i love talking to new people and love to make new friends !! 𖦹
i’m a yumeshipper!! my main f/o is Patrick Bateman, but I also ship with;
- Homelander (The Boys)
- Ghost (Call of Duty)
- Caine (The Amazing Digital Circus)
- Johnny Cage (Mortal Combat)
- Omniman (Invincible)
- Clay Puppington (Moral Orel)
- Ryland Grace (Project Hail Mary)
- Joe Swanson (Family Guy)
all are nonsharing!! 🔒
⋮ ★ about me ᯓ
special interest : the military and polemology
current hyperfixation: Project Hail Mary
main interests : Call of Duty, The Boys, American Psycho, Fight Club, Inglorious Basterds, Wardogs, Full Metal Jacket, Forest Gump, Top Gun, Saving Private Ryan, Taxidermia, Politics
other interests : The Garten of Banban, Invincible, Bojack Horseman, South Park, Warface, Warframe, Red Dead Redemption 2, Grand Theft Auto V, Family Guy, Moral Orel, Robot Chicken, Rainbow Six Siege, firearms, nuclear technology and weaponry, bone and teeth collecting, Mortal Combat, Human Centipede, horror and disturbing movies, The Amazing Digital Circus
music : David Bowie, Rage Against the Machine, Rob Zombie, KMFDM, Foo Fighters, Mom Jeans, McCafferty, The Front Bottoms, Limp Bizkit, The Smashing Pumpkins, Beastie Boys
hobbies : painting and drawing, kandi making, writing, sculpting, reading, scrapbooking, archery, playing Ponytown…
ᵎ!ᵎ
extra , , , talk to me!! please! tmi does NOT exist talk to me about literally ANYTHINGGGGG i love chatting!!
i am VERY open minded and i have LOTS of things to say rest assured
i do struggle with understanding things such as tones and questions so be patient with me!! (pls do not use tone tags tho…)
Can't Live Without You -- Holland March X Fem!Reader
Pairing: Holland March x Female Reader
Words: 22,004(WELLLLL)
Summary: You've known Holland March since you were ten years old. He was the guy who played a little too hard and suddenly had to pay for it. When it results in a child, a daughter, he drops out of college before he can graduate and you assume you'll never see him again. But after his wife died you started a tumultuous affair and ended up seeing each other every few months, never really admitting the fact that you married a few years before. But when things in your own personal life start to go wrong, you call upon Holland, the newly minted number one PI for some assistance and find yourselves locked in a battle for not just survival but the good of all of LA.
Warnings: SMUT. Soft smut(PIV, couch sex, fem parts mentioned for you the reader but not described in detail, does fade to black in a sense.) Bit of subHolland, DomReader. But it's very light. Also...blood, injuries, murder and you as the reader cheated on your husband with Holland(I assure you the husband deserves it), also you commit a murder and attack a man. Swearing, drinking and generally NSFW themes(porn mainly) throughout. MDNI 18+
Tags: Holland March, old friend reader, married reader(not for long), ex-fling Holland, you have an affair with him and it's been on for a while, humour, fluff, bit of angst. Holly March and Jackson Healy both appear but are not central, very you and Holland centered. You call Holland "Land" and he calls you "Sugar". No Y/N used.
Notes: Oh my Lord it's here...this has been a lot haha...my longest ONESHOT to date!!! And it's for Holland March. I did manage to add my smut and it does fade to black, so it's a soft smut but I hope you still like it. God I love this man and this...enjoy the longest Holland March fic now on Tumblr and I HOPE someone will beat me. Dividers used by: @kodaswrld
Can't Live Without You
"Baby come back, any kind of fool could see. There was something in everything about you. Baby come back, you can blame it all on me. I was wrong and I just can't live without you."
Los Angeles, 1978
There was something about LA that you hated. It wasn't the traffic or the heat or the fact that everyone felt like a social climber on a good day but something rooted deep within the bones of the city. Maybe it was the fact that despite a promise you made to go see the world you didn't. You graduated from UCLA with a bachelors of English and a hope to teach it and eleven years later were a housewife who spent all day doing nothing. It wasn't your choice, it was your husband's since he claimed no wife of his deserves to sit around and work. But you wished you could put that degree to good use and even had gone all the way to a Masters with a professor position within grasp but he just wouldn't budge.
Jeremy Gibson was a man of tradition, he liked having a housewife around to make him coffee and fetch him beer in the evening. You just had to ignore that he was an asshole and was hiding a whole other life in San Francisco. You found out ages ago but could care less, Jeremy didn't care about you and you didn't care about him. The marriage was transactional at that point, he paid for everything you wanted and all you had to do was keep your mouth shut. But it didn’t mean that you had to like it and woke up with a sigh, running a hand through your hair and not being surprised that half of the bed was empty. Jeremy had mentioned something about a conference and that he would be home late and you assumed even yesterday that it meant he wasn’t coming home.
“Mrs. Gibson?”
“I’m awake,” you muttered and looked over at Cindy, your housekeeper who was standing in the doorway, a smile on her face. “Where’s Jeremy?”
“He’s away. Phoned early this morning, won’t be back until dinner.”
“Did he say why?”
“Conference in San Francisco," she said and you rolled your eyes knowing that meant he had spent the night at his affairs house, some smiling blonde who accidentally phoned a while back and couldn’t keep a conversation going.
“Of course, I guess I’ll see him tomorrow or the next day, maybe a week from now.”
“He told me to wish you a good morning.”
“Did he?”
“No,” she admitted and you always appreciated how honest Cindy was.
“Thank you for the honesty,” you said and stood, stretching out and grabbing a shower as she went about her tasks, cleaning up the bed and making it look nice which was an easier task without Jeremy being there.
Your mind went back to yesterday, waving goodbye as Jeremy left for his supposed conference and actually managing to get yourself out of the house and meet up with someone who rarely came around. The one person who was most concerned about your marriage to Jeremy was your brother, Will, a cop for the LAPD who had heard stories about him and his family and had this idea that your marriage was some kind of scam or Jeremy worked for the mafia. In the last eight years none of that had ever been proven, you just existed in his orbit and handed him beer to keep him happy and occasionally got to drain a bit of his funds on clothes you didn’t need. But Will was still positive that something was going wrong and you met up with him at a restaurant you both adored and far enough outside of town that Jeremy wouldn’t accidentally walk through the door.
“What have you got this time?” you asked as he sat down, squinting at his menu since it was one of those places where the lighting was too dark for the atmosphere.
“It’s not another uncertain, maybe a lie that some guy told me in a bar…this could be real.”
“Unlike the last time?” you asked and remembered the last big story about your married family he was certain was true a few months back.
“This is different. This is less about Jeremy himself and more his company. Gibson has been in hot water for a while but I was called to Modesto because they had another death at a factory using their equipment. This is the fourth in the last two years and I know it may seem unconnected and this happens a lot at these places but this…it can’t be a coincidence.”
“Gibson has been shit for years, this doesn’t change anything. It’s just another death.”
“I know…But I have more than just this, I have real evidence from a real source.”
“Where?”
“At home,” he muttered and you sighed. “Look…come over tomorrow and I’ll tell you everything.”
“Will…”
“I know but trust me, this is the big one, it could change everything.”
“You really think one measly little story can take down all of Gibson.”
“This one can,” he assured and you sighed but gave him a nod and ordered a much too expensive salad as he talked about what else was happening in his life, his fiance Leah and you added in small snippets, nothing ever that interesting happening in yours.
The lunch with Will made you think about what he could have found from Jeremy’s company, Gibson Manufacturing which made heavy machinery for factories in California and a few other states. They had been under fire for a while, a few deaths over the last decade had been tied to faulty equipment and Jeremy had gotten excellent at sweeping things under the rug. The last few cases he had left to his sister, Moira, the real brains behind the entire operation and you dodged her questions about where you had been since she would not be the biggest fan of Will if she heard what he was up to. She already didn’t like him, claiming your half of the family was a bit like mold, it stuck around when you didn’t want it to and was extra hard to get rid of.
“Mrs. Gibson?”
“Are you done Cindy?”
“No…but there was a phone call for you.”
“From?”
“Leah.”
“I’ll call her back.”
You slipped out of the shower, dried off and dressed in an outfit that Jeremy would not approve of, a simple sweater and some black jeans before grabbing the phone and dialling the number you had on file for Will’s apartment. He had been engaged and living with Leah for what felt like longer than they had been together, constantly putting off marriage because they didn’t need a ceremony and a priest to know they were in love. You admired it and secretly wished that Jeremy had the same idea and it would be a lot easier to leave without him plunging you into financial ruin.
“Sugar?” Leah asked and your heart warmed at the nickname.
“Yeah hun, how are you?”
“Good…I’m…” Leah sniffled and your eyes narrowed since she was stronger than anyone, you, Will, never the crier even when her mom passed.
“What’s wrong…”
“Did Willy see you yesterday?”
“We went for lunch, he said he had some news about Gibson and I was going to meet him today, get some notes he had.”
“He didn’t come home last night and you know Will, he works all over and sometimes doesn’t feel like it but he said he was and I got worried and called a buddy at the precinct who went looking and they found him…”
“Where?”
“At a hotel he liked…about twenty minutes from home…he was…they found him…”
“Leah…speak…where did they find him.”
“In the bathtub…they’re ruling it a suicide…apparently he was working too hard…he had a needle in his arm and some extra supplies in his room…”
“Wait…suicide,” you repeated and she sniffled. “Leah…”
“He’s dead, Sugar. Will is dead,” she said and you dropped to the bed, grateful there was a phone in the master and stared at the door like it could do anything to make things better.
“I’ll…I’ll come by tomorrow.”
“Not today?”
“Get his buddies to look into it and let me know if they find anything, I’m sorry Leah. I’m…I’m so sorry.”
“Sugar…”
You hung up the phone with a slam and dug around in the bedside table before pulling out a small slip of paper shoved in a book that you knew Jeremy would never touch. It was a business card, gifted to you by a very old friend a handful of years ago, one you ended up meeting up with every once and a while and needed at that moment. You and Will weren’t close, hadn’t been since you were kids, he was a handful of years younger and a whole lot more impulsive, a lot of thoughts with too little time and it made him snappy and short tempered. But when you had the chance, when plans aligned and Will needed someone to bounce his millions of ideas off of, you were always there, at dinner and brunch and breakfast, any restaurant he needed.
It could change everything.
“What could,” you muttered and dialed the number, blinking back tears and praying that he’d answer and someone did.
“Hello?”
“Uh…I’m looking for Holland March?”
“He’s not here. Can I take a message?”
“You are?”
“Jackson Healy, a business partner.”
“Oh…Can you just tell Land that I’ll be at Marianne's tonight around 8pm and if he wants, he can meet me there, same place as always.”
“Land?”
“An old nickname, don’t use it on him, he secretly hates it.”
“And you are?”
“Call me Sugar, he knows me,” you assured and Healy muttered something about making sure Holland got it as you sighed and shoved the phone back on the receiver with a loud sigh, ringing your hands out, mind still going a million miles a minute.
“Mrs. Gibson?”
“I’m going out.”
“Oh…uh…did Jeremy schedule a meeting or something?”
“No, this is just for me,” you said and walked back into the closet, eager to change, to dress in something a little more fitting for a meeting with someone you were trying to ignore your feelings for.
“Oh…you look nice,” Cindy admitted when you walked out dressed in black pants that were flared right at the ankles, a flowing red and orange top and some wedges.
“Thank you,” you said and added a head scarf, tying it around and grabbing your purse before heading out the door and taking a seat in a car that Jeremy always had waiting for you just in case. “Marianne’s.”
“Meeting Jeremy?” Harris, a longtime friend and well paid driver, asked and you shrugged.
“Sure. Let’s say I am.”
“Very well, Sugar,” he said and pulled out of the driveway as you smiled and leaned back in the seat, always eager to spend some time alone with him, easily the one guy in that house who understood it all.
A long time ago, way back in elementary school you ended up befriending a kid who had just moved to LA and was being bullied, attacked for no other reason than the fact that he was different. You took pity on him, easily as different and eager to attempt to make a new friend and it worked and you stayed together, thick as thieves till you went off to college. Sure the dynamic changed, things got a bit awkward and it got even worse when two years into your time at college he announced that he had fucked up, got an exchange student pregnant and was running off to marry her so she could stay.
That was years back and in the time since you had been meeting off to the side, first as friends so he could tell you about his daughter and then as more when his wife died in a fire and he needed someone to take his mind off it. That man was Holland March, the one you phoned and were currently waiting for as you sipped a glass of vodka and hoped it would take your mind off everything.
“The usual?”
“Always,” you said and the ageless bartender of the Marianne, Hurley Rhodes, chuckled and topped off your drink, adding more vodka than cranberry. “Thank you. I needed some liquid courage.”
“Meeting March again?”
“It’s a cycle. I meet March, I need vodka, I come back afterwards for more,” you said and sipped the drink, letting out a cough.
“You know…I have never understood why you need vodka to meet your own husband.”
“What?” you asked and stared at Hurley, eyes wide.
“He’s your husband right?”
“No,” you said and his eyes narrowed.
“Huh…I always thought, you’re so close.”
“We meet up like maybe three times a year.”
“I thought it was a bit, some kind of sex thing, pretending to be meeting at a bar and playing pool and despite the bet you always end up upstairs.”
“God dammit…how long have you thought that? Since the first time like 5 years back?”
“Guilty,” he admitted and you leaned forward, resting your forehead on the bar with a loud groan. “Hey, at least you look cute together.”
“Yeah but it’s not…we’re not…”
“Then what are you?”
“Casual,” you shot back and he laughed. “Seriously. We meet to blow off some steam. He goes back to his life and I go back to mine and it all gets forgotten till we meet again a few months later. It’s easy and fun and I like it because there’s no…ties, it’s free.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“It’s not, it’s great,” you said and downed the glass of 90% vodka, 10% cranberry before nodding for another as Hurley rolled his eyes but complied.
“Hey, leave some in this bar for me.”
You rolled your eyes and turned, bringing the drink with you to spot the one and only Holland March standing behind you, eyes lit up in a grin as he stood with his hands on his hips, a cigarette hanging loosely from the side of his mouth. He had never really changed, forever dressed in suits of various colours, this time burgundy and patterned shirts that were unbuttoned just enough that you could spot the white tank he wore underneath. His hair was the usual version of shaggy but well groomed he preferred and that darn mustache on his top lip, easily the most groomed thing on the man’s entire body.
Land had always been easy to get along with, he was a joker who didn’t take a lot seriously, minus his daughter and you forever thought of a billion in one what if scenarios if he didn’t fuck up and end up a dad at twenty. But Holland was also not the type of guy to turn tail and run and he stayed when his one night stand got pregnant, told you he felt compelled and you let him go, knew it had to be done and Land was too stubborn to leave her.
“There’s plenty, Land,” you assured and he rolled his eyes at the nickname.
When you first met Holland you claimed his name was weird and he admitted to never having a good nickname since Holly made him sound like a girl and he didn’t like Hol…for various reasons. You had settled on Land and it had been a moniker you used whenever you felt like annoying him since he secretly hated it but had always been fond of you. You, his sweet spot which is why he called you Sugar and why it stuck even so many years later.
“I better hope so, Sugar,” he said and grabbed a beer as you chuckled, relaxing, allowing your shoulders to slump since Holland made it better.
“Grab that beer and follow me,” you said and he did as told, following you through the small bar and over to your usual pool table as you ignored the look Hurley shot your way.
“Why the up and up?”
“Hurley disclosed that he assumed we were married,” you said and Holland nearly choked on his drink as you grabbed the cues. “He’s assumed it for the last four years.”
“Since we started?”
“Correct.”
“Why would a married couple meet at a bar every couple months?”
“He assumed it was some kind of sex thing,” you muttered and ignored the look on his face. “Land.”
“He’s not wrong,” he shot back and racked the pool balls as you rolled your eyes.
“Sure…it’s a sex thing but we’re not married.”
“Hey if I married you, I’d still do this,” he said and lit the cigarette still in his mouth as you stared, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “Don’t like the idea?”
“This is nothing more than a meeting every few months, we can’t be anything more.”
“You have said that before, Sugar,” he said and let out a dry chuckle as you nodded since Land had confessed his feelings a few times, usually when drunk and always two seconds before the sex thing assumption came true.
Sure this whole meet up was an excuse to get laid every few months by a man you actually liked but it would never be anything more than that, it couldn’t be. You were already cheating by being there and sure Jeremy had a whole other family in another city and maybe even a few of them but Holland didn’t deserve the lies. A pit of guilt appeared after every single one of these meetings and you had been meaning to tell him since this all started and you ran into him at that very bar shortly after his wife died in a fire. He was lost and needed an excuse to have some fun and Jeremy was an asshole you wanted to avoid so it turned into a win-win situation. You both got what you wanted and maybe one day you’d leave him, be a couple with a guy who actually liked you like Hurley was suggesting.
“Look we’re just here to have some fun and talk about life,” you said and Holland nodded, pulling out a quarter. “Heads.”
“Tails,” he said after he flipped it and you sighed, letting him go first and he broke the collection of pool balls, shooting a striped six into a pocket and claiming it as his collection to go for. “So what are we playing for?”
“What we always play for.”
“A room,” he shot back and you chuckled.
“We always play for a room.”
“And we always end up in one. But this is for who pays.”
“On,” you said and lined up a shot, knocking in a solid coloured four before pointing your cue at him. “Your shot March.”
“No Land?”
“I mean business,” you said and he laughed, grabbing a sip of his beer and shooting off another shot as you rolled your eyes.
“Never change, Sugar.”
“So…I called and your business partner answered. Jackson.”
“Oh yeah, he won’t let the nickname go by the way. He keeps calling me Land cause he knows it bugs me.”
“What is the story with him?”
“We worked a case last year and stuck together, call ourselves the Nice Guys and it’s been good, the business is good. People are always shady and bodies always turn up so Healy and I never have to worry about being unemployed for too long.”
“You actually have a steady job.”
“I always did, it just depended on clients.”
“And how is Holly with all of this?” you asked and smiled at the thought of his daughter, now fourteen but she acted like she owned the world.
“She’s great. Smart too. Too smart.”
“Does she keep telling you how to run your business?”
“Always. She critiques my adverts and my clients and my clothes. I can’t escape her, she’s like a clone of Marie.”
You frowned at the mention of his wife, Marie from England who had moved to LA for UCLA and charmed him at a bar which felt like years ago now. She was incredible, a real smart alack and one of the only people to ever keep him in line and make him settle. But a fire broke out because of faulty wiring and she died and he went looking for company and found you practically by accident. You were alone at a bar because your husband was an ass and he was alone because it was the only thing he could be. You needed each other and hadn’t stopped.
“How did she take it?”
“She was upset. Still visits that old plot but there’s nothing there, not even debris, they cleared it up. Sometimes I worry that she’s holding onto the past too much, and won't let it go.”
“She’s a kid, she’s got years to grieve.”
“I guess they have that luxury,” he said and dropped one more ball in a pocket before all that was left was the 8 ball, waiting for one of you to sink it. “So…”
“Oh I got this,” you said and lined up your shot but it went wide and Holland barked out a laugh. “Take it away.”
