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hellishjoel · 10 months

Text

slow shift

7k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Next Chapter

series summary: Tommy’s Diner is where dreams go to die and burnouts clock-in for work. Waitressing would be boring without the flirtatious distractions of line cook Frankie Morales.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), swearing, talking about w33d, alcohol consumption (not by reader or frankie, but discussions of alcohol), oral (f! receiving), discussions of periods and Plan B, frankie having a fat d!ick, slightly public sex, unprotected p in v (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), you know how I roll

A/N: welcome to the first part in my linecook!frankie series! It's all just going to be chaos!! enjoy dirty dishes, cussing, and decent food made by the hot linecooks. I’ll have a title as soon as I stop putting it off <3 enjoy! let me know what you think! also how LIT is the banner

here's my masterlist!

**follow hellishfics and turn on notifications get updates on my fic postings**

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle. You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight.

Welcome to hell.

A makeshift building somehow still holding up four walls that housed a small restaurant inside.

This wasn’t some secret treasure that belonged on an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives or a hidden hole-in-the-wall five-star Michelin Restaurant. This was Tommy’s Diner.

The locals had different names for the run-down dump you called your place of employment: the Hometown Heartburn Hut (true), American Pie ( ha-ha funny), the Rusty Spoon (some guy OD’s behind the place one time, and no one ever forgets), or Tumbleweed, your pothead coworkers liked to call it. It was a tumbleweed because the restaurant was barren, emphasis on the weed to accommodate the faded line cooks that lurked in the back of the restaurant.

Don’t let today’s slow shift fool you; there were times when Tumbleweed was cram-packed. Friday night football games were busy with tailgaters, bustling with teens after a championship game. Other times, it was when a Greyhound bus or a similar cross-country vehicle drove through and took a stop for the passengers.

The most popular time of year was in the summer. Tommy’s Diner hosted Saturday night Cruise Nights. The town would flood with classic cars and hot rods, and the diner would transform into a drive-in. Their engines revved through different cities from far and wide to be at Tommy’s. That’s when the place felt the most alive, bustling with people and their laughter, little kids running with their milkshakes and flipping quarters into the rigged claw machine.

But it wasn’t a Saturday in August. It was a Monday. You were stuck with the misfit motley crew that did everything from dishwashing, cooking, bussing, running the register, being half-ass managers, and, of course, the token pretty waitress. You.

You will admit that each character working at Tumbleweed had a unique story etched into their grubby hands or baggy-eyed faces. They’ve weathered years of late-night shifts and condiment, grease-stained aprons.

Tonight there was Lou, the jaded by heartbreak teenage busboy. He walked with a shuffle, always sniffling about an ex-girlfriend. He worked slow and god damn, did that piss you off.

Then there was Tina, the aspiring singer stuck in a small-town type. She was newer, still learning how things worked since she had never waited tables a day in her life. She had that fresh twinkle of stardom in her eye despite being in her late 30’s. You were training her and trying not to let her drive you up the wall whenever she started singing different songs on the jukebox. Note to self: Put a sticky note saying it’s busted every time you work together.

Paul was the do-it-all guy. Toilet clogged? Get Paul. Dishes piling up? Ask Paul to do it. The cashier on a bathroom break? Paul can run the till. He was useful, just complained and grumbled a lot.

Tommy of Tommy’s Diner hasn’t worked a day in years. He’s older, so it’s understandable. Last thing you heard was he was down in Florida, living out retirement in a cheap home with a gambling addiction. Sounded like he was doing well for himself. But now his idiot son Rudy ran the place. Tommy’s picture was still on dusty display, toothy smile and all at the front door that people huddled in and out of—speaking of.

Your head lifted to attention as the bell above the door chimed, sighing in annoyance as you leaned back onto the counter. It was just Frankie.

“It’s fifteen after. You were supposed to be here on time today because we have to set up for Carla’s thing.”

Frankie breezed past you, aviators and stupid ballcap on, his smile lifted in a sneer. He was smacking on pink bubble gum as he neared your part of the counter and purposely shuffled past you with his hips against yours in an attempt to get into the kitchen. You couldn’t help but lean into him with a little smirk.

“Tommy said it was fine I was late.” He joked once he ducked into the back, your arms crossed as you followed him aimlessly.

You sigh and lean back against the locker next to his, watching him shuffle off his jacket.

“You disappoint me, Frankie.” Your face held a teasing pout.

“Never meet your heroes, baby.” That stupid fucking cocky smirk painted his face.

You opted to roll your eyes and look away as a defense tactic against Frankie’s flirty moves. Frankie calling you baby made your guts twist.

He was an ass ninety-nine percent of the time, but you two were hired the same summer a few years back and were the only ones who stayed once summer had run its course. You supposed it was bonded trauma after that.

New workers had come and gone, but you and Frankie were still at Tommy’s, still working crappy shifts on crappy hourly pay. Despite Frankie being a douchebag, he made the place bearable. He was comfortable. You knew each other.

“Can you just meet me on the floor like you were supposed to fifteen minutes ago and help with the banner? Carla’s going to be here at five, and you still have to make her special-”

“Jesus fuckin’- yes, I’ll be out in a few.” Frankie playfully groaned, shoving the brim of his hat into his mouth to hold it, his hands busy as he tied a tattered red bandana around his forehead before he replaced the cap back on. Okay… hot.

He took a deep breath once he finished, and leaned against the locker beside you, arms crossed, mimicking you as your shoulder brushed his bicep. You looked up at him, so many inches taller than you, as he looked down. Maybe too far down. He started at your eyes, but those eyes of his tended to wander right down to the cut of your shirt.

“Ugh- Frankie!” You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, readjusting your top as he playfully threw his hands up on the defense.

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous today, by the way!” He shouted as you exited the locker room, smiling and shaking your head with your back to him and throwing up your middle finger before the door swung closed with your exit.

---

You stood on the top of a dining table in your sneakers, attempting to hang a shitty banner you had painted for Carla’s birthday. You glanced down at the table and made a little face about the scuff you put in it. Oops. You can try and scrub it later.

There was no other person you or Frankie would do this stuff for. But it was Carla’s birthday and she was a diamond in the rough at this dump.

Carla's position at Tumbleweed is a mixture of human resources, accounting, decent management, and a mother figure to not just you but the entire staff. Besides Carla, we could all care less about everyone else's birthday. You were burning this ‘Happy Birthday!’ banner as soon as the clock struck midnight.

You let out an exhausted huff as you attempted to tack the final hanging string into the wall, but it was just out of reach. That’s when you heard the smacking of his stupid pink bubble gum. You didn’t even have to look.

“Are you gonna help me or not, Morales?” Your voice seethed in annoyance, not only to Frankie but also cursing your short legs and your just not long enough arms.

He didn’t say anything. Just crossed the differential space between you and took the tack and string into his meaty fingers.

You glanced down, watching his teeth capture his lower lip in concentration, checking to see if it was straight. Pushing the pin in, he backed up to where you stood on the dining table and crossed his arms in observance.

It was incredibly crooked. But it was the thought that counts, right?

“Good enough for me. You?” You glanced down at Frankie, and he was biting back a smile.

“What?” You pushed, narrowing your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good.” Distracted by something else. “D’you paint this?” The warmth of his hand slowly crept onto the back of your calf, your chest tightening as he slowly skated it higher with no interference from you.

You gently nod, avoiding his eye contact as you look at the sign. Now, his hand was on the back of your thigh, and you had to take a breath. A mhm was all you could muster up.

His fingers delicately skimmed the skirt of your uniform, knuckles brushing against your backside. You used to hate these 50’s style waitress uniforms, but now they didn’t seem so damn bad because Frankie’s movements were making you lightheaded. Snap out of it!

“Need help down?” Frankie asked, hand at the ready on your hip.

You shook your head despite using his assistance anyway. You squatted on the table, black lace panties peeking out as you used Frankie’s broad shoulders as leverage. You put one foot down onto the linoleum and then the other, wiping your hands cleanly down your uniform as you both returned to look at the lopsided sign.

You hoped it was enough. You hoped she appreciated it, especially all that she’s done for you over the years. Covering your shifts, leveling out the register when you accidentally gave someone the wrong change, tucking extra tips into your apron when she knew your rent was coming up. Everyone needed a Carla, not everyone was lucky to have one.

“She’s gonna love it,” Frankie seemed to sense your nerves as he lifted his cap to bring some air to his sweaty dark curls before putting it back into place. “I’ll start workin’ on her special. Mushroom Swiss patty melt?” He said before disappearing into the kitchen again, only leaving once you gave him your little nod of assurance. You liked that he remembered.

---

“Happy birthday, Carla!” Uncoordinated voices cheered as Carla entered Tumbleweed right on time for her shift.

Her face lit up, and she looked beautiful. She packed a little extra blush and eyeshadow to commemorate the special occasion.

“Oh, shit- oh my- You guys! Thank you!” Carla made special eye contact with you, knowing you were the only one caring enough to orchestrate this shindig.

Carla has this soulful charm about her. Raised in Louisiana, she loved to cook family recipes and bring the leftovers to work for you and Frankie to fight over. You remember she had three kids at home, so she had this curvy mom's body that put a proud sway in her walk. A playful and confident woman at heart, she was all the regular’s favorite to see. And she knew everyone. And she knew everything. She put Tommy’s back in business during the slower seasons. People would come to see her face on Sunday mornings over their coffee and runny eggs.

