are over his shoulders, effectively pinning you down to your bed. You whimper beneath his palm as yet another magnificent surge rolls through you and you tremble, eyes rolling back in your head as you come, and a spray of liquid shoots out, surprising you.

"I guess the third time's the charm," Dave grins, slowing his fingers as you finish your orgasm. "I knew you were a squirter. And look, you've drenched me. I'm still in my work clothes, silly girl." He loves calling you 'silly' these days, it's a somewhat appropriate nickname for when you're around Carol and the girls, something that won't attract too much attention.

His come from earlier is drying on your chest and neck from where he titty-fucked you just moments ago, getting you alone as soon as his daughters were asleep. Carol's away from the house, visiting her sister, and you two are taking advantage of the momentary freedom.

“You're such a bad girl for getting me all wet. But I think you know how to make it up to me.." Dave removes his fingers from your pussy and gently rubs the ring of your asshole, causing you to gasp but you don't pull away. "Easy, sweetpea," he murmurs, easing his finger inside. Automatically you clench around him. “There’s a good girl..” he whispers.

There’s a part of you that balks at this, that shies away from the deviance of this act, but there's a baser part of you that desires what Dave desires above all things. He could cut you just to watch you bleed and you would get off on it.

He glides one of your dildos, a bright purple one that you bought as a dare, into your pussy, watching you open and stretch around it while he continues to finger your asshole. You moan his name as he begins to thrust the dildo into you, using teasingly slow strokes at first then roughly, the way he would do it with his own cock. When your moans grow too loud he grabs the panties he'd ripped off of you just moments ago and stuffs them in your mouth, stifling your sounds. You come again, your juices coating the dildo, and before your spasm is over you feel the toy at your ass, replacing Dave's fingers.

“Nod if this is okay, and shake your head if it isn't," he tells you. You don't even hesitate before nodding. He smiles at your enthusiasm. "I've got to get my silly girl ready for me.. I've been waiting forever to fuck her ass like she promised me." You whimper, your ass automatically trying to keep your exit just that, an exit. "Breathe," Dave reminds you. "Look at me and breathe, relax." He's always gentle with you at first, testing your boundaries, right before his animalistic sides comes out and you join him in his unrestraint.

You feel the toy slide in, little by little, already wet and warmed from being in your pussy. "Look how well you're taking it," Dave praises. "So eager to have something in that tight little ass of yours, aren't you?" You nod, heat rushing throughout your body as your cunt clenches in vain around emptiness. "Don't worry, I'm gonna give you everything you want," he rumbles.

“I want you," you mumble through the makeshift gag. "Inside my ass. Now."

Dave's eyes darken as he gently removes the gag. "You're sure?"

“Yes," you tell him with sincerity.

"Spread your legs for me. I want to see all of you."

You do as you're told, and he takes a moment to savor the sight of you before he strips from the waist down, then you feel a warm glob of his saliva on your puckered hole, then another teasing finger before you finally feel the thick head of his cock slowly making its way inside you. Your hands grip the bedsheets as inch by inch he settles in your ass. "Fuck," he growls. You're unable to make a sound except a broken gasp as your heart beats madly within your chest. "Breathe," he commands. "Eyes on me.."

It nearly takes his breath away to see your eyes go big and wide, your breath coming in short gasps as he picks up the pace, grabbing your ass as he controls the thrusting. "My girl loves this, doesn't she? Loves to let me do whatever I want with any part of her."

“Yes! Yes please!" you try to control the volume of your voice, but he's so deep, filling you so full and it feels even better than you ever imagined.

"Fuck," he growls when you clench down around him. "Turn over for me like a good girl. Scream into the pillow if you have to."

Once again you're situated, face down, ass up, and Dave takes control. The smacking of your skin is unmistakable as is the creaking of your bedsprings. You fill your pillow with your moans and muffled gasps as he rams into you, grabbing your cheeks tight to watch as he moves in and out of you while you rapidly finger your clit. "Dave!" you whisper his name desperately. "I'm coming!"

He replies something unintelligible, pulling your hips against his in a frenzy and this time you're not able to keep so quiet. A loud wail emanates from your lips as you come hard, and at the same time you feel the warm gush of his come. You're both breathing heavily as he extricates himself from you.

“Does Carol ever let you fuck her like that?" you ask, simply out of curiosity.

He glances at you as he pulls his pants back on, and it's almost a glare. His first instinct is to warn you never to ask about his wife, but he sees the candor of your expression, the flush of your cheeks in the afterglow of what you've just shared. "Never," he answers. "She thinks it's dirty. She's very.. traditional."

"Vanilla."

He shrugs. "Yeah. Vanilla." There's a moment where his real feelings are shown, and he lets a bit of his guard down when he says, "I wish she were more like you."

You know better than to criticize his wife and the mother of his children, though deep down you know you could do better if you were in her place.

The next night Dave comes home early, as you're helping the girls with homework. "Hello, Mr. York," you greet him with a simple smile. The girls run to hug their dad and you wish you could hug him too. He chitchats with the girls a moment while you look on, pretending for a moment that this is your family..

"Dinner smells good," he smiles at you as the girls get back to their homework.

“I made a roast chicken with rosemary and vegetables," you tell him once he's settled in, jacket and briefcase put away, work off his mind. "The girls helped with dinner." It's not easy to pretend there's nothing going on between you. His lingering glances down your body, probably remembering the night before, are hard to miss, and you pour him some bourbon before dinner, letting him see you take a quick sip from his glass before handing it to him. There's so much said in the words you don't say out loud.

You hear Carol's car in the driveway, a sound you've trained yourself to listen for. "Girls, please set the table for your mother."

There's a rosiness in your cheeks as you dine with the Yorks, something you've done a hundred times. No matter what you think of you can't make your blush go away. You manage to act normally, even smiling at a little joke Dave tells. You're distracted, and Carol catches on.

“Are you all right, dear? You're flushed. I hope you're not coming down with something," she says with concern.

A part of you is touched by her concern. "I'm fine, I'm fine," you assure her. "I guess my head has been in the clouds lately.. I've actually started seeing someone at school."

"Oh, that's wonderful news!" Carol beams. "You must really like him."

“I do," you glance from her to Dave and back again. "I just.. I see you and Mr. York so happy, and I want that for myself one day."

Carol's smile is warm. "I hope you find what Dave and I have one day.. and I hope this young man is that person for you."

"What's his name?" Dave asks bluntly, hand tightening on his knife as he cuts into his meal.

“Yes, we want all the details," Carol insists.

"Josh," you answer, giving the name of a guy who's been hitting on you since the semester started but who's never really stood a chance with you. "I think you'd both like him."

Dave's expression is blank but you can sense the wheels turning in his brain. Meanwhile Carol's excitement for your new "relationship" is palpable.

“Maybe a double date is in our future," you follow up, testing the waters, seeing how far your little white lie can fly. "I'll clean up after dinner so you and Mr. York can have coffee," you offer.

"I'll do it," Carol waves you away. "You relax, maybe call that boyfriend of yours." She smiles as she begins to clear the plates away. Molly and Alice go upstairs to play.

Dave's already waiting for you in the living room, the lights dimmed as a police procedural show is on tv. "Who's Josh?" he asks, barely audible over the television.

"My fake boyfriend that I'm using as a cover up for us fucking," you reply with a straight face.

"Clever move." He sips yet another bourbon, his expression stony. "If I thought for a moment you were actually involved with this Josh person, I'd have to kill him."

You shake your head. "Jesus, Dave. Be nice." You elbow him playfully.

"If you were ever to cheat on me, with Josh or anyone else.. their blood would be on your hands, not mine."

Everything stops. You stare at Dave. This is the most serious that matters have been between you. You know about his work for the government, his past in the military, but you've never felt him to be dangerous until now.

Seeing your expression change so dramatically he takes your face in both his hands. "You know I'd never hurt you," he whispers. "There are some other parts of my life, things I can't tell you yet.. I know you'll understand when the time comes." When you don't reply he applies just enough pressure to make you worry. "Say it. Say you know I'd never hurt you."

It's too much like something your father would do, guilt you into loving him. Make himself look sorrowful for all the bad he'd done and swear it wasn't on purpose, tell you his love for you was special, one of a kind. This is too much like one of those moments. But you repeat the words, because you're good at doing what you're told. "I know you would never hurt me, Dave.."

He smiles, all the severity gone from his features. "Good. With that, there is one thing you can never do." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "You can never, ever leave me. If you do, I'll do things you can't imagine." He smiles again and gives you a kiss on the forehead. "Never leave me, my girl."

You shake your head eagerly, eyes wide. "I won't.."

His fingertip traces your lips, circling them with a softness that belies the coldness in his eyes. "I'm going to be with Carol tonight. You're right, we need to throw her off the scent." He's doing this to get back at you, in a way, for creating your lie about having a love interest. "Are you going to be a good girl and wait for me after?"

A cold stab of fear, of jealousy, enters your heart, twists your stomach. "Dave, you're being cruel.."

"I'm being practical," he corrects you, removing his touch from you. "Obviously I'm not going to force you, but if you leave your bedroom door unlocked tonight I'll take that as a nice, warm welcome from you."

"You're an asshole," you mutter, leaving the room. But after putting the girls to bed and having some time alone, you leave your door unlocked.

It's late when you hear Carol and Dave in their room, and you press your ear to the wall, your headboard sharing the same wall as theirs.

"I don't know about you, my love, but today has been really long," you hear Carol say.

"I think I might just have the remedy for that," Dave's deep voice is heard.

Your heart pounds so hard but you can't not listen. You hold your breath, excited and anxious in a depraved kind of way. It feels wrong. Then again, Dave belongs to you, so in a way you have every right to listen in. You did it plenty of times before you starting fucking him.

They're quiet, and you assume they're kissing and embracing. Carol giggles and it goes quiet again. The bed rustles. They're practically next to you. "Carol.. my god.." Dave groans, and your stomach turns. You keep listening as your fingers wander down beneath your panties to slowly finger your clit, even as tears form in your eyes. You hear what Dave's saying to Carol: words of praise, of desire, of lust. Soon you hear both of them moaning, their headboard lightly thumping against the wall. He's soft with her, softer than he's ever been with you. That's the difference between a wife and a mistress. Jealousy ties a knot around your heart, squeezing until your tears run free.

The headboard stops and there's more of Carol's giggling, which soon turn into moans. She's trying to be quiet, likely because she knows you're right here next door, but Dave's good at what he does, and eventually she can't hold back, moaning his name, gasping, panting.

Your heart hurts. Your stomach hurts. But this is the reality you're grounded in. This is how it's supposed to be: a man with his wife, not a husband and the younger, naive au pair.

The bed shakes again, harder this time, and both Dave and Carol's moans combine in a rhythm that you'd like to forget. Your fingers don't neglect their work, dipping inside your drenched pussy while your thumb circles your oversensitive clit. It's ironic, poetic, comical, and just plain fucked up that you come when both of them do, hand clasped over your mouth just as Dave does to you. By now it's a Pavlovian response. A hand over your mouth gets you wet, all thanks to him.

Afterwards, they murmur, sharing secrets that married couples do, giving over the intimacies of their heart. Or maybe you're romanticizing it just to make yourself feel worse, to push the knife further into your heart. You cry yourself to sleep. You're going to look terrible in the morning, not that anyone cares how you look anyway.

That night, Dave doesn't come to your room.

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its-avalon-08 · 4 months

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tell me why you're here (dc14)

anon you're a star! istg such good requests, thanks alot for reading <3

pairing - David Coulthard x ferrari!driver!reader

The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of exhaust fumes and the thrumming tension of a championship fight. 2001, Monza. You, the undisputed Scuderia Ferrari Queen, and David Coulthard, your McLaren nemesis, stood on opposite sides of the grid, a simmering rivalry stretching back years reflected in your steely gazes.

There was something undeniable between you two, a spark that ignited on the racetrack and flickered in the post-race interviews, veiled in thinly veiled barbs and stolen glances. But the truth was, unspoken fears kept you both tethered to your teams. The scarlet of Ferrari was your armor, the prancing horse your symbol of unwavering loyalty. McLaren, for David, was a second family, and Mika Hakkinen, his teammate, a brother-in-arms. To break ranks, to chase something more, felt like a betrayal.

The lights flicked out, the grid a blur of red and silver as you surged forward. Every lap was a dance on a knife's edge, pushing the limits of the car and yourself. You battled wheel-to-wheel with David, the roar of the crowd a distant echo in your helmet. Then, disaster struck. Bottas, the Williams driver, misjudged a turn, clipping your rear wing. The world tilted on its axis as your Ferrari went airborne, a sickening weightlessness before a bone-jarring impact with the barriers.

The cockpit filled with dust and the acrid tang of burning rubber. Your head throbbed, vision blurry. Disoriented, you fumbled with the release lever, the silence deafening after the symphony of the engine. You stumbled out, shaken but miraculously unharmed. The red car, however, lay broken and unmoving, a testament to the violence of the crash.

David, having witnessed the horror unfold in his mirrors, felt a primal jolt of fear course through him. It was a fear that transcended their rivalry, a raw, visceral terror that left his palms slick with sweat. But he clenched his jaw, a silent apology lodged in his throat. McLaren needed this win, and Mika was hot on his heels. He couldn't afford to falter.

Fear, raw and primal, clawed at his throat. It was a fear that transcended their rivalry, a terror that left his palms slick with sweat.

He couldn't take his eyes off the dust cloud engulfing the spot where your car had disappeared. The championship fight with Michael was a distant thought, the roar of the crowd a dull thrum in his ears. His voice, when he finally spoke, was tight, a mask of professionalism barely containing the tremor of worry.