“You are never beating me, Sugar,” he said and sank the last ball with a wide grin as you rolled your eyes and pulled out enough to cover the room from your wallet and handed it over since Holland bought one on his way in. “Thank you.” He leaned against the pool table and eyed you, watching as you grabbed your drink and sipped it slow, eyes narrowed. “Is anything the matter?”
“No…just…life’s a lot.”
“Well now you have a room, a guy and a whole lot of time.”
“Too much time,” you agreed and placed the glass on a bar height table, stepping closer to him and draping your arms around his neck as his smile only got wider.
“We should do this more.”
“You say that everytime.”
“I’m serious…screw once every three months, we could do it once a week, twice a week…”
“Land…”
“Everyday,” he muttered and you sighed, pulling away from him, curling your arms around yourself. “Sorry…I know we can’t and you still won’t tell me why.”
“I know…It’s just…”
“It’s fine, I don’t mind. One night is fine but maybe we can hang out, do something that doesn’t involve a pool table and beer.”
“Maybe…But for now…”
“For now, this is great.”
“I’m glad,” you said and stepped closer, inviting him in and ignoring the hesitation.
You knew that Holland wanted more, he wanted a real relationship and a shot at not always hanging out at the same raggedy bar with cheap beer and pool. He wanted you above all else, you to be happy and to make a life together, one he had been looking for since his wife died. It would be easy to tell him everything, to admit what had happened in the past eight years and maybe he’d even help you get enough dirt on Jeremy to make a divorce look easy. But you were scared, worried he wouldn’t take it all that well and you’d lose the one thing that made life a little easier every couple of months. But for now you still had him, still had what made life worth it and sure you left him sleeping in that hotel bed at 3am, peaceful and oblivious there was still a hope that maybe one day you could stay.
For once the house was quiet when you got home since normally Jeremy had people over, buddies from his college days who used his house as an escape from their wives and their children. Normally they spent the evening screaming about whatever sport was on TV and yelling at you to grab more beer but the living room was silent, the massive house was peaceful and you sighed in relief before slipping off your shoes.
“Where were you?”
“Out,” you shot back and turned to find Jeremy leaning on the banister, beer in hand. “I was with a friend.”
“Who?”
“She was from school.”
“I know all your friends.”
“Not this one,” you shot back and tried to move past him but he grabbed your arm, pulling you close.
“Who?”
“Her name is Holly, we met in college and I reached out, wanted to tell her something.”
“What?”
“That my brother died yesterday. Holly was there for support.”
“Will died?”
“Don’t bullshit me Jeremy, you knew,” you shot back and ripped your hand free, ignoring the marks he left and heading upstairs.
“I didn’t know.”
“He was looking into Gibson and you felt threatened and had him killed, you know. Will was found with drugs and that man was straight as a board, he would never stoop that low and you know that.”
“I swear I didn’t do anything. Hun…please.”
“Screw off, I don’t want to talk about it,” you muttered and moved to head into the master but he was quicker and slammed your shoulder against the wall, locking you in place. “Jeremy.”
“No…let me speak,” he shot back and you didn’t like the look in his eyes, how bloodshot they were, like he had been acting like an idiot for too many hours before you got there. “I paid for this house and all your stuff and you have the audacity of accusing me of killing Will. I don’t know what fucking high horse you think you’re on, but you’re not better than me.”
“I never said that.”
“You think it,” he shot back and you frowned. “You think I’m some big loser and I know that Holly claim is bullshit. You were with fucking Holland March.”
“How…”
“I have people everywhere, sweetheart,” he deadpanned and shoved you off him. “I know you see him all the time, at Marianne’s and sneak out and head here so this big dumb idiot thinks you’re just late and not fucking some other guy. How long, huh? How long?”
“As long as your girl in San Francisco,” you shot back and he chuckled.
“Oh that.”
“Yes that, don’t accuse me of being a cheater when you’re one as well.”
“Yeah but the difference is that I have a stake in all of this, if you go down, oh well but me…I have the money and the assets and the company that lets you parade around and do nothing.”
“I don’t want to do nothing!” you shouted and he frowned. “I wanted to be a professor at UCLA like I planned but I made the mistake of marrying your sorry ass.”
“Then leave.”
“You won’t let me,” you said and he chuckled, drinking the rest of the beer and tossing the bottle off the second floor landing as your eyes narrowed.
“No I won’t,” he agreed and rushed forward, grabbing your neck and holding tight as your eyes went wide and he backed you against the railing. “Don’t see Holland anymore, don’t even go out, just sit and behave like you agreed. That’s why you married me, for an easy life. Here it is.”
“Get off,” you choked out but he held strong.
“Beg me for it.”
“Over your dead body,” you muttered and kicked him in the shin which caused him to stumble and you just managed to get out of his hold.
It was like fate was on your side since Jeremy slipped, still drunk or high or whatever he was and crashed through the railing on the second floor landing that looked out onto the massive foyer. You always found it overkill and dangerous, asked him to install a half wall years back but he never did and was paying for the consequences of his own actions. You could have reached out, could have grabbed him but a very large part of you sighed in relief when he tipped back and fell, suddenly helpless. You turned so you didn’t have to watch but heard the noise he made when he hit the marble floors and knew there was nothing left, or at least would be nothing left very soon and after a decade of him being an asshole it was over. Jeremy didn’t trust cameras so he never had them installed meaning you had a fool proof excuse, that someone broke in, attacked you and he died defending you, got knocked off the balcony as a complete fluke.
“Mrs. Gibson?”
“Shit,” you breathed out and peaked over the rail just as Cindy walked in and screamed.
“MR. GIBSON!” she cried and was at his side in seconds as you breathed in a few times, getting yourself worked up and hoped that tears would follow, that you could at least act like you were upset.
“Cindy!” you called and got up, running downstairs and staring in shock at Jeremy who was a bit bloodier than you expected.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes...God…thanks to him,” you said and breathed in deep. “These men broke in, attacked me and Jeremy stepped in but one threw off that landing, I told him I didn’t trust it.”
“Where’d they go?”
“They uh…ran off about ten minutes before you got here.”
“I’ll call Moira and the police, they’ll want to know about this and someone will have to take him.”
“Is he?” you asked but already knew the answer since part of Jeremy had splashed the door.
“Yes. I mean…”
“Let’s assume,” you said and she nodded as you sank onto the bottom step and watched Cindy run off to grab the phone and call Moira as you looked down at bruises along your arms that Jeremy caused, grateful he was so rough for once and basically painted his own confession.
“God dammit.”
You looked up and Moira was standing in the doorway since she lived in an equally big house right next door and found herself over at yours more often than not. She was the bigger sister, the one who wouldn’t stop babying Jeremy despite his age and kept him in line as the true owner and leader of Gibson Manufacturing. She didn’t look shocked to see him dead, more so annoyed and wandered over, poking his body with the tip of her heel like he was a misplaced piece of decor. She had always been intimidating, all fancy clothes and perfect hair and lips painted a shade of red you swore rivalled blood. She had this quiet precision and acted like everything she came across made her upset, including the fact that her brother was dead.
“Who did it?”
“I didn’t see them.”
“Of course Jeremy doesn’t use cameras,” she muttered and finally looked at you. “Are you hurt?”
“Just a couple bruises. He really stepped up,” you said and she scoffed.
“That got him killed.”
“Ms. Gibson…”
“No Cindy, don’t call anyone. I have men who can handle this, what we need is someone to get to the bottom of this. I have a friend over at the LAPD who’s in my good books, maybe they’ll do it for free.”
“I have someone,” you said and she narrowed her eyes. “He’s a PI, knows me and I know him. I can get him here.”
“I can get someone to grab him. What’s the name?”
“Holland March, he works with a guy named Jackson Healy but we only need Holland.”
“He’ll be here by tomorrow. Don’t touch anything in Jeremy’s office, I assume they were after something in there. Your PI can look into it.”
“I might as well assist, I did see them,” you muttered and Moira scoffed.
“Whatever, I just need it done and the floors cleaned.”
“You’re not upset?” you asked and she scoffed, lighting a cigarette.
“He had it coming,” she shot back and walked out of the room, leaving you and Cindy who had always been a Jeremy fan and was taking it a lot harder than you were.
“Go home Cindy, you can be off for a bit.”
“Are you alright?”
“I will be when I know more,” you assured and she nodded, walking over and giving you a tight hug as you sighed and headed upstairs, not even bothering to change and just getting right into bed.
You had no intention of helping Holland figure out that you killed your husband, even though one could argue it was self defense and Jeremy was crazy enough to go all the way, you still did it. Instead you were going to use him to figure out who killed Will and what he found and use it to take down Gibson once and for all. With Jeremy out of the picture you had no reason to stick around, no reason to keep being the obedient pet he assumed he married and were eager for that first taste of freedom in a decade. So what if it was with Holland March, the very man who’s cigarette smoke was still in your hair and the feel of his lips was clinging to your skin like he was part of you. He was your ticket out and you’d tell Moira after a few weeks that it was nothing but a dead end and she should mourn him without you and then you’d bolt, get far away from a family that took everything and find who you were.
Not Mrs. Gibson, but you're your own person and had no clue how much that searching would cost you.
A day later and you wondered if Moira had simply forgotten about Holland March since he hadn't shown up yet. You gave her his contact information, mentioned he liked to frequent a bar by his house and had a business partner named Jackson Healy. She assured that everything was being taken care of and told you not to worry about it, to look into Jeremy and see if anything could've made him a target. You knew he wasn't one, Jeremy just ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time and messed with the wrong woman. Sure he was extra drunk that day, the type he never got in the eight years you'd been married and he was also never that violent. The closest Jeremy got to being violent was a mistimed hit a couple years ago, he was aiming for a wall and missed, hitting you in the jaw. It was purple for weeks and when you met up with Holland he was concerned but you played it off as a fall, nothing to worry about.
Now you had something to worry about since Holland was about to learn a whole lot in a very short amount of time. Secrets you had kept near and dear to your heart that would all come out the second he stepped into your home. You had complained of money troubles years back, said you were barely getting by and your tiny apartment was too much of an embarrassment for him to see, another lie. You lived in a mansion, had been since your wedding night and yet were broke, Jeremy controlled all the money. He dealt with finances and instead of letting you work and make your own funds, he kept you at home. You didn't know if Holland would react mad or disappointed and were scared to see when Moira called you into the living room of her own million dollar mansion.
“Yes?”
“That PI of yours, Holland March, he's here.”
“Where?”
“The office upstairs. Wake him up and invite him for dinner.”
“Wake him up?” You asked and she shrugged as your eyes widened. “What did you do?”
“He refused to come with me so I made him. He'll be fine, just a little groggy.”
“I told you to mention me.”
“I did and when I added that your husband had just died he got pretty offended, accusing me of making up lies.”
“Shit.”
“Jeremy and I both knew you saw him a lot, every few months. We'd known for a while.”
“Why say nothing?”
“My brother had never been the most loyal person and I convinced him it was just his own medicine thrown back at him. Sure it made him mad, but he calmed down eventually, and realised I was right.”
“I didn't mean to hurt him.”
“No…you did,” she shot back and flicked the page in her magazine with a frown. “I do hope that you and Mr. March can work on this as professionals. It really is tragic what happened and sure I told the cops his death was accidental, too much alcohol and then he fell, I still want to know what really happened. Okay?”
“Of course.”
“Oh…dear?” She asked and you paused, one foot on the bottom step. “Tell Mr. March that he can't leave. Not until I say.”
“Got it,” you shot back and sighed, making your way upstairs and pulling open the door to find Holland sitting in a chair in the middle of the office, tied to it with his head lolled to the side since he was still unconscious.
He looked okay despite being not conscious and you got closer, spotting the button down and dark jeans as if Moira caught him on an off day. With Holland asleep you got a real good look at the guy, spotted some scars along his arms from years of putting himself in danger as a PI and even a small tattoo on his right hand, right along the pointer finger.
You will be happy. With a small smile underneath it.
“Typical,” you muttered and rolled your eyes wandering over to a cabinet and pulling out a bottle of 300 dollar bourbon and pouring a glass. “You do love your alcohol, let’s see what you think of her favourite.”
You wandered over and kneeled in front of Holland, waving the glass under his nose and seeing if he responded, made any motion of waking up but the guy was dead to the world. You rolled your eyes and grabbed a small drink, cringing at the taste and going again, putting it closer and he finally began to acknowledge it, lips twitching as he slowly came back. Holland blinked a couple times before his blue eyes finally opened and they widened when he saw you, the guy jumping back and nearly knocking over his chair.
“JESUS!”
“Welcome back.”
“Where?”
“An office,” you muttered and he looked around, eyes wide as you leaned on the desk. “It belongs to my sister in law.”
“Sister…what?” he repeated and stared. “Sugar…”
“Land.”
“What is this?”
“A grand reveal,” you shot back and he narrowed his eyes. “I have been lying to you for the entire time that we have been seeing each other. I married Jeremy Gibson eight years ago, he’s the guy who died and I know how.”
“What?”
“What I said…”
“I thought she was lying…but she’s not?”
“Nope,” you muttered and he sat back, eyes wide.
“Wait…you know who killed him?”
“Technically I did…but it was an accident, he was really drunk and fell off the second floor landing after he tried to kill me,” you muttered and a hand came up to your neck, bruised and sore from when he grabbed it and Holland’s eyes narrowed. “I asked you here, not to find out who killed Jeremy but who killed Will.”
“Your brother Will?”
“He died two days ago, the morning of when we got together.”
“That was why.”
“Yeah…I didn’t have the heart to tell you, you always liked him.”
“He was an asshole sometimes. Did he ever mention he arrested me?”
“He did,” you said and chuckled as Holland groaned.
“Drunk and disorderly conduct outside this terrible bar downtown, I was being an asshole. How’d he die?”
“They claimed suicide but Will was so straight and narrow it’s impossible, he’d never be caught dead with the drugs they found him with.”
“You think someone killed him?”
“I do,” you admitted. “Will was looking into Jeremy’s company, Gibson Manufacturing.”
“Damn…I knew that last name sounded familiar,” he said and you nodded since it seemed to be quite infamous. “Gibson has been in the news a lot for various stupid reasons.”
“Will was looking into their equipment, specifically a pulley system used in car manufacturing and there’s a factory in Modesto that’s been dealing with quite a few worker deaths over the last few years. They always claim it was some kind of accident but I remember one years ago where one guy didn’t die, he was paralyzed and got 500k and a new truck and decided that was enough. Two months later his wife was driving him down the 405 and the truck blew up five minutes in, they both died.”
“You think it’s connected?”
“Will did. If Gibson loses the contracts with the plants around California they’d be ruined. My dad even died in a factory accident, he was head of safety and would always come home and complain about it, say it wasn’t proper and one day, he never came back.”
“Gibson factory?”
“We never figured it out. Mom took the settlement.”
“So Gibson has been sweeping people under the rug for decades, Will goes looking into the latest as a detective and gets killed for it.”
“Correct,” you said and Holland sighed, his hands fidgeting behind his back since he was still tied to the chair. “Oh whoops…sorry, I’ll fix that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Jeremy?” he asked and shivered, his breath hitting your ear since you were close, forced to bend down to undo the ropes on his wrists.
“I never thought it was relevant. It never felt like cheating, he had a whole other family in San Francisco and we never felt that in love, more like roommates.”
“Why not leave?”
“Money,” you deadpanned and he rubbed his wrists. “Jeremy controlled it all and he promised me I’d never financially recover from divorcing him so I stayed, dealt with it and ignored it. Used you as an escape.”
“Only an escape?”
“No,” you admitted and felt your cheeks redden as Holland smiled, a bit of red barely visible beneath his stubble. “Will phoned me and we went to lunch and he claimed he had made a breakthrough, that the answers were at his place in LA. I need your PI expertise to go looking for it, see if we can get to the bottom of this and find what was so important to these people that he had to die.”
“What about Jeremy?”
“I’ll stall Moira and then admit they got away,” you muttered and ran a hand along her fancy desk, hating it even more than before.
“Will she believe it?”
“Jeremy didn’t trust cameras, he never had them installed so she has no reason to suspect a thing.”
“Good.”
“So?”
“I’m mad…I admit it…I feel like I’ve been cheated but I also want to know what Will found and maybe put all these rich people in their place, especially if one hurt you. So yeah…I’m in.”
“I’m sorry, Land, for it all.”
“Hey,” he began and stood, grabbing your hand. “I got to see you every few weeks for the past couple years, that’s worth a bit of annoyance.”
“Really?”
“You’re worth the world Sugar and he’s an asshole for never seeing that.”
“He’s also dead.”
“Deserved more,” he muttered and offered a hug that you took, body sinking into his embrace since it had been a hectic 48 hours. “We got this. I can crack this case, I’m quite good.”
“Didn’t you almost die during the Misty Mountains case?” you asked and he went still.
“Shhhhh…don’t think about that,” Holland muttered and pulled you closer as you rolled your eyes.
“Oh…one more thing. Moira requested you come for dinner.”
“Oh boy.”
“Be nice,” you said and he frowned. “Land.”
“Fine,” he said and stepped back, running a hand down the front of his button down to flatten the wrinkles before he did them up, giving you a spin for your approval.
“Perfect.”
“I feel under-dressed.”
“Used to those horrible wool suits?”
“They’re polyester!” he shot back and you rolled your eyes, heading to the door as he followed.
Just one dinner with Holland, one simple little dinner with him and a woman you suspected wished he had died from whatever she drugged him with. You had known Moira for close to ten years and she’d never been the nicest, always stern looks and grumbles about how everyone around her was worth shit. But maybe she’d warm up to him and his tousled hair and mustache and that stupid smirk he pulled. Or maybe she’d try to kill him again, it was a tossup and was making you nervous but at least Holland now knew the truth, he knew you had been lying and didn’t immediately hate you. You couldn't say if you’d feel the same way but you were grateful he gave you a shot and maybe a case would bring you too close and break apart the logic that after four years of meeting, you were still only friends.
Hurley would be thrilled.
You had gotten used to how elaborate dinner had to be at the Gibson house and were amused when Holland walked into the dining room and his eyes widened, hand coming up to smooth his messed up hair. The dining room was a lot, walls covered in ornate and expensive paintings and a dining table that was made of some rare wood Moira almost got arrested over. The woman herself was seated at the head of the table, smoking and thumbing through a magazine, a deserted glass of bourbon in front of her, glass sweating as the ice melted. She looked up and rolled her eyes before pointing the cigarette towards two chairs and you sank into one as Holland grabbed the one across from you.
“So…” he began but she shushed him, putting out the cigarette in a glass of water and grabbing a sip of her drink with a long and drawn out sigh.
“Sorry about the hassle.”
“Oh no, you’re good,” he muttered and rubbed his wrists that were still red from her ropes as Moira chuckled.
“So…Mr. March, how long have you known my dear sister in law.”
“Since we were ten,” he admitted and she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands and studying him like he was another piece of art on the walls. “I transferred to an elementary school just outside LA, got shit on for it and Sugar was there.”
“Sugar?”
