Plot summary: Your husbandâs missing, presumed dead, and youâre falling in love with Joel.
Chapter summary: Matt gets discharged from the clinic - home to your house, home to your bed. But the spectre of Joel is ever present and finally you have to tell your husband the truth.
Dr Vee clears him to walk, then to leave, and thereâs never any question of where he'll go â the whole town assumes it, Dylan glows with it, and thereâs no version of events you can construct in which the man doesnât move into the house where his wife and son live.
So, he does.
You carry what little Matt has, which is almost nothing â a borrowed bag of borrowed clothes â and thereâs a small, awful moment in the doorway of your house when he stops on the threshold and just stands there, looking in at the warm lamplit rooms, at the life you've built, at the pegs by the door and the mended quilts and his face quietly comes apart.
âI used to picture this,â he says thickly.
Dylan hugs him, and you stand a little apart with your hand pressed to your mouth and let it be beautiful, because it is. Itâs beautiful, itâs the thing the whole town wants, and what your son has prayed for â what you prayed for, once.
You both help him manoeuvre the stairs, Dylan hesitating slightly when you gently propel Matt past your bedroom and down the corridor towards the small, spare room at the end of the hallway.
âWhy are you going into the spare room?â he asks, his brow furrowed in confusion as you pause in the doorway.
âItâs for my leg,â Matt replies smoothly. âIt means your mom doesnât have to worry about knocking it and I donât have to worry about disturbing her during the night.â
You nod and smile, because you and Matt discussed this point â shortly and significantly â before he was discharged and youâre both in agreement that this is the best way forward for now. That sharing a bed, even if only for sleeping, is an intimacy too far for two people just getting to know one another again.
âOh, okay,â Dylan shrugs, the reason clear and believable for someone his age who canât see beyond the physicality of his father being in his home.
And then heâs living there, in your house and in your life. And you find out, day by day, exactly how hard itâs going to be.
Itâs different than it was in the QZ in a way thatâs difficult to rationalise given you lived together for so long. Itâs a second person in the kitchen in the morning, moving through the space you've made your own, opening the wrong drawers, not knowing where things live or which floorboard creaks or that you like the window cracked even in the cold.
Someone looking at and weighing up the decisions youâve made because you thought you were going to be the only one who had to make them.
Itâs learning a person all over again â because Mattâs right, youâre strangers now, two years and a whole grief between the people you'd been â and learning him in the very rooms where you've become someone else, someone who belongs to a different man's quiet.
Heâs good about it and thatâs almost the worst part. Heâs patient and careful and kind, exactly as he promised in the clinic, and the sheer decency of it winds the guilt tighter and tighter in you until you can hardly breathe around it. Because how do you resent a man for being good? How do you grieve another man in the house of a husband who does everything right?
Meanwhile, Joel keeps his distance.
He does it well â so well that you donât think anyone notices, because thereâs nothing to notice, just a man being a little less around than he used to be, and everyone has a reason ready to hand if they think about it at all.
But you notice. You notice the way he becomes scarce at the places you used to overlap. You notice that when the whole town gathers â and they gather often, this close to Christmas, the festival ramping up, the communal dinners, the decorating of the hall â Joel will be there and then somehow not be there, will put in his time and slip out before the part of the evening where people get warm and loose and linger.
He doesnât come to your porch with coffee or visit you in the shop during the limited hours you work whilst Matt gets acclimated. On the one occasion the two of you end up in the same area â the back of the store where they sell paper and pencils â he goes very still and then very courteous, simply nodding and stepping back to let you pass. And that goes into you like a knife because itâs armour. Itâs him building a wall out of politeness so neither of you will do something you canât take back in front of Mary whoâs working that day.
Like fuck against a wall.
Or say I love you.
The maintenance of the distance extends to Matt too. You watch Joel literally side-step so that they donât come face to face, donât make eye contact, donât breathe the same air for more than a few seconds. And yet you know that if they were to come into contact, Joel would be kind to Matt, because thatâs who he is. Heâs the kind of man who steps back and lets a person have what he thinks they need even if they canât say it themselves and that makes you love him so much you feel sick.
You think about him constantly and you hate to say how constantly.
You'll be in the middle of mending something in your shop and you'll think about Joel's hands.
You'll be at your own table with Matt and Dylan, the three of you laughing at something, a real laugh, a good moment, and some part of you will be around the corner in a lamplit kitchen.
You lie next to the wall of the guest room where Matt sleeps and think about the wall of Joel's house, the one youâve pressed your hand against whilst he moves behind you, and you have to press your face into the pillow.
Itâs hell â and you see no way out of it â even though itâs been of your own doing.
****
Two weeks after Matt moves in, Gail ambushes you in the street, taking hold of your arm firmly and hissing in your ear, âMy place, this afternoon, four oâclock.â
âGail, IâŚâ
âFour o'clock. Iâm not kidding and if you donât show up, Iâll come to you and think how embarrassing that could be.â
Then she smiles at you in that way that means sheâs serious, as well as slightly unhinged, and all you can do is nod, even though every part of you is dreading sitting opposite her because you have a feeling you know what sheâs going to say.
âTherapy?â Matt says when you tell him over lunch.
âYeah,â you nod, looking down at your plate. âI started it to help me, you know, make sense of things and deal with some of Dylanâs behaviours and, well, I guess nowâŚnow itâs probably important to keep going given how things have changed andâŚâ
âHey,â he says, his hand coming to rest over yours in a way that both warms and chills you. âYou donât have to justify it to me. Hell, I reckon we all need therapy. Pretty sure I could definitely use some.â
âI can ask her, if you like.â
He hesitates, then nods. âSureâŚyou can ask her.â
Neither of you say any more about it, but just before four you slip away from the house, leaving him reading in the chair by the fire, and make your way down the street to Gailâs house, stomach churning. Unlike every other occasion, sheâs waiting for you at the window, opening the door before you can even knock, every professional pretence absent from her face.
âHoly fuck,â she says when you sit down on the couch. âHoly, holy fuck.â
âIs that a professional opinion?â
âItâs the fucking truth is what it is. I meanâŚback from the dead like you would never have expected.â She sits back and shakes her head. âAnd what have I been telling you all these months?â
âThat Iâm a widow. That Iâm entitled to move on.â You shake your head. âForgive me if I feel a slight perverted pleasure at having proved you wrong.â
Gail doesnât say anything for a long moment. She just stares at you, blinking slowly, until you start to wonder if sheâs having some kind of catatonic episode.
âWho says I was wrong?â she says finally.
âI do. My husbandâs alive. After two years, heâs alive and heâs come home to us and now IâŚâ you take a breath. âNow I have to decide what to do.â
âYou made a decision when you started fucking Joel.â
A shiver runs through you. âBut that was then and this is now andâŚâ
âAnd nothingâs changed.â
âGail, come onâŚâ you sigh heavily. âMy husband is aliveâŚâ
âAnd youâve moved on because you thought he was dead.â She shrugs. âHim being alive doesnât change the fact that youâve slept with Joel or that youâre in love with Joel or that you were planning on building a life with JoelâŚâ
âStopâŚâ
âNo, I wonât stop.â She leans forwards again. âBecause the second I heard Matt was alive, I knew this is exactly what youâd do â sacrifice yourself for other people. For Matt, for DylanâŚâ
âBut surely Matt deserves to get his family back. He didnât do anything wrong and heâs spent the last two years hoping that one day, heâd find us again. How can I turn around and tell him that everything heâs been through doesnât matter because Iâve moved on with someone else?â
âHow can you not?â
The four words land in a way that you donât expect, stopping whatever was about to come out of your mouth in its tracks.
âHow can you look at him, day in and day out, and pretend that nothingâs changed for you? How can you touch him, kiss him, fuck himâŚâ
âI havenâtâŚwe havenâtâŚâ
ââŚknowing all the time that youâre thinking about someone else? How can you spend the next however many years the pair of you get in this life pretending that heâs the man you want?â
You swallow hard. âWhat if he is the man that I want?â
âIs he?â
âI mean IâŚin timeâŚonce things get back to normalâŚâ
âNormal?â Gail snorts. âListen to yourself. This is not the Kansas City QZ where youâre struggling every day to keep on the right side of FEDRA. This is not the road from there to here where youâre struggling to stay alive. This is Jackson â one of the safest places left in this world. You have a nice life, you have a nice job, you have nice friends, a community, a futureâŚyouâve lived this life without Matt, and you think him coming into what youâve built is things going back to normal?â
She shakes her head.
âThere is no Jackson normal with Matt in it.â
âNot right now, maybe, but we can build it, shape itâŚâ you clasp your hands together in your lap. âWe used to talk about what it would look like to be here together. We had a vision and a plan andâŚâ
âAnd that all went out of the window the minute you and Dylan arrived here without him. And it went out of the window and beat itself to death when you finally accepted Matt was gone and allowed yourself to fall in love with Joel â and what about him? Have you even spoken to him?â
You pause and then decide that, given that Gail is probably the only person in town who knows almost everything about you, you should be honest.
âI went to him that night â the night Matt came home. I told him I didnât know what to do and he told me to follow my heart and then weâŚwe had sex.â
âGood sex?â
âIncredible,â you reply without hesitation, even though heat climbs into your face. âI mean, it was fast and desperate becauseâŚâ
âYou were saying goodbye?â
âNo.â Tears mist your vision. âI told him that we werenât saying goodbye. I told him that it wasnât over, that I couldnât just make a decision and he agreed with that.â
You take a ragged breath.
âI love Joel, I do. But now itâs been weeks and I've got Matt in my house, in the guest room, being a saint about everything, and Dylanâs happier than I've seen him, and I'm supposed to be happy too. Everyone thinks I'm happy. Everyone thinks Iâm lucky and I lie awake every single night thinking about a man who lives round the corner and won't even look at me anymore because he loves me and wants to do the right thing."
Gail nods slowly. "What does it feel like when you lie awake?"
"Like I'm being torn in half,â you say flatly. "Because both things are true. That's what nobody understandsâŚwhat I can't say to anybody. Both things are true at the same time. I'm so glad Matt's alive because the thought of him being killed wasâŚhorrific. And when I see him and Dylan together my heart justâŚit breaks open because my son has his father. That's real. And I loved Matt once, I did, and there's a part of me that stillâŚmy body still knows him. It's not gone, it's just old, it's from another life."
You press your hands against your eyes.
"And I love Joel now, the way you love the person you were about to build the rest of your life with. And I can't have both, and I can't choose, and every day I don't choose I'm lying to one of them, probably both of them and definitely to myself."
"You keep saying you can't choose," Gail says. "But youâve been choosing. You chose to let Matt move in. You chose the family. You've been choosing it steadily since the day he came back.â
"Because it's the right thing to do."
âFor who?â She spreads her hands. âFor Matt and Dylan? Is it the right thing for them to believe that youâre happy? That youâre all in? That you want to rebuild the family you lost? Is it the right thing for Joel to watch you do it? Most importantlyâŚis it the right thing for you?â
âIâŚâ
âI told you before that you need something of your own. And if thatâs Joel, then living this lie â because, deep down, you know thatâs what it is â is hurting everyone and helping no-one.â
She sits back again, eyes on your face and lets you cry because you donât know what to say. Then, when the timer rings, she gives you an uncharacteristic hug and sends you on your way with the promise youâll return the following week on pain of death.
And you stand out in her front yard with the tears freezing on your cold cheeks feeling yourself split even further open.
****
The days pile up, and the town goes full into its Christmas, everyone half-mad with anticipation, Dylan and Ellie roped into a dozen preparations. Matt throws himself into all of it with the wonder of a man who hasn't seen a holiday in years, hasn't seen anyone celebrate anything, and watching him marvel at it, watching him string popcorn with your son and laugh, you feel the family knitting itself together around you whether you will it or not, feel the world's own weight pulling you back into the shape everyone expects.
Two days before Christmas, Matt moves out of the spare room.
His leg has improved dramatically, and it happens the way these things happen, slow and mutual, a night thatâs warm and easy with wine that you traded for, Dylan out with Ellie and some of the other kids, the house quiet with just the two of you. Thereâs a moment in the kitchen where Matt looks at you and you look at him and, the question hangs there, waiting to be answered. And you answer it, because he's been so patient, because heâs your husband and maybe if you justâŚmaybe if you let your body remember, the rest will follow, and maybe you can feel your way back into it.
You let him into your bed and itâsâŚfine â more than fine. Itâs familiar in a way that surprises you, steadies you and breaks your heart all at once. Your bodies know each other from a lifetime spent together. Even after everything, even two years and another man later, thereâs a muscle-memory to it, a way you fit. And itâs gentle and warm and there are moments in it where you close your eyes and itâs almost, almost, the thing itâs supposed to be.
Heâs tender with you, like always. He holds you like something he's grieved and dug back up living, and he says your name against your skin the way he did in the yard, and it should be enough, it should be everything.
But you canât close the gap. Thatâs the truth of it, and you know it even as itâs happening, even as you move with him and make the right sounds and let your body do the thing bodies do. Thereâs a place in it where you arenât, a distance you canât cross, and it isnât about performance, itâs somewhere further in than that.
Itâs that when you close your eyes, the hands arenât the hands your body has learned last. Itâs that the rhythm is familiar but itâs the familiar of a song from years ago, not the one that lives in you now.
Itâs that you've become someone else's, and you canât un-become it just by willing your body through the old motions. Somewhere underneath the warmth and the tenderness and the almost there is a hollow, a missing, a place where Joel should be and isnât.
And Matt feels it â you know he does. Heâs too perceptive not to and afterward, when you lie tangled and quiet in the lamplight, his heart slowing under your ear, his spend drying on your stomach, you feel him not sleeping the way you arenât sleeping, feel the careful stillness of a man working up to something.
"Hey," he says finally, his hand moving slowly on your bare shoulder. "Can I ask you something? And you don't have toâŚI justâŚI need to ask it, and I need you to be honest with me.â
Your whole body goes still against him. "Okay."
"That was good," he says. "That wasâŚI've dreamed about that for two years, held on to that last night we had in the QZ together through everything. And I want you to know I'm not complaining, I'm not, I'm grateful. I'm grateful for every second of the last few weeks, this house, Dylan, you letting me in slowly like you have. I know it's been hard.â
He pauses.
"But just nowâŚand, if I'm honest, a lot of the last few weeks, Iâve felt there was something. Something in you that's not here, thatâsâŚsomewhere else. I can feel it and I could feel it just now, even, right in the middle ofâŚ"
He lets out a breath.
"I keep telling myself it's the adjustment. Two years, the grief, the strangeness, of course it's not going to snap right back, we talked about that. But it's also not going away. It's not the kind of thing that's healing over. It feels likeâŚlike there's a room in you with the door shut. And I keep walking the house and finding that one door shut."
You canât breathe. Your eyes fill and spill silently into the dark, into the warmth of his chest, and you donât trust yourself to make a sound.