"Get me a status check on the red two," he barked into his radio, his gaze fixed on the dissipating smoke. "Accident at Lesmo. Looks bad."

"Copy that, David," his race engineer, Dave Masten, replied, his voice laced with concern. They both knew the dangers lurking on the high-speed corners of Monza.

David pressed his foot down further, the car a blur as he pushed for every last millisecond. He knew he couldn't afford to lose focus, not with Mika hot on his heels. But every corner, every bump, sent a fresh jolt of unease through him. Images of your crumpled car, of you… he pushed them down, burying them deep. He couldn't let his emotions cloud his judgment. Yet, with every passing lap, the worry gnawed at him, a relentless current beneath the surface.

"Any word on Y/N?" he finally asked, his voice clipped, betraying none of the turmoil within.

"Medical team's on the scene," Dave responded promptly. "We'll get you an update as soon as we have one."

David grunted, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He couldn't let this distract him. He had a race to win, for McLaren, for Mika, for himself. But a silent vow echoed in the confines of his helmet. He would see you, Y/N. He would get to you, somehow, the moment this damn race was over.

The race raged on, the roar of the crowd a distant echo in David's ears. He drove on autopilot, the image of your crumpled car seared into his mind. Finally, the checkered flag. A hollow victory, a McLaren 1-2. Relief washed over him, tinged with a gnawing worry.

As he climbed out of the car, the first person his eyes met was Michael, a grim expression etched on his face. "Y/N," he started, his voice tight, "they're taking her to the medical center."

David's heart lurched. All thoughts of the win, the championship, faded into insignificance. He didn't care about points or podiums. All he wanted was to be by your side, to see you safe. But duty, that ever-present burden, held him back. He could only nod curtly, a silent promise hanging heavy in the air, a promise he hoped he wouldn't break.

The post-race celebrations were a blur of forced smiles and hollow champagne toasts. David felt like a fraud, the gleaming trophy a cold reminder of a victory that felt hollow. He couldn't shake the image of your car, a mangled sculpture of red against the asphalt. The medical center visit had been a whirlwind – you were shaken, sore, but thankfully unharmed. Relief had washed over him, a tidal wave that left him weak at the knees.

But the relief was laced with a bitter aftertaste. He hadn't been able to see you. Team protocols, the swarming media, a suffocating sense of duty – all conspired to keep him at bay. Back at the McLaren motorhome, the silence was deafening. He showered, the hot water failing to wash away the lingering dread. Just then, a knock on the door startled him. It was Mika, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Mind if I intrude, mate?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

David sighed, gesturing for him to come in. "Fire away, Mika."

"Look," Mika began, his usual playful demeanor replaced by uncharacteristic seriousness, "I know what just happened out there scared the living daylights out of you."

David flinched. He hadn't spoken a word about his terror, yet Mika saw right through him.

"Don't worry, DC," Mika chuckled, "your secret's safe with me. But seriously, mate," he continued, his voice softening, "you looked like a ghost out there. You haven't been yourself since that crash."

David stared down at his hands, guilt twisting in his gut. "I just… I couldn't believe it. One minute she's pushing me hard, the next…" he trailed off, unable to voice the terrifying image that haunted him.

Mika placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of surprising tenderness from the usually stoic Finn. "You care about her, don't you?"

David met Mika's gaze, his own filled with a mix of vulnerability and defiance. "It's complicated, Mika. We're rivals."

Mika scoffed. "Rivals who can't seem to keep their eyes off each other. Come on, DC, we both know this dance you two have been doing is getting old. You think I haven't noticed the sparks flying whenever you're around her?"

David opened his mouth to protest, but Mika cut him off. "Look," he said, his voice firm, "life's too damn short for these games. You almost lost her today. Don't waste another minute wondering what could have been."

Mika's words hung in the air, a challenge and a dare. David looked into his teammate's eyes, seeing not just a competitor but a friend who understood. Maybe Mika was right. Maybe it was time to stop hiding, to stop letting fear dictate his actions. He wouldn't let another day pass without knowing the truth, without letting you know how he truly felt.

A resolute expression settled on David's face. "Thanks, Mika," he said, a newfound determination in his voice. "You're right. It's time."

The sterile white of the medical center walls had been a blur as the doctor droned on about rest and recovery. Back in the familiar confines of your driver's room at the Ferrari garage, however, the events of the day crashed down on you like a tidal wave. The mangled wreckage of your car, the searing pain that had mercifully subsided, the chilling realization of how close you'd come to...well, anything but a podium finish. You curled up on the small cot, exhaustion warring with a nagging anxiety. A soft knock at the door startled you.

Wiping the tears that had sprung to your eyes, you called out, your voice hoarse. "Yeah, come in."

The door creaked open, revealing a sight that made your breath hitch. It was David, clad in his now-unfamiliar McLaren overalls, his face etched with a worry you wouldn't have believed possible just a few hours ago. Before you could even process his unexpected appearance, he was striding across the room, his expression uncharacteristically intense.

The next thing you knew, you were enveloped in a warm embrace. His arms, surprisingly strong, held you close, his fingers gently stroking your hair. It was a gesture so foreign to the typically stoic David that you froze, unsure how to react. He'd never been one for displays of affection, not even in the fleeting, celebratory moments of a podium finish.

"David?" you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper. "What's wrong?"

He pulled back slightly, his blue eyes holding a depth you'd never seen before. Concern, something akin to fear, flickered in their depths. "I heard you were back," he said, his voice rough. "I... I just needed to see you, to make sure you were alright."

You blinked, your mind racing. This wasn't the David you knew, the one cloaked in professional rivalry. This was a man stripped bare, his emotions laid raw on the surface. A warmth bloomed in your chest, a counterpoint to the lingering chill of fear.

"I'm fine," you said, your voice finding its strength. "Just a bit banged up." You reached out, hesitantly placing your hand on his arm. The contact sent a jolt through you, a familiar spark you'd long suppressed.

A wry smile tugged at your lips, the memory of countless post-race interviews flashing before your eyes. "You don't exactly strike me as the huggy type, DC," you teased, the playful jab a way to mask the fluttering in your stomach.

David's jaw clenched for a brief moment, a flicker of his usual competitive spirit igniting. But then, his grip on you tightened, surprising you with its intensity. "Maybe," he murmured, his voice husky, "accidents have a way of changing things." He buried his face in your hair, the familiar scent of Ferrari leather and adrenaline a strange comfort. "Don't push me away, Y/N. Not now." The words were a plea, raw and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the composed facade he usually maintained. You felt a lump form in your throat. This wasn't just about the crash, you realized with a jolt. This was about something deeper, something unspoken that had simmered beneath the surface of your rivalry for far too long.

You let out a shaky breath, the playful facade crumbling under the weight of his unexpected vulnerability. "David," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, "why are you really here?"

He held you tighter for a moment, his silence a thrumming tension in the air. Then, slowly, he pulled back, his blue eyes searching yours. "Because," he began, his voice low and husky, "the thought of you… of almost losing you… it scared the hell out of me."

Your heart hammered in your chest. This wasn't just about concern for a fellow competitor. This was something more, something you'd only dreamt of.

"Scared?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

A wry smile touched his lips, laced with a hint of self-deprecation. "Scared enough to break all the damn rules," he admitted, his gaze lingering on your lips. "Scared enough to realize that this stupid rivalry… it doesn't matter anymore. Not compared to you."

The dam inside you broke. All the unspoken feelings, the stolen glances across the podium, the simmering tension that had fueled your every race – it all came flooding out. "David," you breathed, your voice trembling, "I thought… I thought you never felt the same."

He cupped your face in his calloused hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. "Always," he confessed, his voice a mere thread. "Always, but the timing… the teams… it never felt right."

A tear escaped your eye, tracing a warm path down your cheek. David leaned in, brushing it away with his thumb, the touch sending shivers down your spine.

David cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. He confessed, his voice a low rumble. "This whole time, this stupid rivalry… it was a shield. I was afraid to admit how I felt, afraid of what it would mean for our teams, for everything."

A bittersweet smile touched your lips. The fear you'd harbored for years, the fear of rejection, mirrored his own. "David," you said, your voice catching slightly, "I… I felt it too. The spark, the tension… I thought it was just competition."

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "It was always more, Y/N," he murmured, sending shivers down your spine. Then, his lips found yours in a hesitant kiss, a tentative exploration that quickly deepened with newfound urgency. The taste of adrenaline and relief mingled with something sweeter, a taste that promised a future neither of you dared to dream of.

He pulled back, his forehead resting against yours. A soft laugh escaped his lips, tinged with disbelief. "Who knew a near-death experience would lead to this?" he whispered, peppering your face with gentle kisses, each one a silent apology, a promise.

The first kiss landed on your temple, a whisper-light touch that sent a shiver down your spine. The second brushed your cheek, lingering just long enough to leave your skin tingling. Then, a third, softer still, grazed the corner of your lips, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

You couldn't help but let out a breathless laugh, your voice barely a whisper. "David," you breathed, your hand reaching up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the firm line of his jaw.

He chuckled, a deep rumble that vibrated against your chest. "Don't tempt me, Y/N," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. His lips danced across your jaw, trailing a line of fire down your neck before finding the sensitive spot behind your ear. A gasp escaped your lips as he lingered there, sending delicious shivers radiating through you.

His kisses were a whirlwind, a mix of apology and exploration. Each one whispered a story – the fear he'd felt watching you crash, the relief of seeing you safe, the yearning he'd kept buried for so long. You surrendered to the feeling, letting out a soft sigh as your arms tightened around his waist, pulling him closer.

The world outside your small driver's room faded away, replaced by the intoxicating rhythm of your heartbeats and the warmth of his touch. In that moment, there were no rivalries, no teams, no championships. There was only you and David, two souls bound by a love that had finally found its voice.

The tender scene unfolding in the driver's room was a stark contrast to the usual post-race chaos. A few doors down the hallway, Michael Schumacher and Corinna were winding down after a celebratory dinner with the rest of the Ferrari team. Michael, still buzzing from his podium finish, was regaling Corinna with an anecdote about a pit stop mishap. But his voice trailed off as his gaze drifted towards the window overlooking the driver's area.

"What's wrong, Schatz?" Corinna asked, following his line of sight.

A sly grin spread across Michael's face. "Looks like Mika owes me a hefty sum," he chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

Corinna's eyes widened as she saw David, his McLaren helmet abandoned on a nearby chair, holding Y/N in a tight embrace. Her normally stoic teammate was peppering her face with kisses, a sight so unexpected it brought a smile to Corinna's lips.

"Aww, they're so happy," she murmured, a hint of fondness in her voice.

Michael chuckled again. "Remember that bet we made before the season started? Fifty bucks says those two wouldn't confess their feelings by Monaco."

Corinna rolled her eyes playfully. "Fifty bucks? You know you just wanted an excuse to see them squirm."

Michael shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Maybe a little. But hey, at least they finally stopped dancing around each other."

Corinna couldn't help but agree. As she watched the tender scene unfold, a warmth bloomed in her chest. The rivalry between Ferrari and McLaren was fierce, but beneath the surface, there was a certain camaraderie, a respect for the talent and dedication of their competitors. And seeing Y/N and David find happiness, even amidst the high-octane world of Formula One, brought a smile to her face.

"Looks like Mika needs to pony up," Michael declared, reaching for his wallet with a triumphant grin.

Corinna swatted his hand away playfully. "Don't be a sore winner, Michael. Just be happy for them."

Michael feigned a hurt expression. "Fine, fine," he conceded, pulling her into a hug. "But you have to admit, this is a lot more interesting than that story about your dodgy pit stop crew."

Corinna laughed, the sound echoing down the hallway, a counterpoint to the soft murmur of confessions and the gentle rhythm of two hearts finally beating in sync.

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drewharrisonwriter · 29 days

Text

One Day at a Time - Ch. 1: Lifeline

Pairings: Dave York x Female Reader

Series Summary: A man washed ashore, with no memory, and no name, finds a home and a life in the middle of nowhere.

Author's Notes: This story has been sitting in my drafts for over a year, waiting for the perfect moment to see the light of day. It wasn't until recently that I found the inspiration to finally finish the last two chapters, thanks to the incredible Keri @absurdthirst. Her story, "Washed Up," struck a chord with me—it had such a similar plot and concept to what I had in mind, and it reignited my passion to bring this piece to life. Keri's writing has been a constant source of solace and inspiration, and I'm endlessly grateful for her creativity and the way she crafts stories that speak to the soul. If you haven’t checked out her work, you absolutely should!

Warnings: Please be aware that this story contains elements of violence, explicit sexual content, and pregnancy. Additionally, there are medical inaccuracies throughout—because I don’t work in the medical field, so please take it all with a grain of salt. Enjoy the ride, and thank you for reading! 😊

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist

The morning sun had just begun to peek over the horizon, casting a soft golden light across the shoreline. The waves rolled in gently, their rhythm a soothing backdrop to the solitude of the early hour. You walked slowly, your feet sinking into the cool, damp sand with each step, your slippers hooked between your fingers. The beach was your sanctuary, a place where the world’s noise seemed to fall away, leaving only the whisper of the sea and the thoughts in your mind.

But today, something broke the calm. A shape—dark, unmoving—lay where the tide met the shore. You froze, your heart quickening as you squinted to make out what it was. A piece of driftwood, maybe? But as you moved closer, the shape took form—a man, his body half-submerged in the shallow water.

You rushed forward, the sand slipping beneath your feet as you dropped to your knees beside him. His clothes were torn and soaked through, clinging to a body that looked unnervingly still. You caught your breath as you took in the sight of him—his face, turning blue from the cold, was battered and bruised, one eye grotesquely swollen, and a deep, angry wound at the back of his neck, crusted with dried blood. He looked like he’d been through hell and back, and somehow survived.