“Old nickname, she was always my sweet spot.”
“Hmmm…all that camaraderie and yet she married my idiot brother.”
“I made some bad choices in college, it broke us apart.”
“I thought her name was Holly, not bad choices,” Moira muttered and grabbed another sip as Holland’s eyes narrowed.
“You know my daughter?”
“As soon as that Misty Mountain’s case broke last year I’ve been keeping tabs, seeing if one day I’d need the Nice Guys for a problem closer to home,” she admitted and sipped her glass as Cindy placed a plate of steak and some fixings in front of each of you. “Turns out I would.”
“Right…Jeremy Gibson.”
“Your sugar here called it a home invasion but I know that people are after him, they have to be, we’re the biggest thing in LA. People have been trying to take down this family since I was a child.”
“Ever retaliate?” Holland asked and you froze, steak halfway to your mouth as Moira let out a puff of air, clearly annoyed.
“Nope.”
“Huh…surprising,” he muttered and she nodded, grabbing another sip and swallowing so hard the sound echoed off the ornate walls.
“I can give you some papers for a lead but we don’t have a lot to go off of. Jeremy had a lot of enemies, surely one of them has more information. I left a list on your things,” she said and turned to you as you nodded.
“We’ll find them.”
“I hope,” you said and she narrowed her eyes.
“Jeremy will be buried in a plot next to his father and we can discuss money when you’re finished. He changed his will to take you out of it years back but I’m sure we can figure something out,” she hissed out and your blood ran cold, stomach churning.
“Thanks,” you muttered and dropped your fork on the plate. “Uh…I’m not hungry.”
“Finished,” he agreed and wiped at his mouth before he stood, pushing out the chair with a loud groan as Moira smirked, pleased she seemed to have gotten deep under your skin. “We can uh…”
“We’ll grab a hotel. Don’t feel like staying here.”
“Agreed,” he said and turned to Moira. “Thank you. I’ll…look into it and let you know what we find.”
“Good luck Mr. March. Please take care of her.”
“I will,” he assured and gave your shoulder a pat before getting out of that room as fast as he could.
You were about to follow, eager to leave all of this and escape but Moira stopped you, moving to stand between your body and the exit. She frowned, arms crossed against her chest as she looked down at you, a few inches taller which you hated to admit always pissed you off. She had the ability to look down on you just by standing there and it always was perfectly clear she didn’t approve. Moira was a good fifteen years older than Jeremy, basically a mother rather than a sister since his mother died when he was young. She had forever acted like she owned the place even though he was listed as CEO and you knew she had been secretly running Gibson since Jeremy took over when his dad died fifteen years ago. The one person who had something to lose from whatever Will found was her and you made a mental note to mention to Holland that she was a prime suspect as she eyed you.
“I really am sorry about Jeremy, he was an idiot but he didn’t deserve it. I do hope that you and Mr. March will get justice for this senseless violence.”
“We will try.”
“I heard your brother was looking into him, maybe he released something that made Jeremy a bigger target.”
“Will died two days ago.”
“I heard, what a shame. Maybe he didn’t.”
“We’ll let you know if we find anything.”
“Good and I’m sorry about that will, I told him you’d be mad but maybe there’s some change around for you.”
“I hope,” you said and she reached out, patting your shoulder.
“Sometimes we spend so long caring for someone just to get shafted.”
“Sometimes,” you agreed and Moira squeezed your shoulder before she let you go and you sighed, walking out the front door to spot Holland in the driveway looking confused. “What?”
“She didn’t bring my car.”
“I’ll call a cab,” you muttered and he nodded as you wandered back inside, mind racing.
He changed the will, Jeremy locked you out of money you deserved and it made you even happier he was dead, gone and never able to hurt you again. Even though he still seemed to be pretty good at it. But maybe Holland could be the one to help make it better and you leaned against the wall of a garden planter as you waited for a cab and he lit a cigarette, letting it rest between two of his fingers. In that moment, the beat of silence as smoke curled around his hand, you were the happiest you had been in close to eight years and didn’t want to ever let it go.
The two of you stayed in a cheap motel outside of the main part of LA, someplace with two single beds and thin walls but it was better than nothing and were on the way to Will’s apartment early the next morning. You knew something had to be wrong from a few blocks back and told Holland to pull over, throwing open the door and sprinting towards the street with his place, nearly crashing into a guy on the sidewalk. You shot back an apology and kept going, sliding to a stop across the street from it and staring up at his third floor apartment that was basically engulfed in flames.
“Holy shit.”
“Do you see Leah?” you asked since Holland had met her once, Will and Leah had been together since high school and he was only two years younger than you.
“No.”
“Shit…she might still be in there,” you said and went to run forward but he stopped you, pulling off his button down to cover his mouth and sprinting forward, running into the building before you could stop him.
You were half tempted to follow but trusted Holland and paced the length of the sidewalk across the street and waited for him to reappear with Leah. You were wearing lines into your palms from your nails and were tempted to start screaming to let out some stress when he appeared, clutching Leah in his arms and ran across the street, placing her gently on the sidewalk. You smiled and knelt next to her, Leah coughing but alive and Holland was the same, dusted in soot on his white tank top but very much alive and you left Leah before wrapping him in a tight hug.
“Thank you,” you said and stepped back as he nodded.
“Always.”
You smiled and turned back to Leah who was still coughing and thanked a kind stranger who had brought over a bottle of water, concern written across his face. “Leah…here…you’re okay.”
“Thank you…God…I was just done talking with my guest and then this happened. Didn’t even get to grab anything, just got trapped in the bathroom.”
“I brute forced my way through,” Holland admitted and you spotted a burn on his wrist, same spot as a scar that he got after Jackson Healy broke his arm. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“God…who was the guest?”
“Uh…it was Jeremy,” she admitted and your eyes widened. “What?”
“Leah…Jeremy is dead.”
“WHAT?”
“He died a few days ago, fell off the second floor landing,” you admitted and she narrowed her eyes. “Yeah…it finally happened.”
“Good…I never liked him and thought it was weird he came by to bring me flowers and say he was sorry about Will.”
“If Jeremy is dead…who came by?” Holland asked and you sighed.
“The black sheep of the family. Jordan Gibson. He’s his twin.”
“Your dead husband has a twin?”
“Jeremy hadn’t seen him since he was 20. When his dad died, he gave Jeremy full control and left Jordan a trust fund he can’t even access without specific passwords. Jordan called the entire family useless and ran off to produce movies of some kind. We all knew he was a porn producer.”
“Well he invited me to a party at his place and two seconds later the apartment was in flames,” Leah muttered, glaring at the smouldering building as two firetrucks tried to put it out.
“We have to go to that party,” you said and Holland raised a brow. “We can't go in there and check but I bet that Jordan grabbed Will’s research. He could use it to blackmail the entire family.”
“Why don’t you let him?” Leah asked and you shook your head.
“Because if the wrong person gets the hands on it then it could go back to Moira and we’ll lose the one shot we need to take her down. Those findings are going right to the police.”
“Well…I will be declining the invite…but have fun.”
“Oh shit…you need to be somewhere safe, I assume he wanted you dead.”
“Likely,” Leah muttered and Holland ran off without a word, calling over his shoulder that he’d be back quick as you raised a brow.
“So…Holland March…you’re hanging out with him while not in a bar.”
“He’s a PI and we’re working on this case.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes,” you said and she raised a brow. “Holland is nothing but a coworker.”
“I might have been a bit delirious but I saw that hug, you like him.”
“I’ve been pretty involved with him for like four years so there are always some lingering feelings.”
“But now you’re both single,” she pointed out and you groaned, wishing he’d hurry up and the guy answered the prayer, running back, having slipped his button up back on.
“Be quiet,” you said and Leah laughed as Holland pushed back his hair and you swallowed hard.
“I called Healy with a phone in a diner down there, he'll come and pick her up. She can stay at my place.”
“Really?”
“Holly will be thrilled,” he said and Leah raised a brow. “My daughter.”
“Oh…you have one?”
“Yeah she's fourteen and a menace. Good luck."
“When is Healy going to be here?” you asked but like another prayer had been answered he was there, sitting in a nice looking convertible with a smile on his face.
“Right on time!” Holland announced and pulled out a wad of cash from his wallet before handing it over to Healy. “Take Leah here to grab some essentials before you bring her to my place. Holly is out with Janet till later so wait for her, if you can.”
“And you?” Healy asked as you stared at the cash, eyes wide that he'd be so generous.
“We have a party to crash.”
“Don't let him fall in the pool,” he said and you raised a brow. “I'm serious.”
“That was one time.”
“You saw Nixon, that's a big ass deal,” Healy shot back and you raised a brow as Leah got in the car.
“Do I want to know?”
“Just…keep him away from pools,” Healy said and you nodded in agreement, Holland rolling his eyes and deliberately putting out his smoke on the side of his car. “Also balconies and hills…don’t let him lose his gun and…”
“ALRIGHTY!” Holland exclaimed and grabbed your shoulder, dragging you over to his own car before you could ask what any of that meant.
You knew that Healy and Holland met while working on the Misty case, Healy broke his arm and then suddenly Holland was the only person he could turn to for help and then some way, somehow they worked well as partners. They solved the case and prevented an automobile company from doing some shady work and it resulted in a business, one that had flourished. Holland mentioned all his success the time before yesterday, half complaining, half being grateful he no longer had to worry too much about Holly’s future. His new collection of clients kept them fed, housed and even allowed for some dreaming of what could be next.
“So…”
“I won't fall in a pool,” he assured and you nodded, letting out a chuckle as he put his car in drive and started the journey to Jordan's.
His parties lasted all day and then some so it would be going even now, even with the sun shining. Holland reached over and flicked a nob on his dash, a song playing through his speakers as he tapped his fingers to the beat on the steering wheel. You smiled and looked over at him, caught the way his hair got brighter in the light shining through the open roof of his convertible and sat back with a grin, content.
Even though it took a lot to get there, a lot of heartache and pain and dealing with Jeremy, you were happy to be there. Smiling wide and enjoying yourself with a man who was just as happy to be sitting in that car with you. If only you could read his mind, for it would be thoughts of only you and the smile on your face whenever he cracked a bad joke or how your eyes lit up in admiration when he gave Leah some cash. Sure you had the centre console of his convertible between you but you both had never felt closer.
Jordan's house was massive, kind of like his ego and situated on a hill that had a view of almost all of LA. He bought a small one bedroom, too small for his liking and built another one shortly after he turned 20 and got kicked out of the family business with nothing but 300,000 to his name. Sure he had a trust fund and would never be able to call himself broke but it was locked behind passcodes and requirements. Jordan's solution to making extra bucks was to be a producer, making adult films in his basement and throwing California’s most elaborate parties.
“Ok so, every single one of these has a different theme. One time the theme was food, people showed up in clothing made of food.”
“How did that work?”
“It didn't,” you muttered and his eyes widened as he pulled into a spot just down from the house. “I have no clue what his theme is for today but hopefully it won't be mermaids.”
“That was one time.”
“I need to hear that story,” you said and stepped out of the car as he rolled his eyes.
With some time to spare Holland had suggested a change and had spared some cash for a brand new outfit. The button up had a collection of sunflowers on it and he added a pair of dark wash jeans, flared at the bottom so a pair of extra fancy looking boots could poke out. They had some kind of design on them, stitched into the leather and he mentioned them being a gift to himself for a case well done. You had chosen a pair of flared dark blue jeans, similar to his and a striped short sleeve sweater with a pair of Adidas you had grabbed on sale. Though upon arrival at the house it was enough to make you stand out and you watched a woman walk past, dressed in a cat costume, tail and all.
“Uh.”
“Animals,” you said and nodded to one dressed as a tiger. “Have not seen that one.”
“Better not be any fish,” Holland muttered and you rolled your eyes, following him into the house and getting bombarded with a collection of people half dressed in animal costumes and dancing.
“This is something,” you muttered and were half tempted to check out the bar when a women walked by in a mouse costume and smiled wide before wrapping you in a hug.
“You have to get into it! Enjoy yourself!” she called and grabbed a pair of cat ears out of a bowl by the door. “Here, have the pity ears.”
“Oh nope…Not here to dress up, here for Jordan.”
“He’s upstairs in the lounge. You’ll have more fun if you look the part, I’m sure the guy you’re with will appreciate it,” she said and wandered off, arms full of more ears as you rolled your eyes and turned to Holland.
“What?” you asked and smiled at the look on his face, a blush spreading across his cheeks.
“Nothing.”
“You like them,” you accused and he shrugged. “God…I guess I’ll wear them.”
“Everyone looks cute in cat ears,” he assured and you smiled.
“You think I look cute?”
“Sugar, you’d hit me if I told you what I really think,” he admitted and followed you through the sea of people, side swiping two women who were dancing together.
“Bad way or good way?”
“Bad way,” he shot back and began to head upstairs as you followed, rolling your eyes and severely doubting that would ever happen.
“I doubt it,” you said and he chuckled, grabbing your shoulder and gently pushing you against the wall at the top of the stairs to both let people pass and to get your blood pumping. “Holland…”
“You challenged me,” he shot back and rested a hand above your head, his other ghosting over your hip like even he was scared to get any closer. “This is me responding.”
“I didn’t mean it like this.”
“Really?” he asked and got so close you could smell that faint tinge of smoke on his breath, see the details in the stubble on his cheeks where he shaved to leave only a small beard.
“Yes.”
“Sure they’re ears…but there’s something about the innocent look.”
“Ears make me look innocent.”
“The smile you gave her,” he said and grinned. “You only smile like that with me.”
“You used to be the only thing to smile about,” you admitted and he stopped teasing, mouth set in a hard line. “Land…”
“No…I…Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” you said and stepped away from the wall since the moment had died. “It’s better now.”
“Jeremy really was an asshole huh?”
“The biggest,” you said and brushed off your jeans before hunting for Jordan, wishing you could stay pressed up against that wall like nothing in the world could ever be wrong again.
But there was a lot wrong with it, a lot in the moment and pulling open the door to the lounge and catching Jordan in the middle of filming one of the movies he produced was the cherry on top of a sour ass cake.
“JESUS!” Holland exclaimed and it caught Jordan’s attention as you stepped out of the room and slammed the door, shaking yourself to get the image out of your head.
“That was a lot.”
“I didn’t know people could move like that,” he muttered and you groaned, leaning against the wall as Jordan pulled the door open and slipped out, closing it on noises you didn’t know a human could make.
“Yes?”
“You know me, Jordan,” you said and he nodded, saying your name like it hurt him as Holland raised a brow.
“I do. Why are you here?”
“Leah gave me her invite.”
“Well…that was for Leah.”
“Her apartment blew up, she was busy.”
“Shocking,” he shot back and you frowned. “I heard about Jeremy. How’d you do it?”
“I didn’t.”
“If I can’t bullshit you, you can’t bullshit me. I know you did it.”
“It was an accident. Your idiot brother got so drunk he could barely function and attacked me, I moved to get away and he tipped himself over the second floor landing. I told him to add a bigger railing.”
“He attacked you?” Jordan asked and you rubbed your neck since you had covered the marks with makeup.
“I think he wanted to kill me,” you admitted and could feel the air tense up behind you, Holland moving closer, hand brushing yours. “But he didn’t get the chance and now I’m here because you took something from Leah.”
“What could I take?”
“Besides almost taking her life, her fiance was my younger brother. Will was researching the Gibson Manufacturing Company and found something, I know he did and someone close to that bundle of freaks murdered him.”
“I’m in that bundle.”
“You were kicked out and now occupy a bundle of one.”
“Can’t have a bundle of one,” he shot back and began to walk off as you groaned and followed, slipping past a couple getting extra freaky in the hallway.
“Stop stalling Jordan, she said you took something.”
“I didn’t. I heard about Will from a buddy of mine who’s a cop and a damn good actor and he said Will died so I went to console her.”
“You have a cop in your cast?” Holland asked and he nodded, grabbing a drink from the bar.
“I have many people. Bartenders, cops…a certain politician from a state we can’t name…All.”
“God damn.”
“Don’t have a PI. Looking for work?”
“How’d you know?”
“Contrary to whatever you heard, Jeremy still talked to me and he mentioned his darling wife was seeing a PI on the side. Really pissed him off.”
“Pissed off the guy who had a whole family in San Francisco,” you shot back and he shrugged.
“Your affair was closer to home and I can assure you, I didn’t take a thing. So have a drink, enjoy yourselves and we should hang out, get to know each other without that idiot in the way.”
“You’re not mad?” you asked and he shrugged.
“Moira won’t invite me back but maybe she’ll drop the passcodes on that trust fund.”
“Porn doesn’t pay?” Holland shot back and Jordan barked out a laugh before grabbing two very blue drinks from the bar.
“It pays in buckets but I don’t like the idea of my family owing me money. Here, my special drink, saved for only the best guests and I admit, you two are.”
“Why?”
“One is my now ex-sister-in-law and the other is a man with a face for the industry. You got the stache Mr. March, just need the breakout moment. I have a blonde with too much time on her hands sitting upstairs.”
“No thank you.”
“He’s all yours then,” Jordan shot back and handed over a drink to each of you. “Don’t be a stranger, sweetheart, come by when there’s less fun being had.”
“God that guy is weird,” Holland muttered and took a sip of the blue concoction in his hand before taking a seat at the bar as you followed.
“Tell me about it.”
“Was he right?”
“About?”
“Jeremy and his little family.”
“Yeah he had a girlfriend and twins in San Francisco."
“He had kids?”
“I never wanted them so he took it into his own hands. They’re about five now. The only reason he got so mad about us was because he realised I could also have some fun without him, that I didn’t always need my big strong husband.”
“You became your own person.”
“Yeah…imagine, having your own thoughts,” you muttered and sipped the drink which wasn’t half and tasted vaguely like blueberries.
“Could not be me.”
“HA! I needed that,” you said and stared at Holland, eyes narrowing.
“What?”
“Have your eyes always been blue?” you asked and reached up, brushing a hand along his cheek. “They’re so…blue.”
“Uh…thanks.”
“And your cheeks are so rough…you gotta shave,” you said and moved to basically cup his mouth as his eyes widened. “Stache is fine…I like it.”
“He called it a porn stache.”
“Jordan’s an idiot,” you assured and spun around in your chair as an actual tiger strolled by. “He throws a hell of a party. Did you see that tiger?”
“A real one?”
“I think so,” you muttered and felt your eyes get heavy. “Shit.”
“Yeah, there’s a unicorn behind you,” Holland muttered, speech slurred. “I think…”
“This special drink ain’t so special.”
“Nope…”
“I trusted those blueberries,” you muttered and spun back around, slamming the glass on the bartop. “Bartender…refund!” You slumped forward, chin resting on the bartop as Holland did the same, breathing slowing as he started to lose consciousness. “Land…”
“Can’t…I’m…”
“Same,” you muttered and dropped your head onto the marble, wishing you’d said no to his little gift since you definitely weren’t the best guests there.
Not even close.