"So, I have to ask you," he says, his voice quiet and steady, the voice of a man bracing for the blow he's already half-felt coming. "And I need the true answer, not the kind one. Is there someone else?"
You suddenly understand that this is the door Joel told you not to walk through on the worst night of everyone's life, the door you've folded the truth up small to avoid in the clinic, the door Gailâs been pushing you towards. The door thatâs been standing there the whole time waiting for someone honest enough to open it and that Matt, God help you, is the one who's opened it, gently, in his own bed.
And you also suddenly realise that you canât lie. Not to a man who's survived two years on the picture of you and come home asking only that you be straight with him. Whatever else you owe the tangled situation, you owe Matt the truth to his face when he asks you for it plain in the dark.
You lift your head and make yourself look at him in the low light and feel the whole careful architecture of the last weeks come down around you all at once.
"There's something I have to tell you,â you say finally, voice breaking over the words. âAnd I've beenâŚI've been such a coward about it, and you deserve so much better than a coward, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
You draw a shaking breath, the tears running freely now, and he reaches out and cups your face with one hand, wiping them away, which somehow makes it worse.
"Yes, there's someone. There was someone, before we found you. I need to tell you all of it, everything, and it's going to hurt you, and I hate that, I hate it more than I can say. But you asked me to be honest, and I want to be honest with you because you deserve that from me.â
He nods and swallows. âBefore you say anythingâŚdoes Dylan know?â
âNo,â you shake your head. âHe doesnât know anything, I swear, IâŚhe doesnât know.â
âOkay,â he says again, then he meets your gaze and doesnât look away. âIs it Joel?â
You hesitate at that moment, mouth open, lips parted, and you know that all you have to say is yes, but somehow you canât. Somehow the word wonât come â and its not coming is all the validation Matt needs.
He nods again slowly. âIâve seen the way he looks at you, orâŚtries not to look at you.â
âTheâŚâ
âIâm a man, honey â a man who loves and desires you. You think I canât tell when another man wants the same thing I do? Wants what I have? He hasnât said anything, Iâll give him that butâŚâ
âMattâŚâ
âItâs okay,â he exhales raggedly. âItâs okay, Iâm not mad or anything. I just want you to tell me. Tell me all of it â right from the beginning.â
You pause and take a breath, because you donât know if you can be dispassionate about it, donât know if you can tell him about Joel without giving away how you feel about Joel. And yet you also know that Gailâs right. That the lie hurts everyone and helps no-one.
â°A/N: I didnât think I would add on to the original oneshot, but here we are. (Like I said, anything to get out of doing my stats work) Thank you @photo1030 for giving me drive to write more on this story :)
Arthur pic is mine :)
â° Summary: You invite your estranged husband into your home and have the conversation that shouldâve happened years ago.
â° Tags: Major character death, Arthur Morgan x female reader, angst, small comfort as a treat, ambiguous honor level until end, high honor ending, Arthur Morgan has TB, no smut, unhealthy relationship
You helped him to his feet. His hands in yours, holding on like you were an angel sent just for him.
Guiding him inside your home. Your little pocket in the world. Your space, your sanctuary.
You were unsure what broke you, but you couldnât turn him away now. You would always wonder for the rest of your life what would happen otherwise.
âSit.â You muttered as he walked with you to the couch.
He obliged, catching his breath. Blood on his lips.
Retreating to your kitchen, you found a cloth he could hold on to while he was here.
Handing it to him gingerly, you watched Arthur collect himself.
ââŚThank you.â He muttered. For what, you didnât know.
A nod as you moved to sit across from him.
His eyes wandered the small interior of your home. The fireplace, the kitchenette, the portraits hanging on the wall, the gorgeous flowers from your garden resting in vases, every little detail that gave your house personality. All of it traced back to you and your love for it all.
Everything was clean, well-kept, and well loved. Even down to how you stitched up the rips in your couch cushions was done with care and skill.
He loved that about you. How much you cared about things, no matter how small.
His eyes found you again, taking in your expression and how you held yourself.
Always so proud. So sure of what you were doing. Your expression gave nothing away, but he saw the idling in your hands.
The overhanging questions were loud in both of your heads.
So, he began first.
ââŚWhy did you leave, sweetheart?â
You knew it was coming. How many times have you rehearsed this conversation in your head?
Because I donât want you.
Because I wanted better.
I had to leave for my sanity.
Would you have stayed if you were in my shoes?
So many justifications and explanations left your lips in practice, but it felt like none of them held water in his judgment.
ââŚI didnât know what else to do. I couldnât stay,âI-I wouldnât. I know I didnât deserveââ
âMe?â
âShut up and let me speak, please, Arthur,â You huffed. âJust this once. You know I hate when you do that.â
He closed his lips and sighed.
âIâm sorryâŚYou were saying?â He folded his hands in his lap, fidgeting with the bloodied cloth.
You began again.
ââŚI didnât deserve being treated like that. I know that now. Being left alone for days, weeks, months without end and sometime without any notice, wondering if you were even alive or dead until you came backâŚand then arguing about every little thing in the worldâŚI couldnât do it anymoreâŚno matter how much I love you and wanted things to be different...â
He wanted to defend himself. Preach again about his obligations. The people who depend on him, his loyalty, and everything you said to him the night you left.
Your continuation stopped him.
ââŚWe ended things horribly. IâŚoften regret what I said to you. I donâtâŚhate you, Arthur. I canât. I donât want to, and I certainlyâŚâ
You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly feeling like closing.
ââŚdonât wish death on you.â
A budding thought began in your mind, that his illness came from your words to him that night. That somehow, you cursed him in your anger.
He avoided your gaze, something he usually did when confronted with emotions. You saw his eyes were glossier than moments ago.
ââŚThank you.â He tried to cover the voice crack at the end with a cough.
ââŚI never meant to push you away. Make you think IâŚshoved you aside.â
ââŚYou kind of did, Arthur.â
He exhaled a long sigh, hand reaching back to rest on his neck.
ââŚYeah. But I swear, I never meant to. There was a reason I did what I did.â
A flicker of frustration lit in your chest. It sounded like he was going to try and justify himself again, like the whole conversation you just had meant nothing.
ââŚI understand your commitment to Dutch and everyone, I just wish IâŚgot some of your time too. More than just obligatory visits.â The bite began to chew its way back into your tone, something he picked up on quickly.
âI donât know what you mean with âobligatory visitsâ, but you know I always came home when I could and had the time.â
ââŚCouldnât make any more time?â
âWellâŚno. They need meââ
The scrape of the couch against the wood floors surprised him for a moment as you abruptly stood and threw up your arms.
âItâs like you werenât even fucking listening to me,â you hissed.
âDonâtââHe followed, lunging to catch your arm before you strayed too far.
He caught your hand as you spun around and swung at him again, stuck in another stalemate.
His grip was binding, but not rough as you struggled against him. Trying to writhe yourself free. But dealing with people struggling against him his whole life gave him the upper hand.
âEnough, woman! Stop.â
âFuck you!â
Pushing him off to strike again, but he caught both your hands just in time and tugged you closer.
âListen to me,â He gritted.
You managed to free your wrists again, but he was quick to adjust his grip in a matter of moments.
Enraged, the outburst began.
âI needed you!â You cried out, startling him just enough to slip from his grip. Taking a gasping breath, you grasped his arms tightly.
âDoesnât that matter?? Didnât I matter? Didnât you care?!â
His hands held your face with love, but his grip was strong. He shook as he spoke.
âI care,â
Offended at the very thought otherwise.
âHow could you even ask thatâŚ?â
His thumb gently wiped a stray tear from your cheek.
ââŚMy wifeâŚyouâre my wife. Why would I marry you if I didnât care about you..? Iââ
âThat means nothing to me now.â You shook your head and pried his hands from your face. Trying to stop the pained look on his face from burning into your memory.
âI was never your first priority. You never cared enough to say âNoâ to Dutch, but always to me.â
âBaby, Iââ
âI know! You had to live by your code and your godforsaken loyalty! I know!â You exclaimed. âEvery time I come to you with real hurt, that was always your answer!â
âItâs the truth.â He stood his ground.
âDoesnât mean I have to accept it.â
âYou are acting like a child.â He replied.
âUgh! Just go, Arthur. Clearly we canât talk about anything. This was pointless.â
âNo. Weâre talking about this, you are not shutting me out.â
âEvery time we do talk, it turns into this.â You motioned between the two of you. âIt only gets worse!â
âThen weâll try something else.â
The conversation died as he stepped closer and took you in his arms. Snaking around your torso and pulling you to him. His hand found the back of your head, his fingers threaded through your hair, holding your ear to his beating heart.
ââŚJustâŚbreathe with me. Alright?â
Reflexively, you tensed. Unsure of what to do, or if you even wanted this.
You wanted to keep talking.
Keep driving home your point, trying to get him to see it.
To convince him to see the faults in his actions.
Instead, your mind zeroed in on how his body was behaving.
With him holding you so close, you could perfectly hear his heart and lungs. The thumping of his beating heart, the feeling of the rise and fall of his chest against your ear.
You could audibly hear his body struggling to keep him alive.
The rasp in his breath, the exertion in his lungs, sounding like they were minutes from collapse.
You knew he was only trying to help, but hearing the turmoil in his lungs was too much. The strength it took for him to take just a single breathâŚ
Finally, you gave in and hugged him back. Nails digging into his skin, trying to hide your tears in his shirt.
ââŚOh, my god, ArthurâŚâ You wept. Grip tightening on the back of his shirt. âI donât want you to die.â
He fought hard to stop his own tears. He hasnât cried since the night you left, but this was a breaking point for him.
He was only trying to make you feel better.
ââŚI donât want to die either.â He confessed.
He buried his face in your hair as your sobs continued, swallowing back his own.
âI donât want you to die thinking I hated youâŚOr that I didnât want anything to do with you anymore,â you whimpered.
âI know you donât, baby. I know. I never wanted you to think I didnât care about you. NeverâŚâ
âI knew you did, I justâŚâ
âListen to me. I need you to know this,â He began.
âEvery single score I had since we were married, I saved some for you. For us. Kept it tucked away so nobody would steal itâŚso we could live good one day, just you and me. Away from all this. You could live goodâŚThe way you deserved.â
He never mentioned this before. You had no ideaâŚ
He took a breath and held your eyes.
ââŚI wouldnât have done that if I didnât care, right?â
You nodded, his hand cupping your cheek with the utmost care. Unshed tears glittered in his eyes, reflecting the bloodshot color.
âThats my girl. Donât ever think I stopped caring, alright?â
You nodded again, drooping your head against his chest again.
His hand came up to cradle you there, holding and resting in the quiet moment.
His heart was still thumping, unchanging from moments prior. The pulsing quickly became a comfort, keeping you in the reality where he was still here. Still alive and still with you.
An idea crossed your mind. Fleeting, stupid, but worth a shot.
You carefully lifted your head to meet his again.
âPleaseâŚArthur. Stay with me.â You begged.
Your hands slid to his collar, gripping the open cloth.
âPleaseâŚcome home. Just this once.â
He wanted to close the distance so bad.
Say yes and stay with you. Be the husband you deserved while he still could.
His will waived, but he couldnât do it.
Canât subject you to this life again, no matter how short itâll be.
ââŚIâm still wanted, sweetheartâ, He whispered. âItâs worse than before.â
His hands found their rightful place on your waist.
Your eyes dropped to his lips.
âThe people cominâ after me, theyâre killers. I canâtââ
Silenced as you met his mouth with yours.
The world went quiet for a moment.
For just a second, you were together again. The routine of kissing him when he came home returned, and for just a moment, he forgot.
He deepened the kiss with renewed intensity. Your hands rising to hold his cheeks.
Keep him here.
Keep him with you.
It began slow. His grip on your waist never faltered, only strengthened in hold as he found his way home again in your warmth.
He nipped your bottom lip in question, asking for entry.
A gasp escaped your throat and the flood began.
Memories he tried to bury, all the times in your shared bed. The old house, the old sheets, the old blankets, how he used to make you cry out for him.
The pretty soundsâŚ
The red nail marks down his backâŚ
The fire low in his gut as it all came to a climaxâŚ
He could have it again.
But as soon as the thought came, it left with the urgency of realization.
He gripped your arms. Hard. And pulled you back.
Fear in his eyes. Utter horror and disbelief.
âWhy would you do that?â
You couldnât hear him.
âWhy would you do that??â
He shook you with fervor.
You felt such whiplash.
âDo you understand what you just did, woman??â He roared.
You swallowed.
You didnât know.
âWhat are youââ
He shoved you off. Hands covering his face as he began to pace your living room.
âI donât understand,â you began.
âIt spread.â He spoke so quickly, you almost misheard him.
âWhat is?â
âTuberculosis, you goddamn-â He bit back his outburst with a growl.
A shuttering revelation. A chill up your spine, followed by stomach-dropping fear.
âItâs spread by saliva, woman.â His hands dragged down his face, looking at you again with something you couldnât name.
Your thoughts raced like wildfire.
You canât take it back.
Its done.
Youâve damned yourself to the same fate as him.
All because you wanted his love.
ââŚI didnât know.â You trembled.
How could you? What prior knowledge could you have possibly had about this disease?
âWell, we canât do shit about it now. Itâs already in you.â It was unclear if the frustration in his tone was for you or him.
He couldnât even imagine it. The mere thought of you wilting like he was, hacking up a lung and slowly fading into death. Losing your strength so quickly. The pain, the tormentâŚit was too much.
He wanted a drink. To kill something. Anything to relieve the growing guilt in his chest and to hide from the way you looked at him.
You wanted to die on the spot. This was it. Youâve just signed your life away, condemned yourself to an untimely death, and he was the one freaking out.
Your heart beat rapidly in your chest.
ââŚArthur, what do I do?â The panic in your voice was palpable.
âGo see a doctor. Now.â
âCome with me.â
âAbsolutely not.â
Your already racing heart dropped straight into hell. He wouldnâtâŚ
ââŚDonât you dare leave like this. Not now. I need you.â
Not when you needed him the most.
âAll Iâve done is ruin you. Mess up you and your life. You were right to leave me, now get going.â
âYou donât get to run away again! Itâs all you do when things get tough.â
âYouâre one to talk.â He sounded so resigned.
âDonât speak to me like that!â
âEnough, for christâs sake!â He yelled. Silencing you with a rough hold on your shoulders.
He turned as the coughing returned, wracking his body and making him bend. He swallowed back the mucus to keep it off your floors.
âIâm not leaving. Not yet. Iâll give you enough cash to get a treatment, get your favorite foods and maybe even live somewhere warmer. Itâs easier to manage in hot weather.â
âBut youâre not coming with me.â
He paused, catching a breath.
ââŚI canât watch you die.â
âOh, but I have to watch you do it instead??â
âI canât do this with you anymore.â He exhaled in utter surrender.