“Oh, baby, thank you.” She cooed as she cupped your cheek and squeezed, making your face tick. “This the red velvet?” Her voice hummed as she observed the cake in your hands, pushing her finger lightly into the frosting to taste it.

You had pulled one of the cakes from the display case and shitily piped it with chocolate sauce ‘HBD!’.

“Of course, your favorite... Right?” You pursed your lips and snuck a nervous glance at Frankie before you set the cake down on the countertop.

Carla looked beyond touched for something you’d consider a bit lackluster. “It’s my favorite ‘cause you made it. Thank you, baby.”

You glanced around for the cake cutter, watching as Tina pushed a quarter into the jukebox and got the party started. Everyone was doing shitty dance moves, even the one or two customers that had filtered in for a cheap dinner.

You sighed as you looked behind the counter for the cake cutter, grabbing the cake and its stand to haul it to the back.

You thrust your shoulder blades into the swinging door, setting the cake stand on the counter as you started sifting through the different drawers to find the serving knife.

Half a carton filled with cigarettes; Frankie’s. Matches from an old jazzy gentleman’s club; Rudy’s. Hair ties; yours. Where’s the fuckin’ cake cutter?!

The music from the jukebox was more faded in the kitchen. The serving window, professionally called the pass, was just big enough to see faces and hand plates through from the kitchen to the front.

You made a face when you found the cake server inside a large pot-- how, no, why? Jesus Christ. Fucking idiots.

The swinging door to the kitchen wooshed in before slowly creaking closed, seeing Frankie coming to stand beside you in your peripheral.

You carefully plunged the slicer into the soft sponge of the cake, carving a piece for Carla and setting it on a plate. You reached forward across the counter for another small plate, the short skirt of your uniform revealing the curve of your ass to an overly curious Frankie. You could feel his heat burning through his chest.

“Could you be less obvious?” Your voice held teasing notes, putting another piece of cake on a plate and pushing them away to make space for more.

He had tried this a handful of times with you, and he had yet to be successful besides that one time when you both drunkenly made out at the last December holiday party. You were pretty sure he had been hung up on you ever since. You enjoyed watching him try.

Your eyes flitted over to his, observing his body and facial features.

He looked gross, honestly. The two meals he cooked including Carla’s special before she came in for her shift made his face and neck sweaty and his hands greasy, his apron to match. It was white at one time, a long, long time ago. His stupid red bandana was still tied around his forehead, catching the spare sweat droplets, as the kitchen became unbearably hot in the middle of August.

You probably didn’t look much better. Hair all over the place with makeup you put on in the morning probably half smudged off by now. Your hands were checkered in pen ink, a spare papercut from snagging a receipt from the register. But still decent. He was still decent.

His hand was back in dangerous territory, lingering low on your waist. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. You could feel warmth flooding your body, heat from the heart of his hand burning into your hip. He was admiring your body, slow and appreciative as he cupped the curve of your ass. And then he squeezed.

Your shaky hands barely got the fourth slice you cut onto a small serving plate. The cake cutter clattered onto the metal counter as Frankie shifted his body behind yours, his watchful eyes on the pass. No one was watching, stupid and oblivious. You swallowed a lump down your throat, your small hands clenching the rim of the counter. His hips were flushed against yours. Worst of all was that you really fucking liked it.

“This okay?” You’re flattered he asked after the fact.

You leaned back into his touch, quietly humming on the brink of a little moan. You were a little desperate for touch, maybe you’d be on your period soon. “Mhmm..”.

Frankie was a douchebag, but you two have been flirting back and forth with one another for years like an ongoing tennis match. He was older, he had years on you. Not an obscenely amount, but enough to make people raise an eyebrow. You were surprised he had the balls to actually make a move on you like he was right now.

“Like you in black.” Frankie’s voice was cut down to a murmur, low and all-enveloping. You weren’t sure if he was referring to the black in your waitress uniform or your black panties. Probably the latter.

His fingers brushed past your goosebump-covered ass and slipped between your legs to your clothed pussy. You softly gasped, eyes shifting closed as your hips involuntarily leaned into Frankie’s touch. You didn’t look subtle at all. You looked like you wanted to be touched, manhandled, kissed, fucked…

“Open your eyes, baby girl.” He purred, your chest already heaving. “Act normal.” You forced your eyes open, looking back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Needy pupils connected with his blown-out ones. The back of your head brushed his shoulder, setting it there for just a moment before he looked straight ahead.

Frankie nodded back to the pass, your eyes following his eye line to everyone distractedly dancing and sipping coffee mixed with bourbon on the floor.

You bit down on your lower lip, knuckles cast over in a milky white with the iron grip you held on the metal rim of the counter. Frankie’s body heat had disappeared from your back, and now you felt it cast against the back of your legs. You glanced around, seeing him on his knees behind you with his mouth now latched to the back of your thighs. Oh, fuck. His kisses sponged up higher, towards your heat.

Your eyelashes fluttered, Frankie’s act normal echoing through your hollow head. With distracted hands, you resumed cutting the cake. You probably looked slow and stupid, but feeling his patchy beard hair nestle between the sweet skin of your inner thighs had you in a haze.

Frankie’s big hands reached under your skirt, lining the black panties that sat snugly on your hips with his forefingers. He slowly peeled them down, feeling the material roll as he stopped them to rest halfway down on your thighs.

Your shoulders shuddered as your warm pussy met the slight chill of the outside world, panties adorning a little soaked spot.

“Frankie,” Mm? “Someone’s gonna see.” But you weren’t stopping him. You weren’t telling him to fuck off. You weren’t kicking him right in the gut like you probably could. In fact, you were leaning into him.

“Such a pretty pussy... Can’t stop, baby.”

A helpless whimper left your lips, thighs shaking at his affectionate, warm kisses.

Frankie’s hand swatted at the inside of your right ankle and then the other, hinting for you to spread yourself for him. You pursed your lips and shakily sighed, parting your legs as your sneakers lightly squeaked on the checkered floor. Fuck me, Frankie.

You didn’t know how much longer you could be patient. The waiting was tantric, hypnotizing you into seduction.

Spread for him and dripping, Frankie’s mouth finally attached to your slit. Your knee lightly jerked up and smacked a bus tub filled with dirty dishes, a few eyes on you through the pass as you nervously laughed. “S-Sorry!”

Frankie couldn’t help but let out a warm puff of laughter against your cunt, and you swore your insides were twisting at the sensation.

“Easy pretty girl… Don’t need us gettin’ caught. You want me to stop?” Frankie’s voice was husky, warm palms spreading your thighs, your body lightly bending over to lean on the counter. You tried to look busy with something, stupidly polishing a random fork. With the extra exposure, he had full access to your sex.

“Does it look like I want you to stop?” You finally punched out through air-abducted lungs, anxiously chewing on the skin of your lip. “Frankie.” You said in a hushed warning tone, wanting more and not knowing how to ask nicely for it. But that’s what he liked about you. You weren’t nice.

His lips finally attached properly to your pussy, his devilish tongue lining the center of your cunt and flicking off your clit. Your head dropped, ears ringing at the sensation.

You wondered how good he would feel if he could take his time instead of giving you head quick while all your coworkers were distracted. Maybe he could run his thumb over the front of your panties, trace the seam of your pussy, and feel how soaked you were for him and his attentive fingers. You thought Frankie had always been so down bad for you. He probably dreamed about getting this opportunity. He finally got you when you were just as horny for someone with a pulse. But this wasn’t all the time in the world; this was a slow shift at Tommy’s.

You rut your hips back into Frankie’s face, hot pants fanning fog onto the cool metal of the counter.

Frankie put his mouth where you needed him most, his tongue dedicating a poem to you. He flattened his tongue and licked a wide, wet strip up through your core, taking in all your juices. His tongue lapped at your weeping hole, thighs shaking against his head as you stifled a moan into the counter.

He was good, manipulative, a fucking menace.

Frankie’s tongue made precision flicks against your bundle of nerves, a gasp a bit too loud leaving the kitchen as you whimpered broken fragments of his name.

You weakly looked up, seeing Tina pluck another quarter in the jukebox, cranking the volume to some seventies soul music. Fuck being quiet.

Concealed by the groove of Stevie Wonder singing We Can Work It Out, your moans were hidden by the shake of a tambourine and plucks to an electric guitar.

“Goddammit, Frankie, mmm, so fucking good,” a gasp and a moan followed suit, lazily smirking with your eyes closed. “So fucking… hot.” You murmured.

Frankie’s mouth was a welcome wonder, dedicated to making you cum. He was swirling his tongue around your clit, weakly flattening your front over the counter again and pressing your cheek against the cool metal. Don’t be a douche right now, Francisco Morales. Make me fuckin’ cum.

The kitchen door swiftly swung open, and your body flew up to stand straight as Carla waited in the doorway.

“What’s taking you so long to cut my cake, baby? I know that bitch is stale as hell, but that don’t mean I don’t want it.”

Your eyes were wide, lips parted in an attempt to speak, but Frankie’s movements didn’t cease despite Carla’s unexpected intrusion. You bit back a whimper as he lined his tongue just barely into the tight entrance of your walls, his greedy fingers piercing into the flesh of your thighs to keep you spread. Thank god the counter covered your waist down.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll be out in a sec.”

Carla looked you up and down, curious but ultimately not giving a damn. You could feel Frankie’s dirty smirk against your thighs.

“Alright... Hurry up. I’m tryna get my dessert.”

And with that, the door swished closed, and your back slumped at the relief.

Frankie’s unexpected voice made you jump lightly, his words echoing against you. “Gotta make ya finish fast, princess. Want my dessert, too.”