It had been a long time since you had gotten blackout drunk so waking up took a bit longer than usual. Sure you also got drugged and that had never happened and the way your head pounded let you know the drugs didn't like you much either. Everything was either too bright or too loud and an annoyed groan from behind let you know Holland wasn't far, likely in the same room. You blinked and attempted to turn and look for him when you realised you couldn't, sure you could blink fine but the turning part was difficult, pretty much impossible.
“Sugar?”
“Holland?”
“Oh thank God, it's been lonely in this room.”
“Where are we?”
“Somewhere in Jordan's massive house,” he muttered and you eyed the walls but couldn’t spot any windows.
“Why can't we move?”
“Turns out he's horribly generic,” Holland muttered and you moved your wrists around, feeling that they were bound behind your back and let out a sigh.
“He tied us back to back, that's such a cliche.”
“Said the same thing when I woke up,” he muttered and leaned back, able to rest his head on your shoulder as you rolled your eyes. “I have no idea why, or what he wants, just that that drink was not special for the good reasons and I have a massive headache.”
“Jordan was always a bit insane, it could be anything.”
“Great, first I didn't know you’re married and now I find out you have an insane brother in law.”
“I was married, Jeremy died.”
“Right. But that was recently.”
“Are you still mad about that?” You asked in reference to the fact that every meeting between you two since the first had been a part of an elaborate affair.
“I mean…was I being used this whole time? Was I nothing but an excuse to get back at your terrible husband.”
“Do you really think that?” You asked and he got quiet.
“No.”
“It wasn't to shit on Jeremy or escape my family, it was for you. When I caught you in that bar it was the best day of my life. I could finally go back to a me I liked, one without the Gibson name attached who could be free for a few hours with a man who actually liked her.”
“Heh, about that first meeting,” he said and you narrowed your eyes. “I set it up.”
“What?”
“I had seen you around even before Marie died, walking in and out of stores and had been trying to convince myself to say something, to go up to you and spill my heart out like the idiot I am. When she died all I wanted was to see you but I didn't have a way of contacting you, all I had was a vague idea that you'd be at a salon getting your hair done. So I grabbed a bunch of flyers from Marianne's, shoved them in every magazine they had and waited. Three weeks later you appeared on a Friday and I pretended to run into you.”
“You planned it?” You said and he chuckled. “You are insane.”
“Sure. But I looked good. I wore my favorite suit to that bar every Friday.”
“Why?”
“Because I regretted everything that happened and wanted to make it better.”
“Everything?”
“Most things,” he agreed and you hoped that he didn't regret Holly, literally the coolest person on the planet despite only being 14. “I guess I regretted how it ended. With that fight and you slamming that car door and driving off.”
“I drove right to Jeremy,” you said and chuckled, remembering meeting Jeremy in a bar shortly after, finding solace in his jokes.
“Well…jokes on the two of us.”
“Oh give it up.” You both jumped since Jordan had finally revealed himself and had been standing in the corner for a while, listening into your conversation. “You both have regrets and worries and doubts and all that bullshit and now you two are in hot water.”
“Why?”
“Because I was lying to you, I did steal from Will,” he said and leaned down, staring at you as you rolled your eyes. “He found out some very interesting information about my family’s company and instead of giving it back like a good boy I will be selling it to the highest bidder. There will be an auction here tomorrow after my party and you two will stay, tied together like you deserve until I am rich and my family is ruined. Hope you don’t need a bathroom, I’ll be by in the morning with some snacks.”
“Why not hand it over to the cops, get your revenge that way?”
“Sweetheart, I'm not here for revenge,” he said and smirked. “Ruining them is a bonus, the money is where it’s at.”
Jordan reached forward and tapped your nose before he wandered out of the room with a swing in his step and shut the door with a massive slam, the noise echoing through the rest of the house. You sighed and leaned back, ready to just live with it and let Jordan get away with all of it when Holland started moving, hands busy and you raised a brow.
“Land?”
“I have a pocket knife in my pocket.”
“You do?”
“Always do, you never know when you’re gonna need a knife in this line of work and this is the perfect moment. If I can get it out, I can get us free.”
“I’ll reach in,” you said and groaned, moving your hand down despite the strain in your shoulders and grabbing the knife out of his pocket. “Got it.”
“Hand it to me,” he said and with a struggle and a groan you managed to get the knife in his pocket and he flipped the blade out, slicing through the rope tying you two together.
“Yes!! God that was perfect!” you said and hopped up, throwing off the ropes and wrapping him in a tight hug as the guy laughed. “You are incredible.”
“I…” he began and didn’t even hesitate before he grabbed your face and planted a kiss on your lips, backing you against a wall on the far side of the room as he deepened it.
You reached down and grabbed a belt loop before pulling him close, encouraging Holland to deepen it further and he did, exploring your mouth like it was uncharted territory, hands splayed out against your thighs. You wanted more than anything to throw off all the layers in that room and really embrace the fact that the guy was hard and not doing a thing to hide it but you couldn’t, there were more pressing matters at hand. Sure you and Holland had been reckless before, one too many intimate moments had in the bathroom at Marianne’s, drunk off cheap beer and each other but this was different, there was more at stake.
“Land…”
“I know,” he muttered and stepped back, running a hand down his face since even from a kiss he looked spent, wrecked even.
“Soon.”
“Keep that promise,” he said and grabbed his coat which was hanging on a chair by the door, pulling out a small gun you were impressed he hadn’t lost yet. “Where would the files be?”
“Jordan’s office. Top floor.”
“God…there’s gonna be a whole lot of people out there,” he muttered and went for the door, pulling it open. “He’s gotta stop trusting ropes.”
“Cliched as fuck,” you said and he chuckled with a nod, pulling it open and poking his head out.
“The hall is clear but I have no clue about the rest of the place.”
“Dumwaiter,” you said and he raised a brow. “Jordan has this massive kitchen on the bottom floor and is lazy so he installed a dumbwaiter to bring him breakfast in bed. It’ll lead us to the top floor.”
“Those things aren’t spacious.”
“Close proximity never stopped you,” you shot back and led him down the hall to where you remembered it being, ignoring the look on his face.
The dumbwaiter was on that floor and was exactly as small as you remembered which wasn’t ideal for two adult people, in their thirties and one of which a bit more muscled than you remembered. The only way to sit in the thing was on Holland’s lap, awkward to say the least since his excitement had yet to go down and you bit your lip to keep from teasing him about it. But it was a quick ride, only two floors and you pulled yourself out, flopping out of the small box and landing pretty facedown.
“You good?”
“Better,” you muttered and got up, rubbing your nose as he rolled his eyes.
“I’ve been stuck in worse spots,” he muttered and rubbed his back. “Healy had this case and to pull it off we needed a different car and he borrowed this old Volkswagen Bug off a buddy of his. Don’t spend 20 hours with a man like Healy in a bug, I almost killed him.”
“Then I’ll count that as better,” you said and moved further down the hall, spotting his office across from an elaborate bedroom set up that always made you cringe.
“Is that a heart shaped bed?”
“It vibrates.”
“Uh…”
“Don’t ask,” you said and pushed open the door, spotting a briefcase on his desk, a heart shaped leather quilted chair behind it. “Bingo. Guard the door.”
“Aye aye,” he said and stood outside it as you were quick to grab the briefcase, spotting another letter on the desk, one addressed to Jordan. “What is this…”
Jordan,
My wife will be at your party on the weekend, see if you can get her to talk about this mystery man she has been seeing almost three times a month for the past few years. I know they’re up to something. And not like my something…but something worse. I’ll spare you a few bucks if she talks.
Jeremy.
“Fuck you to Jeremy,” you muttered and crumpled the letter up, tossing it in a waste basket and moving back to the door, pulling it open and startling Holland. “Who else could that have been?”
“You never know,” he said and you rolled your eyes, keeping the case close and moving down the hall and out a back door, connected to a patio with an outside staircase as Holland followed, looking over his shoulder but no one had followed.
“That was almost too easy,” you said and tossed the case in his back seat as he nodded in agreement. “He must be occupied by that party.”
“Or maybe a politician from a state you can’t name.”
“Do you want to know?”
“God yes,” Holland said and started the car, pulling off the mountain and towards his own place.
“It’s Gary Edwards.”
“Ohio Gary.”
“No…Pensylvania.”
“God…I get it.”
“You like Gary?”
“Sugar, I’m not blind,” he said and you rolled your eyes. “Don’t mock me. I am more of a man when I say how nice men look, I’m lifting them up.”
“Sure,” you muttered and he chuckled.
“Are there no women you’d call hot?”
“I meannn.....”
“Name one.”
“Cher.”
“See that’s not fair,” he said and you nodded. “God…Cher…I would date her. NO! I wouldn’t date her…I would ask her to hit me.”
“I’d get her to run me over.”
“Oh that would be beautiful,” he said and laughed, turning on the radio as his eyes widened. “Oh my god.”
“Hello there Cher,” you said as the chorus of “Take Me Home” began to play through his speakers.
“OH! Take me home (Take me home). Oh, can't you see I want you near?” Holland belted as he turned down a side street and you rolled your eyes. “Take me home (Take me home). Ooh baby, let's get out of here.”
“I'd follow you anywhere, your place or mine,” you added and he grinned, looking like the happiest man in California. “Just a one-night affair would be so fine.”
“WOO!” Holland exclaimed and sped over the streets to his place, Cher following you all the way as he really did take you home.
And you hoped it wasn’t just for a one night affair.
After the altercation during the Misty ordeal, Holland moved to a house a bit outside of LA with a nice yard and a functional pool out back that was more than a few doors down from the wreckage of where his wife died. He assured that both he and Holly needed the break and the place was a welcome change of scenery, a little slice of their own, away from the hustle and bustle. You liked it, liked the white stucco and orange accents that he claimed was Holly’s idea and stepped into a nice looking front room, tossing the case on the couch as his said daughter ran out from her own room. Despite being a teen, she still adored him, wrapping Holland in a tight hug as he tossed her around, kissing the top of her head as his eyes lit up.
“God…Holls…you’re good?”
“Perfect,” she assured and he put her down as Holly turned, eyes widening and you grinned. “Oh my god!!”
“Come here,” you said and held out your arms as she ran over, jumping into your embrace since it had been a while.
After the first meeting with Holland he took you home to meet Holly which was a mistake since she immediately assumed you were his new girlfriend and refused to see you as anything but. Since she had backed off a bit and you stopped by whenever you were in the area, bringing her books and sweets from her favourite bakery and talking shit about Holland whenever he wasn’t home.
She was like him, bold and knew what she wanted out of life and how to get it and liked to micromanage her dad like he was the child in the relationship. Holland didn’t mind, he liked having someone willing to call him out and the two were a pair literally made in heaven, Holly being the best accident that ever happened to him. You couldn’t help but agree and had to really squash that maternal instinct when you first met her, wanting to stick around and be the new woman in his life like she insinuated four years ago.
“Why are you here?”
“We’re working together on a case, it’s why Leah was brought here.”
“Thank you again,” she said and stepped out from her spot in the kitchen. “It’s been great.”
“Healy?” Holland asked.
“Home,” she said and nodded to Holly. “She said we were cool so he went home. I hope that’s okay.”
“I trust you,” he assured and she smiled.
“What did you find?”
“Jordan did steal Will’s research, it’s in this case,” you said and picked it up. “Everything he found about the family is right in here.”
“Take your time.”
“You don’t want to know?”
“It’s your married family and younger brother, you get the first look.”
“Leah…”
“Yeah?”
“It sounds like Moira killed Will. She found out he was close and stopped him.”
“I figured,” she admitted and played with her ring, now on a chain. “Stop her.”
“I plan to,” you assured and she walked off, mentioning she was tired and wandering down the hall to a spare bedroom as Holland turned to Holly.
“Bed, we have things to discuss,” he said and nodded to you as she sighed.
“I know…Oh…I always knew you’d work.”
“In what sense?” you asked and Holly smirked.
“Oh you know…only the best kind of working relationship.”
“We’re not together,” Holland shot back and she rolled her eyes.
“Keep lying,” she singsonged and wandered off, practically skipping as you sighed and grabbed the case, taking a seat on his couch and staring at it.
“Sugar…”
“I can’t,” you muttered and dropped it on the table. “That’s the last thing Will did and if I open it…”
“He’s really dead,” he surmised and you nodded. “I get it.”
“You felt the same with Marie?”
“I killed her,” he admitted and your eyes widened. “Not like that. I…accidentally killed her. Marie had been complaining about the stove, that it was too annoying to light the pilot light every time she wanted to use it and had been bugging me for a new one. One I couldn't afford and had been putting off and every Friday Holly and I go bowling at a place near the old place and we went that Friday. I was supposed to be working, making extra cash and getting her that new stove but I spent it with Holly, goofing off and getting beat by her and halfway through the second game this cop appears and tells me I need to come with him. I assume I’m under arrest for some reason and try to run but he tells me about Marie and the house and that the place was still on fire. When it finally ended and they said she had died, I asked caused it and the fireman who responded told me it was the stove, it blew up.”
“You couldn’t have known,” you began but he shook his head.
“No…I should have fixed it. She was always smarter than me.”
“Holland…that was an accident. Marie could’ve been hit by a car the next day or struck by lightning with the same amount of probability. You couldn’t have known.”
“Yeah but she died and the first thing I wanted was to see you,” he admitted and you sighed. “I know…what an ass. But you were the first one on my mind besides Holly.”
“Land…”
“That last fight was fucked up, I treated you like the worst person on the planet when I was the guy who got a girl pregnant after a one night stand.”
“You asked me if you should leave her for me. Be with me and let her figure it out herself or go and be the man she deserved and you chose to step up and look what came out of it, Holly is incredible.”
“Yeah but what about what we could’ve had.”
“No, don’t do that, you’re going to spiral.”
“I like spiralling, I’m good at it,” he admitted and stood, wandering over to a liquor cabinet and pouring himself a scotch, sucking it back with a sigh. “Now we’re here and we…We’re not really anything.”
“There’s a lot going on right now.”
“Just a few days back I was happy to do our little trieste again and now I wish it never happened.”
“Why?”
“Because the only thing on my mind is how much I want to recreate that night. I have been wanting to do it again for a while, spend every waking moment right there by your side like some shadow. And yet…you always had an excuse. An excuse named Jeremy Gibson.”
“Hey…”
“Not mad…about that…mad about other things.”
“Maybe once this is over we can have a real talk, a real look at what this is.”
“Could it be something?”
“It could,” you agreed and he grinned, walking over and placing his glass on the table before sitting real close.
Holland reached out and you let him as he pulled you into his lap, legs splayed out on either side as he gripped your thighs to keep you close, planting a kiss on your lips.
“We could do this a lot.”
“We could,” you agreed and draped your arms around his neck before he deepened the kiss with a moan, pulling you closer but there wasn’t much room left on a sofa as small as his. “Holland…”
“Yes, Sugar…”
“I…I gotta look at that case.”
“After,” he tried and despite your better judgement you gave him a nod, his lips moving down your neck as you fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, pulling it open and pulling back the silk from the skin of his shoulders.
Sure this had just happened not even forty eight hours ago in a spot that was a lot more private than a living room but that was different, it was a means to an end, there was a lot more at stake this time. The way he grabbed and held felt like he meant it, felt like he was holding less to create a new sensation and more because he was worried you’d let go and leave him. Sure you had been married only a day before, wallowing in fake grief about your dead husband but you had been out of love for a long time and desperate for a shot at something worth coming undone over. It had happened every couple of months for the last few years but that moment, that damn moment, was so weighted it felt like it was pressing you closer to him as he shimmied out of the rest of the shirt.
“Too many layers,” you muttered and pulled up the undershirt as he chuckled low, chest vibrating. “Why?”
“Decency.”
“Fuck that,” you shot back and pulled up the hem of the white tank, pulling it up and over his head with a care he deserved as Holland reached for the hem of your sweater, doing the same.
“I see you don’t feel the same.”
“Like I said…fuck that,” you shot back, voice low, almost a growl and he groaned despite himself. “I see with this position, you’ve put me in quite the place of power.”
“Sugar…”
“Hmmmm.”
“Don’t kill me.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” you shot back but knew that wasn’t a promise and sank lower, grinding on him through too many layers as he captured your lips in another kiss, tongue prodding your mouth and you let him deepen it.
Holland shuddered and you smiled, never letting him live it down when he mentioned you were the only woman he’d ever been with that outdid him faster than he could return the favour. You could feel the way he kept shivering, grinding a bit harder each time, desperate for more friction and his hands went to the waistband of your jeans but you grabbed them, stopping them.
“Nope.”
“Sugar…”
“Too bad,” you said and held them up above his head as she sighed, letting his head fall back and you used your free hand to undo the belt and button, stopping and tracing a finger along the zipper as he jumped.
“Sugar…please…”
“No,” you shot back and did it again, resisting the urge to chuckle when he jumped a second time, hips leaving the sofa like some kind of bucking bronco, eager for a rider.
“I will flip you.”
“Try,” you said and he got a bit loud. “Wait…Holly and Leah.”
“Fuck me…”
“Closing in on that,” you said and he moaned in annoyance as you laughed, keeping your voice low and pulling more fabric out of the way, Holland practically scrambling, desperate to return the favour.
“Can I?”
“Sit there and watch,” you shot back and stepped back, shimmying out of your jeans as he slumped down, already spent and you sped up your pace before he lost himself without you. “Don’t get too excited.”
“You are actively killing me.”
“Come on…Land…keep it up.”
“Oh it is,” he muttered and you admitted he was correct, moving back in place, his hands going to your thighs the second you got close enough, a kind of anchor. “I have been waiting for this.”
“It’s been like three days.”
“Too long,” he shot back and you were about to laugh at him for being too eager when he sat up a bit, shifting and every noise you had died in your throat. “Oh…look how the tables have turned. Is your own medicine here to bite you in the ass?”
“Land…”
“Say it more…I got a few in.
“Holland,” you tried again, a bit more desperate and he shifted. “Hollanddddd.”
“God…”
“See…”
“Fine, fine, be that way,” he muttered and teased you a second time, your hands moving from his chest to his shoulders to have something to grip to keep you upright as your thighs went a bit lax. “Don’t die on me. We still have a case to solve.”
“Not…just…”
“I’ll pick up the pace,” he assured and you didn’t need to ask what that meant, everything so damn sensitive that it took barely an inch to light you on fire.
Maybe teasing a man who adored it was the wrong idea since it only made him more fired up and as Holland thrust himself upwards, touching parts that he was perfect at finding it was like the whole of that couch had faded. All it was, was you and him, lost in a sea of bliss and pleasure, in your own little world for not the first time, but the first time it mattered. The first time was ages ago, back as teens with an entire summer of nothing planned and he offered a chance to feel something new. From that moment, on a lakeshore in Northern California you knew you were screwed.
Now sixteen years later it felt exactly like that first moment, body alight with every sensation as Holland whispered encouragement into your ear and talked you through every motion of his hips. There was no worry about going back to Jeremy in the morning or the guilt of lying to him, of assuring he was the only one when that simply wasn’t true and you were there just to feel something more. But there was no more of that, you could stay as long as you wanted, curled against the chest of someone who actually cared about you for the first time since a man who didn’t said, “I do” in front of a group of people you didn’t even know.
But Holland was different. He was everything and more.