From his satchel, he pulled out the money he mentioned. More than reasonable. Tossed it to the table and nodded in goodbye.
âArthur...â You began, feeling your heart rip in half.
Donât you dare leave me like this.
He moved to the front door.
âArthur.â Your voice raised.
You canât do this to me.
âI love you.â He called behind him.
Opened it the door,
âArthur!â You yelled.
And he left. Just like that. Gone as soon as he came. The wood shutting behind him.
Your hand slammed against the door.
âYou son of a bitch!â You screamed out.
Tears welled in your eyes and overflowed as his footsteps disappeared.
Years worth of memories, pain, longing and the finality if it all, overflowed like a broken damn as your legs gave out beneath you. Gripping the doorknob to try and stay up was futile.
Sinking down to the cold, wooden floor as he mounted his horse and left.
Just like always.
He never changed.
He never will.
You wanted to curse him. Kill him. Hold him. Tie him to a chair to keep him here.
But you didnât move. Couldnât.
The dawning realization that you kissed him, and for just a few wonderful seconds, you got to feel it again. His passion and desire to show you how much he missed you was a flicker of happiness in a crashing world.
You were going to get it now too.
The sickness.
Youâve damned yourself to dying alone, coughing and spitting up your own lungs without him beside you.
Withering away until your lungs finally give out. Just like him.
You donât remember how long you were stuck on the ground. Choking on residual tears and his final words.
To you. His wife. His heart, and his world now destroyed.
You spent so long preparing for it. Arranged your will, where you wanted to be buried and even the funeral location.
But nothing happened.
Days, weeks, months, even up to one year since he left, you waited every day for it.
Nothing.
Maybe it was a cruel twist of fate.
You visited the Valentine doctor like clockwork. Checking your health constantly, but he always told you the same thing. You were perfectly healthy.
âŚYou got the dormant strain.
It wasnât fair.
He shouldâve had it.
Maybe he did, and it somehow decided to active.
You donât know. Itâs not like you could ask him.
You saw the headline in the paper. Grieved. Screamed. Cried until your eyes were as red as his were.
So blurry, so full of love.
You got lucky and received a letter from a Mr. Charles Smith who told you where he was buried. It seems Arthur told at least someone about you.
You made the trip as soon as you finished reading.
All the way up that godforsaken mountain, just to see him again.
The cruelest part of your mind began to hope that this was just part of a scam. A con. A stupid, long joke. A way to fake his death so he could finally be free and come home to you.
And when you finally reached the top, he would be standing there. Healthy. Strong. Just as you remembered.
But instead, reality met you.
And that wooden headstone.
Carved with love, grief and the celebration of his life.
Flowers adorned the grave. His name etched in the wood, and a saying that stuck with you.
âBlessed Are Those Who Hunger And Thirst For Righteousness.â
It seems in his time left, he became better.
Did better.
Was better.
But not for you.
The realization stung.
If he was here, you undoubtedly wouldâve argued. Bickered, bitched, the whole ordeal.
But for the first time, you were met with calmness to your anger.
The breeze. The sway of nearby trees. Birds. Squirrels. The world moving on.
His silence.
Time blurred while you were up there. It felt like an eternity.
You, staring at the headstone. Watching. Waiting. Hoping.
Your mindâs eye conjured impossible scenarios.
His voice calling you, hidden in the wind.
Finding him behind you with an outstretched hand and the promise of running away.
Bounty hunters, facing you with weapons drawn. Taking you in Arthurâs place.
Van Der Linde himself, here to try and sway you to join the fray.
Arthur, bursting from the ground, undead and rotting. Lunging at youâ
ââŚMrs. Morgan?â
You startled, the low voice pulling you from your thoughts. You expected to be alone with your thoughts here, not with visiting company.
Nobody had called you that in years.
Who could it be? The law? An associate of Arthurâs? Maybe even a loverâŚ
You finally turned to see the man behind you.
You were met with a face youâve never seen before.
A kinder face.
He looked at you with something akin to pity.
âMissâŚ?â
âYes. Iâm sorry. Lost in thought.â You cleared your throat, clasping your hands in front of you.â
âAnd you are, sir?â
âCharles Smith, maâam. Arthur, heâŚtalked about you a lot.â
âDid he?â
Charles nodded.
ââŚYeah. Very often in his final days. One of our last rides together, he asked me to deliver something to you. Iâve been making the ride here since he passed, hoping to run into you.â
Your head tilted. More money, maybe? But you didnât need it. Didnât want it. You wanted him back more than anything.
From Charlesâ pocket, he held out a small wooden box. Crude, made in a rush.
ââŚHe left this for you.â
You already knew what was inside.
You took the box with utmost care. Holding the weight in your hands like it was made of glass.
A heart was carved on the top, complete with an arrow piercing through. Below it, your initials and his together.
A little hard to make out, but you knew.
Inside was exactly as you hoped.
His wedding ring.
The band glinting in the sun like a greeting.
He thought about you.
Even in his final moments.
Your lips pulled back into frown.
âOhâŚâ
Your hands shook as you slipped it on over your thumb. Tracing it with your other finger.
ââŚThank you, Mr. Smith.â
It took years to come to terms with grieving your husband longer than you knew him.
But you managed.
Charles visited you once a month. Checking in, fixing what you couldnât and being a stable presence in the solitude of your home.
You often wondered if Arthur asked him to do it, but maybe Charles was just like that. Thoughtful, considerate,âŚkind in ways Arthur couldnât be.
Who knows?
For now, Arthur ring rested on a chain over your heart. Where he never left, and where heâd always stay.
â° A/N: thank you to the lovely @shapsara for growing this idea with me :) this oneshot never wouldâve seen the light of day if not for them so thank you <3 (Ill also do anything to get out of doing my stats work)
Arthur pic is mine :)
â° Your estranged husband finally decides to show his face and disrupt the life youâve built for yourself in the aftermath of your separation
â° Word count: 3k
â° Tags: Arthur x female reader, low/medium honor, established relationship, mild violence, angst, no comfort, unhealthy relationship, Arthur Morgan has tb, no use of y/n
Three long years of solitude and bitterness to keep the cold away.
36 months of rage.
1,095 days of hate.
26,280 hours of pain
And 1,577,847.6 minutes of longing.
One final argument in a sea of others was your breaking point with Arthur. A final stand without bullets, without fists, but full of words you never thought you could say to your husband. Words he never thought heâd say to you. His heart. His world, and his wife.
But whatâs done is done. That night, you left with a bag of all your things and turned your back on him. On your life together and everything it could have been.
What choice did you have? Arthur married you young and made young promises. A life of happiness and brimming with unconditional love. A promise to put you first and be the husband you deserved.
But now? All these years later? None of it ever happened. Why did you even stay this long?
Time and time again he put the gang before you. How many times had he left abruptly to go with them? Left you for days, weeks and even months without a single word? Left you wondering if he was even alive?
The paperboy down the road was rich every time Arthur went missing. Every day youâd check for the headline you dreaded.
What spouse deserves that?
But now. After everything is said and done, you found your peace. Your own little pocket in the chaotic world. A home you gained from your hard work and dedication to the life you deserved. One he could never give you.
You had a beautiful garden. A well-kept home and the peace of the wilderness. You even had a porch! Complete a swing you put together on your own.
But no matter what you could give yourself, your mind always wondered what couldâve been if he left with you. If you had taken his hand and begged one final time. If he was just a little bit differentâŚ
By now, maybe you couldâve had little ones running around your yard instead of wild animals. You couldâve had a bigger garden, full of his favorite foods too. A more secure roof. Maybe even a bigger house overall.
But no. Life dealt your hand and you had to play. You won. But not the jackpot. But you won nonetheless.
At least, thats what you thought.
Now.
With your rifle trained on the figure in your sights. Who trampled your lilies and stepped onto your yard in the middle of the night, you felt unsure.
Arthur always took care of this. Kept you away from this side of the world as much as he could. One of his successful duties as a husband. What would he do if he was here?
âDonât move.â You spoke out to the intruder. âIâll shoot.â
The figureâs hands raised halfway in surrender. Their frame swaying slightly.
A drunk?
The rifle wavered.
Maybe they were lost.
âSir..?â You called out.
The figure tilted their head like they were trying to remember something. They stepped closer. Through your flowers.
An audible gasp entered their lungs as they neared. Followed by a fit of coughs.
You startled a little. The coughs wracked their whole body and forced them to kneel. Your eyes never left their poor frame. Must be one hell of a sicknessâŚ
You watch as the stranger picked themselves up and stood again. Wobbling still, but a little more stable as their eyes found yours.
They spat something onto the grass.
Tobacco?
As they entered the threshold of your sanctuary, the lamp caught his face. Illuminating the red stain on his chapped lips.
Blood.
He looked like a corpse. Pale, sickly and complete with dark circles under his eyes. His cheeks were sunken in and the light was gone from his eyes.
He looked thin too. Small. Nearly swimming in his clothes. His broad shoulders carried less muscle in his arms than you remembered.
A dead man walking.
You couldâve sworn your heart stopped.
Why here? Why now?
For a moment you forgot you werenât together anymore. You forgot every sharp word, broken promise and the sting of being forgotten in his world.
You nearly dropped your rifle and ran to him before your mind caught up to you.
Do not give in.
ââŚArthur?â
He stared at you like a ghost. Haunting you, even now. His eyes, red-rimmed and blurry, tried their hardest to focus on you.
The alcohol must have been strong tonight for him to forget your face. Your voice. Your mannerisms.
The recognition set in after a few moments. Tense and confused, his back straightened as his gaze darted all over you in disbelief.
He coughed again. ââŚWoman,â the bitterness rising like bile in his throat.
You hated when he called you that.
It felt like he was stripping you of everything else you were. Reducing you to what was stuck between your legs. Shrinking you down to something lesser.
You scoffed and lowered your rifle. âCharming. Real charming.â
âAlways.â He forced out a smile, flashing the red stains in his teeth.
His eyes roamed over your body. Appreciation that you got even more beautiful since you stormed out that night. Filling out in all the best ways.
Your lips wanted to curl into a snarl. âGo home, you drunk. Youâre not welcome here.â
Your tone didnât deter him even a little. He stepped closer onto the first porch step.
âI canât see my wife?â
âYour wife?â You shot back incredulously.
âMy. Wife.â He insisted.
The cheek on this bastard. Coming into your space. Stepping on your flowers, spitting on your grass and calling you his. Your minds eye conjured an impulsive backhand swinging across his face.
He glanced over his shoulder and looked at the property. The thriving plants, the cleanliness, the smell of basil growing nearby in pots. The small house. The paint job. The structure. The closed curtains. Cutting him off from your little world.
âGo away.â An exasperated beg. You turned to leave him.
âHeyââ
The moment you felt the bony grip of his hand on your arm, something came over you.
Maybe it was all the repressed anger finally pouring out. The tears you hid finally demanded to be acknowledged. The rage of a woman disrespected filled your veins with the adrenaline of a trapped doe.
You didnât realize what youâd done until you heard the crack of skin against skin. The smack of your hand meeting his face.
It felt good.
He stumbled back a single step. Unprepared. Bewildered.
Five years ago you never wouldâve done it. Never even imagined.
But he wasnât your husband. He was an intruder.
He took a breath. His eyes bore into yours. He sobered just a little.
ââŚAlright. Iâm sorry.â
âŚThats it?
You expected more. Yelling, a hand across your own face, even a bullet.
Arthur has killed and hurt worse people for way less disrespect.
But nothing came. Just the deafening silence and the weight of your actions.
You swallowed and straightened up.
ââŚIâm sorry too. I donât know what came over me. IâmâŚvery sorry.â
He shrugged.
âI overstepped.â
âBut still, I shouldnât have done it.â
âDonât do that.â He chided. âI deserved it.â
Finally you two agree on something.
ââŚCan we start over?â
âGo ahead.â You replied exasperatedly.
He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet.
âItâs good to see you. Iâm very happy to see you again. I was lookinâ for you. I, uhâŚdidnât stop.â
Part of you didnât believe him. If he looked hard enough, he wouldâve found you hours after you left. You left behind tracks, for goodness sake.
Too exhausted to argue, you simply nodded.
âThatâs nice. Good to know I was missed.â
His eyes narrowed. Like the very thought of you going unnoticed in his life was insanity. Did you really think that little of him?
ââŚâCourse you were. YouâŚYouâre my wife. I married you for a reason.â
You had to swallow back another scoff. An eye roll.
That reason aged out a while ago.
Young love. Young, stupid love. So bright and full of ideas and possibilities. Now dim with reality and actions.
You often wondered what he thought would happen once you wed. He promised you his time, his love and devotion. A life together as a pair. A set.
But as quickly as the promise was made, it seemed to be forgotten.
The day after your wedding, he was called away. Then again. Again, and again.
Dutchâs lapdog. Not yours. Never yours.
Your silence spoke volumes to him.
The familiar bite of his frustration crept into his words.
âNo matter what youâve told yourself, I married you because I love you. I never stopped.â
âOkay, Arthur.â
âWould you stop doing that for Christâs sake?!â He barked.
âTalking??â
âGood lord, shutting me down! You always do that. Shut down or shut me out! Iâve always hated when youââ
âOh, you want to get into hate?â You found your bite again. âIâve hated every moment as your wife! Every day since then, Iâve woken up and wondered what possessed me to say yes to you!! You have given me nothing but a life of misery!â
Your voice raised in a way he hadnât seen in a long time. Not since your last argument. He missed it. You werenât shutting him out.
âYou donât mean that.â
âStop telling me what I mean! I know exactly what Iâm saying!â
He shook his head and you wanted to strangle him.
You hated when he did this. See right through you.
Keep pushing.
âYouâre upsetââ
âNo shit, Arthur!â
âStop! I donât know why youâre acting like this.â
âOh.â
The white-hot, blinding rage that overcame you was intoxicating. Addicting. The spine you grew in his absence rising tall.
âYou sorry excuse of a man. Of course you donât know! Why wouldnât you? All youâve ever done is pay attention to other people! Never me!â
âOh, come on, woman! Enough with that!â
âNo! Youâre going to listen and listen good to what I have to say!â
You stepped closer. Into his space.
His hand shot out and rested on your shoulder. Keeping you away despite the grip.
âThen talk to me. Donât scream.â
âI will scream if I want to!â
He pushed you away. You caught yourself immediately. Your mind imagined what it would be like to rush him like an angry bull.
He blocked that idea by meeting you on the porch. On even ground.
âStop acting like youâre the victim. You left me!â
âWhat else was I supposed to do?!â
Your eyes burned and you felt a weight in your throat.
The deja vu that struck was like a reckoning. How many times have you done this song and dance with him? How many times have you both screamed until your throats were raw?
He was supposed to choose you. He promised he would.
âYou were supposed to stay!â
âSo were you! How many times did I beg you, Arthur?? For even just a second of your time!â
Circles. Talking in circles.