Your breath caught in your throat as you reached out, pressing two fingers to the side of his neck.

A pulse—weak, but there. Relief surged through you, though it was quickly followed by a rush of panic.

"Hey," you said, your voice trembling. "Can you hear me? Please, wake up."

He didn’t respond, his face pale and still. You glanced around, your mind racing. The beach was empty, the nearest houses too far for anyone to hear you shout. Fumbling with your phone, you dialed 911, trying to keep your voice steady as you gave them the details.

“I found a man on the beach. He’s barely breathing… Yes, I’ll stay with him… Please hurry.”

You stayed crouched beside him, keeping your hand on his shoulder as if your touch alone could keep him tethered to life. The minutes stretched unbearably long until the distant wail of sirens broke through the sound of the waves. The paramedics arrived, their quick, efficient movements a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in your mind.

They loaded him onto a stretcher, and as they did, one of them turned to you. "Do you know him?"

You shook your head, still reeling from the shock of it all. "No… I was just walking by and saw him here."

They nodded, not pressing further, but you could see the concern in their eyes. “We’ll take him to the hospital. You should come, just in case.”

You didn’t hesitate. As they drove away, you followed closely behind, your thoughts tangled in worry. Who was he? How had he ended up there, and so close to death?

At the hospital, they rushed him into surgery, leaving you to sit in the sterile, too-bright waiting room. Time seemed to stretch and blur, each second ticking by with agonizing slowness. Finally, a doctor emerged, his expression serious but not without hope.

“He made it through,” he said, “but he’s in critical condition. It’ll be some time before we know the full extent of his injuries.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Thank you.”

“Do you know his name?” the doctor asked. “We couldn’t find any ID on him.”

You shook your head again, feeling a pang of guilt that you had nothing to offer. “I don’t. I found him on the beach, that’s all.”

The doctor frowned, considering. “For now, we’ll have to call him John Doe.”

You nodded absently, the name feeling oddly fitting for the man who had washed ashore like a ghost from the sea.

–

The hospital room was quiet, save for the soft beeping of the monitors that tracked his vital signs. You sat by his bedside, reading aloud from a worn paperback, your voice low and soothing. It had been days since you found him, and though the worst seemed to be over, he hadn’t woken up yet.

You often found yourself talking to him as if he could hear you, filling the silence with stories about the sea, the farm, or whatever came to mind. It was comforting, in a way, to speak to him, even if he never responded.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” you said softly, placing the book down on your lap, “but I’ve been thinking… about how strong you must be to survive whatever happened to you. I can’t imagine what you went through, but you’re still here. You’re going to be okay, you know?”

You reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. His skin was warm, no longer clammy with fever. “I don’t even know your name,” you whispered. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

As if in response, his hand twitched. You froze, watching as his eyelids fluttered, and then slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes.

You leaned forward, your heart pounding. “Hey… Can you hear me?”

His gaze was unfocused, confused, but there was life in it now. He blinked, his voice a rough whisper. “Where… where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital,” you said gently, relief washing over you. “You’re safe now.”

He frowned slightly, his hand moving slowly to touch the bandages on his throat and neck, wincing as he felt the damage. “What… what happened to me?”

“I found you on the beach,” you explained, trying to keep your voice calm for his sake. “You were in pretty bad shape. They said you’d been in the water for a while.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to piece together fragments that refused to form a whole. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”

You hesitated, then asked, “What’s your name?”

He opened his eyes again, staring at the ceiling as if the answer might be written there. But nothing came. He shook his head, frustration and fear flashing across his features. “I… I don’t know.”

You swallowed, trying to keep the concern from showing in your voice. “Okay. Do you remember where you’re from? Do you have someone we could call?”

Each question was met with the same blank stare, the same pained expression as he struggled to find something, anything, to hold on to. But it was like grasping at shadows—nothing solid, nothing real.

“I don’t remember,” he finally whispered, his voice trembling with frustration. “I don’t remember anything.”

You reached out, placing your hand over his, trying to offer comfort. “It’s okay. Don’t push yourself too hard...”

But before you could say more, you realized he needed more help than you could give. You pressed the call button for the nurse, hoping they would come quickly.

Within moments, the nurse arrived, her expression professional but concerned as she took in the scene. "He’s awake," you said, your voice filled with relief and anxiety. "But… he can’t remember anything."

The nurse nodded, her demeanor calm as she checked his vitals. "I’ll get the doctor," she said, giving you a reassuring glance before hurrying out of the room.

The wait felt agonizing, each second stretching as you sat there, he reached for your hand as if to ground himself, feeling his grip tighten as if he feared losing his only anchor in this strange, blank world.

Finally, the doctor arrived, his face serious but gentle. He moved to the bed, checking the monitors and looking over the nurse’s notes.

“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked, his tone measured, as if gauging both the physical and mental state of his patient.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” the man muttered, then winced as the movement aggravated his injuries.

The doctor nodded, not surprised. “That’s understandable, given what you’ve been through. But I understand you’re having some trouble with your memory?”

The man—this “John Doe”—nodded slowly, his hand still gripping yours as if it was the only thing he could hold onto. “I don’t remember anything,” he admitted, the frustration and fear clear in his voice. “Not even my name.”

The doctor nodded in understanding, making a note on the chart. “It’s not uncommon for someone who’s been through severe trauma to experience amnesia. Your body went through a lot, and sometimes the mind tries to protect itself by blocking out memories.”

You leaned forward, the concern clear in your voice. “Will his memory come back?”

The doctor hesitated, then gave a small, noncommittal shrug. “It’s hard to say. In some cases, memories return slowly over time. In others, they may never come back at all. It’s something we’ll just have to wait and see.”

The man closed his eyes again, his tight grip on your hand still strong. “So… what happens now?”

“Now,” the doctor said gently, “we focus on your physical recovery. We’ll take it one day at a time, and see where that leads us.”

You nodded, offering him a small, encouraging smile. “One day at a time,” you echoed.

But as you sat there, holding his hand, you couldn’t help but wonder what those lost memories held—and what they might mean for the man who now lay beside you, a man without a past, and for yourself, tied to him by fate and circumstance.

–

The days that followed were a blur of tests, conversations with doctors and nurses, physical therapy sessions, and quiet conversations in the quiet of his small sterile hospital room. Each day, he grew a little stronger, his body mending, but his mind remained a blank slate. You continued to visit him, bringing small comforts—fresh flowers from the market, a warm blanket, a new book. The nurses had started to smile when they saw you, happy and appreciative of that fact that you did not leave the infamous John Doe hanging, providing him company throughout this entire ordeal.

One afternoon, as you sat by his bedside, the doctor came in with the news you’d been waiting for: he was well enough to be discharged. But as the doctor spoke, you could see the uncertainty flicker across this John Doe’s face—what now? Where would he go?

He had no name, no memory, no past… no cash. The hospital couldn’t keep him indefinitely, and yet, sending him out into the world without any support felt wrong. You could feel the weight of the decision pressing on you, the responsibility of it, but you couldn’t shake the connection you’d felt since the day you found him, and the friendship that developed throughout his initial recovery in this place.

You hesitated, then, almost surprising yourself with the words that came out, you said, “You could come with me.”

He looked at you, the confusion in his eyes deepening. “What?”

“I mean,” you continued, gathering your thoughts, “I live on a small farm by the sea. It’s quiet, and you could continue your recovery there. I won’t ask for anything—just… consider it?”

His brow furrowed, and you could see the tension in his posture, the way his hands gripped the blanket as if trying to anchor himself to something familiar. “I can’t do that,” he finally said, his voice rough with strain. “You don’t know who I am. And… and I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You wouldn’t be a burden,” you replied quickly, sensing his resistance. You chuckled and continued, “And you don’t know who I am too… I’m offering because… well, because you don’t have anywhere else to go. You can’t just leave here with nothing.”

He shook his head, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “I can’t just rely on someone I don’t know. What if… what if I’m not the kind of person you think I am?”

You paused, considering his words. “I don’t know who you were before,” you said carefully, “but I know who you are right now. You’re someone who needs a place to heal. And I’m offering that place.”

He looked away, staring at the wall as if the answers he sought might be hidden there. “It just doesn’t feel right… accepting charity.”

“It’s not charity,” you insisted gently. “It’s… it’s a way for you to get back on your feet. To figure things out. And you don’t have to stay forever. Just until you’re well enough and ready to move on.”

He was silent for a long time, the internal struggle clear on his face. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I don’t like this… not knowing anything, not even who I am. But the idea of just… walking out of here with nothing, not even a name… it scares the hell out of me.”

You nodded, understanding the weight of his words. “Then let me help. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He glanced at you, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes that made him seem far younger than he appeared. “What if… what if I remember something, and it’s not good? What if I’ve done things… things I don’t want to remember?”

You met his gaze steadily. “Then we’ll deal with that when the time comes. But until then, you deserve a chance to recover, to find out who you are now, not just who you were.”

Another long silence, and then he nodded, a small, reluctant gesture. “Alright,” he said quietly. “I’ll go with you. But… only until I can figure out what to do next.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “That’s all I’m offering. A place to start.”

–

The drive to the farm was mostly silent, the two of you lost in your thoughts. He stared out the window, watching the landscape change from urban to rural, the city slowly giving way to open fields and winding roads that led to the coast. The ocean appeared on the horizon, a vast, endless expanse of blue that seemed to stretch into forever.

You stole a few glances at him as you drove, noting the way his hands rested tensely in his lap, his jaw set in a way that spoke of unease. It was clear that even in his amnesiac state, he was someone used to being in control, someone who didn’t easily rely on others. Yet here he was, putting his trust in you, a stranger who had found him half-dead on the beach.

When you arrived, the farm was bathed in the soft light of late afternoon. It was a modest place, with a small house and a few outbuildings surrounded by fields and gardens. The air was filled with the scent of salt and earth, mingling with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers that grew along the path.

You parked the car and turned to him with a small, reassuring smile. “This is it. Home.”

He looked at the house, then back at you, his expression unreadable. “Home…” he echoed, the word sounding foreign on his tongue.

“It’s not much, but it’s quiet and peaceful. Good for recovery,” you said, hoping to ease the tension you could feel radiating from him.

He nodded slowly, though you could see the hesitation in his eyes. “I appreciate this… I do. But I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You won’t,” you assured him. “You can stay as long as you need to get back on your feet.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t even know what that means for me. Getting back on my feet… when I don’t even know where to start.”

You opened the door and stepped out, then moved around to his side to help him. “We’ll start with the basics. Rest, food, getting some strength back. The rest… well, we’ll figure it out as we go.”

He hesitated, still sitting in the car, as if reluctant to fully commit to this next step. Finally, with a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped out, leaning on you for support as you walked up the path to the front door.

Inside, the house was warm and inviting, with wooden floors and large windows that let in plenty of light. It was simple, but it felt safe, like a place where one could find peace.

“I’ve got a spare room,” you explained, leading him down the hallway. “It’s not much, but it’s comfortable. It’s yours while you’re here, and if you need anything, just let me know.”

He followed you slowly, his eyes taking in the surroundings with a mix of curiosity and wariness. When you opened the door to the guest room, he paused in the doorway, his gaze lingering on the bed, the dresser, the window that looked out over the garden.

You opened a door on the side of the room revealing a modest bathroom.

“This room has its own bathroom, too.” You said a little cheerily.

“It’s… nice,” he said after a moment. “More than I expected.”

You smiled, setting down his small bag on the bed. “I’m glad you think so. You’ll be comfortable here.”

He stepped inside, moving with the careful, deliberate movements of someone who hadn’t yet fully recovered. He sat down on the edge of the bed, running a hand over the quilt. “I don’t know how to repay you for this,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something that sounded like regret.

“You don’t need to repay me,” you replied softly. “Just focus on getting better.”

He nodded, but you could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between accepting help and maintaining his pride. “It’s hard… accepting this. I feel like I should be able to stand on my own two feet. But I can’t even remember how to do that.”

You sat down in the chair by the bed, wanting to make sure he understands what you’re about to say. “You don’t have to do this alone. It’s okay to need help, especially now.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know why, but it feels wrong… relying on someone else. But I guess I don’t have a choice right now, do I?"

“Maybe not,” you said, offering him a small, understanding smile. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t find your way back to being independent. It’s just going to take time.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, perhaps, or just a sign that things would get better. “I hope you’re right,” he murmured. “I really hope you’re right.”

You reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “One day at a time, remember?”

He nodded, finally allowing himself to relax a little as he lay back on the bed. “One day at a time,” he repeated softly, as if trying to convince himself.

“I’ll come by to bring dinner in a few…” You said quietly and he nodded again in response.

With that, you left him to rest, closing the door quietly behind you. As you walked down the hallway, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of hope and uncertainty. You had offered him a place to heal, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning—of what, you weren’t sure yet. But something told you that whatever it was, you’d face it together, even if the future remained uncertain.

Next Chapter 👉🏻

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedropascal #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal fan fiction #pedro pascal fan fic #pedrohub #dave york equalizer #dave york x you #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut #dave york x reader #dave york #equalizer 2 #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal fanfic #dave york x female reader

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usafphantom2 · 2 months

Text

My RSO, Ed Bethart, made his infamous comment “don’t tell me that’s the other engine,” My answer, “Ed that’s the other engine,”’ SR-71 Blackbird pilot Major David “Dave” Peters.

SR-71 Blackbird pilot Major David “Dave” Peters was born to fly. He started collecting airplane pictures at the age of 7

On Apr. 28, 1979 with RSO Ed Bethart in the back seat, Dave was descending back to Okinawa, Japan, his home base, with only one engine working.