A couple hours and a shower later…one definitely not taken alone…you were sitting on the couch and staring at the case with a frown, leaning your chin on a fist. You stretched out a bit and reached forward, grabbing it and pulling it open, spotting a manila folder on top among all the other papers, the name Gibson written in black marker and you sighed, pulling it out.
“Finally opened it?” Holland asked as he walked back into the room, dressed in sweats not jeans that hung low on his hips and a faded UCLA t-shirt.
“I had to,” you said and he sat next to you, putting a hand on your shoulder for moral support as you breathed in deep and pulled open the folder, spreading out the contents on the table in front of you.
“That is a lot.”
“It goes all the way back to 1958,” you said and grabbed a newspaper clipping that detailed an accident at a factory in Modesto that killed three people. “Wait…He scribbled it out.”
“What?”
“The number,” you said and ran a finger along where Will scribbled out three and wrote two. “Only two died in that accident.”
“I’ve always heard three.”
“My father was there and was one of the three,” you said and had no idea he was a part of a Gibson accident and sighed before looking through more papers from 1958. “Look…this is detailing a second one that happened a week later but it’s on the same day as that article.”
“So…three people did die?”
“But not in the same one,” you said and looked deeper, grabbing a report from the scene that detailed the two workers who were crushed by faulty equipment and frowned when it also clearly stated your father was there, they had a safety officer on sight. “This says dad was there, he was present for the accident that killed two people but he also died in the one that killed three, the one that got printed. These did not happen on the same day and if I’m reading this right, are completely isolated.”
“Your dad saw it happen, tried to stop them and…”
“He was killed,” you muttered and frowned. “They covered up the first two until a week later and had them print a story that labeled it as all three when it was always two. They had cops on their payroll that allowed them to cover it up and even someone at the paper who changed the details and acted like it was a three person accident when it was only two. The third never saw the light of the day because to everyone but the records Will found at the department in Modesto, it never happened.”
“Sugar…they didn’t just cover up an accident…”
“They covered up a murder,” you deadpanned and dropped the papers back in the case as you sat back, eyes wide and brain too full of new information. “This would ruin the entire company. A murder being covered up for twenty years is no small thing.”
“It could convict Moira, especially if she also killed Will.”
“Two murders. Doesn’t sound like the kind of business that should stay in it,” you said and he nodded, packing up the papers and closing the case before handing it over. “We’ll tell Leah in the morning and then bring all of this to the precinct in Modesto. They’ll know what to do with it.”
“I agree,” he said and moved to take the case back to his office when a window across from you exploded and a canister was thrown through, smoke filling the room. “Shit!”
“Land!”
“Get down!” he called and threw himself over the top of the couch, patting down his pockets and letting out another curse. “Shit…these aren’t my gun pants.”
“You have gun pants?”
“Jeans with a holster,” he shot back and rolled his way closer to the kitchen as the window exploded a second time and the sound of heavy boots hit the wood floor. “I just got this place redone.”
“Holland,” you hissed out as he stood, reaching into a cookie jar and pulling out what looked like a revolver.
“What…it’s true. They have no care for the work that goes into interior design,” he shot back and screeched when one of the said men began to shoot at him, missing and hitting a vase on a table. “Antique!! It was from a shop in Santa Monica you absolute bastards.”
“We have more pressing issues than vases!” you shot back and popped up from behind the couch but immediately dipped down when a guy aimed his gun, blowing off the top of the pillow. “Do you have any more guns hidden around here?”
“Cookie jar only, I have a child,” he shot back and you rolled your eyes.
“Yeah and maybe a cookie jar is the worst spot with one of those,” you hissed out as he moved out from behind the wall and shot a guy in the leg, watching as he went down but was quickly replaced.
Holland also pointed the gun up and shot the main light in the room which plunged the living room into darkness and left you scrambling to try and figure out where the assailants went. You cursed his plan but knew it was a smart one and caught one of the guys as he began to make the trek towards the spare bedroom and Holly’s room and your heart dropped. You cursed and jumped up, grabbing a fire poker from the fireplace he had never used because the home was in California and trailed after him as Holland tackled the one left in the kitchen. The man was dressed in what looked like body armour, the kind a cop would wear and you knew he had to be a part of whatever police force was on Moira’s payroll. He might have been armed but he had a vulnerable point and you wielded the poker like it was a sword, aiming it towards the guy and hoping it’d land when he turned.
“Shit,” you muttered and he grinned, grabbing your shoulder and tossing you against the far wall as the breath was knocked right out of your chest. “God damnit.”
“Moira sends her regards,” he said and aimed the gun as your eyes widened.
“Hey asshole!” Holland called and you turned right as he bodied the guy but it wasn’t fast enough, he squeezed the trigger and a burst of pain hit your shoulder.
You had never been shot before, the worst injury was a broken wrist after Jeremy insisted that rich people needed to be able to ride horses and the pain was immense. You hissed out and grabbed your shoulder as Holland continued to beat on the guy but he was faster and bigger, outfitted with armour and it didn’t take him long to toss him off. Holland soared through the air for nearly a minute before he slammed into the hardwood of his living room, head bouncing and was out for the count.
“Holland!” you called and the man turned, tossing his gun aside and standing over you, foot primed as you whimpered in pain.
“A gift from Gibson,” he said and slammed the heel of his boot onto your face as the entire world went dark.
You woke up with a groan, still in the same spot and with a small puddle of blood sitting underneath your injured shoulder. Your brain was a mess, foggy and slightly delirious but you could make out what sounded like skin on skin contact and turned to spot Holland hammering on a guy in body armour, begging for him to tell him what happened. You blinked, not picking out a lot of their conversation minus the name Holly and your stomach dropped. You pulled yourself up from knees to feet and hobbled over to her door, pushing it open to find the place empty, Holly’s bed a mess along with the rest of the place as if she fought like hell trying to get away. You smiled, proud of her but it didn’t do her any good, she was still gone and you had to assume the goon underneath Holland was partially to blame.
“Where the fuck is she?”
“I…I don’t.”
“Don’t fucking bullshit me…where is she?” Holland said and slammed his fist against his face, already breaking an already broken nose as the guy groaned.
“Dude…stop…I don’t know…”
“Holly was taken by one of your men, they took her and knocked me out. I want you to tell me where she went or else I will drive this revolver up your fucking ass and blow your brains out that way…got it!!”
“Jesus dude.”
“Don’t fucking Jesus me and also…while you and your assholes took Holly you also grabbed Leah.”
“Leah?” you asked and stepped into the living room as he looked up, eyes softening a touch until they landed on the injury on your shoulder. “Where is she?”
“This fucker won’t tell me.”
“Hey…you…stop him before he kills me.”
“How many revolvers are in that cookie jar?”
“I always keep two,” he said and you walked over, digging a hand in and grabbing it and taking out every bullet but one before resting the gun on the guy’s forehead.
“Have you ever played Russian Roulette?" you asked and his eyes widened. “I have once, never went far enough to almost kill myself but I assume there’s a bit of a thrill in it. I am going to ask six questions so you have 6 shots. One will kill you, the rest will not. Lie and I pull this trigger.”
“Jesus Christ!” he called and tried to scrambled away but you pressed a foot to this calf and kept him in place.
“Who hired you?” you asked and he stared, mouth set in a thin line.
“I don’t…”
“Nope,” you muttered and pulled the trigger, the gun clicking but not going off. “Who hired you?”
“Moira Gibson,” he admitted and you smiled.
“Good. One down. Why did you take Leah and Holly?”
“She asked. Paid well.”
“Are you cops?”
“No…private.”
“Is she after Will’s research?”
“She told us it was imperative that we only get the two of them…not the case.”
“God…Of course she did.”
“Why?” Holland asked and turned to me.
“She knows Jeremy died because of me, this is punishment,” you muttered just as Holland’s phone rang and you walked over, grabbing it off the wall. “Moira.”
“Hello.”
“You’re a real big asshole,” you stated and she chuckled. “Where is Leah and Holly?”
“They are both fine! Safe and sound and trying to bite my poor guard. I know you killed Jeremy, accident or not and discovered what we’ve been trying to hide. I want you to bring me what Will found, in a shiny and clean case and I’ll hand over Leah and Holly like nothing happened.”
“Why do all of this? Steal them.”
“Because I can,” she said and you could see her smirk through the phone. “And I felt like showing you what it means to mess with me. We may be family…oh sorry…former family…but still.”
“Got it,” you said and looked at Holland who was still half kneeling on the guy. “And Holly.”
“Tell that PI friend of yours that he made a mistake trusting you. This is what happens when he gets involved with a person like you. He calls you Sugar? Also tell him to change it…I think bitter fits better.”
“Will do.”
“See you tomorrow, no later than 5pm. We’re meeting at that factory in Modesto, I’m sure you’re intimately familiar with it.”
“I have my past with it,” you muttered and she wished you luck, hanging up as you slammed the phone back on the hook and wandered over to the goon, slamming your foot against his nose and knocking him out.
“So?”
“Tomorrow…Modesto…bring the papers.”
“But…”
“Tomorrow…Modesto…she gets what’s coming to her.”
“I like the way you think,” he said and moved away from the goon, rubbing his hands on his sweats since his knuckles were all bloody.
“Holland…”
“I know,” he said and moved over to the cabinet below his TV, pulling out a bottle of bourbon and not even using a glass. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not you,” he muttered and sat on the couch as you followed. “It’s me.”
“Land…”
“No…it’s me. I did this. Holly was here and I should have left her with Healy, Leah as well but I assumed this place was safe, that she would be safe and look at me now. She almost died during that Misty case, ended up in a limo with a guy who wanted me dead and then the old house during a shootout and a hotel where she again…could have died. Marie told me to keep her safe and look at what I’ve done.”
“Hey…Holly can take it.”
“Sugar…”
“No…My turn,” you said and sat next to him. “Holly is strong like her dad and can handle herself even at her young age. I know you feel like you failed her, feel like you let her get too restless or too old but you’re doing good by her. Holly is going to run this town one day and it will be because she had a dad who wasn’t afraid to remind her she can do anything. My dad was like that, he would tell me to be the best I possibly could and far beyond it and I can assure you that Holly is learning all that and more from you, Holland.” You placed a hand on his shoulder as he grabbed his head, pulling on his hair as a sob racked through his body. “You are a good dad Holland, doing the best he can in the worst possible circumstances and you can’t ever forget that. Okay?”
Holland nodded and turned, wrapping you in a tight hug and you let him, feeling as he dug his forehead further into your shoulder. You held him tight, let him get it all out as so many years of feeling like he was nothing and suddenly being told that wasn’t true. You knew about his exploits and all the times he got himself into trouble and also all the stuff that he had ever done for Holly. Birthday parties spent at bowling alleys letting her win, only the best toys money could get, a house with a view and a pool and a future. A lot of it was more than a lot of people could ask for and now Holly was stuck with someone who could care less and grew up with a father a lot worse than Holly’s.
“We’ll get Leah,” Holland assured and pulled back as you reached up and ran a thumb along his cheek.
“And Holly,” you added and Holland dipped forward, pressing his lips to yours for a fleeting moment before you curled against his side. “Moira won’t know what hit her.”
“You…you will hit her.”
“Maybe,” you mused and he laid back, pulling you with him and you fell asleep on the sofa, eager for a long drive in the morning but for the moment…a fleeting moment.
The house was at peace.
Modesto, 1978
The factory was a five hour drive from LA and it felt like walking into a bad dream when Holland pulled the convertible out front, stepping out and adjusting the shoulder holster he had under his jacket. You hoped that it would be easy, hand over the papers, get them back and then raise hell but knowing Moira it would be anything but and your heart pounded as he gave you a nod, stepping through the open doors to find Moira sitting at a table in the middle of the place with a cup of tea. She was surrounded by heavy machinery and catwalks and yet looked perfectly innocent, like her own company didn’t cause a handful of deaths to happen right there in that building. Moira was a ruler watching her kingdom burn and she finished the mug of tea before standing.
“Welcome.”
“Where is Holly and Leah?” you asked and she scoffed.
“So eager,” she said and nodded to the two other chairs. “Sit…we need to talk.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she offered and you sighed, sitting as she said as Holland followed. “I have some confessions to make. The first is that I’m not a full blood Gibson. My father had an affair much before Jeremy and Jordan were born and had me, my mother gave me up for money and he raised me as his own. When the twins were born when I was five I was cast aside and knew they’d take over, I’d get nothing. When he died and left Jeremy all of it, I appointed myself as a helper, someone to do all the paperwork as he sat there and looked pretty. But then you appeared and suddenly I had more competition so I drugged Jeremy and he attacked like I planned and you finally got a shot at retaliation. Thank you, killing your own brother is not my style.”
“What about Will?”
“Will was an accident. He wasn’t meant to die, just fall asleep till Jordan could grab his papers in the morning but the idiot got him drunk and when I gave him the drugs it was too much for his system to handle. I’m sorry.”
“You killed my brother and father,” you said and looked over at the very device that killed him, a newer model but a piece of machinery with a pulley system. “You covered it up.”
“My father did.”
“And then you kept covering it up,” you shot back and placed Will’s case on the table. “You killed the guy in ‘68 with a faulty truck because he was another safety officer who wanted to get justice for his employees. Both he and my dad had the same plan, reveal it and even though he took your deal, you still killed him to tie up some loose ends. Why?”
“Money. Always money. We control it all and this factory is one of the best, I didn’t want to lose it. If anyone found out, it would ruin it all and I wouldn’t be able to split the money with my darling brother.”
“I’m finally gonna get that fund!”
You turned and sure enough Jordan was there, holding Leah’s arm as she tried to get away, hands bound and her mouth gagged.
“All this for money.”
“It’s how the world works.”
“Why drag Holland into this?” you asked and nodded at him. “He and Holly are innocent.”
“No I’m not,” Holland said and you raised a brow. “The Misty case was about catalytic converters. I stopped it sort of, people saw that film and saw what people were doing and the car industry changed.”
“Gibson lost 550,000 dollars in the last year.”
“That’s why you were fine with Sugar hiring me.”
“Two birds with one stone,” she muttered and smiled.
“Well you can’t kill us, it would be too obvious and those papers won’t do anything about the converter case.”
“No…but it would be fun,” she said and pulled out a gun, aiming it at Holland whose eyes widened.
“Look…all I want is my daughter and I will never…never talk about Misty or converters again.”
“Holly is fine,” Moira assured and pointed the gun up as the top lights of the factory turned on to reveal Holly tied to a catwalk above the two of you.
“Shit.”
“Chop chop Mr. March,” she said and he took one look at you as you nodded and Holland ran off, going for Holly which left you alone with Moira. “Thank you for killing Jeremy.”
“What if I didn’t?”
“He’d be dead anyways, you sped it up.”
“You killed your own brother.”
“Half…I was never Moira Gibson…my last name is Tittlecock.”
“Oof…don’t keep that.”
“I have already changed it.”
“I feel so bad for your future kids.”
“Never wanted them.”
“Blessing to us all,” you assured and pushed the case forward. “Here you are.”
“Like that?”
“A deal is a deal,” you said and she called over Jordan who left Leah tied up behind you and walked over, looking down at the case with his eyes narrowed.
“Open it.”
“Why not you?”
“Because I’m the face,” she said and Jordan sighed, flicking the locks and pulling it open, looking inside the case and giving her a nod. “I think we’re okay.”
“Let me see,” she said and moved it so they were both looking inside as you scooted your chair back, waiting patiently. “I don’t get it, what--”
She was cut off when the case exploded and a red dye pack exploded in both their faces as you jumped back to avoid the spray and rolled to get back on your feet before getting over to Leah. You weren’t going to just hand it over, nor were you going to show up empty handed and had stopped by Healy’s on the way, getting a few accessories he had on hand, dye packs among them. They both looked up, blinking back dye that would stain for a very long time as you cut the bindings off Leah’s hands and pulled the gag out of her mouth.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” Moira Tittlecock exclaimed and you grinned, handing Leah Holland’s keys and telling her to run.
“Thank Jackson Healy!!” you called and bolted after Holland who was halfway to Holly and had the real papers stuffed inside the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
You ran up a set of metal stairs, getting to the second floor and then to a catwalk as the same armed men from before appeared, guns in hand and Moira shouted at them to shoot to kill, screaming about her dyed face. Holland was halfway along the largest catwalk, trying to untie Holly who was rambling about how much she pissed off Jordan on the way there and you loved the smirk on his face, like he was the proudest dad on the planet and he was.
“A success?” he asked and you nodded, kneeling next to Holly and using the pocket knife in Holland’s pocket to cut her free.
“Genius.”
“Think of it more often,” you shot back and she wrapped Holland in a hug as he grabbed her, running her off the catwalk and to the second floor of the warehouse. “We gotta get out of here.”
“Up there!” a man shouted and you cursed, dipping down low as a shot went wide before diving for Holland and grabbing a pistol he had on his person.
“Sugar?” he asked and you peaked out for a second, nailing a guy in the leg as his jaw dropped.
“I took shooting lessons.”
“When?”
“During the eight years I didn’t work. I can also shoot a bow, a rifle and have a black belt in karate.”
“You were going to mention that when?”
“Eventually,” you shot back and he pulled out a revolver as you stood to nail another guy when a second snuck up behind you.
He was faster and bigger and like a mirror of what happened only days ago, knocked you off balance and over the railing that was much too short to be safe. You scrambled to grab something, anything but couldn’t and thought falling from a second floor was a pretty ironic way to die when you felt yourself slam into the wall. You looked up and sure enough Holland grabbed you by the wrist, nearly leaning off the second floor himself as you breathed in deep, taking in too many lungfuls of air to really get any at all as he pulled you up.
“Sugar?”
“God…” you said and wrapped him in a hug. “I love you.”
“WHAT?”
“I knew it!” Holly exclaimed and you rolled your eyes, giving him a long and deep kiss that you definitely did not have time for.
“Soon,” he said and you grinned.
“Keep that promise.”
“Always,” he shot back and grabbed Holly as you made your way back towards the entrance, thinking you were in the clear when a click sounded and you both stopped, spotting Moira with a gun and an angry look on her red face.
“Hold it!” she exclaimed and Jordan also appeared, gun as well and stepped forward, grabbing Holly before you could move and pulling her away from Holland.
“HEY!” she exclaimed and tried to attack him but he held her tight.
“Let’s all calm down,” Moira said and you shoved your hands in the air as Holland did the same. “Where are the papers?”
“I don’t…”
“WHERE!” she called and shot the ground by your feet as you nodded to Holland he pulled out the small wad of them. “Hand em over!”
“Moira…”
“No…you fucked up my plans and my face…it’s my time now. Hand them over.”
“No,” you said and stepped forward as Holland raised a brow. “I’m not.”
“Get out of the way. Jeremy married you to keep you quiet, he knew you’d go looking and made sure you met and he was some kind of fucking gentleman and ruined your life so he could get what he wanted. You are NOTHING but a useless housewife.”
“No,” you declared and she sighed, sounding tired. “I’ve done a lot and I told a good friend…someone more than a friend, who has been more, that he was better than he dreamed and I might have to follow that advice.”