âDonât pull that with me. Talking like I abandoned you.â
âYou left me! Your wife! alone in thatââ
âI came home!â
âNot enough!â
Back on the ring-around.
He looked like he had a response, but got cut off by more coughs. Wracking his whole body. His hand gripping the wooden railing like a vice.
What else could you do but watch. Even on deathâs door, all you two could do was argue.
More blood in the grass.
Part of you wanted to help him, but some part of you stayed put and unmotivated. But the growing realization of his condition made you step forward.
He held his hand out to stop you.
Keep your distance.
Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he rose again to his full height.
The fire in his eyed was gone.
ââŚI never abandoned you,â he breathed. Paused. âI came home. I was there. I showed up.â
You swallowed hard.
ââŚOnly when it was convenient.â A step forward. âWhen you had the time to grace me with your presence instead of justââ
Arthur threw up his hands and turned from you.
âYouâre not even listening to me.â
You scoffed, turning around and taking your rifle with you as your feet moved faster than your mind. Your front door slammed behind you. He wasnât even hearing you out!
You didnât have to do this. Look at him. Talk to him. Tolerate him. Slam the door in his face.
Frustration prickled up your back, infecting your rational mind.
âGoodbye, Arthur. You can go.â
âStop shutting me out, woman!â
Heavy breaths and coughing overcame him again. He couldnât keep going. Couldnât keep yelling.
Choking on his words and the mucus in his throat, he gripped the doorknob to stop himself from falling again.
He could think of a million reasons why his eyes were blurry again.
ââŚIâm sorry, sweetheart,â A ragged breath.
âI canât let the last time I see you end like this. I wont let it. Please open the door.â
His weary head rested against the wood surface. Eyes closed like he was praying.
With your face in your hands and nails digging into your skin, you asked whoever was listening: Why must this happen? What god did you anger to bring this on? Why you? Why him?
How far have you truly fallen?
Why did your life have to end up like this? It was supposed to be better. He was supposed to be better. You were supposed to be better.
You promised each other to do better.
Now heâs coughing up blood and youâre running out of patience.
It canât end like this.
Dragging your hands down your face, you bit the bullet and turned around.
Heâs suffering.
He stepped back when he heard the door rattle. Your eyes met again. A ghost of a smile on his lips.
âThank you.â He found his breath again.
You nodded, arms crossing over your chest to shield your palpitating heart. From nerves, anxiety, you didnât know.
He shifted on his feet. Fingers fidgeting. A deep breath.
ââŚI got sick a few months ago. Doc said TB. Probably wont last âtill fall.â
Tuberculosis. Youâve heard of it. Some poor bastard in Valentine had that disease, but still ran a charity. You remember seeing him whenever youâd run into town for the general store. Always made sure to slip in a few dollars for the cause. Watching slowly as that man debilitate over the span of months.
You wanted to cry.
What were you supposed to say to that? âkarmaâs a bitch?â, âkiss me so we can go togetherâ, âyou canât leave me againâ.
You nodded, feigning strength.
ââŚIâm sorry, Arthur. I really am.â
The awkward tension was palpable with the heavy weight of unsaid words spanning years. What good would they do now?
What good would it do to say you missed him? You wanted him home, here where you can look after him until death. Maybe he can see the leaves turn again if you tried hard enough.
The thoughts left once you finally looked at him. Really looked.
Moments away from collapse and pale as paper.
You werenât a doctor. Nothing close. What could you do for him? Not a damn thing.
Your arms drooped to your sides. ââŚSo youâre dying is what youâre telling me?â
He nodded. Eyes searching yours for something. Anything. Other than your disdain for him. PleaseâŚ
âI wasâŚweâŚcame back to this area a few days ago. Something came up. I was in the saloon and somebody recognized me asâŚwell, your husband. Your neighbor. They told me where you were and IâŚâ
âYou decided to make the trip.â
The bitterness coated your words like oil. So he wasnât looking for you. Another lie. He only found you by sheer fucking luck.
âOf course.â
He was stern. Insistent. Almost truthful.
Desperate.
His gaze looked over you once again. Thoughts racing, memories replaying of better days. Times when youâd run into his arms instead of turning him away.
âI want one more night with you,â He began. Before IâŚâ
âAbsolutely not.â
Your cut off surprised him. He came all this wayâŚ
âBaby, Iââ
âI said no, Arthur. Get going.â
âNo.â
He closed the distance. Hands holding your arms in silent plea.
Your eyes refused to meet his. This had to be a joke. A scam. A stupid con.
ââŚPlease.â
With gentleness you only remembered from your wedding day, he took your hand in both of his and stepped closer.
His wedding band glinted in the light.
âLook at me.â
His hand moved to your cheek, but faltered when your head shook and the floor suddenly looked so interesting.
The part of you that still loved him was screaming. Youâve lost so much time with him already and once again, heâs going to be taken from you. Why let him back in this time?
You will regret this for the rest of your life if you donât.
âPlease,â He begged. His knees protested as he sunk down onto your porch. Hands gripping your skirt like he was trying to hold himself from falling into hell. âPlease, babyâŚâ
Teeth sunk into your bottom lip, curling them back into a frown as you wavered. Eyes burning You looked up and searched the night sky for an answer. A sign. Something.
Sheâs still in her first year at Checkmate and getting partnered with Adrian on a mission seems like a trap - especially since sheâs fighting her crush on him and now they have to play newlyweds with virtually no support from the others. What will they do as nothing seems to ever go right on this mission?Â
Masterlist, Ch 1
Chapter 12: Clear the Air
Thank you @vigilantexreader and @kakyoweenie for the edits!
The manâs hands remained on her side as she looked up at Adrian, her eyes wide and locked on him as he remained focused on the man. She tried to get him to look at her.
âRemove your hands from my wife,â he said, sounding deadly.Â
âAdrian, itâs-â she tried, untangling herself from the man, but his hands remained tight on her.Â
âStop touching my wife,â he said, voice tense and unforgiving. He looked ready to snap, hand itching to hold an undetectable weapon. He may look like a regular guy on vacation in his khaki shorts and linen shirt, but Adrian was never unprepared as far as measures to kill criminals.
âListen, buddy-â the man started, giving her one more squeeze before one of his hands slipped off of her. He held it in front of him, trying to placate Adrian, but it did no good. Adrianâs brow furrowed the moment the man squeezed her and before she could even blink, he reeled back and punched the man square in the jaw.Â
He went down like a sack of potatoes.
She gasped and her hands flew to cover her mouth.Â
âAdrian!â she said, reaching for the incensed man, trying to pull Adrian back as he moved towards the man who was cradling his bloody nose. He ignored her hands trying to tug him away as he glared down at the man.
âYou donât ever touch her again, ever. Do you understand me?â His voice was tight, as if he was fighting the urge to do something worse than punch the man, and even though she hadnât been working with Adrian for more than eight months, she knew he could easily kill him for her, and the look on his face told her he wanted to.
âWhat the fuck man!â he cried. âYou broke my nose!âÂ
âI shouldâve broke your fucking hand,â Adrian spit out. âYou donât touch her, you donât look at her, you donât even fucking think about her. Do you understand me?â
âJesus fucking Christ, yes!â he cried, the man's blue eyes frantic as he avoided looking at her. When Adrian finally looked at her, he was seething.Â
âCome on,â he said firmly, grabbing her hand while she was still in shock to pull her out of the club. It was once he touched her that she snapped out of her daze, looking back at the man on the ground being helped up by someone else.Â
Then she really comprehended what was happening.Â
âAdrian!â she said, ripping her hand out of his grasp, and he looked at her eyes, his were wide and confused.Â
âWhat?â he asked, eyes straining against the light. Clearly trying to understand why she was reacting the way she was.
âThat was a fucking lead and you punched him!â she yelled, eyes flickering around to make sure no one was paying attention to them. âYou werenât doing your job! You were supposed to be at the bar watching my back and when I looked over you were gone! How was I supposed to signal you that I had found someone from the dossier?âÂ
âHim?â he asked, brows furrowed and even though they were no longer anywhere near that man he still tried looking behind her for him. âHeâs not a target.â
âI swear to you, he was familiar! I think he was in the dossier!âÂ
âHeâs not,â he said, firmly. She fought the urge to scream as she moved away from Adrian, making her way towards the elevator. âHe looked nothing like any of the targets!â Adrian cried as she continued stomping away.
âOkay Adrian! I get it! I wasted my time, fucking move on!â she said as he kept pace with her.Â
âI was just trying to protect you,â he said adamantly, keeping on her heels.Â
âOkay!â she said, trying to get him to stop. She could feel her temper rising and she wanted nothing more than to just be away from him.Â
âYour husband-â he started.Â
âAdrian!â she cried, spinning on her heel to face him. âJesus! Iâm not your wife! We have nothing Adrian! Nothing! Do you realize that?â she yelled, she waited a beat before she couldnât stand looking at him anymore and she continued walking away from him. She could hear him keeping pace with her. As annoying as it was, she was glad she could keep yelling at him. âOur first lead this entire week! You might think he wasnât in the dossier, but I do, and you didnât let me do my job! Plus, you punched him, so even if I found him later, he probably wouldnât talk to me at all!â
âHe was touching your ass, sorry for playing the part of your HUSBAND!â he yelled. She pulled at her hair, not understanding why he wasnât listening to her.Â
âAdrian! Are you listening to yourself? Youâre not my husband! This isnât a real honeymoon! We are undercover for our jobs, and I know that to you, your job is all fun and games, but I do care about my job and doing good work. The last thing I need is to lose my job because you donât know how to act during an undercover mission!â He stepped back like she had physically hit him, thereâs something in his expression that makes her feel ill.Â
âRight, thatâs all this is,â he muttered, and something twists in her.Â
âYes, Adrian. This is my job, Iâm trying to do my job. You should fucking try it sometime,â she snapped making her way towards the elevator. He still followed her, a little less close this time, but at least he was silent as they got into the elevator. He remained silent as she hit their floor number and the elevator closed and started moving.
The elevator shook and Adrian gasped next to her, his hand grabbing hers tightly.Â
âWhat was that?âÂ
âAdrian, donât start,â she said, rubbing her eyes with her other hand, not finding it in herself to pull her hand out of his yet. All she wanted was to be back in the room and to lock herself in the bathroom. Anything to get away from him for just five minutes. The elevator shook again and out of the corner of her eye she saw him pull out a knife from god knows where. âJesus Christ, put that away,â she said, hand on his arm as he held it steady and pointed out as he glanced all around the elevator.Â
âItâs a trap,â he hissed.Â
âIt is not, Adrian! None of this is a trap because thereâs no way this is even a fucking mission at this point. Weâre going back with nothing, and youâll be fine because youâre tight with everyone, and Iâm going to lose my fucking job because Iâm a bad agent who canât even handle a simple under cover mission!â she said her voice shrill even to her own ears, quick to swipe away any tears. She knew she was weak but she didnât need Adrian to see it even more.Â
Before he could say anything, the elevator shuttered back to life, jerking the two as Adrian put his knife back wherever he had grabbed it from.
âSee, not a trap,â she grumbled as she released his hand and headed towards the room, her brain still swimming.
The door slammed behind Adrian as she pulled out the dossier, ripping out pages and fighting the urge to scream. She laid everything out on the bed, attempting to take any of it in a new light.Â
âThis makes no fucking sense!â she cried as she took a step back from the dossier she had spread on the bed.Â
âMaybe, weâre missing a page?â Adrian tried, eyebrows tight on his forehead as he looked at the pages with a frown.Â
âWeâre not missing a page, theyâre numbered. Maybe Harcourt left something out? Did she make this instead of Chris?âÂ
âChris didnât say, but Iâd assume Chris, based on some of the misspelling.â Adrian said with a hum. She frowned and took a step back.
âIâm calling Harcourt, I know Chris said to limit contact, but we need something,â she said as she clicked Emiliaâs contact. She answered on the third ring.Â
âHey, lover girl. Howâs your getaway with Vig going?â she said with a teasing tone, and she felt heat creep up her neck, immediately regretting the fact she had her on speaker phone.Â
âListen, Emilia, weâre really stuck here. We think we might be missing a page in the dossier or something. Do you know anything about our main targetâs connection to this place?â she said, practically begging for an answer as Emilia stayed silent on the line. âJust anything we can use. Weâre running out of time.âÂ
âWhat do you mean dossier?â Emilia asked after a beat.
âI know, Chrisâs dossiers are terrible, hence this mess, and you can barely call it a dossier but we are really lost, right now and could use-â
âWhy do you have a dossier? You two are on PTO,â Harcourt said and she froze, looking over at Adrian.
âNo, weâre on a mission. Chris sent us here to bust a drug ring,â she said slowly, the gears in her head starting to turn as she realized what was happening.Â
âIâm telling you now that youâre on PTO, thereâs no mission,â Harcourt repeated back, just as slow as she did, in almost a mocking tone. âNow go enjoy a margarita for me and please keep track of how many times Adrian says something stupid. I have a bet with Ads that heâs going to ruin this before you even give him a real chance.â Harcourt hung up and left her staring at Adrian who looked at her clearly waiting for her reaction.Â
âCall Chris,â she said tensely, and Adrian looked at her with wild eyes as he got his phone out and called Chris. âSpeaker,â she said, and Adrian listened.
âYo, Vig. Whatâs up?â Chris said she could hear video games in the background, she gritted her teeth as she nodded at Adrian to answer him.Â
âHey, Peacemaker! I was uhhh just wondering if you had any information about our target?â Adrian asked, eyes wide and on her. Her eyes were locked on his phone.Â
âTarget? What are you talking about?â Chris asked, and Adrian frowned.Â
âThe mission - the dossier you gave us?â Adrian asked, looking at her.Â
âOh, thatâŚfuck Vig, youâve been taking that seriously? That was just an excuse to get you guys to the resort - I figured you guys wouldâve figured out that it was bullshit immediately. Like on the plane like instantly. I made it all up, just copy and pasted shit from old dossiers.âÂ
âWhy the fuck are we on a fake mission, Chris!â she said, snatching the phone from Adrian.Â
âWhat do you mean why the fuck are you on a fake mission where you guys have to be lovey-dovey? I thought it would finally get you guys fucking started! Do you know how exhausting itâs been watching you two for six months?â Chris said, as if they had truly been inconveniencing the man with their crushes and silent looks.