Then the other engine blew out. Knowing that the SR-71 glides like a rock, he had to think fast! Dave started to tell Ed to get out (eject), then Dave heard a voice…

Peters recalls; 🪽🕊️ “You’re OK keep going.” The voice was not in my head. Ed said he never heard it. I heard it again and I felt calm and I did exactly that. I kept going.

It started with a rocket ride one pass through the Korean DMZ unrefueled. Everything was great until I came out of AB (afterburner) for the descent. Almost immediately the left engine started surging and compressor stalling with the EGT going way past limits. I told Ed I was going to shut it down. So, he went through the check lists and we declared an emergency and requested descent to a precision straight in. We were setting up and not particularly worried because we had done this more than once.

Unfortunately, about 15,000 ft in the descent setting up for a downwind the other engine started surging and compressor stalling. Ed made his infamous comment “don’t tell me that’s the other engine,” my answer, “Ed that’s the other engine.” So, he says “what are you going to do?” I said “Restart the other engine so call approach and tell them we are going visual and get the tower and I’ll talk to them.” So, I started a pretty steep dive to get enough speed for a restart which I was able to get. The engine was still operating the same way so it wasn’t doing anything but giving us hydraulics for flight controls. I left the other one running for the same purpose. Ed got the tower and I told them we were running out of engines and were visual for a modified straight in. They cleared us for whatever we needed.

‘We were doing a little over 500 KIAS and turning onto a descending base leg trying to get the speed down to lower the gear. I had Ed get a hold of Mobil to let them know. Tom Keck and Tim Shaw were Mobil and they had Bob Cunningham and Jim Sullivan with them. I didn’t find out till later that Jim had told them all don’t say a word the last thing they need is help.

‘We kept slowing and I threw the gear down at about 350 KIAS. At the same time the right engine ceased. The gear came part way down so I pulled the emergency release handle and the mains came down and locked but the nose wasn’t down. I was constantly readjusting and trimming to keep the flight controls as close to neutral as possible because I didn’t want any violent movement if everything quit. That’s when I told

“Ed if I say get out if you say what… you’ll be talking to yourself.”

kept letting it slow and about 5 miles on final the nose came down and locked. I felt like we had everything set up well and was geared to keep going.

According to the MRS the second engine quit at 11 seconds on final which at the speed we were traveling was a little over a mile and a half. I think because I kept keeping the trim as close as possible there were not any big changes and windmilling may have been enough. At any rate we touched down at about 240 KIAS popped the chute and eventually used emergency breaking to stop.

‘It turned out to be very fortunate that we were able to get it down because it was determined that the cause was faulty fuel hydraulic pumps that failed. When they looked further, they found the same faulty pumps on the other airplane at Kadena, two at Beale and one at Mildenhall.

As most of you know, Dave Peters is fighting for his life. Let’s all put our thoughts and prayers together for Dave.🙏

Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

#sr 71 blackbird #aircraft #usaf #aviation #habu #mach3+#lockheed aviation

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eupheme · 6 months

Text

— Work Song

Dave York x Wife!Reader

Rated M - 600 words

Prompt: Work Song + Dave York

Tags: Dave POV, divergent timeline, fix-it au, who’s carol?? (aka wife!reader), references to sex, canon-typical violence, blood and death, implied happy ending

A/N: my contribution to the Hozier Drabble Challenge by @wannab-urs! Dave is new to me in every way so thank you so much @morallyinept for this banger post & I hope this isn’t too far off the mark

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

In all his years as an operative, and then the ones that followed - Dave’s life had never flashed before his eyes.

Instead there was always the bone-deep ache of fresh wounds. Split flesh and the sharp spike of adrenaline - his senses firing too quickly for his mind to process, hurtling him into pure instinct.

Surviving by the teeth of his skin.

But he knows - if he had that luxury - what he would think of.

It would be of you.

You weren’t supposed to matter. Just another checkbox in his life, a means of distraction.

Job. Married. Kids.

He’s still working on that last part. Never one to leave a job half-done.

But here, at the end of all things, it’s all Dave can think about. Rewinding back over the years.

Nights spent in - a darkened room, the television hilighting the art that lines your walls. Takeout cartons tipped over on the table. The movie long forgotten, your thighs wrapped firmly around his waist as you sobbed his name.

It was enough until it wasn’t.

Until he became possessive. That small measure of stability in a life that had suddenly tilted sideways.

There’s a flash of white, yards of chiffon and lace. An ache of hunger, so wrapped up in each in each other that you completely missed the hors d’oeuvres.

His mother had said they were good.

He would have to take her word for it.

The oaken walls of the cabin close around him, now. The white of your dress turning into a blanket of snow. His one hidden place, the few times he could try to turn his brain off.

It never worked.

But out there, he didn’t find himself looking over his shoulder as often. Too set on the needy rock of your hips. The splash of water over the edge of the oversized tub, soaking into forgotten towels.

His fingers leaving marks, so different than the kind he’s used to. Your sweetness a honey that coated his thorns, dulling them within these walls.

The sunlight streaming in from above narrows to a single bulb, hanging in the kitchen. You always left it on when he was gone. Beckoning him home, a beacon in the storms.

Dave thinks about how the light will stay on now, until it finally burns out.

He shouldn’t care this much. His partners know him better than you do, even the one that took Dave’s knife between his ribs.

McCall’s face hovers now - that pinch between his eyebrows. The hoarse cry as Dave had twisted the knife, angling it deep. His vision narrowed down to one eye, dead set on ensuring mutual destruction. His own side oozing and aching by his own blade, forgotten in the struggle.

A sharp throb at the back of his head, gritted teeth and full of hate. Watching as the light started to dim in his ex-partner’s eyes.

Before the whipping winds of the watchtower followed him down - one last surge of strength, as he was kicked over. The rain above falling to join the ocean below.

It’s here that his lungs begin to burn - his eye opening to see the reflecting glint of the sun above, that heavy layer of clouds parting.

Limbs finally moving, propelling him to the surface. Heart pounding with a pulse that echos with an ache near his temples.

By all rights, he shouldn’t be alive. A near-miss of McCall’s blade. The rocks on the shore as he raced to meet them.

And maybe - maybe, it’s the blood loss. Maybe it’s the cold shock of the ocean. Of knocking on death’s door, only for it not to answer.

But it’s still you, as his legs kick. The thought that although you don’t know him - maybe it’s a sign that he could be the man that you think he is.

It lingers, as he’s left retching on the shores of the beach.

Sucking in air, as he’s given one more chance.

Perhaps McCall had been onto something. Because after all, he’s a dead man - right?

Maybe now he can finally go home.

#dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x f!reader #hozier drabble challenge

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sequinsmile-x · 5 months

Text

The Games We Play - Chapter 4

She’d survived the very worst a person could, lived through things that still kept her up at night, the screams of other innocent people ringing in her head as sleep evaded her.

She’d survived so much, but she didn’t think she’d survive leading him to his death.

A Hunger Games AU

-x-

Hi friends,

Well, here we are - the final chapter of the most insane fic idea I've had yet. Thanks for all the love on this silly little AU it really means the world.

Please let me know what you think, your comments mean the world <3

-x-

Words: 3.6k

A full list of warnings can be found on the series master list

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

He grunts as the knife enters his chest again, the pain barely there, not matching up with what he thinks it should feel like. He looks up at George, at the crazed look in his eyes, and he knows this is it, that he’d got so close to surviving, so close to fulfilling his promise to Emily, and he’d fallen at the last hurdle.

Emily.

He thinks of her smile, of the way she’d laugh just when he needed to hear it. He thinks of her beauty, not diminished by what she’d survived but enhanced, her endless strength making her impossibly more gorgeous.

He had to make it back to her.

He growls, an animalistic sound escaping him as he surges forward, taking George by surprise as he flips them, the knife scattering out of the other man's hand as he gets the advantage. He hits him, his fists aching and splitting open as he carries on, not stopping as he feels bones crack beneath his knuckles.

He carries on, all the anger he’d ever felt surging through him. Anger at his father. At himself. At the world he found himself living in.

He only stops when he physically can’t do it anymore, his arms giving out from under him as he collapses off of George, who was eerily still, his eyes, one of the only recognisable parts of his face left, staring straight ahead.

Aaron collapses, his head swimming as blood loss catches up with him, his eyes drifting shut as he hears a canon crack in the air around him.

___

He sucks in a panicked breath, his eyes flying open as he looks around him, his body heavy as he tries and fails to sit up.

“Aaron.”

His head snaps to his left, his eyes wide and wild as he looks at Emily, a mix of relief and disbelief painted across her face, “Emily?”

“It’s okay,” she says, still in her seat, seemingly glued to it as she looks him over, her shoulders tight, “You’re okay. You’re in the private wing of the hospital,” she says, looking around them, “I shouldn’t even be here,” she flashes him a quick smile, “Dave can talk anyone into anything.”

He nods, taking in his surroundings a little more now the panic has passed. Everything looked opulent, expensive in a way he never would have been able to imagine before he came to the Capitol. He looks past the open door to his room and sees the nurse sitting at a computer and typing, the clack of the keys clear even from where he is lying in his bed.

“My hearing,” he says, placing his hand over his right ear, “It’s back. After the explosion with Kate…I could barely hear.”

“They restored it for you,” she explains, her smile tight as she sits up straighter in the chair next to his bed, “Nothing but the best for their victor.”

He nods, blinking heavily a few times before shaking his head, trying to dispel the sleepiness that threatened to overtake him, “What else?”

“You have a fair number of scars on your chest,” she says, her eyes fixed on his gown as if she could see his damaged skin through it, “And on your knuckles from where you…” she presses her lips together, the memory of the sound of George’s face giving way under his fists sending a shiver down her spine, “They can get rid of the scars too if you want to. Some people keep them.”

“Did you keep yours?”

His question takes her by surprise, and for a moment she forgot he didn’t know, that in all the nights they shared a bed he’d never seen her without her clothes on, had never seen the constellation of scar tissue that spread across her abdomen. Pink lines and creases that had faded to white, skin that was still numb to the touch and likely always would be.

“Yes,” she says, subconsciously placing her hand over the scar through her shirt, “I kept it.”

He stores the information away for later, not wanting to pry now, but he thinks he’ll make the same decision, not wanting to lose the evidence of what he’d survived.

“What else happened?” He asks, and she frowns, her eyebrows knitting together as she tilts her head and he smiles softly, “You looked like you saw a ghost when I woke up.”

She wonders how she should feel about the fact he can read her so easily, that, despite everything, they’d seemingly picked back up right where they left off when she’d been reaped for her own games and her life had changed forever. She thinks she should hate it, but she doesn’t. She likes that he knows her like that, that he understands her.

It had been so long since she’d felt known.

“Your…” she clears her throat, her teeth clenched as she tries to breathe through the emotion threatening to overwhelm her, “Your heart stopped when they got you out,” her voice shakes a little, “You were dead for almost a minute until they brought you back.”

He frowns and places his hand against his chest, his ribs aching, his entire body on fire from pain that the medication in his system barely dulled, “They brought me back?”

She chokes out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and she nods, “Yeah, they brought you back.”

“Why?”

His question surprises her, makes her breath catch in her chest as she looks down at her hands, her torn up cuticles something she can focus on instead of him, “Because they need a winner,” she whispers, “None of this works if they don’t have a winner and George died in the arena. So you’re their winner.”

He stares at her, his focus on the way she absolutely avoids looking at him. He can’t help but wonder how she felt when she was in his place. When she was laying in a bed, stitched back together after barely surviving the unthinkable, alone and wondering what came next. He feels selfishly grateful that he has her, that she can guide him through this next part.

“So,” he says, offering her a half smile when she looks at him, “Looks like I’ll be able to take you on a date after all,” he jokes, wanting nothing more than to lighten the mood, to feel anything other than despair for the first time since his brother’s name was called during the reaping.

She scoffs, shaking her head as she crosses her arms over her chest, Dave’s words from just a few days ago weighing heavily on her chest, “I wish it was that simple.”

He frowns at her, lifting his hand from his bed and offering it out to her, grateful when she stands and takes it without any further prompting, as if she was magnetised to him, moving against her will, “What do you mean?”

She isn’t sure how to put it into words. She wanted him, wanted whatever sense of happiness was possible in the reality they lived in, but she knew there would be a cost. She’d always known that, it’s why she’d cut him out of her life until he volunteered for his brother, fate intervening and putting them back firmly in each other's paths. She sighs as she sits on the edge of his bed, his warmth even with the small amount of distance between them intoxicating.

“There will be expectations of us,” she says, her chest hollowed out, aching and empty, ready for the heartbreak she can already feel, the heartbreak she’d endure for the rest of her life if it was what he chooses. She reaches out to push some of his hair out of his face, the strands longer than they usually would be, unkempt from his time in the arena, her fingers ghosting across his forehead. “If we do this. Our life won’t necessarily be our own.”

He catches her hand as she pulls it away from his face, linking their fingers together and squeezing, desperate to keep her close, “What do you mean?”

She looks over her shoulder to make sure they are alone, to check the nurse who was assigned to him wasn’t in earshot. She’d learnt a long time ago that no one could be trusted, that even those who seemed to be her friends here would give away her secrets for free. The only person she did trust, other than Aaron, was Dave. He’d never lied to her, never been anything other than almost painfully honest, their shared burden of what they did year after year something that had bonded them in a way she’s sure she’d collapse without. She leans in and makes sure she talks quietly, her voice low so only he hears her.

“We’ll get married,” she says, a smile flitting across her face at the treacherous hope that flashes in his eyes, something that even what he’d just been through couldn’t kill. She liked to think that would one day be the country’s downfall - the hope that existed between them all no matter what they had done to them. Hope that planted seeds and bloomed even in the darkest of circumstances, its flowers too bright and beautiful to be ignored, “And we won’t…there won’t be a lot of choice,” she says, hoping he’d understand, that he wouldn’t make her say it, “We would be expected to do our duty as victors.”