“Who…March? The washed up PI who had one good case?”
“No…Holland March, the PI who saved LA once and can do it again and is one hell of a dad and partner. Right, Land?”
“For now and forever,” he assured and you smiled.
“Forgive me,” you said and Moira raised a brow as you ran forward and she freaked out, shooting you square in the chest and sure the impact hurt but you kept going and slammed into her, knocking the two of you to the ground.
“Forgive you for what? Being a badass?” Holland called and you chuckled as Moira stared at you in shock, looking over at Jordan but he had also gotten smacked around by Holly and was currently on the ground, curled into a fetal position.
“DON’T! STOP! I have a will to live, arrest me,” Jordan called and screeched as Holly pointed an empty revolver at his head.
“She’s 14 and that gun is empty,” Holland deadpanned and Jordan looked at him.
“14?”
“And a half,” Holly added and Jordan sat up, brushing off his red stained clothes.
“I wasn’t scared,” he admitted and Holly rolled her eyes, accidentally pulling the trigger and he screamed, curling back into his ball. “NO STOP! GET AWAY! It has to be loaded.”
“Huh…is he always like this?”
“Pathetic and whimpering?” you asked and stood, pointing your own and loaded gun at Moira who looked defeated. “Most of the time.”
“You are officially not the weakest man I know,” Holly assured and handed Holland the gun as he frowned.
“Did she mean me?” he asked and you shrugged.
“I think you’re strong,” you said and he smiled, walking over and pulling you into a kiss just as a group of cops arrived that weren't being paid off and grabbed Jordan before moving to Moira.
“Moira Gibson…but she prefers Tittlecock.”
“God…I wouldn’t,” the one said and you chuckled as he guessed your name and you nodded. “I knew Will. He was impressive.”
“She killed him and Jeremy Gibson. Not to mention was involved in a lot of coverups.”
“I’m sure the Modesto PD will be happy to hear all of it,” he said and you nodded, handing over the stack of papers.
“Credit Will with finding it.”
“We will,” he assured and you nodded, leaving them to grab her and you were happy she kept her mouth shut, glaring at the cops with her red stained face.
“Well,” Holland said and you nodded.
“Yep.”
“We did it.”
"We did.”
“We make a good team.”
“Us and Healy,” you said and pulled back your button up to reveal the bulletproof vest he insisted would come in handy.
“We could be the Nice Guys and Girl?”
“One time thing,” you said and he nodded. “I think I might teach.”
“Where?”
“UCLA,” you said and he smiled. “I’d need a place to live in LA.”
“I have a spot, it’s a bit shot at.”
“Does it have an antique vase from Santa Monica?”
“Got shot yesterday,” he said and you chuckled.
“God…deal breaker.”
“Sugar…”
“Yes, Land.”
“I love you too,” he said and you nodded, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close.
“Took you long enough.”
“Yeah.”
“Are we good?”
“Better than good,” he assured and kissed you deep, pulling you flush against him as Holly cheered from behind you both. “What do you say Holly?”
“Took forever,” she said and you rolled your eyes, turning and wrapping her in a hug.
“Be careful Holls, I have bowled a 280.”
“No way!”
“Yes way,” you assured and walked out to find Leah waiting by the car and wrapped her in a tight hug.
“Thank you.”
“For Will,” you said and she nodded, patting her stomach as your eyes narrowed. “Really?”
“I didn’t want to tell you.”
“For them to,” you said and she nodded, getting in the backseat as Holland and yourself grabbed the two front ones.
He started the car and you grinned when the chorus of “Baby Come Back” by Player began to play through the speakers and Holland turned it up.
“Baby, come back, any kind of fool could see,” he began and Holly groaned. “There was something in everything about you.”
“DAD!”
“No, let him have it,” you said and grinned, turning it up. “Baby, come back, you can blame it all on me. I was wrong and I just can't live without you.”
“They are correct,” Holland assured and you chuckled, grabbing his hand.
“Have never been more correct!”
“You two are gross.”
“Be careful what you wish for Holls.”
“No…I’m glad,” she admitted and you smiled, feeling the wind in your hair as Holland drove the three of you back to his place, away from Modesto and bad memories and towards a whole new and whole brighter future.
Los Angeles, 1980
Moira Tittlecock as she was named and Jordan Gibson were both convicted shortly after the altercation in Modesto. Jordan for aiding and abetting her and ironically tax evasion on his dumb little trust fund and her for murder, attempted murder, kidnapping, assault, drugging, covering up a murder and a million in one more things. Jeremy’s girlfriend in San Francisco, a lovely woman named Ally, handed over full control of the company to you in exchange for 500,000 and you gave her a million just for the heck of it since it wasn’t her fault her baby daddy was married.
Gibson Manufacturing was shut down, you knew it would be and the company’s assets had to pay off all the settlements and lawsuits, thousands of unanswered injury claims that someone else handled and not you. You got all of Jeremy’s untouched assets and after selling both his and Moira’s houses had a bank account with nine digits total and a smile on your face. You gave Leah a lot and her and her daughter, Willa moved to Seattle for a fresh start and she met a nice guy with a bright smile and no crazy ideas about being a wannabe PI.
You also gave a lot to the other victims of Gibson and sure that account dwindled but you didn’t mind and had spent long enough being a rich housewife and got that UCLA teaching job like you told Holland you would. It was a whole new life, a new job and a new you, one who wasn’t forced to play a part by a man that didn’t love but some things stayed the same and you found yourself inside Marianne’s on a friday like nothing had changed.
“Meeting March again?”
“Yep,” you said and grabbed the vodka off Hurley with a smile, this time with more cranberry than not. “Always.”
“You should come here to just hang out and enjoy the place.”
“Too busy,” you shot back and groaned at the thought of next month’s schedule from finals week to Holly’s bowling league and Holland’s big case in Santa Monica he was taking soon, it was going to be one hell of a May.
“Hey, leave some in this bar for me.”
You smiled and turned, spotting him behind you in his polyester suit, a flashy button up beneath and a smile lighting up his face. Holland March, looking like you had just seen him that morning and you had, woken up with a kiss and a coffee, perfect like the other four hundred times he had made it.
“You’re late,” Hurley said and you chuckled.
“He’s forgiven.”
“Special treatment for spouses?” he guessed and glanced at the ring on your finger.
“Not till June.”
“I’m making her wait like she did to me,” Holland added and you rolled your eyes, sucking back the rest of your drink and standing. “Pool?”
“Always. What are we playing for?”
“Loser cooks dinner,” he suggested and you sighed.
“You're better at dinner.”
“Laundry?”
“Deal,” you said and kissed him deep, drinking in his scent of smoke and bourbon that had lolled you to sleep every night since Moira was arrested. “Go rack them.”
“Aye aye, Mrs. March.”
“Not till June.”
“We’ll see,” he shot back and walked off as you sighed and handed Hurley a twenty dollar bill.
“Drinks are half off.”
“Not for that, for what you said in 1979, about us being good together.”
“And?”
“You nailed it,” you said and he smiled, handing the bill back over.
“A wedding gift.”
“Never change Hurley,” you said and walked over to the pool table where Holland had racked the balls and was waiting for you, leaning against an edge with shirt sleeves rolled up.
“Heads or tails?”
“Heads,” you said and he nodded, tossing the coin up in the air. “Finally.”
“Go get it Sugar.”
“Scared Holland?”
“Never,” he assured and you aimed at the white back, pulling back and breaking the collection of pool balls with a grin. “Nice one.”
“Should we up it to laundry for two months?”
“What about a room?”
“We have one at home,” you said and his heart soared at the mention of a room. “How about a closer wedding date?”
“Eager much.”
“Not for the day, but for the night.”
“Soon,” he assured and kissed your cheek, lining up his shot.
“Keep that promise!” you called and he smiled, hitting a striped ball into a pocket and the game started.
You knew he would…he always would. For now and forever.
I may of sent this before but my wifi was messed up so I don't know if it went through, but!!! Can you draw 141 doing communal shower antics and maybe if you'll be soooo kind to bless me with some gaz stuff just doing anything on duty love him in your style, keep creating😘
h.march x fem!reader ⋮ nsfw, 17+ ⋮ mentions of ( off-page ) injury ⋮ consent is clear ⋮ holland is a munch ⋮ he's a terrible flirt but tries his best ⋮ making out ⋮ reader's appearance is not detailed ⋮ no use of y/n ⋮ 3.4k words
req: reader is fixing holland up in the bathroom, he hits his head and reader is trying to check if he has a concussion or not but he keeps trying (and maybe failing) to flirt with them! leads to smut...+ healy as a supporting character
“Will you stay still?” You huff, annoyance fraying the edges of your words.
Holland, who’s still drunk as all hell, looks up at you with a dopey smile. He’s perched on the lid of the toilet like a bird would on its favorite telephone wire. Cozy but unaware of dangers. Like being electrocuted. Or in Holland’s case, leaning too far to the left and cracking his head open on the tub.
The two of you had been in here for the last ten minutes. Most of that time consisted of you trying to get him to sit up straight, hands moving every which way to make sure he didn’t fall over, and constantly checking over your shoulder while you fished the first aid kit out from under the sink. It made you feel like you were back to your babysitting job. The only difference now was instead of a toddler, you had an even worse grown man.
“M’trying.” He slurs his words, barely sounding like actual English.
“Try harder.” You deadpan back.
A quiet giggle comes from him. Of course he’d find it funny—the frustration unfurling through your veins. The guy was gone. He probably didn’t even have any recollection of how he got into the bathroom.
How did he get in the bathroom?
Well, that was a long story. The short story being this: March ran after a ‘suspect’ while drunk and ended up rolling down a hill. Flailing limbs and all. Healy had helped you get him back up the hill, into the backseat of the car, and carried in here. All that for the ‘suspect’ to have been a mannequin.
Typical.
“Look up at me.” There’s a vacant kind of tone to your voice, like you’d said these exact words a hundred times over. And you had. Holland was an injury magnet.
Holland tries his best, chin jutting up to look at you. His big glassy eyes train themselves on your gaze. If you weren’t so preoccupied with tending to his wounds, you would have made a mental note of how pretty he looked.
A trickle of dried blood drips down his cheek. He’d gotten a small gash near his temple. When you’d found him at the bottom of the hill, your assessment proved he hadn’t needed stitches. Miraculously. The guy had fallen and tumbled like a roley poley.
“Hey.” He grins a lopsided smile as you get close to his face, bringing a wash cloth to the blood.
He wiggles his eyebrows at you.
Jesus Christ.
You dab at the frayed skin around his wound, touch featherlight. Just to collect the coagulated blood. He inhales sharply, eyes pinching shut. Holland’s hands messily jut out, grasping onto your waist.
“Shit, sorry.” You murmur, removing the wash cloth from his skin like you’d been burned. A frown captures your glossed lips. Hurting him was not the intention. “I know, sorry.”
You gently blow at the cut, hoping to provide some sort of relief. The washcloth had been dabbed in a water and peroxide mixture. It was the best way to clean out a wound—usually it hurt the most, too. But there were no bubbles. It wasn’t infected nor filled with any bacteria.
“Mhm.” Holland slowly softens his expression.
His hands are warm against your waist. Big and strong despite his altered state. The heat of his hands radiates through your skin, warming you from the inside out. His grasp doesn’t falter. It makes your heart beat faster—for reasons you still refused to confront.
“Alright.” You pull back, dropping the washcloth on the side of the sink.
Most of the blood had been cleared off, anyway. All that was left was to bandage him and check if he had a concussion. It was unlikely, but you’d be damned if you ended up having to drag his drunk ass to the free emergency room across the city.
“Y’know..” he slurs, head tilting slightly as he watches you. There’s a moment where he just watches you take out a band aid from Holly’s package. He was too drunk to comment on the fact it was Hello Kitty. “You’re pretty. Ver—so—pretty.”
He hiccups halfway through his rambling.
That wasn’t entirely too off par for your relationship. Holland would get drunk and loosen his lips around you, slipping off comments about how kind or pretty you looked. It was something you’d grown accustomed to rolling your eyes at him about.
“Okay, casanova.” You don’t pay much mind to his words, walking back to press the band aid against his skin.
Leaning down, your tongue wets your bottom lip. For some reason it helps you concentrate. Or, that’s what you like to think. Your fingers work it onto his swaying head.
He still wasn’t staying still.
“Holland, please.” You implore, sighing. “Stay still. It’ll be crooked if you don’t.”
“Not moving.” He protests, body gently swaying like he’s on a boat. He looks up at you, blue irises sparkling under the bathroom light above.
There was no helping him.
“Okay.”
Battles were meant to be picked.
It takes another few minutes before you start working him up. There were a few things you remember from your first aid class. Really, just the essentials—concussion testing and drowning things. Thank god you still did. They proved to be very useful around holland.
He didn’t appear to have any sensitivity to light. And he wasn’t more confused than he normally was—and you were using the drunk variable indefinitely. He seemed perfectly fine.
“You’re all good.” You grin, mouth twisting upward into something comforting. “Nothing to worry about.”
You’re still standing between his outstretched legs, closer than you normally would be. Especially since his wounds had been tended to and you ruled out any possible issues. Though, your mind couldn’t quite get your legs to move away from him.
Even if he smelled like stale beer and whiskey.
Holland does something then; something you’d never expect. His arms wrap around your waist. Your muscles lock frozen as he clings onto you like a child would. The side of his face smushes into your chest as he hums.
“Thanks.” He whispers, voice wavering like he was about to cry.
Your arms slowly rest on his shoulders, palms flattening on his back. Confusion overtakes you. Then, there’s a warm fluttering feeling starting in your chest. It makes your pulse skip and breath stutter.
“Uh, anytime.” Perplexity lilts your tone, words coming out slow.
“M’love you.” He mumbles, arms tightening around you.
Warmth creeps up your neck.
“Time for you to go to bed.” The words tumble out quickly, flustered and barely leaving any space for breath.
“No.” He protests, squeezing you against him. “Stay here.”
He’s worse than a child.
And too close. And too warm. And your partner.
It’s getting harder to breathe. His arms are starting to feel more like vines rather than structures holding you up. The territory was all wrong. Somewhere you’d never been with Holland—even if he was only saying the things he was because he’s drunk as a skunk. It was overwhelming.
Words crawl up your throat but die on your tongue. There were so many things passing through your mind it blended into a hum, silencing the world around you. It felt like your brain was short circuiting.
Holland—he’s Holland. The guy who trips over his own feet. Who makes his daughter drive for him after getting his arm broken. Screeches like a banshee when there’s a bug in his room. And… who holds onto you like you’re his saving grace.
A lump forms in your throat.
“You don’t mean that...” Your voice sounds foreign in your own throat, words paper-thin.
He nods against you. “S’do. My girl. Best girl.”
You’re not breathing anymore.
“Holland.”
“Have I told you that?” He slurs, moving his head to look up at you. His chin rests in the valley above your chest, glassy eyes twinkling. “S’good to me. And Holly—Healy too. Dealin’ with.. My drunk ass. Never got around ta’ tellin’ ya..”
"You're drunk." You whisper.
Holland blinks. "Kiss me."
The ground beneath your feet opens and swallows you whole. Those are the words you'd never have thought to hear from him. A lot of things about tonight were things you wouldn't expect.
Was it a full moon?
"C'mon." He whines, looking up at you with those big eyes. "Jus' one. Go to bed after... promise."
Were you really gonna do this? You couldn't, right? He was drunk. Impaired. Surely, that meant he couldn't be making decisions for himself. If you asked he probably wouldn't be able to tell you what day it is. You'd be taking advantage of him if you kissed him.
You shouldn't do it. Couldn't do it.
"Okay." You breathe.
Damn it! Bad girl! This was not what you talked with yourself about!
Holland's face brightens as a five-watt smile captures his expressions. His eyes crinkle and sparkle. They look like twinkling stars in the night sky. Endlessly beautiful.
You find yourself bending down, head tilting as you press your lips against his. His mustache tickles your skin. The kiss lasts for maybe a second—maybe less. But it feels like an eternity. Fireworks pop behind your eyes and it steals away whatever breath you had left.
Holland's hands tangle in your hair, holding you close to him as he milks the kiss. Even in his inebriated state he still kissed you gently.
You pull away first, one hand coming up to catch his wrist. His skin feels warmer than it had a few minutes ago.
Heat travels through your veins. The familiar ache settles somewhere deep in your abdomen. But you force yourself to shake it off. Kissing him was way out of line—the thoughts creeping into your mind were borderline blasphemous.
"Now it's time for bed."
Holland rolls his eyes like a sassy toddler.
"Not good enough for you?" He mumbles, sarcasm lilting his slurred words.
Your mouth opens to spit out a quip. But nothing comes out. Your tongue turns to stone in your throat, the words in your mind dissipate, and suddenly your neck feels warm. He just said that. There was hesitancy in his words. They came from his mouth like an early spring breeze.
Somehow, they felt like a challenge.
Any of your inhibition flew out the window.
Self-preservation? Who's she?
Your movements are charged with electricity, shock waves licking up your spine. Your hand grabs at his collar in jest. Fingertips dip into the soft cotton, using it as leverage. Holland lets out a surprised gasp as you yank him towards you.
This time, there's nothing gentle about the kiss.
It's messy. Clashing tongue and teeth, lips bruising as they move against each other. He tastes like Jack and coke. The flavor tingles on your tongue, dripping down your throat like honey. He smiles against you, all cocky and all too happy.
He wanted that.
And you gave it to him.
You break apart from him, panting. A string of saliva connects the two of you. Sarcasm and mockery glues itself to your tone. "Good enough for you?"
Holland looks up at you with glasses over eyes, stupid grin blanketing his starry expression. "Yes—Absolutely."
It annoys you how a smile threatens to curve your mouth.
"Now it's time for you to go to bed."
"Happily. You comin' with?" He wiggles his eyebrows once more, this time with more sync. The alcohol was slowly depleting in his system.
"Don't press your luck." You murmur.
Getting him to bed consisted of hauling his arm over your shoulder and dragging him down the hall. Every few steps he whined about not being tired. The complaints were mainly centered around you not coming to bed with him. You had to cover his mouth a few times when his comments became vulgar, which only made him talk louder and laugh like a hyena.
You silently thank the gods his daughter wasn't around to hear his mouth.
And that Healy had left.
Which did mean it was only the two of you.
Holland's hand rests on your waist, fingertips trailing beneath your shirt. Every graze of his skin against yours leaves fire in its wake. You were seriously beginning to have more pros than cons about sleeping with him.
When he drops onto his bed, his fingers haphazardly dip into the loops of your jeans. He yanks you down in the same way you grabbed at him a few minutes earlier.
A gasp leaves your throat, hands going out to catch you. One palm flattens against the bed beside his head. The other plants firmly on his chest—the rest of you falling on top of him. Your thigh slots between his legs while the other straddles his thigh.
He lets out a soft grunt. His head thumps against the mattress, a chortle leaving his throat. That wasn't the plan but he's more than happy with the outcome.
You try to scramble away from him, but you feel a hard pressure against your thigh. And it's not something in his pocket. Every muscle in your body freezes. Shock settles in your system, squirming between your ribs and making a home there. He's bigger than you'd ever let yourself think about.