âThatâs fucking insane!â she cried.Â
âIâm so sorry for trying to help my friend hook up with the girl heâs clearly in love with and the girl who stares at him all day and acts like he hung the stars in the sky!âÂ
âIâm going to hang up now,â she said coolly, not giving Chris a chance to say anything as she kept her gaze locked on Adrian, who looked like he was about to be sick. âAdrian, have you actually liked me this entire time?â she asked gently, and she watched him bite his cheek.Â
âI need you to define âlikedâ and âthis entire timeâ,â he settled on, and she groaned, throwing herself on the plush bed with all the papers covered in lies that had been haunting her this entire fake mission. She was no longer able to even look at Adrian, she was so frustrated. He had put her feelings through the ringer all week, only for her to find out that he had felt the same way. Apparently he had felt this way long enough for Christopher Smith of all people to try to help him out and set them up. Â
âYouâve liked me this whole time? Adrian, Iâve been thinking this is all pretend, and itâs been fucking with my head!â she yelled at him, moving her eyes from the ceiling to not miss his reaction, and she watched him throw his hands up in the air and begin pacing.Â
âI thought it was part of the mission! I didnât want to make you uncomfortable like Iâm some creep! Iâm a feminist! Same thing when weâre at work! Iâm not trying to harass youâŚya know sexually!â he said back, eyes wide and wild.Â
âYou thought me sitting in your lap on an empty beach was part of the mission?â she said, sitting up, as annoyed as she felt she couldnât help but be endeared by Adrianâs clear panic. âWe both knew we werenât going to spot a single target!â
âYeah, a really fucking good part of the mission, I jerked off in the bathroom that night thinking about that!â
âAdrian!âÂ
âWhat! I fucking did! Or should we go back to lying?â he said, his tone wild as he leaned over towards her. She sighed as she watched his chest heave. His face was red, and his eyes were still having a hard time focusing on her. It was then she realized that Adrian was feeling angry or frustrated like she was - but where she was upset that they both had been so blind to the otherâs feelings, he was borderlining a panic attack.Â
âAdrian,â she said softly, standing up so she could wrap him up in her arms. He stayed stiff for a beat, just a second, before he melted against her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tightly against him.Â
âI donât want to go back to lying,â he murmured into the top of her head, and she sighed.Â
âThis is insane,â she said, still not over what Chris had done.Â
âWhen have our friends ever been sane,â he whispered, shaking his head.Â
She sighed, letting herself close her eyes as she tried to digest any of this. It was absolutely insane that Chris would do this to his friend and his coworker, but there was a part of her that was thankful for Chrisâs stupidity and dumbass plans.Â
âRemember the first night?â he asked, suddenly out of the blue. When she tilted her head, confusion over her features Adrian kept going. âWhen you asked me what my number one fear is?â
âYeah?â
âItâs losing you. Well itâs losing everyone, but the more time we spend together, itâs you. The idea that one day, everyone could just be gone? That I could fuck up and lose everyone, especially after how long it took for me to have friends? and you? Whatever you call this where I pine for you and I'm your annoying colleague at worst and work friend at best? I'll take it, as long as I get to have you in my life it's worth it. So losing you terrifies me more than anything,â he said, his face open and vulnerable as his eyes searched her face, almost desperately.Â
âOh, Ade.â she said softly.Â
âIâm serious, youâreâŚyouâre everything to me.âÂ
âYou-â
âFrom the moment you interviewed, I liked you, and I liked you even more when you started putting sour candy on your desk and you were always nice to me and you laugh at my jokes like you mean it and I justâŚI love you.â
âAdrian,â she said, her breath caught in her throat as she searched for any inch of lying on his face, but she couldnât find any.Â
âIs that too insane? Too much?â he said immediately, looking panicked. âIf I had known Chrisâ plan, I wouldâve planned a way better speech and ran it by Ads too to make sure it was good and I didnât say anything stupid. But then again if I knew Chrisâ plan I wouldâve told you immediately because weâve been working when we shouldâve been relaxing. Even if you donât like me back we couldâve just had a normal vacation. God, Iâm so sorry he did this.â
âNoâŚitâs not insane,â she whispered, moving closer to him. A smile broke out on his face as his hands went to her waist, squeezing her gently.Â
âYeah?â
âLove isâŚa lot for right now,â she said, his smile twitching for just a second. âBut I do really like you Adrian. This whole mission has been torture because all I wanted was for all this to be real. For you to look at me and for it to be real and I justâŚâ
âItâs always been real,â he said, voice almost sounding hoarse. âThe way I look about you and think about you. I wasnât acting, if anything Iâve been selfish this whole time.âÂ
âThe way Iâve been with you, itâs been real too,â she said, voice shaking.Â
âI am sorry,â he said, suddenly sounding rueful as she looked at him. Confusion all over her features. âFor not being there when you needed me, I shouldâve been watching and making sure you were safe. I want to do that, not only for missions but outside of all this,â he said, fidgeting with his hands, his face almost looking like he was in pain.Â
âItâs okay,â she whispered, realizing how hard Adrian mustâve taken her words.Â
âItâs not,â he said, voice firm. âBut Iâd like to make it up to you if youâll let me,â he asked, his green eyes never wavering from her eyes. His intensity made her start to well up, this whole time it had been eating her up inside not knowing where she stood with Adrian and to find out that he cared the same for her, if not more, was almost too much.Â
âI think I can find it in me to let you try,â she teased and Adrian let out a huff. âAnd Iâm sorry too, I shouldnât have blown up at you.âÂ
âNah, it was hot and I deserved it,â he said, finally a smile crossing his features as he took a step closer to her.Â
âWell, either way Iâm still sorry,â she whispered as Adrianâs smile grew, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, wiping away a tear.Â
âCan I kiss you? Please can I kiss you?â he begged, and she let out a watery laugh.Â
âYes, Adrian. You can kiss me,â she said and he took no time to cup both her cheeks as he was quick to smash their lips together. As far as first kisses went, it was clunky, awkward, a little too much teeth from Adrian, but she wouldnât change it for the world.Â
Sheâs still in her first year at Checkmate and getting partnered with Adrian on a mission seems like a trap - especially since sheâs fighting her crush on him and now they have to play newlyweds with virtually no support from the others. What will they do as nothing seems to ever go right on this mission?Â
Masterlist, Ch 1
Chapter 11: Dance Hall
Thank you @vigilantexreader and @kakyoweenie for the edits!
It was the best sleep sheâd had the whole trip. She almost hated to admit it. Maybe it was because she was no longer anxious that in her sleep she would wind up making him feel uncomfortable. Turns out the push they needed for good rest was a storm and the pillow divider abandoned on the floor.
Adrianâs weight was familiar as she started to wake up, opening her eyes to look at the window where sun was streaming in. Yesterdayâs storm was long gone. She glanced down and his arm, still slightly sunburned, was stiff around her.
âI can tell youâre awake,â she murmured, voice still sleepy, and Adrian squeezed her tighter.
âNo, Iâm not,â he mumbled, voice considerably more awake than hers as he buried his face in the back of her head. She felt him take a deep breath. âI think today we just do the club, not dinner and the club.â
âWhatâs the thought process?â she asked, finally prying herself out of Adrianâs grip. She stood up and stretched while Adrian groaned from the loss of contact. He flopped over to where she had been laying and looked up at her, his eyes locked on her the whole time.
âWell, we still have tomorrow, right? We should split up the two leads in case we donât find anything today, and then we still have something to do tomorrow,â he said. She frowned.
âSo club tonight, dinner tomorrow, and just hope that between that we get something?â she asked.
âYeah, I think club tonight, too, because if I have to go to a club and then the following day get on an airplane Iâm going to shoot myself,â he said, sounding serious, and she laughed.
âI get it, a dayâs break between them,â she said, shaking her head as she left Adrian in the bed and got out her clothes for the day.
âWell, if weâre only doing the club, you can come back to bed?â he suggested, voice almost hopeful and tinted with a question rather than a statement. God, she wanted nothing more than to take him up on that offer. To get back into bed and maybe this time be a little braver - face him, or lay on top of his chest listening to his heartbeat. Maybe his hand would rub her back and slowly travel lower and lower-
âAdrian, we still should get breakfast and wander around today to see if we find anything,â she cut her own thoughts off, heat rising on her face as she pulled out an outfit that should suffice for the day and the club tonight.
âI guess thatâs a good point,â he mumbled and got out of bed. Holding her clothes, she gave him a good once over. His skin was significantly less pink but the burn still looked uncomfortable.
âHowâs your sunburn?â
âHurts, debating if a cold shower is worth it,â he muttered as he got out of bed and went over to his own suitcase. âWhat do you want to do today besides the club?â
âMaybe we do breakfast at the hotel restaurant instead? See if we can find any of the targets,â she tried. She watched Adrian roll his neck, clearly debating her idea and she had to force herself to look away because all she wanted was to sink her teeth into his neck.
âWhat if we go to the gym instead? Spar and watch people on the treadmills?â he asked.
âI donât think sparring is a good idea when we are undercover. Especially if the reason we might not be finding our targets is because theyâre on to us.â
âYou think someone is on to us?â he asked, sounding like he was in disbelief. She sighed.
âNo, but I just want this to be something other than us being bad at our job,â she said with a frown. Adrian clicked his tongue.
âWe are not bad at our jobs. You are not bad at your job. Iâm telling you, we have to be missing something, okay?â he said firmly. She smiled at him, the look on his face deadly serious.
âOkay,â she said with a nod, and he seemed to accept her response.
âOkay, breakfast at the hotel and then a quick workout? You could just watch me!â Adrian said, waggling his eyebrows up and down as she awkwardly laughed, worried that Adrian suddenly knew exactly what she was thinking about his neck as she grabbed her clothes and made her way into the bathroom. âIâm just saying, weâre on our honeymoon, you should objectify me a little bit.â
She fought the urge to tell him that she had been and he was either too clueless or blind to notice.
âOh, just a little bit?â she said with a laugh. Adrianâs face split into a huge grin.
âI mean, if you want to objectify me a lot you can do that,â he said with a shrug. She rolled her eyes and closed the bathroom door. âOnly if you wanted to though! Iâm not forcing you,â he said through the bathroom door and she started getting dressed for the day.
âI know youâre not,â she shouted through the door. âIâd love to objectify you while you work out at the gym,â she teased. She heard Adrian mutter âscoreâ under his breath, and she almost had the perfect picture of him in her mind doing his âfamous butt danceâ she had seen after too many drinks at a staff outing. She probably spent too much time getting ready for the day they were planning. She normally wouldnât wear club outfits or do her hair so nice if they were just wandering around, but she knew if they were going to make today count they needed to be out of the room as much as possible, so she took her time showering, doing her hair, and doing light and simple makeup. It wasnât her best club look, but it was the best she can do with how much they needed to get done for the day.
True to her promise, shortly after getting ready and enjoying a breakfast that Adrian did not appreciate as much as the buffet (he only told her fifty times, complaining about not being able to get a little of everything, to which she reminded him it was all inclusive and he could just do that), she spent the rest of her morning with a drink in hand as she watched Adrian work out.
She had to immediately assume that he was partially showing off, spending most of the time shirtless and clearly flexing for her. His eyes flickered from the equipment to her, making sure she was actually watching him, almost reminding her of when little kids fight for their parentsâ attention to show them some of the lamest tricks in existence. She felt giddy just watching him and it was clear he felt giddy as she just watched him. Her head was buzzing at the thought that he was doing all of this just for her. She fought back a laugh as he clearly tried showing off his back as he stretched and flexed for her entertainment and tried to watch her, only for someone to run into him and spill a smoothie all over him.
âOh my god,â he said, turning to look at her, torso covered in the pink sticky liquid as he grimaced.
âI think you got a little somethingâŚâ she said smiling as she gestured towards his torso. He frowned and rolled his eyes.
âUgh, Iâm going to be sticky all day now!â he whined, and she laughed.
âGo take a shower and Iâll meet you by the pool okay?â she asked, walking up to Adrian. She laughed as he pouted, she was quick to cup his cheek with one hand and kiss his other cheek. Her thumb rubbing the apple of his cheek as his lips twitched.
âOkay,â he said softly, walking away before swiftly turning on his heel to come back to kiss her cheek. She laughed at his goofiness as she watched him walk off. It was so easy to play up this part with him, but once she was alone she was consumed with the thought that this is all fake. Every touch, every glance, every smile, it was all fake. Just for work and nothing more. The only genuine moment she had was the previous night, when he wrapped himself around her and held her all night long.
The rest of the day passed by normally. The two continued playing up the newlywed bit throughout the day waiting patiently for the club to open. Their eyes on every guest but with no luck of them matching anything on the dossier. Well, she was being patient. Adrian was antsy. It didnât take much puttering around for the time to fly and for them to find themselves in the brightly colored and glowing club. Her simple look from earlier looked severely underdressed, but at least it was better than her other day to day outfits and since Adrian was in a similar boat they looked out of place together.
She grimaced the moment they walked in, her arm looped into Adrianâs as she shuffled in her dress and took in all the people.
Way too many people to even begin looking through.
Adrian seemed to feel her worry as he led them towards the bar, letting her order her own drink while he ordered a nonalcoholic beverage.
âWhy donât you get something? One drink isnât going to kill you,â she teased, leaning against the bar and looking up at him as he smiled.
âJust prefer it, want to keep sharp for you,â he said with a shrug. âYou can have as much as you want though, Iâll watch out for you.â
âThatâs really sweet Ade, but Iâll probably just stick with the one,â she said, thanking the bartender as she handed them their drinks.
âAre you positive Economos knew what he was talking about?â Adrian whispered over his drink, a Shirley temple. His white linen shirt positively glowed under the club lights. She moved to lean against the bar, taking a sip of her drink and taking in all the people.
âI mean, if you were doing sketchy businessâŚâ she started.
âA club is a great place to do it,â Adrian said, nodding, almost sounding like he was reciting a rule book. She had noticed that he carried around a notebook when he was patrolling as Vigilante. She smiled and thought about Adrian pausing his busy night protecting Evergreen to scribble down some notes or a doodle. âWhatâs your preferred game plan on this one?â She sighed and looked around, biting the inside of her cheek while she debated.
âYou think you can keep watch near the bar and Iâll go dance?â she asked, and Adrian looked at her with wide eyes.
âYou want to split up?â
âNo, I just think if Iâm in the middle of the club, Iâd like someone looking out who has an almost full scope of the place.â
âThen I should get in the vents!â
âYouâre not getting in the vents. This is not a spy movie,â she said with a laugh, and Adrian rolled his eyes, but an easy smile rested on his face.
âBut it could be,â Adrian said, shrugging his shoulders as if it was simply that easy.
âYou stay here, watch my back for me?â she said, setting her drink on the bar.
âAlways,â he said, voice tight and focused, almost as if heâs insulted that she felt she had to ask him for anything. She tried to not read too much into it as she began making her way on the dance floor watching the people pass by. Her eyes cataloged people carefully, but no one stuck out to her from any part of the dossier.
It didnât take long for her to lose track of Adrian as he remained at the bar, but she trusted that he had his eye on her, ready to step in if she found herself in any trouble. She turned around to meet the eyes of a man who looked vaguely familiar smiling at her.
Alarm bells started going off in her head; he did just look like some guy, but if he looked somewhat familiar, maybe that meant he was from the dossier, and she was desperate for that to be true.