It’s the desperate look in her eyes that makes it click for him. He thinks of their conversation on the train, the way they’d casually agreed children weren’t on the cards for either of them as they drank liquor he’s sure cost more than his parent’s house. It was a moment in time, something that had led him back to her, his volunteering for his brother a crossroads in his life that had changed everything. A decision that, in the grand scheme of things, hadn’t been that long ago but may as well have happened to a different person.

“Oh,” he says, feeling her hand go slack in his, her expression tight as she starts to pull away, taking his silence and lack of a reaction as confirmation he would change his mind. He holds her hand even tighter, and feels her bones pop against each other, “Well, if there was anyone I’d want to do any of that with, it would be you.”

She scoffs, disbelief catching on every rib as it forces its way out, “Aaron, it’s not that simple,” she says, looking down at their joint hands, his tanned skin from the artificial sun in the arena making hers look even paler than usual, “We’d have to have children. If we didn’t Barnes would punish us, our families.”

“Em-”

She carries on as if he hasn’t spoken, as if she can’t hear him. All of the fears she’d pushed down for years finally burst to the surface, escaping from the box she’d hidden them in because he’d knocked it over, his love and kindness tearing her defences to pieces.

“And as much as I always said I don’t want children, I’d love them. I’d love them so much and then having to send them off to the arena when they turn 12-” she’s cut off as he sits up, groaning at the pain that spreads through his chest, his entire body burning from the points where Foyet had stabbed him, “What are you doing? You’re hurt.”

“I’m trying to hug you,” he says through gritted teeth as she lowers him back down to the bed, her hands firm on his shoulders as she raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief. He breathes through the pain for a moment and then rests his hands on her hips, “Em, I understand what you’re saying,” he says, encouraging her closer, her face close enough that he can feel her breath skipping across his skin, “I know it won’t be easy, but even if we had a kid tomorrow, 12 years is a long time. You never know what could happen.”

She huffs out a laugh and presses her forehead against his, “You think the world is going to change enough between now and then to mean we’d be safe.”

“I think you haven’t even kissed me yet,” he says, his hand on her back, his palm splayed so his fingers sneak under the hem of her shirt, smiling softly as she shivers as his heated skin touches hers, “Everything else will happen as it happens.”

She thinks she should hate him for being so sure, for the hint of optimism she knew time would kill over the next few years, but she can’t bring herself to. Instead, she allows herself to feel the relief that she’d been holding off since she’d arrived at the hospital. It fills her lungs, her chest fully expanding for the first time since she’d last seen him before he went into the arena, and she shakes her head, pressing her forehead against his for a moment before she pulls back, her smile fond as their eyes meet.

She leans in and presses her lips against his, her hand on his cheek to hold him in place, as if he’d rather be anywhere else even if he had the strength to move. It’s everything she’d ever imagined it to be and more as he pulls her closer, his hand insistent on her back as his other one finds its way into her hair, anchoring her to him. He tastes of the sugary medicinal drink she’d been made to have when she first woke up when she won the games, a boost she’d never known the name of, a hint of something she knew must just be him lingering underneath.

He sighs contentedly as she sinks into him, her tongue running across the seam of his lips before he opens his mouth. He’d thought about this moment for so long that it didn’t feel real, almost too good to be true. For a moment he wonders if he really did die in the arena, if this was the last thing his subconscious was doing for him, a moment of heaven before he slipped into darkness.

He knows it’s real the moment she pulls back, a concerned look on her face as he groans in pain, the two of them having got carried away as he pulls her tight to his chest, the pain reverberating throughout his body.

“Sorry,” she says, her hand slipping from his cheek to his throat, the reassuring thump of his pulse against her skin calming her down.

“Never apologise for kissing me,” he replies, encouraging her back in for another kiss, a quick thing stamped against her lips, “But we might have to wait a little while for our date.”

She smiles and nods, resting her forehead against his, taking a moment to breathe him in, “I should get going anyway. Let you rest.”

He shakes his head, “No, stay.”

“Aaron-”

“Please,” he says, wincing as he tries to shift in the bed, making room for her to slide in next to him, “I want you to stay.”

She hesitates, not sure what people would say or think if they found her in his bed, but she realises she doesn’t care. For the first time in years, she doesn’t think about anyone other than herself and she nods, slipping off her shoes before she carefully slips into bed with him, her head on his shoulder as she snuggles into his side. A sense of peace she hadn’t felt since they’d last slept next to each other washes over her and she tilts her head to look up at him.

“I love you,” she says, the words not seeming as heavy as they had on the rooftop the night before the games started. It was no longer something she’d only get to say to him once, no longer a rushed confession borne out of a misunderstanding. It was softer, impossibly more real.

Something she would say to him every day for the rest of her life.

“I love you too,” he replies, kissing the top of her head, tightening his hold on her the best he can with his injuries, “And I’ll spend the rest of my life doing that the best way that I can.”

___

At first, she’s not sure what wakes her up.

She’d never slept well on the train, not from the very first time she’d boarded it. It was eerily quiet given the speed they were travelling and it left her feeling uneasy, a stillness to it all that felt unnatural.

She rolls onto her back and groans, rubbing her hands over her eyes as she considers going to watch the sunrise in the back carriage, and then she hears a moan next to her, drawing her attention to Aaron as he sleeps fitfully. As he thrashes in the bed, his fists clenched at his sides, she knows what woke her up and she sighs sadly. She sits up and turns on the light, folding her legs against her chest and wrapping her arms around them as she watches him, waiting for him to wake up.

The first night he’d been back from the hospital, the same day he’d had his interview with Gideon, she’d tried to wake him up. She’d put her hands on his face and tried to pull him out of it, her words soft and reassuring as she eased him back to her. He’d grabbed her wrist, his grip tight around it, as he woke up, leaving a bruise that hadn’t quite faded yet. He hadn’t forgiven himself, had refused to sleep next to her again until she promised she wouldn’t try to wake him up again, and she hated how he sometimes looked at her.

As if she had something to be afraid of when she was with him.

It feels like an age passes before he wakes up, his chest filling quickly with a breath that’s clearly painful as he sits up, his eyes wild as he yells, his fists clenched so tightly she’s sure he could break the skin on his palms.

“Aaron,” she says quietly, not wanting to startle him. He looks at her so quickly it must pull at his neck, his eyes still wide as they meet hers. She knows that look, she’s seen it on her own face in the small hours of the night as she splashed water on herself in the bathroom after a nightmare. He was in the arena, his mind playing tricks on him even though he was now as safe as he ever would be. “You’re okay. It’s a dream. We’re on the train home.”

“Emily?”

She smiles and nods, shifting closer to him as the fog in his eyes starts to lift. She reaches out and places her hand on his cheek, her heart twisting in her chest as he leans into it, seeking out the affection she always had waiting for him.

“It’s me. I’m right here,” she assures him, shifting closer again until she’s in his lap, something in her stomach easing when he wraps his arms around her and holds her close, “I’m right here.”

He sighs, his eyes drifting closed as he rests his forehead on her temple, taking the chance to breathe her in, to replace the blood he could still smell with the scent of her, “I’m sorry.”

She pulls back and cups his cheek again, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His eyes drift to her bruised wrist and guilt churns in his gut just like it had every day since he’d woken up to find his first wrapped tightly around it. He clenches his teeth and shakes his head, familiar anger he hadn’t been able to shift since the arena burning through him.

“I don’t know how you can even look at me.”

She frowns as he looks down, avoiding her eye contact. He barely lets go of her though, as if she was the only thing keeping him grounded, so she wraps her arms around his shoulders to hold him close.

“What do you mean, sweetheart?” She asks, the moniker slipping free without her meaning it to, her focus on playing with the short hairs at the back of his head, providing comfort in any way she can.

“I hurt you,” he says, his tone flat as he continues to stare at the wall, “I killed people, Em,” he finally pulls away to look at her, “I killed a guy with my bare hands.”

“If you hadn’t, he would have killed you,” she reasons, an edge of desperation to her voice that she ignores, “And I’ve killed people too. It’s the only reason we’re both still here,” she smiles sadly, her hand on his cheek as she holds him in place, “Does that make it hard for you to look at me?”

He shakes his head immediately, his eyebrows furrowing as if the mere idea was ridiculous, “Of course not,” he says emphatically, “Never.”

“Then it’s not going to make it hard for me to look at you,” she says, making a point of reaching for his hand, of smoothing her fingers over the still healing cuts on his knuckles, “We survived,” she looks up at him, making eye contact as she kisses his hand, soothes away the damage both physical and mental, the scars she couldn’t see but knew were there, “We survived, and now we’ve got to try and live. As best as we can,” she kisses him, her lips firm against his, and she barely pulls back, her breath skipping across his face as she speaks, “Together.”

He nods, pulling her closer, his grip on her fierce. She holds him back just as tightly, seeking comfort as easily as she gives it.

“Together.”

-x-

Me to me: you will not write a sequel…you will not write a sequel…

-x-

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year

Text

Garden Party: Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x Reader

Tagging: @aaronhtchnrs @rosaliedepp @mysoulisasunflower @kabloswrld @xoxabs88xox @crazy4chickennuggets @justreblogginfics @witches-unruly-heart @infinity-mars @pimosworld @beardedbarba @est1887 @creativitybeware @mortal--soul @spookyboogyuniverse @corruptedcoffin @nu1freakshow @@oureternalbond @the-wandering-lunatic @thebaileybugle @proceduralpassion @callsignartemis @kmc1989 @thanossexual @the-wandering-lunatic @thebaileybugle @justreblogginfics @deekaag

Prequel to Come Up for Air

Frankie meets you at a garden party of all things. It’s his sister’s birthday and he’s spent weeks building the bar out of pallets, because he’s ‘handy’ and his morning stringing fairy lights across the top of the fences, along with fake roses to make the place look ‘magical’. It’s not even a big birthday.

Lucia is two years younger than him and has always lived extravagantly, his little sister deserves the world, but he wishes she wouldn’t whine about how his truck brings down the neighbourhood every time he parks it outside her house.

As he stands underneath the strings of light and looks up at the night sky, he realises that she may have been right about the vibe they bring to the garden. There’s an ethereal air to the place, the flowers accentuate the plush greenery making it seem like botanical wonderland.

He doesn’t know anyone here except Lucia and her husband Dave, the TV Exec. He knows fuck all about what Dave actually does, only that he makes an alarming amount of money. Frankie’s only been home a couple of months and honestly, he kinda sucks at making friends. He’s too quiet, Lucia tells him, too lost in his own head.

How could he not be? He thinks. The shit he’s done. He can’t burden anyone with that. There are only three people who can understand him on any level, and they are certainly not at this party.

A couple more minutes he thinks. He’ll stay a couple more minutes before making his excuses.

That goes completely out of the window when you literally bump into him. He doesn’t know how it happens because he’s standing stationary for Christ’s sake. You’re in the midst of apologising when he reaches out a hand to steady you, his warm palm coming to rest upon your shoulder, thumb accidently skirting your collarbone. It’s the first physical contact he’s had with anyone for a while, and it makes his heart thud even harder in his chest.

When he looks into your eyes he knows he’s in trouble. They’re a stunning shade, the hues bleeding into one another. He’s told women they have beautiful eyes before but with you he means it. The words slip out of his mouth before he can take them back and you tip your head back and laugh. It’s a musical sound that strikes a chord somewhere deep down inside of his soul.

“Pretty bad huh?” He says smiling despite himself.

He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t approach women, he doesn’t hit on them. Every single relationship he’s been in, he’s fallen into.

“I’ve heard worse.” You reply.

He can see it, you’re a striking woman. He’d sure you catch a lot of guy’s attention. There’s no ring on your finger and he feels a surge of hope.

“I bet you have.” He says knowingly, taking a sip of his beer.

It starts from there, the two of you sitting at the makeshift bar long into the night. You’re warm, companionable. He learns that you’re a writer for one of those sketch shows he’s seen on TV, that you don’t usually tell people that. You list the professions that you’ve made up during your tenure on Tinder, each one becoming more creative and silly the longer it goes on. He finds himself laughing for the first time in a long time and he’s forgotten just how it good it feels.

“Because they’ll ask for tickets?” he asks, questioning the reasoning behind it. He’s old fashioned, he prefers actually meeting people instead of using apps.

“Mostly.” You tell him before deliberating. “I also don’t want them to have that part of me. Remember this it isn’t a long-term connection I’m looking for; I just want to get fucked.”

Heat creeps across his cheeks and he takes a swig from his beer in an attempt to hide it. He finds your openness refreshing and it emboldens him. He hasn’t had this much fun in a long time, he can’t remember the last frank conversation he had.

“And why is that?” He asks you.

“My schedule.” You say with the shrug of your shoulders. You gesture to the space around you, it’s getting late, or early depending on how you look at it. The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, bathing the garden in an orange glow. Most of the guests have gone home and the entire yard is in a state of disarray. Frankie can see his sister sprawled out on the couch through the French windows, a blanket haphazardly tossed over her. “Everybody’s going to bed, but this is the golden hour for me. The work I do, the pitching, the rewrites, the editing, the filming, it all happens overnight. It’s entirely nocturnal. You can’t ask anyone to get on board with that. People think they can handle it but they can’t.”

He senses you’ve learned that from experience. That there’s been a boyfriend or two in the past who’ve called it quits because they couldn’t deal with it.

“I’m an insomniac.” He reveals to you, his hand clasped around his beer. “Sometimes when I can’t fall asleep, I drive around the city with the radio on, get out of my own head for a little while.”