You whimpered but willed yourself to stand up straight and turn around to face him. He looked like a mess. Lust-filled black eyes and a cocky smirk to match. Your juices glistened on his lips and chin. Frankie would be incredibly hot if he knew how to keep his mouth shut.

“Taste as good as you look, princess.” Frankie stood up, tall and broad body making a white hot spot form in your stomach. Fuck, you couldn’t do this right now. Not right here.

He could tell. He took a few cautious steps away, you watched him carefully like a rattlesnake. He knew when not to push you and when to let you make the decisions. He also knew how to give you orders when you were too pussy fucked to think straight.

“Serve that cake and meet me out back.” He was looking over you, enjoying the few times you looked totally fucked like you did right now. He stepped back into your space and pulled your panties back into place, a sobby whimper leaving your lips as he gently cupped your aching mound with a smirk. “So fuckin’ needy, huh?”

“Fuck off.” You mumbled, fixing the bottom half of your uniform.

You watch as Frankie grabs the beer bottle you all used as a makeshift door prop and his half-carton of cigarettes you had brought out of a drawer in an attempt to find the cake cutter. He disappears out back into the alley. Shit, the cake.

You hurriedly sliced the remainder of the cake, placing a few stray candles into the slices. You lit them once you greeted the group waiting on the floor, singing a shitty rendition of Happy Birthday. Paul lights his cigarette from one of the candles, puffing smoke across the frosting.

The crowd hastily grabbed one of the small plates and a fork. Most of you only tried a bite or two. The cake had been in the display case for far too long.

---

Anxious and impatient, you slip into the back with everyone’s dirty dishes and sneak back into the kitchen. You do nothing more with them than chuck them into the sink for Lou to wash up at some point or another. Your eyes stare at the beer bottle keeping the back kitchen door ajar. You take in a deep breath, leaving a shaky sigh before following Frankie out into the alley.

The air was warm, a welcome breeze passing over you. The alley was everyone’s hideaway, littered with crushed beer and soda cans, two large garbage dumpsters, and a large one for recycling. You could see the highway in the distance. The sun was setting, and the sky was turning purple and blue. You’d watch those cars drive right past your little town, paying no mind, probably off going to somewhere bigger and better. The only people from the highway who stopped to visit Tommy’s were people who didn’t know any better.

A flick of a lighter crackled, dividing your attention. Frankie was smoking his cigarette, his back leaning against the brick wall of the diner. He was trying not to smirk. Seeing you out here was way too much power for him. He took a drag, the end of his cigarette lighting up in a glowing orange haze before he pulled it from his mouth. The smoke he exhaled was taken by the breeze.

“Happy to see me?” His goading tone asked.

“No.” A challenge. A pause.

“So, you want me to go back inside?”

“No.” Another beat. A step closer to him, arms crossed. He’s smart enough to let his cigarette land on the ground.

“So, you want me to stay out here?”

Silence. Staring. Gauging each other’s reactions. Your tight jaw meets his cocky smirk. Too stubborn to ask meeting too stubborn to give without begging. Fuck.

Maybe it’s because you’re both desperate. Maybe because Frankie knows you. Knows you’re too stubborn to ask for him to fulfill your needs. Your inaction meets his unwillingness to waste another moment that he could be inside of you.

Stomping on his cigarette before closing the distance between you two, he envelopes you in a kiss that robs you of your breath. He tastes musky and bitter. The smoke that recently captured his lungs was hot on your lips.

Your heart was beating with excitement, happy to lose control for a moment as Frankie walked you blindly backward into the brick wall. Ouch.

Your tongues danced in a rhythmic motion, seducing you into letting him take the power as the kiss deepened. The flavor was subtle but distinct. The Marlboro’s held an acrid undertone, an unexpected layer of the kiss you sort of liked. If he tasted like spearmint gum, it might have turned you off.

It was like you were his cigarette now, breathing you in and clinging to you in addiction. It was his bad habit, but who were you to judge. You had a closet full of skeletons you weren’t open to anyone seeing. Maybe this was one of his.

His hands were a welcome guest, feeling his warm palms explore a body he had probably fantasized about.

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle.

You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight.

Frankie guided you further from the backdoor, hearing voices enter the kitchen. Probably Paul and Lou to start working on closing chores. He took you behind the dumpsters and hiked up your dress. You decided to be useful and push your panties down. He rounded up the material that was tying you up at your ankles and shoved them into his pocket. You were not letting him keep those.

You pushed his apron aside, fingers fussing over his belt buckle. He watched, amused, unwilling to help. He liked seeing you so desperate for his cock. Unbuttoned. Unzippered. Black boxer trim peaking out now. You made slight eye contact with him before you shoved his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Your heart clenches at how girthy he was. Fuckkk, this was gonna feel good.

He didn’t take his apron off, merely shoved it to the side as it haphazardly swayed on his hip. He closed the distance between you again, a greedy kiss, a kiss to mark you with. You pulled away to spit into your hand, taking him by his base and squeezing.

Frankie’s eyes shuddered closed, his head dropping as you took his manhood in the small of your hand. He was.. more than a handful. He was so meaty, not even able to wrap your fist fully around him.

You purred out a little moan as you worked your hand over him, feeling him grow heavy in your hand as you lubed up his tip, slowly circling your thumb teasingly around the pulsing head.

“Enough.” He muttered. He didn’t like you toying with him.

Frankie hiked up your leg by the underside of your calf, hooking around his hip as you leaned your back against the cold brick wall. It wasn’t comfy, but when you fuck against a run-down diner, you don’t get many options.

Your chest shuddered as you felt his cock heavy against your folds, erect and brushing up against where you needed him most. He was running his hand up and down himself now. You watched as he put down another line of spit from his mouth to his cock before his knuckles shuffled up and down his shaft a few more times.

The sight made you reel your head back and stare up at the sky. As eager as you are, you’re worried about feeling how thick he is. He knows.

“M’gonna go real slow.” He punches out, setting his forehead down against yours, and you shakily nod. Please don’t fucking split me in two, Frankie Morales. You still have a shift to finish, after all. You’re thankful he at least acknowledges his girth. It’s sort of the elephant in the room.

You both look down at your centers, your dripping one and his angry, pink head meeting in unison. It’s sort of fucked up the way that you’re two horrible people. But you knew horrible people always seemed to find each other.

You wet your lips and bite down. Hard. You weren’t a fresh spring virgin, but this wasn’t any other half-decent dick.

You lay your head back against the wall as Frankie guides himself into your welcoming entrance. Your wetness lubes him up well, but he’s still large.

You clench your eyes close and smile. The pain is always pleasure. “Fuck,” you mutter, your head wanting to come back down and watch.

Frankie’s being gentle, an odd word you’d never describe him as. He’s grunting and impatient, but patient for you. He fills you up to the brim and your head is flooded with clouds. You’re in the sky, lightheaded, but so fucking horny.

His hips meeting yours are a gentle greeting, both of your lips brushing as you shared pants of desperation as well as relief. Your stomach was tight, recoiling with the pressure he was providing to the inside of your walls.

“God-

“Jesus-

“-fucking damn.”

“Christ.”

The two of you moaned in unison.

Your nails are piercing into his shirt, bunching around the tops of his shoulders. You move to grip his apron for some sort of control. There is none.

One of his hands is still supporting your leg wrapped around his hip, the other flattened against the brick wall beside your head. You took solace in his arm, resting your forehead against it weakly.

He was cocky for a reason. His length in inches was his amount of reasons.

“Fuck me.” You finally mustered up enough strength to demand. He shakes his head against yours.

“Give it a minute.” He mutters, barely coherent. You’re scrumptiously tight around him, and you know it. You both do.

“We don’t have a minute.” You feverishly bite back, attempting to shift your hips against his. He retaliates by planting his hips against you, fucking the final few inches of his dick into you as you both fell deeper into the wall.

A hot moan rolled off your tongue, hiding your face away in his forearm and shuddering your eyes closed. Frankie’s hand slipped from your leg, cupping the globe of your ass in his warm hand. He squeezed and it made you smile as he reeled his hips slowly back.

He grumbles something.

“What?” You asked with a dopey grin. He pushes back inside you and wipes the smirk clear off your face.

“I said… you’re so fuckin’ impatient.” His voice was tattered with grunts, your tight little pussy making it hard for him to breath.

Now he was creating a rhythm, fucking you into the wall in steady thrusts. You were already feeling your insides tug eagerly in excitement, the hot pool he had created in your guts simmering to a boil.

“Mhmm, mhm, mhm,” you moaned in silent begs, moans you had to read between the lines to understand. Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck you feel good, I-I can’t think of anything other than fuck! Fuck me, Frankie!

He filled you up to a brim you had yet to discover you had. His tip tickled your cervix with each snap of his hips. He was getting greedy, a little sloppy. You’d judge him on this short-lived fuck later, for now, it was perfectly timed to get back into work without anyone noticing.

Your eyes widened and met his murky brown ones as he moved the hand he had against the wall nudged between your thighs, circling your clit. It was messy at first, but he found what made you tick and adjusted. Now he was running tight circles around you, and you were finding it hard to stay silent.

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect for me.” He murmured, his lips ghosting over yours in a teasing motion. You actually wanted to taste him again, so you leaned into it, your tongue lining his mouth and tasting his old cigarette with a moan.