âHey beautiful,â he said, smile still beaming. âCan I dance with you?â
âOh!â she said, turning towards the direction Adrian went but unable to find him. She cursed herself for asking to split up. Adrian would be able to confirm if he was in the dossier.
âWell?â he asked, eyebrows raised as his blue eyes took in her body. She felt her skin begin to crawl from his look, but she knew better than anyone not to raise a fuss - especially when she had a mission to take care of.
âOf course,â she said, smiling gently. âWhat brings you to Florida?â she asked, cursing her eagerness, but felt lucky he laughed it off.
âIâm on vacation, what about you?â he said, laughing brightly, almost sounding fake and practiced. It almost sounded like Adrianâs laugh, but wrong.
âIâm on my honeymoon!â she said, keeping her voice relaxed and easy.
âWhereâs your husband then? Donât tell me he left a beautiful girl to dance on her own?â he asked, hands suddenly pulling at her waist and tugging her into him as she gasped, hands flying to his chest to steady herself.
âHeâs around here somewhere,â she said vaguely, craning her neck to try to get a look at the bar, but he spun her right around.
âWell, if you were mine I donât think Iâd ever let you out of my sight,â he said, pulling her closer and nibbling at her ear. She shuddered and tried to squirm away, laughing to play it off, but the manâs grip remained tight.
âOh! He was somewhere around the bar, Iâm sure heâs looking for me so I should-â
âHeâs not here, beautiful. You should worry more about whoâs in front of you,â he said, words heavy as her panic began to rise, his hand moving to cup her ass, she gasped as he squeezed. She didnât understand where on earth Adrian couldâve gone off too. He said heâd watch her back, why wasnât he-
âHer husbandâs right here,â Adrianâs voice said behind her, sounding cold.
Sheâs still in her first year at Checkmate and getting partnered with Adrian on a mission seems like a trap - especially since sheâs fighting her crush on him and now they have to play newlyweds with virtually no support from the others. What will they do as nothing seems to ever go right on this mission?Â
Masterlist, Ch 1
Chapter 10: Bed Time
Thank you @vigilantexreader and @kakyoweenie for the edits!
The rest of the day went by slowly as they rotated from watching movies, ordering food, observing the storm, and her personal favorite, when Adrian made her fake spar with him in the middle of the room. It didnât last nearly as long as she hoped, and it was somehow the least erotic thing that had happened between them all week.Â
However, one thing remained constant as their activities changed, and it wasnât till that night fell that it really started to weigh on her. She had watched it with close, careful eyes, waiting for Adrian to do anything, to make any sort of move, but no. The pillow that had been their barrier these last few nights abandoned on the floor, and remained there.
Even after they both got ready for bed.Â
Adrian made no move to grab it, and she couldnât find it in herself to do the responsible thing.Â
Was it even the responsible thing to pick it up? She tried to justify it to herself. Surely if Adrian wanted it back up heâd pick it up. He was a grown adult, and he was never afraid to voice his opinion or complain when he didnât like something. The line had already become too blurry with all their fake marriage and the failed mission.Â
If she was going to go home after fucking up the mission, she was at the very least going to enjoy nursing her tiny crush on the strange man without the eyes of her coworkers on her.
Those were the brave thoughts, which disappeared quickly as they were both in pajamas and staring at the bed. She couldnât even bring herself to look at him as she shifted back and forth before finally deciding to just put the ball fully in his court.Â
She launched herself on her side and turned her nightstand light off while Adrian was still standing. She pulled the comforter over her waist, lying on her side, and watched the window - trying her best to ignore all of Adrianâs little sounds. Especially as they got closer and closer towards her. For a vigilante who frequently stalked people, he sure was loud as he hummed and walked around.Â
She wished she knew the song he was humming, just so sheâd have something to talk to him about, but no one ever really seemed to know what was going on in Adrianâs head.Â
She felt herself tense when he turned the lights fully off and joined her in the bed. Even though she was laying silently on her side, she felt a shift behind her. Despite the dark she could make out that he was still sitting up slightly, watching her through the window. She wished the window showed her a clearer picture, one that she could actually read what he was thinking. All she could make out was the fact his eyes couldnât seem to focus on any one part of her.Â
She remained still as he moved closer, lying down close behind her. She could feel heat radiating off of him. He was closer to where the pillow was than where he had been resting in the nights prior. She sucked in a breath as his hand came to rest on her waist. They were both still wide awake, her whole body feeling electric from his touch.Â
This was completely new from him, unprompted. This wasnât them playing up an act in front of targets; this was small and just for them.Â
It was confusing because Adrian hated gentle touching. He hated human skin. Hell, he had told her just a few days before that he didnât like soft touches, and yet here he was, holding her like she was the most precious person in his world.Â
âIs this okay?â he murmured. She shivered at his mouth being so close to her ear, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up.Â
âYeah, thatâs fine,â she said tensely. At her words, Adrian tugged her slightly back, his other hand snaking underneath her head on the pillow. Adrian sighed as he relaxed against her and her eyes remained wide open. She fought back a giggle as Adrian started tapping her absentmindedly. Feeling brave, she moved her own hand to grab his hand and fully bring it around her. She tangled their fingers together and she told herself it was to avoid him tickling her more.Â
âYour hands are soft,â he murmured, starting to sound sleepy, and she smiled.Â
âAnd yours are clammy,â she teased. His grip loosened, and she tightened hers, not letting him get too far away from her. âI didnât mean it in a bad way, youâre fine.â He hummed and went back to clutching her hand.
âYouâre much nicer to cuddle than Stretch,â he said, and she smiled.Â
âThe beanie baby?â she asked, amused by the idea of Adrianâs 5â11â frame curling around a tiny beanie baby.
âYes! You know Stetch?â he asked, squeezing her against him, making her smile. She felt like she was becoming his own personal fidget toy.Â
âYes, I know Stretch. I mightâve been warned he might join our trip,â she said, and Adrian scoffed.Â
âWho said that Hacourt? Ads? Surely not Economos.âÂ
âChris,â she said, and Adrian gasped.Â
âBetrayed by Chris! He knows I donât take any of my beanie babies on missions! I donât even take them out of my Vigilante basement!â Adrian defended, and she laughed hard, curling into herself. Adrian laughed and continued to hold her tightly as if this was a normal thing they did.Â
âHe just let me know in passing, I donât think it was to make fun of you or anything,â she said, and he sighed. âBesides, you should know by now Adrian, that Iâm never going to judge you,â she could feel him get fidgety behind her.
âIs this weird?â he asked suddenly, and she craned her neck, trying to turn to see him, but he kept her in place so she relented and turned back towards the window. She couldnât see his anymore due to the fact he was practically hiding behind her.
âIs what weird?â she asked.Â
âThis? Me holding you? Is itâŚokay?â he asked, sounding almost scared. âI justâŚwith this whole mission thereâs like no consent at all really for either of us and I just wanted to know what it would be like to hold youâŚif you knowâŚâ he sucked in a quick breath. âWeBothGotToChooseâ he rushed out, and she laughed.Â
âIf what?âÂ
âIf we both got to choose!â he yelled directly in her ear and she flinched. Adrian winced, clearly apologetic.
âOh, wellâŚI donât know if itâs normal,â she answered honestly. âBut I like it.âÂ
âI like it too,â he whispered. âYouâre warm and nice and justâŚreally pretty.âÂ
âOh,â she said, blinking and trying to process what he was saying. âIâŚI think youâre really handsome too,â she whispered, and Adrian laughed.Â
âYou donât have to lie,â he said, being dead serious and she shook her head.Â
âIâm not Adrian. YouâreâŚreally attractive,â she said and when she could feel him tense she found herself starting to ramble. âI mean, Adrian youâre really nice, you always check in on me, you bring me coffee. You were one of the first people at Checkmate who came up to get to know me and you justâŚyouâre a good person.â
âOh,â he said. âI never knew you thought of me like that.â
âI never knew you thought I was really pretty,â she whispered, and silence swallowed them both. The words of a confession are almost there and yet still so far away. Neither of them felt any braver than before.
âYouâre more than just really pretty!â he defended. âI love the way you have the best candy out of everyoneâs candy dish, and how you always check in on me after a mission. You never laugh at me and youâre justâŚyou always make my day better. You have way more value than just a pretty face, I would never ever reduce you to that,â he finished sounding more confident and almost angry near the end.Â
âThank you, Adrian.â she whispered.Â
âI mean it,â he said, squeezing her as if that would make her believe him.Â
âHow are you feeling about the fact weâre more than likely going home from this mission empty handed?â she said after a beat, clearly not wanting to sit any longer with his words weighing down on both of them. She was too nervous, too scared for what would come next.Â
âWeâre not! We still have two nights left!â he said, and she sighed.Â
âAdrian, we have nothing. I mean, what are we going to say to the others at the debrief? Weâre sorry we failed?â she said, unable to hide her snark.Â
âWeâre not going to fail,â Adrian said softly. âYouâre smart and an amazing agent. We still have two whole days left and Economos gave us two leads! Two! Dinner and the club!âÂ
âBut what if thatâs not enough?â she whispered, knowing if she was facing Adrian there would be no way she would be able to voice these worries.Â
âYou know youâre an amazing agent, right?â Adrian asked after a beat, she blinked and turned her head, barely seeing him out of the corner of her eye. He looked nervous as he watched her.Â
âWhat?âÂ
âI just meanâŚmaybe Iâm overstepping, but like youâre just as good of an agent as Harcourt and me and Chris and just everyone at Checkmate. You got the job because youâre qualified and we trust you. If we go back empty handed everyone will understand, I understand. One bad mission is not going to change any of this.âÂ
âWhat if itâs still not enough,â she whispered.Â
âThen itâs not enough and we go back and tell them and if needed, we come back with more support. Fuck we can just tell them itâs my fault, I donât care,â he said simply. âYes it sucks to go home with nothing but even on the most boring of stakeouts you learn something!â
âYeah? What are we learning by fucking up here?â she said with a scoff.Â
âThat Chris is terrible at writing dossiers and shouldnât be in charge of mission info,â he said, and she laughed hard, for a moment leaning away from him. He held her tightly, bending with her as if being apart would be too much. âBut Iâm serious, weâll be fine.âÂ
âI just donât think thatâs going to be enough,â she said.Â
âYes, it is because even if we come back with nothing we learned somewhere someone either lied or we lost some valuable information. Or maybe the person that hired us was trying to trick us or something. Hell, I donât know. Weâll go back, regroup and figure it out. We will be fine, youâre going to be fine,â he pushed, trying to get her to understand.Â
âYeah, I guess,â she said.Â
âWe still need to get everyone souvenirs,â Adrian said, and she let out a laugh. His ability to flip her mood so 360 wasnât lost on her.Â
âWhat? All those Combos werenât enough?â she said with a chuckle, and Adrian scoffed.Â
âNo, I think we should get them something. What do you think? Magnets? Postcards? Pencils?â he asked.Â
âWe can just get a couple of each and let everyone pick what they want?â she tried and Adrian laughed, squeezing her against him. His laugh made her smile, despite the weight of the mission on her, in Adrianâs arms and him laughing it all felt so small and far away.Â
âSee! Youâre so smart. We are going to figure all this out, I promise.â he said, shaking her slightly as if he could shake his belief in her, she fought the urge to hide away, letting Adrian see her smile in the window reflection.Â
She closed her eyes and released a sigh, focusing on the feeling of his arms around her as her smile grew. He did have a special way of easing her mind. Â
âI thought you didnât like soft touching?â she whispered, fighting back sleep more and more at Adrianâs weight and warmth around her.Â
âI donâtâŚitâs just different with you,â he said softly, sounding almost surprised at the feeling. âGet some rest, okay? We have a lot of work tomorrow and I know I canât keep carrying our little duo here,â he joked and she huffedÂ
âYou wish you were on my level,â she murmured, finally succumbing to sleep, but not until Adrianâs last words hit her ears.
The boyfriend act, part 33: "The one with Santi's wedding, part one"
Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader
SERIES MASTERLIST
Buy me a coffee - Ko-fi
Chapter summary: With Santi and Yovâs wedding just around the corner, returning to Austin feels thrilling given all the celebrations ahead, even if it means an imminent reunion with your ex, Frankie. But youâre ready for it. Or, at least, thatâs what you keep telling yourself. wc: 20.4k
A/N: warning, long chapter ahead as a little thank you for waiting as it took me so long to update! Thank you all for patiently waiting for another chapter of my long and boring fic, The Boyfriend Act (đ¤). You guys really do have the patience of saints, huh?? We only have a few chapters left now, and I promise you won't have to wait as long for the next ones; there are truly very few left!! Anyway, enjoy this one and start bracing yourselves for the ending.Â
Your feedback means a lot to me so please let me know your opinions in the comments. Thank you đDon't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!
Tuesday, October 8th
Starting a new journal by writing about returning to Austin feels ironic. Starting a blank book while backtracking definitely is. But as you look out the plane window at the completely clear blue sky, watching the sprawling city stretch out far below your feet, you get the distinct feeling that you are about to land in a different place entirely.
It is your home; the very same walls that said goodbye to you a few months ago will welcome you back within the hour. The same bed, the same spot on your couch, the same mirror that pushed your own reflection back at you. Yet, you donât feel like the same person who used to inhabit that space; or at least, that is the sensation that washes over you with every passing mile.
With your fresh journal in hand, you try not to overthink it.
Lucky for you, a wedding is exactly the kind of bustling event that can keep your mind occupied with other things.
You can't afford to get distracted by work, or by your latest manuscript, which has been giving you a massive headache these past few days. Nor can you dwell on what will become of you after all this is over. The choice between staying in Austin or moving back to New York has haunted you for the last week, and you were just about to sit down and make a pros and cons list.
But you canât think about that. You shouldn't, really.
Weddings are fun if you know how to make the most of them. Especially if you arenât the one getting married. The truth is, after spending weeks tagging along with Yov and Santi here and there, listening to all the wedding prep, you actually considered taking an anxiety pill.
Having a planner helps, it helps a lot. But some things just can't be allowed to slip through your fingers. At the end of the day, the bride and groom have the final say, which means things can get incredibly stressful, incredibly fast. But in the end, it will all be worth it.
Austin, October 8, 2026
I wonder if Mr. Darcy will recognize the smell of home right away. I wonder if Iâll realize just how much Iâve missed it these past few months.
I want to see everyone.
Everyone.
"Oh my gosh, youâre finally here!"
Emma crashed right into you, wrapping her arms around your neck before you could even flash a full smile. Her hair smelled like coconut.
"I'm here," you laughed, hugging her back. "I've missed you so much."
"Me too," she squeezed, tight enough to fuse her ribs with yours. Then, resting her hands on your shoulders, she stepped back just an inch. "You smell amazing!"
"I was literally just thinking the same thing about you!"
Emma laughed.