You're too flustered to let out any sound.
Holland's hands find your hips, touch feather light. He squeezes at the covered flesh. The contact makes your pulse skip a beat. A trickle of desire drips from your abdomen to your thighs, radiating between them.
He stares at you.
You stare at him.
"Stay?" He asks, voice barely above a whisper.
"Holland—you're not sober."
He huffs, shaking his head. "I am." His tone makes it sound more like a plea than a reassurance. "I want this—you. Shit, baby, can you feel me? Need you so bad."
Your head feels like it's swimming. There was a line you refused to cross with anyone, and Holland was straddling it. But he was coherent enough to string his words together. They weren't being slurred anymore. His eyes weren't drooping to make him look sleepy.
"You sure?" Your words are wrapped with barely contained need.
"Fuck." He grumbles, eyes closing for a moment. "Straining against my pants here. Yes, m'sure."
That wasn't a lie.
You could feel him twitching against your thigh, even beneath his clothing.
"Alright." Your words are far away sounding, like you were lost in a daze. "Okay we can—I'll—fuck, just take your pants off."
He chuckles, watching with a goofy grin as you flop onto the bed beside him. There's no hesitance in the way his hands fly to his pants. His thumbs hook into his waistband, using all his strength to rip the article off. A huff leaves his throat when he kicks off the bunched fabric and lets it fall into a ball on the floor.
The boxers he's wearing do nothing to hide the rock hard bulge. There's a dark spot bleeding through the fabric, pressing against the line of his tip. You can see the thick length of him now.
Holland rolls over on his tummy, large hands grabbing at you. He's quick to guide himself between your legs. Shaking fingers pull down the zipper of your bell bottoms. It's like he can't get them off fast enough—like they've personally offended him and he's holding back his frustrations.
They get tossed across the room by him, mumbling something that sounds like 'finally.' An audible whine rips from his throat when he's faced with your satin panties. It's the final layer between him and the rawest part of you—a part he intended on worshiping for as long as he could.
"Oh God." His voice is soft, almost like he's surprised he's nestled between your legs.
His thumb runs up your clothed slit, pressure just enough to buck your hips into his hand. Just a simple touch sent electric currents licking up your spine. You felt like a live wire, just teetering on the edge of becoming explosive.
Your fingers grip at his sheets, awaiting his next delicious assault on your cunt. The bedsheets smell like him. Whiskey, cigarettes, and soap. They blend together to create something that makes you lightheaded; dizzy in the best way.
There's a part of you that wanted him to just get on with it. The need racing through your veins made you as sensitive as a bomb. Though, the other part of you wanted to see his chin glistening with your juices and the way he looked up at you from between your thighs.
Holland's tongue flattens against your covered cunt, licking a stripe up your panties. The arousal that had soaked through the fabric lands on his tongue. He groans low in his throat, eyes fluttering shut. His nose bumps against your clit as he licks at you.
You prop yourself up on your elbows, head angled down to watch him. His arms have snaked around your thighs, hands holding you open for him. Every few moments you notice him rutting into the mattress. The sight alone is better than a sunrise—it makes a moan bubble up in your throat.
Holland opens his eyes, huge pupils dwarfing his blue eyes. There's barely even a ring of blue around them. All that's left is desire and lust. He tugs your panties to the side, forcing them from his way.
When his eyes drop down, he fucking whines. Like just seeing how wet you were for him was better than being touched. Or it had the same affect. There's not even a second for you to breathe—he dives right in like a starved man.
His lips immediately attach around your clit, sucking it into his mouth. His tongue rolls over the sensitive nub until you cry out. A content hum makes his lips vibrate around you. The assault on your body doesn't end there. He pulls off your clit with a 'pop', flattening his tongue to drag through your folds.
He eats you like you're the juiciest fruit freshly picked from a tree. Slurping, sucking, and licking at you. His facial hair gets wet within a minute. Probably less. The entire bottom half of his face is glistening, dripping with your essence.
Every drag of his tongue feels like heaven brought to you. His hands hold down your bucking hips, humming every time you moan out his name. It's so messy and dirty but that just turns you on even more. He alternates between sucking your clit and licking into you, collecting the sweetness dribbling out of you.
It's easy to see that he does this for his own pleasure as much as yours. There's a certain hunger in his eyes you've never seen from any man. It's in the way he pays special attention to what makes you whiter against his mouth.
When your hands thread through the soft locks on his head, his eyes fly open. The stare he gives you makes or heart drop. Each little tug on his hair makes him suction against you harder. The coil in your tummy is tightening every second, gaining momentum to spring back.
You can't push him away when it becomes too much. He doesn't look it, but Holland is strong. His arm settles over your hips, using his free hand to hold you open for him. There's not even an ounce of recollection when you push him away. He just ignores it.
Fingertips dance at your entrance, easing in nice and slow. The stretch around them feels overwhelming. It steals the breath from your lungs, feeling like a punch to the chest. Your thighs try to close around his head but he doesn't allow them to.
The stimulation from his fingers and mouth creates a crescendo, pushing you off the edge. White explodes across your vision. The coil in your tummy snaps, walls spasming around his digits. Holland moans into you, noise muffled by your cunt.
He's rutting into the mattress, moaning as he licks up whatever juices he can. His fingers pull out and slick drips down his wrist. He laps at your entrance, grinning as you shudder. His hand gently whacks at yours when you try to push him off.
"Holland!" Your voice is frayed, orgasm still making you light headed.
"Taste s'good." He's getting onto his knees in an instant. "Can't wait to feel—oh, shit—let me feel it, baby. Feel you wrapping 'round my dick."
His words make you whimper, head nodding fast enough to give you whiplash.
Holland's palms wrap around your thighs, yanking you closer to him."This pussy's fuckin' heaven. She ready f'me?"
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oh holland. he’ll admit it too (only in private, healy is barred from knowing this and he makes you swear on it) that he is a crier. holland phrases it more like being “very in touch with his psyche”—but the truth of the matter is that he’s just sensitive. when you’re first getting to know him, you’re skeptical. there’s no way this thirty-something year old private investigator is crying at the drop of a hat.
and yet you take him to watch a romcom at the movie theater, he’s crying. holly comes home with her 4.0 report card, he’s crying. watches the sunset on a stakeout (not even anywhere particularly nice, just the back lot of a mall), he’s crying. it’s the same thing every time, with his cheeks all moistened, his eyelashes wet, and his eyes a little puffier than usual. you always feel the sudden urge to make him feel better with soft kisses to his cheeks, taking his shaky hands into your own.
and of course, holland is a sappy drunk atop all these usual antics. a few beers in and he’s excusing himself to go smoke outside so he can fan his face dry. the best of it is halfway through the night when, like clockwork, holland starts staring at you with his big, wet, glassy eyes. you have to coax it out of him a little bit, ask if he’s okay. and then, he just keeps on ranting on about how you’re way too hot and way too good for him and he only deserves his right hand (never living this one down). and then the waterworks come—you have to take him home while he’s got his head leaned against the window, sniffling softly. usually uses the last of his tears by the end of the night when you’re both finally in bed, holland’s curled up with his head on your stomach. you’re often in the mood to tease him, like “you’re such a crybaby, marchie”—and he always pushes back with “don’t act like you’re not into it, you sadist.”
and he’s right. there’s no difficulty on your end sharing that you kind of like how sensitive he is. he’s a pretty crier, your holland.
I’m not entirely sure if you’ve done this yet but: the Geese Boys and their biggest kinks? Maybe their favourite/go to kink, or one they’re too embarrassed to even bring up with their partner?
I’d bet my left tit that 90% of them have a praise kink lmao
∘₊✧ Biggest kinks with;
Sierra Six / Holland March / Lars Lindstrom / Ryland Grace / Driver / Henry Letham / Ken
Please tread carefully! This covers lots of different kinks that I’ve tried my best to list below. If you’re unsure please don’t look - dead dove do not eat etc. etc. Shout out to @heresthestorymorningglory AKA The Sixpert, whom I consulted for thoughts on Six and as usual served the hottest Six tea – you’ve her to thank entirely for the Six thoughts!
Content: nsfw, various kinks included here so proceed with caution!, hinted erectile dysfuntion and premature ejaculation (the ken-dom big two), relinquishing control, edge play, praise, kissing kink, voyeurism, Driver is kinda creepy (yet more ken-dom classics), masochism, smoking, role play, katoptronophilia (mirror sex), masturbation, fingering, gn!reader, afab!reader (Ryland)
∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘
∘₊✧ Sierra Six
Although it takes Six a while to trust, when he does, it becomes quickly apparent that his kink is relinquishing control. To him, this is the highest form of intimacy – completely baring himself to you. While it doesn’t come easily to him, when he’s able to let you take the lead, sex has never felt so good. The way he moans and whimpers, it’s like nothing you’ve ever heard from him before as you gently instruct and guide him through his own pleasure, and teach him about your own. He sheds a tear as he comes undone, harder and more intensely than he can ever remember, and will just want to be held afterwards, snuggling into you feeling safe and loved.
∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘
∘₊✧ Holland March
Holland is partial to a spot of edge play. It doesn’t always work out; sometimes he can’t keep it up, sometimes he comes after no less than one edge. But it’s all in good fun, and it’s not all about him – he loves to keep you simmering all day if he can. He teases here and there until he’s fingerfucking you in the kitchen just right, and as you’re about to clench around those slender digits he’ll slip them out, lick them clean and go make a sandwich. Only when he’s finished his impromptu lunch will he pick up where he left off and so the day continues on that way. Then there’s those nights he’s just fascinated with your pleasure, switching between eating you out, fucking you, fingerfucking you, and stopping short every time until you’re shaking and absolutely begging for him. He’ll always make you cum in the end, though, more than once, hard and preferably screaming his name.
∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘
∘₊✧ Lars Lindstrom
Lars is a sucker for role play. He’d never have thought it himself, being so shy and all, but it turns out that playing pretend isn’t only fun, it can be such a turn on. He can lose himself in the story or the character, slowly worrying less about himself and what he might be doing wrong, loosening up to really enjoy the sensations instead of focussing heavily on fear of his touch hypersensitivity spoiling the moment. Of course, that’s still very real and something to be considerate of, but role play helps him feel comfortable enough that it doesn’t completely consume him. He loves it when you dress up like one of his favorite characters – it feels so naughty and only makes him want you more. And when he does the same for you, he feels closer to you than ever. It’s a really intimate way to get to know one another, a shared little secret for only the two of you that strengthens your bond further than anything he could have imagined. Lars feels very warm and loved when he thinks of all the nights you share planning out and acting on your secret ideas together. Although he doesn’t realise it can be classed as a kink, auralism is another one that applies to Lars. Hearing you moan for him sends him to Heaven and back every time. Sprinkle in some dirty talk for him and he’ll all but pass out on the spot.
∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘
∘₊✧ Ryland Grace
Katoptronophilia is Rylands vice. He realised he came harder when he watched himself jerk off in a mirror and learned the word for the kink after searching online forums to see how common it is. When he wants to explore this kink with you, he will sit you on his lap, legs spread, his long fingers spreading your folds and dipping inside while he bites and sucks at your neck – all in front of a full length mirror so you can see exactly what he’s doing to you. After you cum, he’ll watch your reactions in the reflection as he fucks you from behind, losing himself in the visuals.
∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘
∘₊✧ Driver
Of course, Driver has a kissing kink. He isn’t even really aware that it’s a kink, he just knows what the feeling of soft lips and a warm, wet tongue against his does to him. Especially when there’s intention behind it, romantic subtext… mmh. He gets lost in those kinds of kisses to the point of coming in his pants, sometimes even just from fantasizing, and he’s perfected kissing to the point that he can get you pretty close, too. He also likes to watch or listen, learning about what you like purely from observation. He’s patient, and he isn’t above listening through the wall, but when you finally get together, he will guide your hand between your legs and lift an eyebrow at you, silently asking for you to show him what you like while he memorises every part of your pleasure, mostly for when he’s ready to fuck you so good you’ll forget anyone who came before him, but also partly for himself – he’ll jerk off in the shower about it later, imagining that you’re listening to him though the wall, now.
∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘
∘₊✧ Henry Letham
Henry enjoys a little pain. It’s not the same when he does it to himself, that’s for different reasons, but if you were to put a cigarette out on his bare skin after a heated kiss, he would moan so prettily. Wax play comes into this too, although that’s more about feeling anything rather than feeling pain. The contrasting heat and cool sharpens his breath and has him suddenly in tune with every sensation in his body. He sees it almost as art, pouring the burning liquid onto your flesh, watching you pour it on him like paint on a masterpiece. The intense sensations help him to know he’s really here, and the psychological edge makes it extra thrilling. It's all a little bit messy and dark, just like him.
∘₊✧────────────✧₊∘
∘₊✧ Ken
Ken has praise kink written all over him. He wants nothing more than to please you, for you to be happy with him, to know he’s done a good job for you. You know what it does to him and sometimes whisper some affirming words in his ear when you’re out somewhere together just to see him blush bright pink. When you breathe, ‘My good Ken,’ in his ear while he’s fucking you, he bites his lip so hard to try and keep his peak from approaching too soon. Continue on, ‘Just like that, you feel so good, don’t stop! You’re so good at fucking me just right-’ and he’s a gonner. Still, he will ask you to explain what you liked about it in detail after, still seeking the high of your praise while you play with his hair and tell him how pretty he is when he comes for you.
☾ ⋆➜ Snuggled between Ryland's legs and he's careening his head onto your shoulder, looking down at what you're doing and making small comments, jokes or teases. His hot breath is against the your neck.
☾ ⋆➜ Perched in Holland's lap and he's got his arm wrapped around your waist. He's got a cigarette in his mouth, keeps him from kissing your neck 24/7. Not his fault you take it away from him and dive for a hungry kiss.
☾ ⋆➜ Sitting next to Lars at church and your thighs are kissing from your proximity. His eyes keep looking at your hand in your lap, his fingers twitching. He wants nothing more than to grab, but he's not sure how.
☾ ⋆➜ Sitting in the bed of Colt's truck, looking out at the desert night sky. Your legs are tangled under a thin blanket, all that's really needed as you're curled next to him as he boasts about the stunt he nailed today.
☾ ⋆➜ Straddling Driver in his car after climbing over the middle console. Your back is digging into the steering wheel, his gloved hands under your shirt and pressing into your skin so heatedly, like you're all he needs.
☾ ⋆➜ The neon signs of the city bleed into the slick pavement. K's not holding you, but his presense is solid beside you until he shifts to reach out, catching a raindrop on his fingertip as it trailed down your cheek, fingers trembling.
☾ ⋆➜ Court's body is a tense line of muscles sheilding you from the dangers of the outside world. One hand is braced beside your head while the other is on your hip, a silent, grounding pressure in the suffocating quiet.
☾ ⋆➜ Sitting on a porch swing with Noah as the twilight settles, the humid air thick with the scent of foliage. His arm is draped along the back of the swing, fingers just barely grazing your shoulder, a teasing invitation.
Okay now imagine cane corso!ghost bonding with terrier!reader
You were so excited to learn you'd be with another dog hybrid, contrary to popular belief they aren't all that common in higher ranks.
For once, you get to have someone who understands you instincts and doesn't scoff at your social behaviors. You get someone to maybe-hopefully pack bond with and not have to explain what that is. You finally get someone high energy to run and play with—
And it turns out he's a giant, sleepy, boring dog.
Lieutenant riley does little more than give you a sniff when he first meets you, a sleepy rumble low in his chest before meandering off. Not what you expected, but it's still nice to bond with him.
Ghost, as it turns out, is a great packmate. He's willing to indulge your more hyper moods, and when he isn't?
"Fuckin' settle down, pup." Ghost grunts, grabbing you by the scruff and tossing you to the floor of the rec room. You barely get a moment to recover before 300+ pounds of dog hybrid lie atop you, pinning you down heavily.
Not matter how hard you bark and growl, ghost just rumbles in his half-sleep, tail slowly wagging.
Without fail, it always seems to make you sleepy too. All that high energy you can never deal with settling right down into a foggy peace, enjoying your packmate on top of you and his scent so close, your own tail wagging.
Which is how the team find you an hour later, happily sleeping under the crushing weight if ghost while he absently watches the birds outside.
Summary: When Driver ends up at a small town diner after escaping LA, he doesn't expect to meet you, the very woman who wants to leave more than anyone. When you offer him help after he refuses a doctor, you see beneath a man on the run as he tries to convince you leaving isn't that scary and maybe...all you need is a small push and a man with blue eyes and a sad little face.
Warnings: Mentions of blood and a pretty bad injury on Driver but most of this is all fluff.
Tags: Drive 2011, The Driver, fluff, he speaks more in this, smalltown diners, smalltown aesthetic, being stuck and being helped, he's a softie, we just gonna pretend this man survived okay. He lived in my heart.
NOTES: Set after the events of Drive(2011), as if Driver survived and just kept going.
AN: Hello!! Got inspired by Drive which is amazing btw, and decided to write something short and sweet for one of my fav of the Ryan's. I love Driver, he's adorable, bestest boy and deserves an AU where he's happy. Dividers by @strangergraphics
Still the Same
“There's something inside you, It's hard to explain, They're talking about you, boy. But you're still the same.”
Middle of Nowhere
For years you had wanted an escape, a grand exit like someone was holding the string that tied you to your hometown and had finally cut it. But for the moment, it was pulled tight, locked around your wrist like a cuff and things had never been anything but the same. The place was small, a blink while on Main Street and you’ll end up on the outside of town type of place with people who knew all and wouldn’t keep their mouth shut about what it is they knew. They infected social lives with town gossip of who dated who, who married that year and what crazy person left to go and find something not contained within three streets and a handful of streetlights.
You weren’t that brave and were scared that since your ID said you were born there, one day it would also say you died there. Obituary ending up in a small town paper with the ending line, “she was loved by all who knew her, the population of a town situated between Nowhere and Nothing.” Maybe one day you’d end up there because you got married to some farmer with a good collection of land and a house with a porch built for two rocking chairs and nothing more, simplistic and easy, the exact life you were destined for. Your mom appeared years back, gas tank empty and didn’t leave when it was full because a man told her she looked pretty in the checkout line of the singular grocery store. She dressed in lace and baby blues, attended church and baked cookies for Sunday brunches and never did the one thing you wanted to do…leave.
Exodus was nothing but a chapter in a bible you no longer fully believed in, not a truth, not a thing you could do, nothing but a dream. A dream that made you restless, hands twitching as you poured coffee for a trucker who stopped in the small diner you worked in. A neon sign out front declared it was open and named after some pun involving waffles that everyone liked to comment on. You dubbed it jail, the trap you built for yourself and gave him a warm smile, heart of ice heavy in your chest as he called you a sweetheart and went back to his midnight cup of coffee. And you meandered back to Janet, a woman who also never left and leaned against the counter, brushing a hand along the lace trim of your apron, tied in a bow around the waist of a baby blue dress.
“Slow night,” Janet muttered since her sentences never got bigger than three words, spoken with a clipped tone like she hated talking.