Now he was filling you up, no hesitancy in his hips as he snapped the full extent of his length into your cunt. Your head flew back against the orange and red brick, a fucked moan leaving your mouth. Neither of you cared. Frankie’s face was nuzzled against your jawline and neck, sloppy kisses tasting old perfume as the circles on your clit intensified your impending orgasm.

“F-Fuck, Frankie, shit, I’m gonna-” You gasped and closed your eyes, clutching your arms weakly around his shoulders and holding him to you. His body enveloped you like a shield protecting you from anything in your surroundings.

Your orgasm crashed over you, coursing through your body like a million volts of electricity as you whimpered and moaned into his neck. Your eyes were clamped closed, your walls clenching and fluttering around his sensitive cock.

His moans were heavenly, guttural and deep, a little shaky even as he puffed them into your neck and shoulder. His hips twitched against the inside of your thighs as he came undone inside of you. It felt like he was cumming for days, filling you up with white rope after white rope of his semen and painting your insides with only remnants of him.

You couldn’t think. You just focused on the distant sound of the highway, creating a bustling amount of white noise for you. You gently held his head to keep him close, your shaky hand winding into his hair as the two of you reconciled over your orgasms.

He was the first one to move. He slipped himself from you and gave you a few lazy kisses. Your stomach fluttered before you shook your head.

Stop it, Frankie.

‘M not doin’ anything.

Teasing smiles. Hands softening their holds on each other’s bodies. Fixing hair. Fixing undergarments.

He would have held onto your panties. He probably hoped you forgot about them. You tugged them from his pocket and attempted to slip into them with ease, but you ended up having to use the brick wall as a support to lean into.

You steadied his apron straight, and he pulled the skirt of your uniform down. Teamwork.

You don’t really talk, just clean yourselves up, nod, and dart back inside before anyone can really notice or give a damn that you were missing in action. You kept having to excuse yourself to the bathroom, feeling Frankie still seeping from you. It made your chest hot, an embarrassed smile on your face.

Fuck it. That’s what Plan B is for. Or you can just wait to see if you get your period in a few days time.

---

You and Frankie danced around one another during the closing shift. Carla went home and took the cake in a to-go container to give to her kids. It was shitty that she had to work on her birthday, but she said that getting to see your gorgeous face was a present of its own.

You tiredly yawned, seeing it was a few minutes past ten. You helped Tina even out the cash register, putting today’s earnings in an envelope, then putting it in the safe for Rudy to take to the bank at the end of the week.

“You sure you don’t mind cleaning up on your own?” Tina asked, giving her a tired smile and a soft shrug.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you Wednesday.” Despite her annoying singing, Tina wasn’t that bad. She gave you a big grin before she hopped off the stool and left out the front door. Lou and Paul had already left at the start of closing. You didn’t know if Frankie snuck out the back early.

You did a double take to the jukebox, watching Frankie flip his baseball hat backward and push a quarter into the machine. Your face softened, seeing him flip between the different records before landing on one.

Something by Fleetwood Mac started playing. You watched him reach up and untack your banner from the wall easily. You nodded softly before grabbing the spray bottle filled with disinfectant and began wiping down the counters, seats, and tables.

He walked up to you once you finished cleaning, handing you your folded-up banner. You twisted your lips in thought, rolling the banner around in your hands.

“Wanna help me burn this in the burn barrel out back?”

Frankie sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Fuck it. Got nothin’ better to do.”

---

With Frankie’s lighter, both of you watched with glassy eyes as the Happy Birthday! banner burnt to ashes. His face was lit up in orange and yellow hues. He haphazardly tried to lean into the flames with a cigarette dangling between his lips, a stupid laugh leaving you. He shrugged and put the cigarette behind his ear.

“Fuck it.” He huffed, both of your eyes transfixed on the fading flames.

There was a beat of silence.

Frankie’s eyes met yours. “We should do that again sometime.”

Half of your mouth quirked up into a smirk. “Do what?”

He cocked his head to the side in annoyance. “You know what.”

You shrugged and shoved your hands into your jacket pockets. The hum of the highway in the distance made you flashback to just a few hours ago with Frankie railing you against Tumbleweed. A black and purple-streaked night sky submerged the two of you, making you feel tiny. You sigh and shift on your feet, keeping your eyes on the flames that licked up the ay! in Birthday!

“Maybe.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Maybe?”

“Mhm.”

Frankie teetered on your half-ass decision. Even the notion of having an open door left for him to sneak in was enough to make him happy. “Okay. I’ll take a maybe.”

God, you were bluffing so hard. Maybe it wouldn’t be sooo bad to throw him a bone every once in a while.

Your fantasizing was cut short as ashes of the banner spewed up from the depths of the barrel and fluttered up into the air between you and Frankie, both of you taking a preemptive step away.

His lighter clicked again; he had to do it a few times before the end of his cigarette caught a flame. “I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmured. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was trying to walk you to your car, wanting to leave, but not until you started heading home, too.

He swung his body into the driver seat of his beaten-up pickup truck. You decided to follow suit, sliding into your car. You saw Tommy’s fade away from the rearview mirror in the distance. But the thoughts of Frankie between your legs, fucking you into oblivion, and begging to serve your aching center would sit with you until your next shift at Tumbleweed. Sorry. Tommy’s Diner.

---

here's my masterlist!

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#frankie morales #pedro pascal #triple frontier #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales smut #catfish morales #francisco morales #joel miller #joel miller smut

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vivwritesfics · 4 months

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warnings: mentions of death

Series Masterlist

"It's the first home race for Oscar Sainz and everybody is rooting for him."

Oscar was proud to be wearing orange as he stood on the circuit, listening his national anthem. The twenty four year old had his parents there, watching him and cheering him on.

He wanted his sister there, too, but she was busy. At nineteen years old, Valentina Sainz was running the Sainz family. Well, not completely, not yet. Carlos was still the head of the family, but Valentina did a lot. He was setting her up to take over the family one day.

So that her parents could watch Oscar, Tina stayed at home to take care of any work that needed doing. Her grandma was there too, helping her out. Women have always run this family, her grandma often said to her. There was one exception, Valentina's mother, but she let that part out.

By the time Tina was sixteen, she was used to having bloody knuckles. She loved the feeling of it, that might have made her a monster, but she didn't care. She loved seeing the imprint of the ring her father gave her on somebody's skin.

Valentina had watched Oscar's races on television whenever she could. When he moved into F2, she watched on the television with her mother, while Carlos travelled with him. The family hated being apart, but it was for Oscar. The Sainz family would do anything for their children.

Oscar was an insane rookie. Valentina had watched on the television as he scored points in almost every race in his first year. It was crazy just how good her brother was. It was a mystery to everybody how he hadn't gotten a seat until now.

Oscar brought along one big sponsor, his family. Of course, they were known as something else, a front of a company to hide the real nature the of Sainz family money.

Oscar scored points all the way through his rookie season. He finished eighth in the drivers championship, which his family understood to be incredibly good for a rookie.

For his last race of the season, Tina wanted to be there. Her grandma took over the role of head of the family for the weekend, with Carlos on speed dial, while they went to watch Oscar in Abu Dhabi.

He did incredibly well in his final race, achieving his first podium. His mother was crying, his father was beaming, and Tina was incredibly proud of her brother. Oscar ran straight into their arms.

Many of the families congratulated Oscar at the few events he had to turn up to. Almost all of them watched racing, watched as he climbed his way to the top. Fernando of the Alonso family told him that he would be a world champion in no time. And he would be. He really would be.

Oscar knew who he was named after. He knew that Oscar Piastri, the man that had saved his mother, the man he was named after, had wanted to race. He wanted to do what Oscar Sainz was now doing.

Oscar visited his grave site. Over the Australian Grand Prix weekend, Oscar and his parents went to visit his grave. There were always fresh flowers, Carlos made sure of that.

"Hey," Oscar said as he sat in front of the headstone. He'd asked his parents for privacy and they'd given it. "It's Oscar, Y/N and Carlos's kid." He'd visited the grave only twice before, when he and his father were in the country for racing purposes.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited you more," he said as he pulled his orange McLaren hat from his head. "I made it to Formula One, by the way. I know that was your dream, too." Actually, Oscar had something written on his helmet, so small that most couldn't read it. It was his mothers idea to have 'For Uncle Osc' printed on the back of his helmet.

"I wish I could have met you," said Oscar as he placed his hat on top of the headstone. "I bet we would have raced together. I think that would have made my mum really happy."

Oscar stood up from the ground. He touched his fingers to the headstone and turned around, walking away from his Uncles headstone, back to his family.

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @multi-universe21 @formulas-bitch @gills-lounge @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @carlossainzwho @f1lov3r @samaib11 @charli123456789 @queenofmanydreams @ironmaiden1313 @vellicora @glitterf1 @80sloverry @lightdragonrayne @moonayu @bellsalabanccini @hiireadstuff @handsupforamiracle @cmleitora @jenniferrvsesi @barcelonaloverf1life @sbella13 @nicolettecallednikki @darleneslane @thehufflepuffavenger1 @champagneproblems17 @aespie @yukheizcigarettes @rewmuslupin @hollie911 @ashy-kit @ririgy @stqrgir1 @zaynzierulez @minkyungseokie @rafaaoli @carolinesainz @ashies-ln4op81aa22 @measimp @mizelophsun11 @eviethetheatrefreak @andydrysdalerogers @chonkybonky @shobaes @celesteblack08 @watermelonworries @gracielukey @cassie0sstuff @goldenharrysworld @venusesworld @sparklyperfectionstranger @evans-dejong @graciewrote @formulaal

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lovelytsunoda · 1 year

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can't stand the rain // george russell

summary: the nights are always long and lonely when she misses her lover. but dating a formula one driver isn't easy, and she knew that when she started dating the most wonderful and exciting man that she had ever met.

pairing: george russell x female reader

warnings: longing and pining! the harsh reality that which would be dating someone like george russell, but there is a happy ending! allusions to sex, but not written out.