All around you, people streamed in and out of the airport, hauling heavy suitcases and overstuffed bags. It was a gorgeous day; the sky was clear and bright, the air surprisingly crisp. Nearby, a couple was reuniting with a warm embrace and a few perfectly public appropriate kisses. It was a sweet scene, but not enough to pull your eyes away from your friend's face.
The drive home was quick and fun. Inside Emmaâs car, it smelled clean and citrusy, and a Lana Del Rey song was going through the speakers. She had picked up two coffees, one for each of you, and you sipped yours while hearing her repeat you can be the boss, daddy, you can be the boss over and over again, wrinkling her nose every time her sunglasses slid down the bridge.
In the back seat, Mr. Darcy was sitting in his crate, remarkably quiet and relaxed. You could already tell heâd turned into a true New Yorker.
"Darcy is gonna be so happy to be home. Here he can climb up onto the kitchen window sill. I'm sure he misses watching people walk by on the street," you said, and the image of the cat pressed against the glass in the warm sunlight flashed through your mind.
"Mhm, thatâs true. In New York people probably looked like tiny little ants, didn't they?"
You smiled. "They did."
Emmaâs cheeks bunched up into a soft smile, and she glanced over at you for a second.
"Okay, and what did you miss?"
"Now that Iâm actually here? I feel like I missed everything. I didnât really notice it over there." You looked out the window, the rush of air brushing the strands of your hair against your neck. A deep sigh escaped your chest. "Have you heard anything about Francisco?"
You had managed to keep your simmering curiosity under wraps during your entire stay in New York. You hadnât asked about him when Emma came to visit a few weeks ago, nor had you brought him up to Santi (or anyone) over the phone.
You mastered that control for months, all through the flight to Austin, and during the first twenty minutes after Emma picked you up. But as the landscape grew closer and more familiar, you simply had to ask.
You turned to look at her almost immediately.
"Frankie?" she asked.
You offered a faint smile. "I doubt I know any other."
"Right, who else?" She rolled her eyes playfully. She paused for a few seconds as the traffic light ahead shifted to red, bringing the car to a smooth stop. "Heâs doing good. He's here in Austin, actually."
Your stomach did a complete flip. "Already? When did he get back?"
Emma pursed her lips to the side. "Like, a month ago?"
You raised a single eyebrow. "Really?"
She sighed. "He moved back to Austin last month."
"Emma."
"With Luna and Jamie."
You pressed your back against the seat, watching the scenery flash past the window as a hundred different thoughts raced through your mind. Yet, you didn't let yourself dwell on any of them for too long, only managing to say,
"Well, that makes sense."
"It does," Emma agreed.
"And where are they staying? With Helena?"
"At first, yeah, all three of them. I think Luna and Jamie are still there with her, but Frankie already moved out."
"Oh, he didn't go back to his place?"
She shook her head. "No. He actually put his house on the market and found a spot out in Circle Ranch. The guys helped him move in last week."
Okay. Recalculating.
RecalculatingâŚ
"Oh. I⌠That's⌠nice. Circle Ranch?"
"Yeah," Emma smiled, glancing over at you with raised eyebrows. "I never pinned Frankie as the type to go for the whole white-picket-fence and a dog kind of vibe."
"Does he have a dog now?"
"No," she laughed. "But itâs that kind of neighborhood, you know?"
You smiled and turned your gaze back to the window.
"Maybe he got used to the Boston suburbs and wanted something similar," you suggested.
"Maybe."
Whatever the reason behind Frankie's move, you felt good about it. You knew his old house was a bit crowded with painful heavy memories that he probably didn't care to relive. You knew he was completely sick of his next door neighbor too, Clint, who always parked right in front of his driveway and blasted his music way too loud. Or the dog from across the street that constantly wandered into his front yard to do its business on the freshly cut grass.
You were genuinely happy for him.
"C'mon, baby, c'mon out."
As you unlatched the little door to Darcyâs crate, you watched his curious eyes take in the surroundings. His tiny nose twitched upward, his eyes narrowing as he sniffed, instantly recognizing his home.
A second later, he stepped out with confidence, raising his tail high in a friendly greeting.
If you had a tail, youâd be doing the exact same thing, because oh, how incredibly happy you were to be back.
You hadnât realized just how much youâd missed this place until you walked through the front door. Your living room was completely bathed in sunlight, the half-drawn orange curtains cast a warm glow into every corner, and there was a wonderful scent in the air that you definitely had Emma to thank for; she had been looking after the place, keeping it perfectly neat and tidy.
You grabbed your suitcase and rolled it into your bedroom, where your bed was neatly made and the floors practically gleamed as the sunlight hit your feet.
Unzipping it, you began to gradually unpack your things. Emma walked in just a moment later, holding a mug of freshly brewed tea for you and one for herself in the other hand. She set yours down on the nightstand.
"So, what do you wanna do today?" she asked.
You looked up at her, gently biting your tongue without realizing it.
"Well, first things first, I need to go get my car."
"Want me to drive you?"
You scoffed playfully. "Obviously. Is Will home?"
"He gets back at one."
"Oh, okay. Wanna eat something?"
"Yeah," she said, plop down on the edge of the bed. "Iâll order something, and we can just crash on the couch and watch some TV like the good ol' days, baby."
You smiled, your eyes crinkling. "Yes, please. I have missed doing that with you so much."
Emma hummed. "My butt has missed sitting next to yours, too."
You laughed. "Friends? How does that sound?"
She pointed a finger at you. "Yes! And since we are officially in wedding mode, we have to watch season seven."
"Yes!" You raised your eyebrows. "We should watch Monica and Chandlerâs wedding and then Phoebe and Mike's!"
"Yeah," she grinned, her eyebrows knitting together playfully. "And let's get ice cream too. Will can wait!"
A wide smile spread across your face, and your chest swelled with warmth.
You were finally home.
Sometimes, getting involved with your brotherâs best friend can be the best decision you ever make in your life. You might end up living together in a beautiful house with two gorgeous babies, getting married in one of the highest rated television episodes of the era. You could be, as the kids say these days, couple goals. The total package. The sarcastic funny guy and the girl with a few control issues who (for somewhat obvious reasons) manage to blend and complement each other perfectly. It can be beautiful and lasting and solid.
And in other cases, it can be downright complicated. Because sometimes, getting involved with your brotherâs best friend can be a beautiful dream, right up until you find yourself sitting in front of the TV, watching Chandler and Monicaâs wedding, and all you want to do is cry.
But you swallow it down. You suppress it because next to you, Emma is shooting you subtle suspicious glances; she knows you far too well not to realize this might be stirring up things buried deep inside your chest. But more than that, you fight it back because you simply donât want to feel it. Not deeply. Because you know that very soon, at any given moment, you are going to see him again. You donât know when or where, but you know itâs going to happen. And so, inside your mind, there is a tiny stopwatch with blurred numbers rapidly counting down the time until your eyes meet his once more.
Even the best couples have weak moments.
"Honestly, Chandlerâs panic kind of ruins the whole thing," Emma said, lounging next to you with her head resting on your shoulder. "I hate that he doubts it. It ruins everything."
On the screen, Chandler is caught completely off guard by a phone call that refers to him and Monica as Mr. and Mrs. Bing. He makes a whole show of panicking, wanting to run away.
"Itâs normal to be scared sometimes," you said.
"I wouldnât want my fiancĂŠ doubting things like that at our wedding. I mean, it would make me question absolutely everything. I hate that choice the writers made. I feel like itâs not Chandler at all."
"Really?" You smiled. "Not Chandler at all?"
"No, why? You don't think so? C'mon."
"No, no, it's just, I mean," you sat up a little straighter, "I get it, but throughout the entire show Chandler has always had insecurity and commitment issuesâ"
"But we watched all his progress, and it was a long clear arc."
"Yeah but itâs completely normal that even though he's progressed and everything, he still has weak moments from time to time. Especially when it comes to something as huge as a wedding," you laughed.
"Mmh. I dunno. I don't like it. Would you want Santi doubting marrying Yov right before they do it? Would you want your future husband doubting marrying you right before you walk down the aisle?"
"But Chandler didn't doubt marrying Monica; he just got scared, thatâs all. He didn't want to run away because he wasn't sure about her; he just panicked about taking such a huge step and didn't know what to do. He watched his parents' relationship fall apart, then went through the whole divorce and everything else. He has a history of commitment issues and the underlying fear that marriage might ruin the good thing he already has with Monica."
"But he literally talked to her just days before about how happy he was to spend the rest of his life with her. It makes no sense."
"It does make sense, Em," you said, looking at her. "You can't completely erase decades of trauma overnight. I mean, he thought their relationship was over after their very first argument until she had to assure him thatâs not how things work. The man had avoidant attachment!"
Emma sighed. "I'm still not buying it, sorry."
"I'm sorry, you're telling me you're not buying it? You? The exact same woman who panicked because her boyfriend wanted to spend more time with her and almost considered breaking up with him over it?"
"Will wanted us to move in together!"
"So? All you had to do was tell him no!"
"And I did tell him no," she said, looking at you with a grin. "And we talked it through. I didn't dump him! It's not the same thing."
"I know it's not the same thing, but still, commitment issues are commitment issues."
"Alright, sweetheart, alright."
"You were on the verge of buying a ticket to Yemen at any second."
Laughing, you gave her arm a playful nudge and turned your attention back to the TV.
Time ticked away, minute by minute, as the sunlight shifted across the floor and walls, brushing against every corner until, almost without realizing it, you rested your head against Emma's and closed your eyes.
"I always fall asleep when I'm with you," you teased, buckling your seatbelt in Emmaâs passenger seat. "I dunno what it is about you."
"But you needed it, didn't you?"
She started the car engine just as you flashed a smile.
"Maybe."
When you had finally woken up earlier, your mouth was wide open, drooling a little, while Emma was right beside you snoring deeply and completely fast asleep. In your lap, Mr. Darcy had been curled up like a little ball.
It was nearly two in the afternoon by the time you both decided it was time to go get your car. According to Emma, Will would be at his place, and when you told her to let him know the two of you were headed over, she simply said,
"No need, I know he'll be there."
Her relationship updates hadn't changed much since the last time you asked about them two weeks ago. They were still getting along well, really well, and now she had finally admitted to herself that she was in love.
That was an incredibly huge step for Emma, so neither of you was making a big deal out of it. You knew she was secretly ecstatic inside, and probably a little terrified, but she was handling it well. And Will, for his part, was a pretty laid back guy who gave her all the time and space she needed to feel completely comfortable about it.
It was funny and kind of unfair that, despite knowing them for so many years, it had never once crossed your mind that they would make a good match.
Granted, Emma used to be married, but what about before that? She wasn't even seeing her ex when Will entered the picture seven years ago. In fact, they had crossed paths a handful of times, but neither of them had ever shown the slightest interest in the other; or at least, you hadn't noticed.
How could you have missed it? They were absolutely perfect for each other. Emma was somewhat restless, impatient, driven, and occasionally loud, while Will was steady, relaxed, incredibly patient, and had no problem getting loud himself if the occasion called for it.
You were rooting for them.
"Does Santi know you already here?" Emma asked now, steering through a turn.
"Texted him as soon as I got home. We're having dinner tonight with Mom."
Emma smiled. "I saw her yesterday. She looks great, doesn't she?"
You let out a soft laugh. "So great. She's thriving."
"I guess that's what happens after having an european summer."
"A mediterranean one, mind you."
"Is she gonna be at Yovâs party?"
You pursed your lips. "I dunno. I don't think so. She says she doesnât feel right about it. Apparently she thinks sheâd be a mood killer. Yov wants her there anyway."
"A mood killer? It's not like there're gonna be strippers or anything like that, right?"
You laughed. "No."
"Then what's the issue?"
"I dunno. I think she still feels a little awkward participating in all of this."
"She has to be there! I need her to give us the full breakdown on everything that happened in Europe. I'm sure there were some interesting adventures," she said, raising her eyebrows. "I always knew Nora was a cool girl."
"I'm sure Yov will press her about it tonight," you said, turning toward the window. "And if not, I can always force her."
Emma laughed and nodded, completely on board with it.
It wasn't going to be a wild over-the-top party; it was going to be a small gathering at a gorgeous restaurant downtown, followed by drinks at a bar where Yov's friends had booked a private table in the VIP section. It was going to be fun and intimate, nothing crazy or chaotic. Yov didn't feel comfortable with shirtless guys giving lap dances, and she had specifically asked to just spend the night having a good time with her friends and close family.
To her, there was no such thing as a "farewell to freedom" anyway. What was she saying goodbye to? Being single? Well, obviously. But she didn't see much point in looking at it that way, since having Santi in her life didn't actually restrict her from anything. And after marrying him, it wouldn't restrict her either.
There was this archaic idea that once a person gets married, they abandon their freedom entirely; the freedom to hang out with friends whenever they want, to have total independence, and to be able to do this, that, or the other. But Santi and Yov were not that kind of couple. Marriage didn't demand limitations for them, and it was entirely obvious to you that their dynamic would keep right on going exactly the same way. Both were free to do their own thing, go out with friends, or dedicate time to personal matters. The party was symbolic, more than anything.
I mean, sure, they were saying goodbye to being single, but was that really significant? You were positive those two had said goodbye to that years ago.
For Yov, it would be a quiet fun evening tomorrow night. And for Santi, it would be a cookout in the backyard with the guys and a few other friends, followed by a trip to the bar to get drunk and play pool. It was a pre-wedding celebration, plain and simple.
Willâs house appeared ahead of you sooner than expected, and you suddenly realized the drive had gone by surprisingly faster than you'd even noticed.
Everything had been moving at hyper speed since you landed in Austin. The drive home from the airport, the morning spent with Emma on the couch, and now, the twenty minutes from your place to Willâs had felt like barely ten.
It was funny how time flew when you were desperately trying to hold it back. Not for any particular reason, either.
Emma flung the car door open before you could even unbuckle, and the second her feet hit the pavement, she said,
"I can hear music coming from the backyard. Go on ahead, I need to grab a few things from the car."
"Need a hand?"
In the background, the faint sound of an Alice in Chains song drifted over.
"Nah, Iâm good." She moved toward the trunk, waving you off.
"Alright."
You walked down the driveway toward the side of the house, where a wide pathway led to the big backyard, and spotted your car right away, tucked under its protective cover beneath the patio roof and parked behind two other cars.
On a table under a window, a portable stereo was blasting music. Layneâs raspy broken voice screamed out lyrics you couldn't quite catch; your attention was already drawn to the car right in front of you, where Will was lying on a mechanic's creeper, working underneath it.
He didn't hear you come in over the music, and his upper body was completely hidden under the chassis. His legs were slightly bent, and seizing the moment, you crept up and gave his foot a gentle kick.
Thump!
You grinned as his whole body jumped in a mini scare.
The creeper shifted; he grabbed the tire with one hand to pull himself forward, the tiny wheels spinning on the concrete.