“I get that.” You tell him with a smile. “The city is different at night, it’s quiet, it feels like it’s settling.”

You’re not wrong. He sees a lot of shit you don’t see in the day time, but it’s the peacefulness that he enjoys. There’s less traffic on the road, the streets are quieter. He thinks the nightlife suits him.

“The good thing about that is that I know all the good places to eat…” He says checking his watch. “… at four thirty in the morning.”

“Are you asking me out for breakfast?”

“Would you come along if I did?”

“Yea.” You tell him. “I think I would.”

“There’s a place around the corner.” He tells you, touching the edge of his cap. It’s a nervous gesture, because only now does he realise the enormity of his actions, that the night is shifting towards date territory, and he hasn’t been on a date for a very long time. “We can walk it?”

“Sounds like a plan.” You say as you climb off the barstool. Frankie follows suit, helping you into your jacket before the two of you slip out through the garden gate, trying to make as little noise as possible. There’s a giddiness to it, he feels like a teenager sneaking out of his parent’s house to meet a girl.

Out on the street he’s surprised when you capture his hand in yours. They fit together perfectly, your fingers entwining with his. It’s been a long time since he’s held someone’s hand, even longer since he’s met someone who he connects with.

“I like this.” He says, his thumb ghosting along the inside of your wrist.

He sees the blush creep up your cheeks and he can’t help but smile because it’s just so fucking adorable.

“Good.” You tell him. “Because I like it too.”

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fereise · 2 years

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Overhaul/Update version for one of my proudest works, a main cover art(?) for my little project call Robotnik AU.

Characters list:

Upper row/section (above Movie Eggman's hands), from left to right: - Sonic.exe (the utmost terrifying OC/FC from the creepy pasta thingy) - Queen Boom Boo, Merc version (OC/FC made by Dan-Habiki/@Dan_Daymaker) - King Boom Boo - Lah - Su & Uh - Shadow the Hedgehog (Team Dark) - Rouge the Bat (Team Dark) - E-123 Omega (Team Dark) - Dr. Eggman Nega - Doctor Albert W. Wily (Megaman, Archie comics) - Honey the Cat - Breezie the Hedgehog - Bocoe & Decoe + Bokkun - Dark Oak/Lucas - Dark Queen/Merlina - Erazor Dijinn - Coconuts - Scratch & Grounders - General Helmut Von Stryker - Anton Veruca (Shogakukan magazines) - Junior Robotnik - Captain Whiskers & Johnny - Opal the Jellyfish (Pirates of the Setting Dawn) - Dive the Lemming (Pirates of the Setting Dawn) - Blade the Shark (Pirates of the Setting Dawn) - Captain Shellbreaker (Pirates of the Setting Dawn) - Mr. Bristles the Yeti Crab (Pirates of the Setting Dawn) - Mephiles the Dark - Silver Sonic - Dark Enerjak (Knuckle) - Nazo (appeared in Sonic X's last teaser) - Eggette/Omelette Robotnik (famed OC/FC originally designed by Alpha Gamboa (blackbookalpha)) - Infinite the Jackal - Solaris - Black Doom - Eclipse the Darkling - Black Death - Dark Gaia (Perfect form) - Metal Sonic - Iron Queen aka Regina Ferrum - Time Eater - Mammoth Mogul - Iron King aka Jun Kun - Imperator Ix - Wendy Naugus - Bearenger the Grizzly (Witchcarters) - Carrotia the Rabbit (Witchcarters) - Falke Wulf (Witchcarters) - Walter Naugus - Fleetway's Super Sonic - Shade the Echidna - Boomer Walrus aka Anti Rotor - Patch D'Coolette aka Anti Antoine - Princess Alicia Acorn aka Anti Sally

Middle section (below Eggman's hands), from left to right: - Speedy (both Pre and Post-Super Genesis Wave versions) - Sage - T.W. Barker - Dave the Intern - Sleet & Dingo - A.D.A.M. - E.V.E. - Lyric the Last Ancient - Zor - Zash (OC/FC made by @saccharinerose) - Zeena - Zazz - Zomom - Zavok - Master Zik - Agent Stone (Sonic movies 2020/2022) - Orbot & Cubot - Wes Weasely - Snively Robotnik - Dr. Robotnik (Sonic movies 2020/2022) - Thunderbolt the Chinchilla - Predator Hawk (Destructix) - Anti-Miles - Scourge the Hedgehog - Storm the Albatross - Wave the Swallow - Jet the Hawk - Rosy the Rascal - Sleuth "Doggy" Dawg (Destructix) - Sergeant Simian (Destructix) - Fiona Fox (Destructix) - Duck "Bill" Platypus - Bark the Polar Bear - Bean the Dynamite - Drago Wolf (Destructix) - Nicolette 'Nic' the Weasel - Razorclaw - The Foreman (Grandmaster) - Hugo Brass - Diesel - Flying Frog (Destructix) - Geoffrey St. John - Hershey the Cat - Nack the Weasel/Fang the Sniper (Team Hooligan) - Fleetway's Chaos (Darkon fish form)

Lower section, from left to right: - Dr. Finitevus - Grimer Wormtongue - Dr. Fukurokov - Dimitri the Echidna - Maw the Thylacine - Mecha Sally - Mecha Sonic - Mecha knuckle - Jackal Squad, named by Nibroc-Rock as Uno, Deux, Trois, Quatre, Cinq & Sei (Shadowy figures) - Kayseri Valaedshkova (OC/FC made by dirtthefox/@Its_Dima_V) - Strike (OC/FC made by @speedofsoundsketches) - Surge the Tenrec - Kit the Fennec - Sofia the Gorgon (OC/FC made by Sofia-MMD/@GorgonSofia) - Clutch the Opossum - Kaibette the Genet (OC/FC made by @kaibette) - Rough & Tumble the Skunk - Battle Lord Kukku XV - ***Mecha Robotnik - Akhlut the Orca (both Pre and Post-Super Genesis Wave versions) - Tundra the Walrus - Mordred Hood (drawn with @adokle's style) - The Foreman/Tassel boy (Post-Super Genesis Wave) - Mimic (the Mimic Octopus) - Byte the Goat (OC/FC made by @bunniibones) - Lightning Lynx - Iblis - Phage - Conquering Storm (Post-Super Genesis Wave) - Bride of the Conquering Storm (Pre-Super Genesis Wave) - Dr. Starline - Biolizard - Sigma (Megaman, Archie comics) - Axel the Water Buffalo - Abyss the Squid - Cyani the Cobra (OC/FC made by @bunniibones) - Cipher the Owl (OC/FC made by @bunniibones) - Bleak (OC/FC made by HT-Doodles/@HtDoodles) - Clove the Pronghorn (my top fav among all the characters here) - Cassia the Pronghorn - Lien-da - Chaos - Tikal the Echidna - Pachacamac - Gae-Na - Kragok - Thrash the Devil - Warden Zobotnik & Znively (Zone Cop) - Belinda & Charlie - Nephthys the Vulture - ??? (Behind Nephthys) - Trevor Burrow the Mole (Desert Raiders) - Sonar the Fennec (Desert Raiders) - Spike the Porcupine (Desert Raiders) - Razor the Shark - Queen Angelica - Rusty Rose - Robo Tails (Brain-washed, based on Sonic Lost World's designs) - Beauregard Rabbot - Jack Rabbit - Matilda the Armadillo - Zefir (my main OC/FC) - Gamer Deer (aka 'Aleko' the Northamer Guard or the 'Gamerdeerdude' by @adokle) - Zonic (Zone Cop) - Chesah the Tarsier aka No.29 (my OC/FC) - Sandy the Caterkiller (OC/FC made by @the-hydroxian-artblog)

For the Alt version: FeReinsm on Instagram: “Overhaul/update versions for one of my proudest works, a main cover art(?) for my lil’ project - Robotnik AU. For the 2nd and 4th pics…”

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allmoshnobrain · 10 months

Text

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

part 22 of ? | masterpost

word count: 3319 | ao3 link | fic's playlist

All the hugs, the laughter, the comfort, the advice. The way his blue eyes were always locked onto mine. Maybe I should've caught on sooner. It's not like it was some big secret, especially since Dave got the boot from the band. But somehow, I clung to the hope that I was wrong. That the bond between us was stronger than any attraction he might have. That he wouldn't risk doing something that could change it forever. Something irreversible. Something like a kiss.

✦ summary: An unexpected action by James confuses Nore's feelings and changes their friendship beyond repair.

✦ on this chapter: dave mustaine x female!oc, james hetfield x female! oc, oc is cliff's cousin, +18, language, slice of life, angst, love triangle, drinking, smoking, recreational drug use, kissing

✦ a/n: I'm back earlier this time! This part was a lot easier to write because I confess it has been living rent free in my head for a while lol Hope you guys like it, feedbacks are welcome and motivate me a lot!

✧ Don't wanna touch you, but you're under my skin / I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison ✧

The trip back to Los Angeles was pretty quiet as I got lost in my own thoughts. Still trying to wrap my head around my mom's offer and all the baggage it brought, my mind was racing, keeping pace with the dark night scenery outside the window.

"You're awfully quiet," Dave remarked, jolting me back to reality. I glanced at him; he was focused on the road, but looked a bit bothered by my silence.

"My bad," I murmured. "It's just... a lot to take in at once."

"No need to apologize," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. He casually took one hand off the wheel, placing it on my thigh, his thumb tracing gentle circles on my skin. I rested my hand on his, leaning back into the seat. He furrowed his brow, the usual sign of concentration, and his hand left mine to shift gears; I smiled faintly, appreciating how good he looked when he was focused. "How are you doing?"

"Me?" I questioned, and he nodded with a grunt. I sighed. "I guess I'm okay. My family is complicated, but it's nothing I'm not used to."

"Your dad seemed nice," he smiled, stealing a quick glance at me. I chuckled softly.

"Yeah, he's... easier to deal with. Now, my mom..."

"She's... interesting," he commented, and I laughed softly, catching on that he was being polite. We were almost home now; Dave stopped the car at a red light and turned to face me, gazing into my eyes.

"She's a pain in the ass, that's what she is," I said, and he burst into laughter. "Always acting like she's better than everyone. She always... always makes me feel like I'm hard to love," I concluded with a sigh.

"Hey," he lifted my chin with his fingers, making me meet his serious and focused gaze. I felt my face warm as he leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on my lips before pulling away. He whispered into my ear, "That's not true... It's very easy to love you."

The rest of September passed by like a hurricane. A few days after visiting my parents, we threw a small birthday party for Dave with our closest LA friends. To spice things up, there was a mini jam session where Dave, David, and a couple of other friends belted out some fresh tunes they'd cooked up. They had no vocalist yet, but I was blown away by the raw power and intensity of Dave's new compositions anyway. When he strummed those chords, it felt like a surge of electricity took over the whole place. Everything about him cranked up a notch; it was downright impossible to peel my eyes away, even for a second.

October rolled in, and with the streets all decked out for Halloween, I received an invite that temporarily shoved aside my worries about my mom's deal. Leanne's birthday was just around the corner, and she was throwing a bash for the upcoming weekend at Joe's place. Word was it would be a wild one. I hit up San Francisco on Saturday morning, thinking I was kinda early, but his place was already buzzing with people, tunes, and drinks.

"Nore! You made it!" Leanne beamed when she spotted me.

"Hey, Lea. Happy birthday." I grinned, handing over the gift I brought—some records from bands I knew she liked.

"Oh, you brought me a present, thank you!" she squealed, hugging me. I chuckled, giving her a squeeze back. She pulled away with a grin. "Hey, Cliff and the others are by the pool. I'm heading there soon, but if you wanna roll in before..."

"Oh, I'll track 'em down. Got a spot to stash this?" I pointed to the backpack on my back and the helmet from my bike.

I cruised to the backyard after Lea helped me stash my gear in Joe's room. Didn't have to play detective to find my friends; Cliff, Lars, James, and Kirk were deep in conversation by the pool, dead set on pouring vodka from a bottle into little plastic shot cups.

"Hey, that's not fair!" Lars yelped as I strolled up. "James, you snagged way more than the rest of us."

"Why don’t you pour it yourself, then?" James shot him a look, lifting an eyebrow. I grinned.

"Can't believe you dudes didn't save a drop for me," I teased, making them all look up at once.

"Nore!" Lars shouted, all pumped. I threw out a quick hi to the guys before zeroing in on Cliff.

"So, did Dave give you the green light to be here?" he quipped with a smirk. I huffed, rolling my eyes.

"He doesn't need to give me the green light for anything, Cliff," I muttered, and he chuckled before yanking me into a hug.

"Good to see you, Nore. Hey, what's that there?" Cliff pointed to the bag hanging from my arm.

"Oh, about that... Can I chat with you for a sec?" I asked in a hushed tone. Cliff raised an eyebrow, looking intrigued, but gave a nod. We strolled away, finding a quieter spot in the backyard. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, expertly fishing out a joint and lighting it, shielding the flame from the gentle morning breeze with his hands.

"So, spill. What's the scoop?" he asked, and I sighed before handing him the bag. He opened it, furrowing his brow at the sight of the Metallica record. "Wow. Is the album this bad?"

"It’s awesome ," I said, then sighed. "But... Cliff, Dave got really bent out of shape when he saw this. I just figured... maybe you could hold onto the record for me for a bit. I don't want him getting worked up about it..."

"Nore. This isn't right," Cliff stated, his voice firm. I lifted my eyes, locking onto his gaze, and could tell he wasn't very happy with what I'd just said. "You can't do this. You're giving up on living because of him. First, you move to be with him, and we hardly see each other anymore. Now this?"

"You don't get it, Cliff. Please," I pleaded. "I don't want to fight. Not with you guys, not with him."