I can't stand the rain, against my window cause he ain't here with me//hey window pane tell me, do you remember how sweet it used to be? when we were together everything was so grand//now that we parted there's just one sound that I just can't stand

it was on nights like these that she missed george the most.

rain drops crashing down against the window panes, a steady haze of fog rolling across the english country side.

she hated that sound when he wasn't here to share it with.

y/n was sitting on the couch by the window, a scented bath and body works candle on the coffee table, burning and filling the main floor of the house with that simple, summer scent as she wrapped herself in a blanket, powerpoint presentations reflecting off the blue light lenses as she typed.

dating someone as magnetic and larger than life as george russell was no easy feat. the days and nights were long, the timezones too much to bear as his schedule demanded he jet off to some faraway country every weekend.

sometimes, it felt like her george wasn't actually her george, but the world's george.

she slammed her laptop shut, rubbing her eyes under her glasses before she turned on the tv, dialing in to sky sports as the warm up for the evenings race began.

if george were here, they would be watching some stupid movie on netflix (last rainstorm it was bait, a movie about tsunamis and twelve foot long sharks), with the plush calvin klein blanket pulled tightly around their bodies until one of them got tired of the film and started getting handsy.

something about the rain always got george russell going. those afternoons usually ended up with y/n on her back, georges gentle kisses against her skin as he made love to her, the pitter patter of the rain in the background.

she missed him.

the race ended, and she sent him a congratulations text, knowing that he did the best that he could in a car that wasn’t where either mercedes driver had expected it to be.

she blew out the candle, phone in the back pocket of her jeans as she moved to the kitchen of a house that felt too large for just her alone as she warmed up the kettle.

her phone rang, and she slipped the small device out of her pocket, beaming as she swiped up to talk to the most important man in her life.

“hey, beautiful.” george russell beamed from the other end of the line, and the other side of the world. “how are you feeling?”

“tired.” y/n laughed. “uni is relentless. remind me why I decided to go to law school?”

“because I wanted a strong, powerful girlfriend?”

“hilarious. it’s killing me slowly.” she grimaced, placing a bag of peppermint tea in her indigo mug. “you had a good race today, honey. I know the car is shite this year, but you’re driving the hell out of that thing.”

“you know what, I think I’m finally getting the hang of the car.”

“that’s really good, georgie. I’m proud of you.”

george smiled sadly, wishing that he could reach through the phone and hold his lover in his arms. every part of his skin, his body aches for her touch, for the feeling of cradling her in his arms again.

“I miss you. I’ll be home before you know it, yeah? you’ll wake up in a few mornings and I will be there and you’ll get to wrap your arms around me and we’ll make the most of the time we have before I have to go to the next race.”

“I wish it were easier. I wish I could come with you.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

two days passed since that phone call, and the rain showed no signs of stopping. a few times the downpour has lightened to a manageable drizzle, but it was still as if the clouds in the sky were reading her emotions.

reading how much she longed for georges presence.

how she missed watching him play backgammon with his mates at the table by the french doors, sunlight refracting on his face.

how she missed his touch, even when it was the touch of his cold, cold feet in bed.

how she missed his cooking, even when he burned the simplest of dishes and ended up ordering takeaway (and swallowing his pride).

the weather outside reflected how she felt, but that fact did nothing to make her feel better. george was stuck in team meetings, despite the promise of a two week break before the next double header began.

she was debating the merits of going to visit her parents in the city, reconnecting with the world and getting away from her feelings and her term papers. it seemed like all she had done since george left was drink peppermint tea and pore over old court documents.

until the morning all was right again.

the sunlight was orange as it filtered through her curtains, the sun just beginning to rise over the hilly countryside. she heard footsteps, and the sound of the creaky bedroom door swinging open.

she’s have to to tell george to fix that.

george.

she didn’t believe her eyes. there he was, kneeling in front of the bed to kiss her forehead. she grumbled his name, trying to peel her groggy eyes open.

“I’m right here, darling. caught an earlier flight. there’s an iced coffee in the fridge for you.”

she smiled, reaching for his hand. “I missed you.”

“I know, love. can I join you?”

“you may.” she hummed, pulling the blankets back up over her shoulders. normally she would have loved to watch her boyfriend undress, but this morning she was far too sleepy to care about the sound of georges heavy hilfiger belt hitting the hardwood floor.

eyes still closed, she felt the mattress dip next to her as george slipped underneath the covers, taking her into his arms. she sighed contentedly, resting her head on his bare chest as the driver ran his large hand up and down her back.

“I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, george william russell.”

TAGS

@daydreamingleclerc @libraryofloveletters @magnummagnussen @scuderiamh @sidcrosbyspuck @oconso @cl16version @cartierre @monzabee

#george russell x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #george russell x y/n #tina: the series by lovelytsunoda #f1 x reader #mercedes amg x reader #george russell #mini fic

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bubblesandgutz · 3 months

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Every Record I Own - Day 812: Willie Nelson Stardust

My father-in-law passed away on February 23rd after a long battle with Parkinson’s and various other ailments. Over the last six years, my husband and I made frequent trips down to central Oregon to check in on my in-laws and help out around the house. During some visits, it seemed possible that his dad would be around for another decade or more. And on other visits, we wondered if he would be around more than a few months. Things took a rough turn around Thanksgiving of last year and his health declined considerably. My husband spent most of January in Oregon while I’ve spent 2024 fulfilling tour obligations with three different bands and making trips down to visit them during any available downtime.

My father-in-law was a great guy. He grew up in the Bay Area and was around for all the excitement of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. He was buddies with Pigpen from the Grateful Dead and attempted to go to the Altamont Free Concert but was stuck in the traffic jam when news traveled down the road about all the chaos and violence incited by the Hells Angels. He loved ZZ Top and Creedence Clearwater Revival and Tina Turner. But more than anything, he loved Willie Nelson.

Stardust, in particular, got a lot of spins around their house when I’d come to visit. In some ways, it’s odd that this was their Willie album of choice. After all, the ten songs on Stardust are all covers of old pop standards. Columbia Records was even hesitant to release it considering that Willie was riding strong on his outlaw country reputation at the time. But the album became a huge hit—a quintuple platinum album and a favorite among both fans and critics.

I won’t lie, I prefer Willie’s own songs, but the slow, sparse, and relaxed vibe of Stardust grew on me. I also appreciated how he chose songs with less conventional melodies (“Blue Skies,” “All of Me,” etc) and how his minimalist slow-hand style seemed perfectly suited to those compositions. The stretches of empty space, the chord changes that feel a little counterintuitive at first but then settle nicely into the larger song, the playful but rough-hewn quality to the vocals—it all has a hazy, late night, intoxicating vibe. I don’t even remember when I picked up my personal copy but it’s been a part of my collection for at least two decades.

Over the years, I heard less and less music at my in-law’s house. Television became the more constant companion, perhaps because the sound of people talking filled the conversational void stemming from the reclusive nature of my father-in-law’s disease. But when they began doing hospice at home back in January, they switched back to music. In his last days, we kept the stereo on throughout the day, switching between various CDs from their collection. I was occasionally tasked with picking out music, and I grappled with finding something that was familiar and comforting without running the risk of forever being tainted by the circumstances. Stardust was a family favorite but I never put it on for fear that it would render it off-limits once his father passed.

The hospice nurse called us on a Tuesday in February to say my father-in-law was near the end. He wasn’t eating or drinking and his breathing was labored. My husband and I drove all night hoping to make it to central Oregon in time to say goodbye. He was nearly unresponsive by that point, though he would squeeze your hand if you talked to him. Despite his condition, he managed to to hang in there for another week-and-a-half. In that time, I had to return to Seattle for rehearsals, then had to fly out to the East Coast for a weekend of shows, then flew back to Oregon, then had to fly back to Seattle to check in on a friend that was mentally struggling after being involved in a motor vehicle fatality involving an inebriated man that had been running across a busy highway.

The call came in the afternoon. My father-in-law passed peacefully. My husband and his mother had been listening to Stardust at the time, and he took his last breath during “September Song.”

The struggle was over. It had been a long decline and by the end it was hard to recognize the warm, witty, and vibrant man I first met nearly 26 years ago in the withered and incapacitated person we’d been tending to for the last few months. I was grateful to know my father-in-law for so many years, to have a stockpile of memories of him before things got so difficult. And in the weeks since he’s passed I’ve listened to Stardust a few times. The wistful nature of the album has an added element of sadness, but the memories of listening to it in happy moments outweigh its more recent association. If anything, “September Song” feels like an even more bittersweet reminder to savor the moment and hold your loved one’s close, because seasons change and all things must pass.

Oh, it's a long long while

From May to December

But the days grow short

When you reach September

When the autumn weather

Turns leaves to flame

One hasn't got time

For the waiting game

Oh, the days dwindle down

To a precious few

September, November

And these few precious days

I'll spend with you

These precious days

I'll spend with you

#everyrecordiown #willie nelson

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venus-haze · 2 years

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Funnel of Love (Austin!Elvis x Plus Size!Reader)

Summary: Your well-meaning friends convince you to go to the county fair with them. You’re not sure you’ll have a good time, until you find out your friend Elvis will be there on one of his rare weekends off from touring. As the night goes on, you finally realize that he wants to be more than friends.