“Quite,” you said and she frowned.
“Sal has extra food.”
“From dinner.”
“From lunch, a sandwich.”
“I’ll eat it on break,” you muttered and glanced at the clock, shift only half over and let out a sigh, grabbing a freshly made pot of coffee and doing a round.
The diner was open all day and all night, the one spot in the whole of your nowhere town where you could grab something to eat after 8pm on a Wednesday and was a haven for truck drivers. Most of the time, they were the only people you served and had been debating on asking for a ride for years but didn’t, chose to still stay, make some money while doing online schooling a couple days a week and it was finally done. You graduated with a degree that was impressive enough to do something else and had a letter sitting on your kitchen table, the whole of your future printed on A24 paper with a stamp in the corner.
“I finished my degree,” you said and Janet nodded. “I could leave. I applied for a teaching school but it’s in Raleigh.”
“That’s far.”
“A whole new town,” you agreed and sighed, watching as the door opened and a man walked in, keeping his head down as he sank into the booth in the far corner.
“I wonder what his problem is.”
“Long night,” you guessed and grabbed a mug of coffee before walking over. “Coffee?”
He looked up, eyes bloodshot and nodded, resting a hand on the tabletop as your eyes narrowed at the redness on the leather of his fingerless gloves. It was the kind of red that was concerning, that bloomed from places it shouldn’t and you half debated calling someone to help when he grabbed your hand. It wasn’t rough, it was gentle, the most gentle grab you had ever felt, as if he was scared of holding on too tight and making you leave.
“Uh…”
“Coffee is enough,” he muttered and you nodded, giving over the mug and also grabbing a collection of napkins, ignoring the red on his white jacket.
“Can you give me a half hour?” you asked and he looked at you like you’d hit him. “I need to tell her I’m leaving, you need help.”
“No.”
“Not a doctor. I can help, I live across the street in the apartment above the hardware store and have a pretty good first aid kit, a gift from my dad.”
“Okay,” he said and sat back, sighing and drinking half his cup of black coffee as you smiled and wandered back to Janet, pulling off your apron.
“I’m leaving early.”
“Why?”
“I know him, an old family friend and he needs my help.”
“What’s his name?”
“Uh…Mike…It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”
“Be…”
“I got it, I’ll be careful. But don’t worry, I know he’s fine,” you said and didn’t believe it for a second as you punched out, grabbing a couple sandwiches and a key lime pie that had been made three days back before pulling on your coat.
He was still sitting there, mug empty and staring at the tabletop as he breathed heavily, red stained white coat heaving and you swallowed hard, taking a seat across from him. He didn’t look up, eyes still locked on nothing but you reached out, gentle as can be and placed a hand on his, fingers brushing against the burgundy leather of the gloves.
“Can I trust you?”
“No.”
“Why are you here?”
“I drove.”
“From?”
“LA.”
“That’s hours from here.”
“I know.”
“If I take you to my apartment you’re not gonna kill me right?”
“Nope,” he assured and there was more trust in that one syllable than anything else he’d said yet.
“Good,” you said and he stood, stumbling a bit but keeping himself upright and trailing after you as you tried to ignore the look that Janet gave you, eyes narrowed like always. “We don’t get a lot of strangers like you. Mostly truck drivers. Why drive here?”
“Not here…just…away,” he assured and you helped him up the narrow outdoor steps to the balcony on the second floor that led to your apartment and dug a key into the lock.
“Well this is a hell of a place to land. We have nothing.”
“I like nothing.”
“You’ll get tired of it,” you said and he chuckled, dryly and struggling but the noise was a welcome change. “Come in. I’ll grab a blanket, take that jacket and shirt off.”
“Are you sure?”
“You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” you shot back and he nodded, doing as you said, pulling off the white coat with a gold scorpion embroidered on the back, white shirt following as your eyes widened.
Despite the very obvious bullet wound, his back was a myriad of scars from years of abuse and you wanted to reach out and trace them, ask about every dip. His skin told so many stories, ones you wanted to beg to hear, to have him whisper in the dark of your apartment or on nights when the nowhere town ran out of power because of a storm a county over. But there were more pressing matters like the splotch of blood on his lower stomach, the source revealing itself as a bullet wound that had an exit on his lower back much to your relief. Sure it likely hurt like hell, even worse from driving for so many hours but if he was still moving around, it meant it didn’t hit anything important and your new houseguest wasn’t about to drop dead.
“Well…it exited,” you deadpanned after he had taken a seat on your blanket draped couch. “So that’s good and it means you won’t die because I’m not a surgeon. I have some gauze and padding so you won’t bleed out either but there is a story to be told.”
“About the wound?” he guessed and you chuckled.
“Yes, about the wound,” you assured and reached forward, gently wrapping the gauze around his midsection until it was tight as he stayed tense, barely breathing until your hands left his skin. “Grammy Merna would tell me all about the perils of California but she left out the guns. Was she wrong or is this a special case?”
“Got wrapped up in bad men, took care of it.”
“Clearly,” you muttered and stood as he moved back, leaning against the back of the couch with a sigh, finally looking a small bit relaxed. “You never said your name.”
“People at home called me the Driver.”
“Do you drive?”
“I drive,” he agreed and you chuckled. “What is your actual name?”
“That was always the ironic part…my real name is Driver.”
“Driver is one hell of a name.”
“Ended up doing what I was named for,” he shot back and you nodded before telling him yours.
“I was not named waitress so I’m not following fate.”
“Should be named saviour,” he shot back and you chuckled, moving to your small kitchen and grabbing him a glass of water.
“Just ended up in the right place.”
“Fate sounds better,” he said and leaned back, drinking back half the water as you smiled. “Without you I would’ve kept going.”
“Any stopping point?”
“When I couldn’t drive anymore,” he shot back and you frowned.
“Good thing you stopped before that.”
“Needed coffee, first place open for miles,” he said and stood, cringing but continuing and looking out the window, face framed by the neon greens and blues of the diners sign.
When you got the apartment the glare of that sign pissed you off, always there in the background like a reminder that the place was as far as you could get, living across the street from work. But now…as it made the blue of his eyes pop and the dips and divots of the scars on his shoulders stand out like they were made with the utmost care you loved it. Maybe all the window needed despite a good clean was a fresh face to look out of it, someone who could still appreciate neon signs and 24/7 waffle themed diners on small country roads that cut through a nowhere town like a river.
“Butter Me Up?” he asked with a laugh and you groaned.
“Waffle pun. It sells.”
“To who?”
“Truck drivers with no sense of humour,” you admitted and yawned. “I’m beat. Take the couch, I brought out some blankets and some clothes from my dad in a bag on the chair. There’s a bathroom by the front door, fully stocked and even some plastic wrap so that the bandage can stay dry.”
“You trust me not to rob you and run?” Driver asked and turned, hands crossed across his chest, still coated in the blood stained leather gloves.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“You don’t look like the robbing type.”
“What do I look like?”
“Someone who stopped less for a coffee and more because he had to.”
“To die?”
“To hope someone like me would offer some help,” you shot back and he looked away, gaze not meeting yours and you knew you had figured him out. “Sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Wait…”
“Yes?”
“Thank you,” Driver said and you knew he meant it.
“Of course,” you said and moved into your bedroom, changing into a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt before getting into bed, listening to the road outside your bedroom window as people drove through your town.
You were glad that he chose to stop, to grab that coffee and accept your help and hoped that he’d be there when the morning light made the place look less lonely.
Driver stayed.
He slept on the couch like you told him to and woke up to the smell of bacon cooking, finding him slumped over the stove in your small kitchen, eyes narrowed as he made sure the breakfast was perfect. You raised a brow, leaning on the doorframe in a robe as he cracked an egg into another pan and let out a curse when a piece of shell got in, scrambling to fix it as you chuckled and he looked up, eyes widening.
“Sorry.”
“Why?”
“I used your kitchen.”
“I barely use it, it deserves it,” you said and nodded out the window at the diner. “I normally eat there.”
“Do you work a lot?”
“Most nights,” you admitted and took a seat at the breakfast nook, wishing it wasn’t full of papers. “I split my time between there and online school.”
“For?”
“Education,” you admitted and he made sure the eggs wouldn’t burn before turning and moving to lean against a counter, giving you his full attention. “I want to be a teacher.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“The schooling I need is out of state, in North Carolina and sure I have enough money but it’s far…out there and I’m not…I’m here.”
“But you could be out there.”
“I could,” you said and sighed. “My dad died six months ago, he left me all his money and told me to leave, to get out of this place and see the world but I didn’t…I stayed.”
“Why?”
“Too scared,” you admitted and he scoffed. “Here is small but familiar. I know every face and when John at the grocery store gets the good apples in. I wouldn’t know any of that in a big city, wouldn’t even know myself.”
“Did you get in?” he asked and turned back around, plating the eggs and adding some toast and bacon before walking it over to the table. “To the school in Raleigh?”
“No…Or…I don’t know.”
“You don’t?”
“This is my ticket,” you said and grabbed a letter from North Carolina State University. “It arrived two days ago.”
“And?”
“It has stayed like this for two days.”
“Not going to open it?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re scared,” he accused and you nearly dropped your fork at that very bold accusation. “That letter is your excuse. Never look at it, never get an excuse.”
“Never look at it, never be disappointed,” you shot back and he rolled his eyes. “I’m not like you, I don’t pack it all up and drive with a bullet wound in my stomach, hoping to crash land in some town.”
“You may not have the bullet hole but you do have the pain,” he pointed out and you never would’ve invited someone so philosophical into your house.
“Still keeping it sealed.”
“Maybe by the time I leave.”
“Are you?”
“Maybe. I need to keep going, find myself somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Don’t know,” he admitted and sipped his coffee. “That gunshot was done by a man who wants me dead…he’s dead too but he had friends, angry ones. I left LA to get away from that and I don’t think I’m far enough away yet.”
“This town is pretty empty, you’d fall off the radar.”
“Maybe…but I can’t take that risk.”
“At least stay long enough to relax,” you suggested and glanced out the window at the sun shining. “It’s sunny today and there’s a lake not far from here, could be a nice change.”
“The bandage?”
“Don’t swim,” you shot back and he rolled his eyes. “Come on…I grabbed some sandwiches and a pie from work, it’ll be fun.”
“What kind of pie?”
“Key lime.”
“Nah…I’m more of a lemon meringue guy.”
“Driver…”
“What?”
“Come on.”
“I can enjoy limes,” he muttered and you rolled your eyes, finishing off your breakfast, changing and grabbing a few items as he stood by the front door, eyeing the blood stains on his white coat.
“Here,” you said and handed over a black jacket that was Yankees themed and hoped that he was secretly a fan.
“Not a baseball fan.”
“It was my dads.”
“Why?”
“He can’t wear it,” you said and Driver nodded, grabbing it and pulling it on, smiling at the fit and shoving his hands in the pocket. “Perfect.”
“Maybe I’ll end up in New York and wear it to a game,” he muttered and you nodded in agreement, grabbing your bag and following him out to his car, a smile on your face.
The car he drove was nice by the standards of someone who didn’t know cars and was black and sleek looking, an older model with nice but worn tires since he drove it to the brink for hours on end. He admitted he didn’t get all the way from LA to your small little town in one night, it took three days and he slept in the back seat on the side of the highway and in truck stops, avoiding people until he met you, the first person who begged to offer some semblance of help. He took it because you looked as desperate to give it as he was to receive it and liked the tenderness in your voice, even though all you did was offer him some coffee.
“Been here your whole life?”
“Forced to,” you admitted and he raised a brow.
“Mom lived here, had me and died here. It felt like it was in my blood.”
“Blood is made to be shed.”
“I don’t think that sounds like you want it to.”
“I drive…I rarely speak,” he shot back and followed your lead when you told him to turn, pulling onto a dirt road that led to a lake you loved, the one good thing in your town.
“You’re talking with me?”
“I have exceptions,” he shot back and parked the car in the lot, slipping out and grabbing your bag out of the back and handing it over. “This was worth it.”
“Wasn’t it?” you said and smiled, making your way down to the shore of the lake and spreading out a picnic blanket that had seen better days. “This place was like an escape from the rest of the town, a small piece of something new.”
“You could leave.”
“Driver…”
“I know.”
“I can’t,” you muttered and grabbed a wrapped sandwich from the bag, handing him one and he nodded in thanks. “It’s a big world out there…full of people and I’m just me…sitting here and staring at a lake I’ve stared at a hundred times before and will continue to stare at until I die. Like my mother and father.”
“Or you could open that letter.”
“What if it says I made it?”
“Leave,” he suggested and you rolled your eyes. “Back in LA, I got all mixed up in that stuff because of a woman named Irene and her young son, my neighbours and she had a husband in jail and he got out and went right back to it. My favorite day with them was at a place like this, a piece of paradise in a city of nothing.”
“You were in LA,” you said and he shrugged.
“Even big places can be full of nothing. I lived there, worked there, almost died there. LA felt as lonely as a place like this with one road and very few stoplights.”
“See that's why I'm worried about leaving, at least I know people here, I have the diner and my coworker Janet. Maybe one day I'll also have a nice guy with a piece of land and a smile.”
“Sounds like a boring life.”
“At least I’m not driving forever,” you shot back and shoved the plastic wrap in the bag before heading towards the water, pulling off your shirt and shorts and stepping slowly into it, feeling the coolness start around your ankles.
You went further out, feeling it run up your legs and onto your chest before sinking deep into the cold water and embracing the bit of shock that always came with dipping into a cold lake in early spring. It brought you back to your dad and his love of the place, the way he called it magic and would spend his time in the middle, catching fish to roast on a fire as you swam like there was no tomorrow. Today there was a tomorrow and you looked back at the shore to find Driver was missing, a pile of clothes in his wake and in seconds the man popped up out of the water, blonde hair slicked back and a smile on his face.
“What about the bandage?”
“Excuse to get close,” he shot back and swam closer, able to touch thanks to his height as you clung to his chest, laughing and shaking droplets off the top of your head. “You should open the letter.”
“Driver…”
“I brought it,” he said and your eyes narrowed.
“You stole my mail?”
“Sorry.”
“Why?”
“Because you deserve more than this town. It deserves you, you make it better but you need to leave it and find yourself in a new place with new people.”
“Come with me.”
“I can’t,” he said and you frowned. “The people after Irene won’t stop, they know I lived.”
“Change your name,” you said and got even closer, clinging to him.
“Driver fits too well,” he shot back and you chuckled, dipping your head down as he reached up, kissing your forehead. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“For a coffee,” he said and you looked at him closer, hands pressed to his cheeks as you ran a thumb under his eyes. “And the help.”
“I wasn’t about to let you bleed to death.”
“No…but you could have,” he muttered and you rolled your eyes, wrapping him in a hug, shivering despite yourself since the lake was cold, not warmed yet by the summer sun. “You could have moved on, treated me like another customer.”
“Maybe I was looking for an escape from that shift as much as you were looking for help.”
“So…not at all?”
“No,” you said and he laughed, blue eyes brighter than last night, catching the reflection of the few beams of sunlight getting through the clouds. “When are you leaving?”
“Soon.”
“Stay,” you said again and he shook his head. “If you won’t stay…kiss me.”
“I…”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fair.”
“No…but I want it,” you said and it felt rash, like a bad choice but Driver complied, dipping his head down and capturing your lips in a kiss that was barely there.
You grabbed the back of his neck with both hands to deepen it and he complied, kissing you harder as you hooked your legs around his midsection and pulled him closer, swaying in the cool water of that lake. You had a sneaking suspicion you were never going to see him again, that he was going to drive out of that town like he was destined to and leave you to wonder what could have been. But you had that moment, that small piece of something more and rested your head on his chest after he pulled back, staying in that water until his legs began to shake, they were so cold. You moved back to the blanket and Driver pulled the letter out of the pocket of the Yankees jacket you gave him, draping the fabric across your shoulders and nodding for you to break the seal and see what your fate was.
“Are you sure?”
“Come on, drive off.”
“Very funny,” you muttered and he smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and leaning back as you followed, practically laying on his chest as you pulled open the letter. “Alrighty…God…”
“Would you like me?”
“A stranger I just met…sure.”
“Here we go,” he said and grabbed the letter, skimming it with the world's greatest poker face as you bit your lip. “Alright…”
“And…”
“Well…” he began and read out your full name, a smile on his face. “We here at North Carolina State University would like to congratulate you on acceptance into the professional development program for teachers this coming fall semester. Please register for classes no later than August and we’ll be happy to see you in September.”
“Well then.”
“I guess you’ll have to move to North Carolina,” he said and you nodded.
“I guess I will.”
“Maybe I’ll go to Raleigh one day.”
“Maybe I’ll go to New York,” you said and he chuckled, remembering the suggestion. “We’ll run into each other and before you even speak, I’ll remember your name.”
“Maybe,” he agreed and you closed your eyes, drifting off to the sound of his heartbeat and wishing the day wouldn’t end.
New York, Somewhere
Driver left.
During the night he got up and left, getting in his car and never looking back and you woke up to an empty apartment like he was never even there, only a blood stained jacket in his wake. He also left a note of encouragement to go and see your dreams come true and you took it to heart, selling the apartment, telling Janet to screw off and getting in your car and never looking back, making sure to wash that jacket before you left. It became a staple piece of your wardrobe all through the two years of school, a reminder of someone you helped when he finally decided to stop and hoped that he’d found somewhere safe. You had no way of contacting him, he didn’t leave a number on that note and you assumed a guy like him didn’t carry a phone. He was an enigma that you had spent the last 4 years looking over your shoulder for when you spent less than 14 hours together.
But it felt like more and you sighed, paying for the coffee you bought and heading out into the city since you were even crazy enough to move to New York, getting a job at a private high school and a small apartment with no neon lights shining through the windows. You even still wore his coat, bundled in the one thing besides encouragement that he left behind and sipped the latte in hand, holding the cup for warmth since that April was chilly.
“Did you drop this?”
“Probably not,” you said and turned, not interested in whatever the guy was pulling when your eyes widened and you spotted him standing there, dressed in that black Yankees jacket like nothing had changed. “Driver.”
“You remembered.”
“I said I would,” you told him and placed the coffee on the edge of a trash bin before wrapping him in a tight hug as the guy picked you up. “You made it.”
“I’ve been here a few years.”
“Still driving?”
“Always,” he assured and you chuckled. “But for better people. A good company and I got this tiny place with a view of some trees. Spend most of my time at a garage, fixing up cars, was always what I enjoyed.”
“Those men never came looking?”
“They gave up. Maybe I could have stayed.”
“I couldn’t,” you admitted and he nodded, grinning. “I also stole your coat.”
“It looks better on you.”
“I think so too,” you shot back and he chuckled. “We should catch up, it’s been a while, I have a lot to say, a lot to discuss and…”
“We should,” he agreed and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Are you free now?”
“Why?” you asked and he smiled before digging into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a set of keys.
“Care for a drive?”
The ending is a bit ambiguous haha but I like to think it worked out, maybe even one day he went back and told Irene he lived. But for now...picture you and him, driving into the sunset. Also expect more for Ryan and his cast of characters who I adore....a massive Holland March fic is next!!