"Is he giving you grief because of us?" Cliff raised an eyebrow. I sighed, dropping my gaze, but didn't say anything. "Nore." Cliff held my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. "I can hang onto this for you if you really want. But you gotta tell me you know he's not your responsibility."

"Cliff..."

"Remember what I said when you two started dating?" he cut me off. "If he messes with you, I got your back. Cool?"

"Okay," I murmured, giving a small smile. "Thanks."

"Anything for my fave cousin," he grinned, and I chuckled softly. "Come on, let's get back to the shindig."

Back in the mix with Kirk, Lars, and James, we found the vodka bottle now half-gone, abandoned at James' feet while they all helped themselves to some beers.

"I'm gonna stash this and track down Lea. Back in a sec," Cliff announced, waving the bag with my record. I gave a nod, turning my focus back to the guys.

"Hey, Nore!" James hollered, a grin spreading across his face the moment he spotted me. "There's no way you're sober. You used to be a champ at this drinking thing."

"James, it's ten in the morning," I laughed, and he scoffed, passing the beer he had to Lars and grabbing the vodka bottle from the ground. He popped it open, strolling over and throwing a hand on my shoulder with a grin.

"Don't tell me you're thinking of laying off the booze."

"Of course not," I shot back, raising an eyebrow challengingly. He, along with Lars and Kirk, burst into laughter.

"You gotta taste this vodka. Lars swiped it straight from his old man's stash," Kirk chimed in.

"Yeah, it's awful," Lars laughed, then hiccupped. I rolled my eyes with a smile. I knew my friends turned into total goofballs when they hit the bottle, but watching it unfold while I was stone-cold sober was a whole different trip.

"Come on, open up," James slurred, his words dragging, gripping my chin in his hand.

"James!" I exclaimed, caught off guard, releasing a nervous laugh as I tried to back away. James grumbled, his hand sliding from my chin to rest at the base of my neck, the rough palm pressing against my collarbone. I could feel my skin heating up, my face suddenly flushing. "What happened to the shot glasses?"

"We polished off the drinks and chucked 'em. Come on, you want this or not? Open up."

I scoffed but played along, letting him pour a bit of vodka straight into my mouth. James grinned, his gaze fixed on my lips as I swallowed. He swiped away a droplet that had slid down to my chin with his finger.

"Good girl," he teased, a mischievous smile on his lips as he locked eyes with me. "See? Wasn't that hard."

"Shut up, Hetfield," I shot back, giving him a playful shove, my face heating up even more. He huffed, made a face at me, then strolled off toward the drink coolers without a backward glance.

"Hey! That's my vodka!" Lars protested angrily, before trailing after James. "Get back here, damn it, I haven't finished drinking!"

I watched them go, an uneasy feeling creeping into the depths of my chest. Why did it suddenly feel like maybe I shouldn't have shown up? These were my friends, right? So why did everything seem more complicated than it should be?

"They get really happy when you’re here," Kirk observed. I blinked, surprised by his words. He shot me a smile, but his eyes seemed intrigued.

"What do you mean?" I asked, and he shrugged.

"Just that you can tell they really like you."

I ended up talking to Kirk for a few minutes, both of us getting a good laugh watching Lars and James from a distance. Lars was on a mission to reclaim his vodka bottle, while James danced around him with ease. Kirk turned out to be a really cool guy; laid-back and easy to chat with. Eventually, Cliff and Leanne joined us, hauling in a crate of beers that we gladly shared among the four of us.

When the beer stash ran dry, I volunteered to restock. I cruised to the kitchen, where I found James slouched at the table, his head buried in his arms, the vodka bottle now empty and cast aside at his feet.

"Ah, there you are," he mumbled, his voice slurred, and his eyes a bit blurry as he caught sight of me.

"Are you okay?" I questioned, a tad concerned by his condition. He shrugged. "Do you want some water?"

He grumbled, and I interpreted it as a "yes." Scouting around the cabinets, I found a glass and filled it with water. James promptly downed it, grimacing, his eyes blinking and honing in on my face.

"And you? Don't you need a bit of water too?"

"I'm fine," I furrowed my brow, even though I felt a bit lightheaded from the amount of beer I'd drank. "I just came to snag more beer for us. You should join. By the way, where's Lars?"

"In the bathroom," James grumbled, then he hoisted himself up, clutching the back of the chair for balance. I placed a hand on his back, trying to assist. He scowled. "You said you came to get more beer?"

"Yeah, any idea where it is?"

He pointed to the corner of the kitchen, where some cases of beer were stacked near the stove. I grabbed one of the packs, tossing it onto the table. James nabbed one of the beers, popping it open.

"James, maybe you should take a breather," I suggested, and he snorted.

"Why?" he asked, staring at me with a furrowed brow, his blue eyes defiant. "I've been waiting for weeks to see you, and now that you're here, you don't even want to be near me. At least drinking makes it a little more fun for me."

I blinked, my mouth opening in surprise as I tried to process what James had just said. It's not like I was angry, annoyed or avoiding James at all, but the worry about Dave and my parents reappearing in my life made it a bit harder to enjoy myself this time. However, for James to think that had anything to do with him? That wasn't right.

"This has nothing to do with you," I uttered in a low voice. He approached, his brow furrowed, placing the open beer on the table. "I don't want you to think..."

"Think what? That you're done being my friend?" he took another step closer, and I backed up, hitting the cold wall. He rested one hand on the wall, leaning down so his face was at the same level as mine. My heart squeezed seeing the anguish in his eyes. "Since you moved to Los Angeles, we hardly see each other anymore. You not into me anymore?"

"Don't say that," I whispered, my voice trembling, my eyes filling with tears hearing the bitterness in his voice. As complicated as things were, the last thing I wanted was for my friends to think I didn't want to be with them. "James, this isn't fair..."

And then he kissed me.

Maybe I should have seen it coming. Perhaps I should've picked up on the closeness and tension that had been steadily building between us since the day he first laid eyes on me. All the hugs, the laughter, the comfort, the advice. The way his blue eyes were always locked onto mine. Maybe I should've caught on sooner. It's not like it was some big secret, especially since Dave got the boot from the band. But somehow, I clung to the hope that I was wrong. That the bond between us was stronger than any attraction he might have. That he wouldn't risk doing something that could change it forever. Something irreversible.

Something like a kiss.

Instead, there he was, his body pinning mine against the wall, his hands cradling my face, his lips moving against mine with a desperate hunger I never thought I'd find in his arms. For a moment, all I could feel was him —his scent, his body, his kiss. But my blissful confusion lasted no more than a few seconds before it was replaced by panic: this wasn't right. This shouldn't be happening. We were friends. I had a boyfriend.

I shoved my hands against his chest, giving him a solid push. He pulled back abruptly, his blue eyes showing a hint of sobriety as he took in my state—my face all red, breath coming quick as my heart raced, and my stomach filled with a million butterflies. For a beat, it was just us, his eyes glued to mine in a mix of confusion and ecstasy, before anger started bubbling up in my chest, ready to explode. I shook my head, in disbelief, and stormed out of the kitchen in a burst of rage that seemed to leave him bewildered.

I sprinted past Cliff, Leanne, and Kirk, barely registering the surprised looks they shot my way as I bolted to the front of the house. I plopped down on the curb, my breath coming quick, almost in a state of panic as I desperately searched my pockets for my pack of cigarettes and lighter. When I finally found them, it was useless; my hands were shaking so much, my breath all over the place as I tried to hold back tears, that I just couldn't light my cigarette.

"Nore? Shit, what happened?" I heard Cliff ask. I looked up to see that he had followed me and was standing beside me, staring at me with a confused expression on his face.

"Cliff..." I began, my voice shaking. He settled beside me, taking my hand in his, gripping it firmly while his eyes scanned my face, genuine concern etched on his features. "Cliff, James..."

"Did you guys have a fight?" he asked, furrowing his brow. I sniffled, shaking my head.

"Cliff, he kissed me," I murmured, suddenly feeling like I was 15 again, talking to Cliff on the phone about some boy from school who had broken my heart. His eyes widened at my words, his incredulous expression slowly being replaced by one of anger.

"And why are you crying like this? Did he force you? I'll beat the crap out of him..." he growled, letting go of my hand and starting to stand up.

"Cliff, no!" I exclaimed, tugging him by the hand. He looked at me, confused. "He didn't force me. It just happened out of nowhere. I just... Cliff, I have Dave. I never thought James..."

"You didn't know he liked you? Nore, that was kind of obvious," he interrupted, and I groaned in frustration.

"It's not that! Cliff, I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't want him to think... I just wanted to be friends with him. Why do things have to be so complicated?" I asked, my eyes filling with tears again. Cliff stared at me for a moment before sitting back down beside me with a sigh. He pulled me close into a hug, and I rested my head on his shoulder.

"First, let's go back to the party, and I'll get you some water, okay? We can talk to James later if we need to. But knowing him... If you left like that, I doubt he'll want to talk about it."

Cliff was more right than I thought; when we got back to the party, James was nowhere to be found. I tried to cheer up, especially for Leanne and Cliff, but it was useless. I spent the rest of the day worried about James, wondering where he might be, and if I had hurt him beyond repair.

When the party wrapped up, Cliff, Leanne, and I hopped into a taxi to Leanne's house. I had left my motorcycle in Joe's garage and planned to swing by the next day to grab it before heading back to Los Angeles. I tried to perk up as Leanne and Cliff enthusiastically decided what to order for dinner, but not even a hot shower was enough to lift my spirits; I was more intoxicated than I wanted, concerned about my friend, and trying to ignore how the feeling of his lips on mine kept replaying in my head every five minutes, which basically made me want to die.

"You don't need to worry about him. He'll show up," Cliff assured me later, after we had finished off the pizza Lea had ordered for dinner. The news was playing on the TV, and I could hear the water running in the bathroom as Lea took a shower, but I wasn't really paying attention to any of those things. "I mean, he could already be home... I tried calling, but I think Lars and Kirk must have passed out as soon as they got there."

"What am I gonna do, Cliff?" I asked, softly. I was totally lost. Now that all the lines in my friendship with James had blown up in my face, I didn't know what to do — and I didn’t want to deal with any of it. There was already too much on my mind. But I couldn't just pretend it didn't happen, either.

Cliff didn't say anything; in fact, I don't think he knew what to say. Instead, he grabbed my hand and pulled me in for a tight hug. I sighed, shutting my eyes, trying to soak up that brief moment of calm. Wishing it could magically wipe away the ache in my heart — even though I knew it couldn't.

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purifycantyouhelpme · 3 months

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Poison Was The Cure | Chapter 3 | Dave Mustaine x Reader

Word count: ??? A03 Link<3 Author's Note: I’m sorry that the chapter was rushed. I just wanted to get the chapter over with and also NSFW warning 0-0

At Crescent Taekwondo, Dave’s P.O.V I came out of the fitting room, wearing my Martial Arts uniform and I was waiting for Marty to come out. I turned my head to look at (Y/N) from afar, (Y/N) was sitting down on the floor, waiting for me I suppose. Then I noticed that she was talking to Junior. It seems like they were flirting or he was flirting with her. My (Y/N) will never flirt with Junior. She’s disinterested and wants to talk to me, not Junior. I approached them, glaring at him while trying to hide my mean persona. Before Junior even turned his head to face me, (Y/N) was blushing. “Hey, Dave.” Junior smiled. That smile of his is pissing me off. “Junior…” I reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him closer to me, away from (Y/N). “Do you mind if I use you to teach people about Martial Arts?” I slowly squeeze his arm a bit. “Sure, pal.” Junior put his hand on my shoulder. “Step this way, partner,” I smiled at him and pointed at the middle of the floor. This is an excuse to “hit” him for flirting with (Y/N).

Everyone was staring at me and Marty, waiting for the tutorial to begin. “Alright, the first step to Martial Arts is observation, okay?” I told them. “If you try a move without observing, you will make mistakes. We don’t want mistakes, especially early on.” Marty finished my sentence for me. “Allow me to demonstrate,” I said. I performed the front kick on Junior. “Ow!” Junior yelled as I had a slight smile on my face. “What Dave did was the front kick,” Marty told them. “You gotta keep your feet apart and lift your knee to your chest. Then snap your foot out.” “And aim for the midsection,” Marty performed the front kick on Junior. “Ow!” Junior hunched over. It's so satisfying seeing him getting hurt. “Now, we're gonna show you guys how to do the Mount Escape.” I raised my voice.

After teaching them a couple of moves, we were both getting exhausted and decided to end it “Alright, you guys can go now,” I told them. They were getting up and leaving the building. “Get up, Junior.” Marty reached his hand out for Junior who was in pain. “Until next time–” I cut myself off because I wasn’t expecting (Y/N) to leave at all. I wanted her to stay longer but we all have our lives. She has to go to her job.

At Emily Marie Mustaine’s house, Dave’s P.O.V. Going to my Mom’s house was a bad idea but I know that she will scold me for not talking to her in a while and I don’t want to deal with that. I ringed the doorbell, waiting for my mom to open the door. She opened the door, she had a mean look on her face. I tried to fake my smile to her. “Hello… Mother.” I said, my tone filled with enthusiasm. “I just came in to say hi–” “Have you got a girlfriend yet?” She asked me in a rude tone. Of course she would asked me that. My mom is one of those who expects their child to be perfect and good at everything parents. “Well… I–” I was stumbling my words. “Don’t come talking to me until you have a girlfriend.” She crossed her arms. “And make sure she’s Christian.” She continued. I couldn’t say that (Y/N) is my girlfriend to her because she doesn’t like (Y/N). She isn’t good for me and the family, what my mom said to me. I’m getting fed up with her, I can’t keep on this fake nice persona for too long. I sighed and said, “Yes, Mother.” I slammed the door on my way out. God, I hate my mom so much. I don’t know why I try to get along with her, it's never going to work out.