Note: This is based on an anonymous request. The reader is plus size and a woman, but no other specific descriptors are used. Inspired by the Wanda Jackson song (also Wanda and Elvis toured together [and dated!] early on in their careers, and he convinced her to switch from singing country to the rockabilly she became best known for. Her version of ‘Let’s Have a Party’ is also in Dead Poets Society. I’m a huge fan of hers but I’ll stop now lol). Do not interact if you are under 18 or post ED/thinspo content.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: None.

If you were being honest, you felt as though you were a little too old to be spending a Saturday night at the county fair with your friends. Yet, after unsuccessfully trying to convince them to go to one of Memphis’ many nightclubs instead, you found yourself squeezed in your friend Tina’s boyfriend’s car with half a dozen other people on the short drive to the fairgrounds from Tina’s place.

The car was starting to feel claustrophobic in the fifteen minutes it took to get to the fair, and you didn’t hesitate to jump out as soon as it was parked, barely paying attention to Tina mentioning that a few other friends were meeting you there. She rattled off a handful of names, and you perked up when she mentioned Elvis, since you hadn’t seen him in a few weeks.

It always amazed you how the otherwise unassuming field that served as the county fairgrounds could be transformed into something so unrecognizable and almost magical. Okay, so maybe you weren’t too old for the fair, the scent of fried food and sound of the carnival rides bringing back nostalgic memories. It still wasn’t at the top of the list for how you wanted to spend your Saturday night.

As soon as you and your friends approached the entrance to the fair, you saw Elvis waiting by the ticket booth with Scotty and Bill. You didn’t see much of them on the weekends anymore since they were busy touring. Sometimes Elvis would call or write to you while he was on the road, and you thought it was nice of him to keep in touch. You heard rumblings among your friends about Elvis’ recording contract getting picked up by RCA, but you wanted to hear the news from the man himself.

“You didn’t tell me Y/N was gonna be here,” Elvis hissed at Bill, trying to find some reflective surface to check his hair as you approached.

Bill merely snickered in response at his friend’s reaction to seeing you. Everyone knew Elvis had a thing for you, well, everyone except you, apparently. You were either too oblivious or too stubborn to realize it, and unfortunately Elvis took this to mean you weren’t interested, though he still pined after you. He knew the Colonel said that appearing to be available to fans would help his career, but he couldn’t help how his stomach flipped whenever he was around you.

“Y/N, you look great,” Elvis said, immediately wanting to smack himself upside the head for not coming up with something better to say.

To his relief, your pretty face lit up at the compliment. “Thanks, you too.”

Elvis hung around you while you all ambled around the fairgrounds, checking out the rides and stopping to get food every so often. After about half an hour, you all decided to split up to go on the rides and play the games you wanted to, and then to meet up by the ferris wheel before the fair was over to head home together. As it turned out, you and Elvis ended up being your own group of two. Not that you minded, you always enjoyed Elvis’ company.

You knew you were probably exhausting him with questions about life on the road, but the thought of traveling as much as he did fascinated you. Still, he regaled you with stories of roaring crowds and being run out of towns you’d never even heard of before. When he asked you questions about your job, you had no problem telling him your own stories about the crazy customers you encountered at the shop you worked in.

The two of you meandered for some time, watching people play some of the games that were set up at the fair. You smiled when a man won a large teddy bear for his date, who accepted with a laugh at how it was almost as big as she was. Elvis didn’t miss your reaction to the exchange. It couldn’t be that hard to win you a prize and make you smile like that.

“C’mon, I’m gonna win you somethin’,” he said, pulling you over to the balloon darts game.

The back of the stall was covered in balloons of various colors, but to win a prize, you needed to pop at least two of the same color balloon. For a dime, you could get three darts, winning one of the larger prizes for popping three same-colored balloons. You and Elvis quickly realized that this was easier said than done as seventy cents later, he’d been unsuccessful.

“I think it’d just be cheaper to go to the store and buy one at this point,” you said.

He looked at you, determination in his eyes as he placed another dime on the counter. “Three more darts.”

To your shock and delight, he popped two of the three balloons necessary to win a prize, seemingly with ease this time. He picked out a medium-sized brown teddy bear with a heart in its hands and proudly gave it to you.

“This is too cute, thank you,” you smiled, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He beamed, throwing his arm around your shoulder. “I told ya I’d win you somethin’.”

You did have to talk him out of trying the ring toss game next, saying that you wouldn’t be able to carry more prizes through the fairgrounds for the rest of the night. He only agreed once you promised that you’d left him win you an even bigger prize before you left.

The two of you shared cotton candy next to the merry-go-round, and you tried not to get any of it on your bear. You finally asked him about whether the rumors about his contract with Sun Records being sold to RCA was true, and he said that while it wasn’t official yet, his manager was working out the details. He figured it was only a matter of a few days. You were in the middle of congratulating him when you were interrupted by a nervous voice.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but could you sign this for me?” a girl asked, her hand shaking as she held out a clean napkin and a pen. “I’m such a big fan.”

“‘Course, sweetheart,” Elvis answered with a smile.

He leaned against one of the food stalls to sign the napkin. Elvis was getting recognized more and more wherever he went, making it difficult to go many places with him, but you admired how dedicated he was to his fans, not hesitating to return their devotion to him. You’d heard of people meeting their favorite singers or movie stars and having horrible experiences, but Elvis made sure that was never the case for them.

“You’re so lucky,” the girl sighed.

“Oh, we’re just friends,” you clarified.

She gave you an odd expression as she looked at the teddy bear in your hand. Just before she could respond, Elvis handed her the now autographed napkin and the pen back, winking at her.

“Have a good rest of your night, darlin’,” Elvis said.

She nodded, a wide smile on her face. “Thank you!”

You watched as she ran back over to her friends, who all squealed and giggled upon seeing that she’d gotten his autograph.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said bashfully.

“It’s alright,” you said. “Do you know where everyone else is?”

“I think I saw them at the scrambler, but I know Tina said somethin’ about bumper cars.”

You rolled your eyes. You weren’t ashamed of being plus size by any means and knew it didn’t matter to your friends, but it frustrated you when they seemed to forget that not everything was as accessible to you as it was to them. You were still having a good time at the fair, despite your hesitance to even go in the first place. If anything, you felt bad that Elvis was spending the night dropping money on rigged games and cotton candy for you instead of going on rollercoasters and ferris wheels.

When you and Elvis started walking around again, he kept his arm around your waist this time, holding you close to him, squeezing your side every so often. You supposed it was so you wouldn't get separated in the crowd of people, which had only grown as the night went on. He seemed a bit dazed, though, and at one point, he walked directly into someone, apologizing profusely before moving you in a different direction.

“You alright?” you asked.

“Yeah, sorry. I got distracted. The lights make your eyes look like stars,” he whispered.

You were taken aback by his comment. “I—thanks.”

“Earlier, when I said you look great, I meant to say you look beautiful. You always do.”

Still shocked and unsure of how to respond, you quietly thanked him again. You had never let yourself think of Elvis romantically before. You’d been friends for a long time, so you just assumed you weren’t his type, especially since you didn’t look like any of his past girlfriends. As you pondered this sudden shift in your relationship with him, the two of you walked a few feet more in comfortable silence until coming across a large rainbow wheel covered in lights.

“Young lady with the teddy bear!” the carnival barker called out. “How would you like to step up and spin the wheel of wonder? Free of charge!”

“Yes, she wants to,” Elvis said, volunteering you to spin the wheel.

You gave Elvis a playful glare as you handed him the teddy bear he’d won you.

The man waved you forward, and you spun the wheel with some enthusiasm, standing next to Elvis as you watched it spin and spin and spin, until finally stopping at—

“Complimentary tickets to the tunnel of love!” the man announced, grabbing the two ride tickets in question. “An appropriate prize for the lovely couple.”

You had no time to correct him before Elvis took the tickets, thanking the man. He looked pleased as he gave you the teddy bear back, until he noticed your expression didn’t match his.

“If you don’t want to go on it, we don’t have to.”

“We should do it. We haven’t gone on any rides tonight,” you said, trying to convince yourself that there was any way to go on the tunnel of love as just friends.

“You sure?” Elvis asked with a smile.

You nodded. “I’m sure.”

His excitement was contagious as he took your hand in his, running over to the tunnel of love, the giant, neon red heart atop the ride acting as a guiding star while the two of you weaved through the other fair-goers to the ride.

The tunnel of love looked like a giant Valentine’s Day card, covered in pink, red, and gold paint. The wooden cut-out of a cupid that pointed to the ride had the paint chipped off, but the big heart-shaped entrance was cute. A soft melody played inside, and Elvis handed the tickets to the woman operating the ride. She pulled back a lever, and a pink cart with faded red hearts all over it chugged forward on the metal tracks.

You and Elvis got into the cart, somewhat of a tight squeeze, you observed to yourself. The woman pulled the lever again, and the cart jolted forward into the darkness of the tunnel, which was soon illuminated by red and pink glowing lights. Various wooden cut-outs popped out every now and then. It was corny, but it had its charm.

“Sorry,” you whispered, noticing your thigh pressing against Elvis’ in the close space of the cart.

“You’re fine, darlin’, really,” he assured you, hoping you couldn’t hear his heart racing at being so close to you.

The next few moments or so of the ride was spent in awkward silence, and you sighed, suddenly feeling acutely aware of what ride you were actually on with him.

“I’m sorry if you’re not having a good time,” Elvis said.

You shook your head. “No, I just feel bad you got stuck with me and didn’t get to go on the other rides.”

“What? Y/N, I wanted to be with you. I asked everyone else to go on to those other rides so I could spend the night alone with you—not like that—I just mean, I like you a lot,” he confessed.

You giggled, hiding your face in the teddy bear he’d won you. All this time you thought he was just being nice to you; you didn’t even want to think about how many other times you’d completely missed him flirting with you. If your friends already knew Elvis was going to be at the county fair, you figured them dragging you along despite your clear reluctance was their weird way of being your wingmen.

“I hope you’re not laughin’ at me,” he said.

Quickly, you lifted your head, shaking it. “No, Elvis, I promise I’m not. I’m just embarrassed I didn’t notice sooner.”

“I guess that’s on me for not makin’ a move sooner.”

“Then do it.”

“Do what?”

“Make a move.”

He smiled, placing one hand on your thigh and the other on your cheek. His eyes fell to your lips, and he kissed you softly, sweetly, and you felt like you were in a movie as the romantic music played and warm lights glowed. Oh, this was why people liked going in here. As you kissed him back, he pulled you closer, and you had no other option than to practically sit on his lap.

The two of you were so engrossed in the kiss that you hadn’t noticed the ride stopped until the ride operator cleared her throat. You and Elvis awkwardly got out of the cart, but you smiled when you heard someone waiting in line utter, “Is that Elvis Presley?”

The man himself was practically glued to you as he led you through to the ride’s exit. Going back to the chaos of the fair was jarring, to say the least, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to goin’ through there again,” he grinned, brushing his thumb over your smudged lipstick.

“Me either.”

Taglist: @eliseinmemphis @crash-and-cure @kittenlittle24 @im-lame-irl @loudwombatmugkid @rxsesss @roseymary04 @queendelrey @jovialladyaurora

#elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis x plus size!reader #elvis x plus size reader #plus size reader #plus size!reader #austin!elvis #elvis 2022

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unamused-boss · 6 months

Text

Boots and Trumpets

Robin Buckley x Hargrove Oc

Warning, Strong topics: homophobia, child abandonment, troubled sibling relationship, child abuse, underage drinking, Homophobic language, strong language

I will not tolerate any negativity in the comments regarding sexuality or religion!

Summary: Amelia is now facing new challenges within Hawkins. One being her having the miss her friend Tina's annual Halloween party. So to counter for what she thought would be a boring night, she stopped by a little birdie's house instead.

I are currently sitting inside your shared ride with Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington. I had the pleasure to have the whole back seat to myself, with my boots propped up onto the window opposite of your head. My baggy washed out jeans hanging from my ankles with my golden colored sweater tucked into my jeans with a brown belt.

“Steve, the more you complain about it and not work on it the more it’s going to suck.” I said to him after hearing him complain about his college essay for the past fifteen minutes.

“It’s not bad Steve, it just needs some rearranging.” Nancy reassured. “You just have to…” Nancy went onto this thing about how he can fix it but I truly did not care. They went onto something else about some dinner that they had to go to. Everything came to a halt when a roar of an engine stopped every word that was about to be exchanged. Both Nancy and Steve stepped out of the car to have a look at the noise while I only peered out of the window. We all saw a charged blue Camaro drive by us and parked. Our eyes still followed to see who owned it. My eyes made contact with the California plate on the back of it.

“What are the odds..” I laughed, I’m kinda happy another Cali kid is here. Maybe I can make a new friend. Two people got out of the car, a dude wearing denim on denim with curly hair styled into a mullet and a twelve year old with red hair with a skateboard. They both looked familiar. But then I saw it, it was the missing earring to my set that I had when I left in California. I thought it fell out when I was packing my bags.

“No fucking way…” I said in shock. ‘Out of every town in this country, you just had to show up here…’

“Shit.”

You gotta be fucking kidding me. Out of every damn state that those asswhips could pick. They pick my state. Indi-fucking-ana. I can’t handle this. I'm gonna throw up. I don’t have the energy to go find a new place to live. I can’t let any of them see me. I can’t live through this. This has to be some sort of nightmare. A really bad nightmare. God I didn’t change my last name either. Everyone is going to know. He’s going to figure it out and I’ll be thrown in front of a flippin bus. What am I going to do?

“Hey!” An all to perky Tina jumped up at me while I was at my locker. “How are you Amy?”

God, here it begins.

“What’s up…” My voice sounds frazzled, get it together. “I’m fine. What do you need?”

“Well as you know by now there is a new hot topic on campus.” Tina grinned.

“Yeahh.” I answered clearly to most with no enthusiasm, but not to Tina. “What does he have to do with me?”

“Well. I was hoping you could hook me up with your cousin!”

“Cousin? No he is not my cousin, we are no were near related.”

“Really?” She seemed not to believe me. “You guys just look really similar, I mean if you never took your sunglasses off I’d think you were him.” She obviously meant it as a joke. I can tell by the light giggle that she gave after making her comment.

“Well we’re not so I can’t help you there.” I stated blankly to her. “Hope you’re able to get in his pants.” I tried to end the conversation there but I was stopped.

“Hey wait!” I turned back to face Tina, who had pulled out an orange slip of paper. “Here you're invited, hope you can make it.” She said before skipping away to her next class. I looked down at the flier to see ‘ Let’s get sheet faced’ printed in bold on it. I laugh a bit at the play on words before folding it and putting it in my pocket. ‘I am skipping school today’ I made my way to the back exit of the school when a light force knocked me a few steps back.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry, that was completely my fault. Please don’t yell at me, I’m just trying to get to chem.” A familiar frantic voice called out to me. Robin Buckley.

“Robin, it’s okay.” I reassured her.

“Are you sure? Cause listen if that scary dude is related to you please don’t send him my way.” She begged.

I huffed. “I’m not related to him, Robin, don’t worry. I’m playing hooky, I’ll catch ya later… hopefully?” I say. I start walking past her to the free world from Hawkins High School

“Yeah, to-totally.” The faint voice of Robin can be heard from the closing doors.

…

Halloween Night: Friday 31, 1984

“Listen Tina, I can’t make it.” I told the bummed girl over that phone. “I’m sorry, I’ll come to the next party you throw.” I reassured her.

“But why are you flaking out on the Halloween bash! You never miss this specific party in the few years that I have known you.” That is true. Once you went to Tina’s annual halloween party you’ve never missed it. But that is changing this year. Being that your twin brother and step sister now live here, there is going to be a lot more flaking then just at the halloween party.

“Tina I told you, I’m taking Will trick or treating with his friends tonight.” You told her once again. “We can do a sleepover some time next week… okay.”

“Okay.” I heard her sigh, “I see ya around.”

“See ya later Tina.” I hung up the yellow landline. I walk over to the livingroom to see Will fixing his ghostbusters costume.

“I still can’t believe no one else dressed up this year.” Will said sadly, “Everyone dressed up last year.”

“It’s okay Will, they just think they're too cool to dress up.” I reassured the small kid. In the back you can hear Bob explaining to Johnathan how the camera works when Joyce came behind Will with his, whatever it is, backpack for his costume.

“Listen, stay close to your brother and Amy, and you get a bad feeling just tell them so you can come straight home.” Joyce told him. “You promise.” Will gave her a thumbs up. “Okay.”

“You ready to rock and roll, Will the wise.” I smiled down at him.

“Be safe.” Joyce shouted out to us, mainly to Will. We all got into the car. Jonathan driving, Will in the passenger seat, and with me in the back. We start to make our way over to Mike’s neighborhood.

“I just don’t get what she sees in him.” Jonathan says all of a sudden.

“What?” Will answered in utter confusion.

“Bob.”

“At least he doesn’t treat me differently.” Will said. “I can’t even go trick or treating by myself. It’s lame.”

“What, you think me and Johnathan are lame?” I said, trying to lighten his mood.

“No, but it’s not like Nancy is coming to watch over Mike. You know?” Jonathan just sighs. He looks at me from the mirror. I give him the same look. We both feel bad for the kid, but what are we gonna do? I don’t want anything to happen to Will. Sooner than later we are at Mike’s front yard. Will makes his way to get out till Johnathan stops him.

“Hey.” Jonathan says to Will.

“Yeah.” He answers.

“If I let you go by yourself, will you promise to stay in the neighborhood.” Johnathan suggested.

“Yeah.” Will’s mood brightened up. “Yeah-Yeah, totally.”

“And be back at Mike’s by 9:00.” Jonathan told him.

“9:30?” Will tried to persuade him. “9:00.” Jonathan said again.”Deal?” “Yeah deal.” Will rushes out of the car to go to his friends.

“Will.” Jonathan stops him from leaving the car to hand him the camera. “Don’t let any of your spazzy friends touch this.” Will laughed and took the camera to go over to his friends.

“You’re a good brother John.” I smiled at him. “I’ll see ya later.” As is tried to get out of the car but Jonathan stopped me.

“Wait where are you going?”

“I don't know, I’ll probably walk around the neighborhood.” I said. “I got a friend down that street.”

“You’re really not going to Tina’s party?” He was bewildered by this.

“Yeah John, I’m really not going.”

“But you love Tina’s parties.” He simply stated.

“Well I’m not feeling it this year.” I told him.

“Bullshit.” He called. “Why aren’t you going?”

“I just don’t want to go.” I’m sticking to this. “I have someone I can hang out with, plus I’ll be close to Will if something happens.” John and I just stare at each other for a minute.