July 2002 At a drum store, Diana’s P.O.V. As I walked into the entrance of the drums store, I felt an overwhelming surge of happiness in me. “Finally! We’re finally here.” I shouted. “Yay….” Dave yawned as he crossed his arms, eyes drooping. Hate dealing with him sometimes. “Geez, who pissed in your cheerios?” I rolled my eyes at him and crossed my arms as well. “I’m tired, Diana.” Dave took a sip of his water. “We’re not gonna be here that long anyways.” I lied to him.

After about 20 minutes of looking around in the store, I brought some drumsticks and a few snares. As I set them on the counter, there’s a picture frame of that Nick Menza guy on the front counter. I know it was Nick because it has the words, Nicholas Menza, on it and his birthdate and death date. I tugged on Dave’s shirt and asked, “Is this the Nick guy you talk about?” Dave looked at the photo for a bit before responding with, “Yeah, I forgot that he used to come here often.” I grabbed the picture frame and stared at it. “It's really sad that he died so young, you know?” I said softly, trying to be all sad. I kept talking about Nick, not knowing that Dave wasn’t listening to me. He was looking through the window. Now he’s getting on my nerves. “Dave!” I punched him in the shoulder. “Ow!” He yelled as he started to rub his shoulder, giving me an angry look. “I was talking to you.” I said, my fist clenched. “What were you looking at anyways?” I asked him and I peep through the window. I saw (Y/N) helping someone. I know who (Y/N) is. Dave talks about her and I have met her a few times. She’s really nice and kinda pretty but she bugs me out. “Oh,” I smacked my lips.

At Dave’s house Opening the door to my house, I was exhausted. I wanted to lie down in my bed so bad. Man, I wished I didn’t hang out with Diana today. She pretty much wasted my time. I’m getting so tired of hanging out with Diana. I have more important stuff to do than even talk to her. Before I lay on my bed, I went through some of the stuff, looking for a picture of (Y/N). Looking at a picture of her will surely help me feel less shitty. After going through the box of (Y/N)’s stuff that I stole from her like her clothes, panties, bras, and a toothbrush, I finally grab a photo of (Y/N). I remember this day, it was summer. We were hanging out outside and having a fun time, despite us sweating immensely. I forgot where we were in this photo but I don’t care. I’m only focusing on (Y/N), she was so hot in her lace top and jeans. I gazed at the image for roughly 30 seconds until I could feel my arousal building. I can’t help myself, can I?

Finally, I got on my bed while holding the picture in my right hand and reaching for my pants in my left hand. I slowly unbutton my pants with my left hand until I reach my hard dick. As I started to stroke myself, images of her pretty face and curvy body flashed through my head. “I wish she was here.” I moaned. The thoughts were consuming me immensely, just pure desire. Each stroke was bringing me closer and closer to release followed by my loud breathing. I picked the pace of my strokes, leaning my head back a little. “I’m cumming, (Y/N)…” I muttered as I came all over the photo. Staring at a picture of (Y/N) did make me feel less terrible but my exhaustion is still there.

#yandere! dave mustaine #yandere! dave x reader #yandere fic #dave mustaine x reader #dave mustaine #dave mustaine fanfiction #megadeth fanfiction #a03 fanfic #a03 link

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judgementdaysunshine · 1 year

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Scared to love again

Pairing: Eddie Guerrero x Fem reader

Description: After losing your husband three years earlier, you fall in love with your friend Eddie and it leads to an emotional moment between the two of you

"You are allowed to live again after all this time" you look at Eddie as tears flowed down your face, the two of you had been friends for years and through his friend Dave Bautista you met your husband Lenny. You felt the fullest of life until lenny passed three years earlier, he was one of the best people you had met and known and the last time you saw him you promised that you would never love anyone like you loved him but he knew that you were saying you would never love ever again after he was gone, during his last month alive he told eddie to help you not just with grieving and getting back on your feet but with living life again and he gave eddie permission to tell you of his feelings for you, he knew how much eddie truly cared about you and honestly thought you'd be with eddie instead of him until the two of you got together and married later on. You had opened up to eddie about how much his loss affected you which slowly tore his heart out of his chest until he told you everything lenny had told him before he passed which shocked you at not only that he knew about your lingering feelings for eddie but that he had told eddie to help you live again after he was gone which confused you until you truly realized what exactly the words meant, you shake as sobs course through you until eddie was holding your forehead to his and slowly leaned in until he had his lips pressed against yours in such a gentle, tender, emotional, and soft kiss that it brought love back to you in a way you thought would never return in your life after all that has happened. You cry as the kiss stops and he gently holds your face in his hands, gently wiping tears with his fingers "Let love in mi vida, you can be happy" you look at him in his eyes seeing the honest and kind look which made you feel whole again as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him back for another kiss as he lifts you in his arms and kicks your bedroom door closed before laying you on the bed playing with the hem of your shirt before pulling it off and holding you to his chest, "God I have loved you so much i didn't think i deserved you especially in such a way" you tangle your fingers through his hair as he kisses down your body until his head was lightly buried between your legs for the next half hour before you return the intimate act on him as he quietly speaks spanish until the two of you were molded together tightly with your head in his shoulder and his face in your neck as he pants and you moan barely even loud enough to be heard. You both hold each other as you catch your breaths and slowly get cleaned up in the shower before laying down smiling as you feel his arms wrap around your body and his lips pressed against your collarbone "I love you so much eddie for so long even when.." he stops before you finish your sentence "I love you with my everything mi corazon and you're allowed to love someone else after all of what happened to you" you feel a surge of warmth flow as you share a kiss with eddie before laying your head on his chest as you fall asleep "Sweet dreams mi amor" he smiles as he feels your slowed and even out breathing against his body until he falls asleep with his forehead connected to yours.

#eddie guerrero #wwe x reader #wwe #eddie guerrero x reader

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wildemaven · 2 years

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Try Again

Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader

W/C: 1805

Warnings: 18+; Mentions of food and alcohol, not beta’d

A/N: I initially didn’t want the ending to be happy, because Dave was a dick and didn’t deserve a second chance. But for the sake of I can do what I want, I’m going those who wanted things to work out a happy ending. Hopefully it’s what you had in mind.

One Last Try / Alternate Endings / Masterlist

He knew he fucked up the minute he answered that first call. And yet he still continued to do so.

He could see the hurt written all over your face as the night went on, but you sat there and endured his blatant disregard for your time and your feelings— you were too good for him.

How hadn’t he realized the empty seat across from him? Did you say you were leaving?? Looking around as if there was a chance you’d just stepped away to the bathroom and would return shortly.

After 10 minutes and no sign of you, he knew he’d royally fucked up, yet again.

He tried to close out the tab, only to discover you had done so without his knowledge, the waiter giving him a pointed stare and he knows he deserves it.

He knows you’re probably at home by now, and he also knows he is the last person you want to see after this evening.

He called a few times, only to be met with your voicemail at each attempt. He could send a text and ask for your forgiveness, but he knows you would rather hear anything but him begging for mercy.

He calls one last time, gathering his thoughts and waits for the signal before he starts talking.

“Babe… I-I’m so fucking sorry. I got so caught up in work, I-I didn’t see the how it was affecting us— you. I know nothing I say right now is going to make you see how sorry I am for not seeing the pain I’ve caused you. I just want to let you know that I love you and I’m hoping you can forgive me, again. Please let me know you’re okay. Bye.”

He doesn’t feel any better once the call has ended. He hopes that you’ll listen to it at some point, and give him another chance. All though he’s not sure he really deserves one at this point.

The clinking of the melting ice settles in his glass, the burn of the whiskey was just enough to help him get out of his head before calling the girls to wish them goodnight, followed by a quick chat with Carol.

After spilling everything that had transpired that evening to her, she reminded him why they were no longer together. While he is driven and likes to provide for his family, he becomes so consumed by it that everything else becomes an afterthought. She’d warned him that if he didn’t figure out how to prioritize his time, he would once again lose the people that mattered most to him.

Her words still sink in even after he’s hung up the phone. She’s right, this is his own doing and it’s cost him potentially losing you.

He throws back the remaining now watered down amber liquid, it’s burn not as intense as earlier.

Letting his body fall down on to the couch, his head falling back to rest on the cushions as he rubs his hand down his face, he’s still so fucking mad at himself for not seeing how much he was hurting you.

As he leans forward to shrug off his suit jacket, he feels something knock into his chest and it’s then that another wave of guilt surges through him. His shoulders fall and a heavy sigh leaves his chest as he reaches into the inner breast pocket of his jacket. The small velvet box sits heavy in his hand, the reality of what tonight was supposed to be hits him hard.

Opening the box, the overhead lights catch the diamond sitting on a delicate gold band staring back at him. He thinks back to how nervous he was this morning, ready to ask you for your hand, now he’s not sure you would have even said yes.

The screen of his phone catches his attention, a message from you. Setting the box down he picks up his phone to see what you’ve sent.

-Hey. I’m home and I’m safe. I appreciate your apology, I just need to be by myself right now. I don’t know what this means for us going forward but I can’t keep going like this anymore. Maybe we can take some time apart and see if us together is truly what we want and go from there. I love you Dave. We’ll talk soon. -

He feels gutted. His head hangs down as he looks down at the message still pulled up on his phone that sits next to the ring. This feels like the end and he’s the cause for all of it.

Dave weaves his way through the small crowd waiting for their orders, the coffee shop is busy, tables packed already for a Saturday afternoon.

When he’s made his way through the wall of customers, is when he sees you. You’re seated at a table next to the window, the afternoon sunlight shines on your face, he thinks you look angelic like this. You’re smiling and it hits him how much he’s missed seeing your face light up.

Movement breaks him from his trance, you’re waving him over to your table. His feet begin to move before he’s even realized it.

Your name falls from his lips for the first the first time in a few weeks, but it feels like it should— absolute and perfect.

“Hi, Dave.” You’re smiling at him, he doesn’t feel worthy of your beauty but he can’t help but relish in it.

He settles into the chair across from you, a steaming cup already waiting for him. It would be like you to have it waiting for him, made just to his liking.

“Hi B—“ He has stop himself from using that affectionate name, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good. Been busy with work… I got that promotion, so I’ve been working on settling into that for the last few weeks…” Your voice trails off as you look down at your hands cupping you half emptied cup as you sigh. “I miss you.”

He can feel his chest constrict at your admission, you wouldn’t have to miss him if he hadn’t been such a shitty boyfriend. But hearing you say that you’ve have, allows him to feel an ounce of hope.

When you said you needed time, he respected it and prayed time was all you would need before you were ready to reach out.

It took about 3 weeks before he heard from you, a simple text asking him to meet you today for coffee. He wasn’t sure if this was where you would be telling him things were officially over or not.

“I’ve miss you so much, you have no idea.”He reaches for your hand across the table, he needs to feel your warmth again. “I just want you to know how sorry I am again— for not only that night but for how I hadn’t seen how much you were hurting. My focus was everywhere else instead of what was right in front of me, you.”

He catches the single tear that begins to fall down your cheek, instinctually his thumb brushes it away, he doesn’t want to be the reason for your tears anymore.

“I asked you here today because I don’t want this to be over as crazy as that sounds. I love you and I’ve missed you so much. I-I just needed time to clear my head, give myself some space to think about my future and what I wanted.” You grab his other hand, your grip firm and grounding. “But we can’t keep going like we were before. I won’t let myself go through that again, not matter how much love I have for you, I respect myself too much to be treated like that.”

“I promise you that I will never let you ever feel like you are not one of the most important people in my world. I know that it will take time for you to see that, and I mean it when I say I’m sorry and it will never happen again. These last few weeks have been literal torture.”

Dave takes a moment to look into your eyes, really emphasizing his commitment to you moving forward.

He takes his hands from yours and begins to reach into his jacket pocket, pulling out the small velvet box that had been taunting him since that evening— the little reminder of his own undoing.

Setting it down in front of you, the lid removed revealing its contents to you.

You’re at a loss for words as you try to wrap your head around this. “D-Dave… what is this?”

“That night, I had planned to ask you to move in and marry me so we could start a new life together.” Saying it out loud feels worse than he’d imagined. “And as you already know, the night went in a different direction.”

You look as if you’re trying to find the right words, brows furrowed as panic washes over you.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” Tucking his fingers under your chin to direct your gaze back to his. “This isn’t a proposal, not yet at least. It’s more of a promise from me to you, that I want this and you. A promise going forward that I will be there for you always. See how things go and maybe if the times right, we can revisit this.”

He can see the instant relief as a small smile breaks on your face.

“Okay. But the second things slip and you go back to your old ways, I’m out— for good.”

“I promise you. I’m going to make you see that will never happen.”

“Put this away for another time then, before I’m tempted to wear it now!” Shoving the small box back to him. He can’t help but mirror your smile and laugh a bit at your comment.

The rest of the time is spent catching up on each other and enjoying each other’s company. Allowing you to take control of the conversation, he just wants to listen to you talk about anything and everything.

“The girls miss you.”

“I miss them too.”

“The amount of times Carol ripped me a knew one over messing things up, I can’t even remember.”

You laugh at that, and he can feel his heart swell with elation.

“Good. I knew I loved her for a reason.” The way you bite your lip when you try to hide your smile, it’s always been his favorite.

You lean over the table and pull his face to you, his lips welcoming the kiss you give him— packed with devotion and tenderness.

“I love you Dave.” You murmur against his lips and he smiles softly as he tells you how much he loves you.

#Dave York #dave york x reader #dave york x f!reader #dave york x you #pedro pascal #wildemaven writes

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