“Okay.” He sighed. “But if Nancy gets upset that you’re not there, I’m not taking the heat.”

“Okay.” I smiled at him as I got out of the car. I walked my way over to where the boys were messing around as John left for Tina's party. “Okay turd-nuggets.” I begin.

“Really, what are you twelve?” Mike sassed.

“And are you a lollipop with that stick up your ass?” I sassed back to him, I start back up were I was interrupted. “I will be down that street with a friend, I will be back her at 8:45 to make sure you guys are fine. Okay?”

A chorus of “Okay’s” filled the air.

“Great! See you shit-heads later.” I walk off a familiar bird’s house. I walk up the stairs to the front door and give it a quick knock. I wait until the door opens.

“Amelia?” Robin says confused. “What are you doing here?”

“ I was hoping we could hang out for a bit.” I suggested. “Is that okay?”

“Oh! It’s completely fine!” She exclaimed, “I just thought you'd be at some party.”

“I didn’t feel like partying tonight, ya know.” I made my way into her house.

…

Tina’s Halloween Party: Friday 31, 1984

The party was in full swing. TP covering the lights of every room. Alcohol filling the mouths and noses of every teenager on the property. Music blasting as loud as physically possible. Someone throwing up in the front yard. The smell of weed coming from the master bedroom with each new blunt that was lit. The sound of a name being chanted in the backyard. A keg stand can be seen with an all too familiar blonde on top, like always.

“Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy!” Is chanting through the crowd as the new keg king came down from his stand. Spitting out that remaining beer from his mouth.

“That’s how you do it Hawkins! That’s how you do it!” Billy yelled. The statement “We have a new keg king, ladies and gentleman!” Being shouted along as Billy made his way into the house. His senses are filled with the atmosphere of the room. Till he sees a certain fallen king with his princess.

“Got ourselves a new keg king Harrington.” Tommy boasted.

“Yeah, eat it Harrington!” Steve looked onto the, now new, keg king. Waiting for something to happen.

“What’s wrong Harrington? Your little dyke is not here to save you.” Tommy fake whined to him. As a way to taunt him. Tommy was about to keep laughing when he felt beer splash over his shoulder. “What the? What the hell Tina?!”

“Don’t call her that!” Tina shouted at him “If she was here she’d leave you crying.”, too drunk to keep dealing with him but still wanting to defend her friend. Nancy, now done with the testerone in front of her, quickly left to get something stronger to drink. Tommy is now pissed that he is covered in pungent drink.

“Go worry about yourself before you come at me guys.” Was all Steve said then walking away from the other teenage boys. Staring off at the brunette as he went after his girlfriend.

Billy turned himself around to face Tommy. “How were you talking about that got Tina mad?” He asked, genuinely curious about the lesbian that was not present tonight at the party of the semester.

“Oh. Just some lesbo that hangs with Harrington.” Tommy retorted, making it seem like she isn’t worth Billy’s time. “She can be a fucking asshole.”

…

Laughter filled the Buckley house this Halloween. The two girls conversed with one another for the past few hours. Being comfortable with one another knowing how the other truly is.

“Wait.” Robin kept laughing. “You got caught kissing Heather Halloway from her bedroom window then proceeded to fall from the second story?!”

“Yeaah, I’m not welcomed over at the Holloway house any more.” I giggled.

“Jeez, you’ve done more than I thought.” Robin smiled. “I’m still scared to change in the girls locker room.”

“Hey I’m the town lesbo.” I calmly giggled.

We fell into comfortable silence, “Hey, I wanna ask you something?” Robin asked.

“Sure.” I said, waiting for her question.

“What was California like?” I sat silent for a second. Due to my silence Robin thought she had hit a nerve. “If you don’t want to talk about it you don��t have to!”

“It’s okay, I just haven't talked with anyone about California.” I reassured her. “ It was like a constant sunset everyday…” I started.

“The weather was always perfect. And the beaches, oh my god the beaches. They were always clear. I lived in Santa Monica, very touristy but beautiful.” I was happy I could finally talk about my home again. “Ugh that sand was so soft under your toes when you walked. And there was this boardwalk that my mom took me and my brother to all that time-”

“You have a brother?” Robin asked curiously.I stopped. ‘No I messed up’.

“Yeah.” I frowned.

“Do- Do you miss him?” Robin asked.

“Everyday… but I hope he’s living the California dream as you guys would say.” I covered my truth with a lie. Not wanting her to know that my brother is here in Hawkins.

“Well from how to describe California, it sounds beautiful.” She reassured me.

I stared back at her with a smile. “Thanks Robin.” Silence filled the room again. Comfortable silence. I liked being around Robin, even with her nervous attitude, she was truly one of a kind. I was about to say something when I glanced at the clock of the wall to find it was close to the time I told the boys I would meet them.

“I gotta go.” I sighed disappointedly, “But I’d love to spend more time together.” I am hoping her answer is a yes.

“Yeah, I would love that! Well not like love-love, but do love being around you. Not in like a couple ways cause that would be weird since we’re just friends. Yaaa know.” She panicked.

“I know Rob.” I smirked, “I’ll see you at school later.”

As we said our goodbyes, I made my way down the street to see the boys. I saw the familiar ghostbuster’s suits from where I was. I could tell that they picked someone up along the way to go trick or treating with. ‘How cute, they made a new friend’. There were two stragglers in the back of the group, by the hair cuts I could tell that it was Mike and Will. I did a small jog over to them.

“Hey shit-heads!” I yelled to them, all their heads slowly turning to me as I made my way over to them. “Did you guys get anything good?”

“What Amy, why are you here?” Mike complained.

“Cause it is close to 9:00 and I want to check on you guys, is that so bad?”

“Yes.” He answered.

“Okay you know what, you're a little shit.” I said to him, “Besides who’s your new?... friend…”

Fuck.

It appears that we have the same looks on our faces. I stared at Max. She stared back at me.

“Shit…” I accidently said out loud.

“Do you know Max, Amy?” Lucas asked me.

I took a deep breath in. “No.” I said simply. “Listen, hit up a few more houses, I’ll come get you in a minute.”

“Where are you-” Dustin started.

“I need a minute guys!” I shouted at them, walking over to Mike’s front yard. Dammit, why. Why! The last person I want to see is with the kids I watch. Shit. This is bad. She can’t tell Niel. No, she can’t tell Billy. Would they even believe her if she told them? Shit, what do I do? I was taken out of my head when a very upset Mike walked by me. I was about to ask him if he was okay when I heard a commotion in the street. I look over to see Will being picked on by some older boys.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing!” I shout at them as I run over to them. “Get back here you fuck heads!” They ran away the minute I had my eyes set on them. Will was pushed to the ground, dropping his candy and camera. I kneel down to him, “Hey Will, are you okay?” I calmly asked him. “Did they hurt you?” I kept asking. Will was not responding what so ever. He just kept looking up at the sky, like something was looking at him. “Will?... Will!” He started to get up slowly, still not answering me. He started to move slowly. Till he ran straight to the back of Mike’s house. “Will!” I shouted after him, grabbing his candy and camera. The other apparently heard me since I heard multiple pairs of feet behind me. I made my way down some brick stairs to find Mike with Will hiding behind a wall.

“Will! I couldn’t find you.” Mike panicked with worry. “I heard Amy shouting then I couldn’t find you, are you hurt?” Due to Will’s heavy breathing I could tell what was up.

“Holy shit!” Dustin yelled.

I kneeled down to his level looking him in the eyes. “Did you have another episode Will?” He was still looking around like a scared cat. “I’m gonna get you home, okay buddy.” Mike made his way to help Will up. When others tried to help he called them off. Blocking off the rest of us to take Will with him.

“Mike?” Dustin tried.

“Keep trick or treating, I’m bored anyways.” He started taking Will with him.

“What’s wrong with him?” Max asked, looking to us for an answer. The boys and I were silent, nothing to say.

“It’s something you don’t have to worry about.” I told her. “Dustin, Lucas go up there for a minute. I need to talk with her.”

“What! Why?” They both started to complain.

“I don’t want to hear it. Go!” I hardly ever get stern with them, but when I do I hope they know I mean what I say. They both, begrudgingly, made their way up the stairs. I turn myself back to Max.

“Max.”

“Amelia.”

“I go by Amy now…” Well this is awkward.

“What did you want?” She asked me, quit literally over me already.

“You can’t tell Billy I’m here or anyone.” I told her.

“What? Why not?” She was baffled. “Do you not know how much Billy misses you?”

“No Max I don’t, because I’ve been here for the past 4 years.” I stated. “Just please don’t tell him, and don’t tell anyone that we’re related. Got that.”

“Yes.”

“Good. As far as me and you go, we just met. Okay?”

“Okay.” She said a bit quietly. “Now let’s get you back up there with your friends so you can enjoy the rest of the night.” I take her back up to Dustin and Lucas. And since Johnathan isn’t here by 9:00, looks like I’m stuck here.

Jeez, the next month is gonna be a shit show. Max knows I’m here now. Johnathan is nowhere in sight. On top of that my twin brother is here too. Hopefully this can’t get any worse than it already is.

Man. I was so wrong about that…

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this part of the story! Also so sorry for my absents, I know you guys are wanting fics/stories. All I ask is that you be patient with me, thank you. If you have any kind of feed back I would love to hear it. And please tell me what you think of Robin and Amelia's interactions together.

I always love good feedback!

Thank you for reading and have a great Christmas!

@meowiemari

@b1tchy3lf

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