And just like that, nine months and twelve days later, your eyes locked once again with Francisco Morales'.
You physically felt your smile drop, as if your cheeks had suddenly turned too heavy, and you took a step back while trying, and failing, to tear your eyes away from him.
Frankie scrambled to a sit on the creeper like a startled kid, and braced his palms on the ground behind him. A stray lock of hair fell across his forehead, the rest of it a bit messy, and a pair of thick black rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. They weren't enough to hide the scars on his face.
With a quick push, he stood up.
"I'm sorry," you blurted out, suddenly breathless. "I'm so sorry, I thought you were Will."
He gave a quick nod, wiping his hands on his pants, but didn't say a word.
As your heart threatened to burst right through your ribs and your throat went completely dry, you felt a desperate, intense, aching urge to just... hug him. And at the exact same time, to tell him: you have no idea how much I have to tell you.
Instead, you just stared.
Frankie looked exactly as you remembered, yet at the same time, entirely different. His hair was slightly shorter on the sides, with the top left long and a little unruly. He was wearing a white short-sleeve t-shirt, stained here and there, and black cargo pants.
Looking at him like that, he seemed pretty much the same as the last time you'd seen him. But you could spot the difference in everything else; he seemed taller for some reason, and though his shoulders and arms had always been strong, they looked more toned now. His beard was short, neat and soft, his mustache trimmed. The scars were visible, fully healed now but prominent, leaving a clear trace of his accident, and behind his glasses, his big brown eyes looked tired.
You could have sworn you stared at him for minutes, but it was only a few short seconds.
"I," you crossed your arms, "I just came to pick up my car. If that's okay. Isâis Will around?"
It took Frankie a second to process.
"Uh, Will?"
You offered a faint smile. "Yeah."
"Yeah, right. Yeah," he reached up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, no. He stepped out a moment ago. But he should be right back."
"Oh. Okay."
Behind you, the familiar scuff of Emma's footsteps drew closer until she suddenly froze.
You turned around, trying to pack an entire conversation into a single look, hoping she would decode it.
Just as you expected, your friend was dead in her tracks, holding two boxes in her arms and staring at Frankie like sheâd just seen a ghost.
She glanced at you a second later, then right back at him.
"Frankie," she said, flashing a casual but not quite casual smile. "I didn't... I didn't know you were here."
Frankie huffed a soft laugh and gave a half smile. "Will'll be back in a minute."
Emma nodded. "Where'd he go?"
"No idea," he shrugged, turning back toward the car. "But he left a while ago, so he should be back any second."
"Oh, alright."
The second you glanced her way, Emmaâs eyebrows shot straight up as she mouthed: Iâm so sorry.
You gave a casual shrug that completely masked the panic clawing at your insides, letting out a soft sigh as your eyes drifted across the yard. Toward the back, for instance, where a disassembled bike sat abandoned mid-repair.
"I can move this car out of the way so you can get yours out, if you want?" Frankie asked. He was talking to you; it took you a beat to realize it.
You nodded. "Sure. Thanks."
He gave a quick nod and turned toward the car blocking yours. Willâs car. He reached inside the driverâs side to grab something, then slid into the seat, shut the door, and got the engine running on the second try.
"Here, let me help," you said, turning around and grabbing one of the boxes from Emma, desperate for any kind of distraction.
"Oh my God, I am so sorry," she whispered, pushing open the back door to the house. There was no real need to whisper since the roaring engine drowned out anything you two said, but she kept her voice down anyway until you were both safely inside. "I had no idea he'd be here. I mean, I know he hangs out here a lot, but I didn't know he'd be here today of all days."
"It's fine."
"No, Iâm so sorry," she insisted, setting her box down on the kitchen counter. "I should have called first."
"No, Em, really," you said, dropping your box next to her. "It's fine. It's totally fine. You know what?" You turned to look at her. "Maybe itâs better this way, right? Unplanned and unexpected." You made a swift ripping motion with your hand. "Like ripping off a band aid. Iâve seen him, heâs seen me, how awkward can it really get? It wasn't even that bad!"
She smiled. "It wasn't?"
"Nope."
"Okay, that's good." She pursed her lips. "So... how are you feeling?"
"Nope. Nope," you said, shaking your head. "Too soon, honey. Not there yet."
Emma let out a soft laugh and pulled you into a tight hug. You took the moment to close your eyes, letting the tension in your chest unravel just a bit.
And outside, after a brief moment, the rumbling engine cut out as a clear sign that your safe haven inside the four walls of Willâs kitchen was officially up. You had to go back out there.
Emma let go of you, clearing her throat before turning toward the door and taking the lead. You gave it a single second before following her out.
The moment you stepped into the yard, your eyes instantly searched for him. Frankie was carefully peeling the protective cover off your car, and your gaze lingered on the back of his neck; on the soft messy strands of hair there, on the soft skin briefly blushedâŚ
A sudden warmth bloomed in your chest.
"I'll get your keys," he called out, disappearing into the house so fast that this time, he was the one who seemed to be running away.
Letting out a sigh, you crossed your arms and walked over to the car Frankie had been working on when you arrived. It was old, you noticed, but not quite as old as yours. This one looked more like a nineties model; glossy black with a leather interior and smooth sleek lines. On the hood, the Mercedes Benz logo caught the light.
"You got yourself a real gem here."
Frankieâs voice made you snap upright. He was standing right behind you, dangling your keys from his fingers.
Emma was still keeping quiet.
"Thanks," you said, offering a small smile.
Frankie extended his hand toward you. Your keys were looped around his index finger; you slid them off, careful not to brush against him.
"I don't actually know much about cars," you added, mostly because the silence felt a little too heavy. "Will helped me with it."
"Yeah, he told me. He and I bought this one together, from the same seller," he said, gesturing toward the Mercedes.
"It's really nice."
"Yeah, though it still needs a bit of work. Weâre fixing it up to... you know, sell it or something."
"I like it," you said, nodding. "My dad used to drive something like this when I was little."
His eyebrows shot up, and he replied almost too fast, "He did?"
"Yeah."
"Yeahâuh. It's a great car."
You nervously fiddled with the keys in your hands, dropping your gaze down to his shoes; a pair of black high top Vans.
Beside you, Emma let out a quiet amused sigh.
"I think I should get going," you blurted out, looking over at her only to catch a strange look on her face.
Oh, she was absolutely loving this.
"Yeah, sure," Frankie nodded, stepping aside as if he felt he was blocking your way.
"Can you tell Will I'll drop by later?" Emma asked him.
"Sure."
"Alright."
"Em, you can stay if you want," you told her.
"No, no. I said I'd help you unpack and set things up at your place, didn't I? Let's go," she said, waving you toward the driveway.
Unpacking at your place was a total lie. You were already fully unpacked and the apartment was spotless; she just wanted to be there for you.
"See ya," Emma added, giving Frankie's shoulder a friendly pat before turning around and heading toward the front of the house.
Once she was out of sight, you turned back to him.
"Tell Will I say hi."
He smiled. "I will."
"Thanks," you said, starting to turn toward your car. But you froze and looked back at him one last time.
He stood completely, utterly still.
You had no idea what to say, or why youâd even turned back around in the first place. But the moment you looked at his face and caught that flicker of nervousness in his eyes, you knew he was feeling it too.
"I like your glasses."
Frankieâs lips parted slightly, and a very soft sweet smile crept onto his face.
"Thank you," he replied.
Smiling back and holding in a sigh, you didn't say another word. You turned around, got into your car, and drove away, feeling his eyes on you the entire time.
You wished it had been different. You wished your inevitable reunion with him had happened in a controlled environment, surrounded by crowds of people; like Friday's rehearsal dinner or some pre-weekend get together. But as life had already proven to you time and again, you rarely get what you want exactly how you want it.
Forget everything we said a moment ago. All that talk about how time had been moving at a frantic pace since you stepped off the plane, remember? The walk from the airport to your house, your nice nap with Em, the drive from your door to Willâs⌠Forget it all. Because suddenly, the world seems to have ground to a near halt.
It's moving, and It's moving fast.
Youâre driving, and the blocks around you pass at a crawl. No, how silly; youâre the one moving, not the blocks. You drift down the street while Emma sits beside you in silence, and you know itâs not an illusion because the cars passing you vanish ahead in seconds. And also because, after a few minutes, Emma rested her hand on your shoulder and asked,
"You okay?"
You nodded without a word. Well, maybe a soft "hmm" echoed somewhere in your chest.
"I'm sorry," she said, sounding far too guilty. "I know I already told you but I had no idea he was gonna be there."
You nodded again. "He looks so different."
"Yeah."
"Francisco," you glanced at her for a second, "he looks different, doesn't he? Or is it just because I haven't seen him in so long?"
Emma nodded. "No, I think he does look a bit different."
"I mean, I'm not saying he looks bad, he looksâŚ" You tightened your grip on the steering wheel a little with your thumbs. "Different, healthier. Which is so freaking ironic because his face is covered in scars."
"Right."
"Oh GodâŚ"
"Hey," Emma squeezed your shoulder, "it's okay."
"He looks so good," you groaned.
Emma laughed. "It's okay."
You turned to look at her, frowning. "Does he wear glasses now?"
"He does."
"It's like he's doing it on purpose just to mess with me!"
"Look what Grian got for me." When Will walked into the yard, he was holding a six pack of beer and a large sealed plastic bag. "Original seat covers, baby, pure leather," he said, stepping closer to drop them onto the table next to the player.
Frankie was sitting in a chair with his elbows on his knees, and his eyes were fixed on the grass just past the concrete, contemplating his entire existence.
"Hey," Will called out.
Frankie looked up at him.
"Covers and beer," Will said, holding up the six pack.
"That's great. How much for the covers?"
Will frowned, glancing around the yard. The music was off, the creeper wasn't under the Mercedes, and most importantly, your car was gone.
"What happened?" he asked.
"She came to get her car." Frankie pushed himself up from the chair in one quick motion, rubbing the back of his neck. "Her and Emma, who said sheâd be by later, by the way."
Willâs eyebrows shot up. "Oh, shit, man. You alright? How that go?"
"Nothing. She just⌠she just came and went."
"Y'all talk?"
"A little."
"And? What'd y'all talk about?"
"Nothing, really. Just⌠just her car, and this and that, and nothing else." He swallowed, looking over at the half-repaired Mercedes. "I'm such a fool. I couldn't even act normal."
Will laughed. "What are you talking about? What do you mean?"
"Oh, man," Frankie groaned as he sat back down again, burying his face in both hands and rubbing his eyes. "She looks so beautiful. I felt like I could barely breath."
"Alright," Will crossed his arms, "let it out."
"I mean, look at me," Frankie suddenly pulled his hands away from his face and gestured to his clothes. "I'm a total mess."
"Well, you know, they say girls like that. All covered in grease from work, that whole hot mechanic thing..."
Frankie frowned. "Oh God."
"And with the glasses on and everything, huh?" Will chuckled. "I bet she dug 'em."
Frankie felt his face burn with embarrassment, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him whole right then and there. He felt like a self-conscious teenager, or at least, his body was reacting like one.
A long time. Heâd spent so much time thinking about the next time heâd see you. Late at night when everything was quiet, in the middle of work, while washing dishes or doing laundry. He used to wonder how dramatic it would be, if it would be incredibly awkward or not at all, or if youâd just avoid him altogether. And none of it had been the way he expected.
He knew you hadn't expected to see him either. He'd caught it on your face the second he saw youâas beautiful and sweet as he remembered, but completely caught off guard all the same.
Heâd been dying inside with every passing second. The moment you drove away, he felt this overwhelming urge to run right after you; to hold you tight in his arms and cover your face with kisses, to tell you how terribly heâd missed you and that loving you this much was unbearable.
But how completely out of line would that have been, right? When you looked so good, so refreshed, so perfectly fine. Frankie knew he no longer had a place in your life for that kind of confession.
Heâd have to be strong. Stronger than heâd ever thought. Because the wedding was drawing close and these weren't gonna be easy days. Between the final preparations, the bachelor parties, the rehearsal dinner, and the ceremony itself, heâd have to find a way to keep his feelings in check and not let a single bit show, since youâd be seeing each other practically around the clock.
He couldn't even let his eyes betray him, because he knew all it took was having you nearby for him to look at you like a fool. Guess that's just what longing does to you.
And Santi knew all about that. He and Yov had talked to Frankie a few days back when the three of them stopped to rest during a long Sunday bike ride. Theyâd asked how he was doing, how he was prepping for the wedding, and if he was truly alright with all of it; all of this out on the trail, while their calves throbbed and their chests heaved. But the way their voices sounded reminded him of those times the guys used to try and casually check up on his health years ago, trying not to sound too nosy or overly worried.
"You don't need to worry, everything's fine," heâd told them, a bit winded. His neck was flushed and he could feel a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and let out a chuckle. "What do you think is gonna happen?"
Santi scratched his chin, pulling a face. "I know, I know it'll be fine. Itâs just, y'know, it can get awkward and all, and we wouldn't want either of you having a rough time."
"We'll be fine," Frankie nodded. "Don't worry. We spent years getting along terribly and managing to co-exist or something like it, and nothing happenedâ"
"No, no," Yov interrupted, shaking his head and holding up a finger, "that wasn't co-existing."
Frankie rolled his eyes, hiding a bitter smile. "Everything's fine on my end. Iâll be respectful, polite, and anything that comes up can wait until after the wedding. You can count on that."
He didn't even know what he meant by that. "Anything that comes up" could mean absolutely anything; an argument, a casual conversation, anything requiring an ounce of extra attention that might pull the focus away from what really mattered.
Anyway, heâd promised himself to keep his distance and not let a single thing throw off the balance this week needed to haveâŚ
Until he saw you again, and a flood of emotions washed over him, soaking him to the bone. And right then, Frankie realized that for the past few months, heâd only allowed himself to feel about twenty percent of what he truly felt for you.
Heâd convinced himself that he was okay with all of this; that his feelings, while still strong and very much there, weren't so intense anymore that they'd steal his breath away.
What a fucking lie. He loved you just as intensely as before, maybe even more; or maybe it was just the effect of seeing you after all this time.
You were surprised to see him; heâd noticed that. You hadn't expected it at all, and it definitely wasn't what you wanted. But as he looked at you, pretending to be completely unfazed, he felt this overwhelming urge to share every single piece of his life with you.
He wanted to tell you about his new house, about the big windows and how beautifully the light flooded the living room. About the shelves heâd filled with his vinyl records, and the space that was still left to fill.
Oh, and Mr. Bingley was absolutely out of his mind, completely in love with the new yard. Frankie would let him out for a bit, keeping a close eye on him so the cat wouldn't wander off anywhere. Heâd discovered the little guy was actually a total scaredy-cat, which would make Frankie anxious enough to bring him right back inside. He wasn't quite sure how to handle it yet; the neighborhood was quiet and not dangerous at all, but letting the cat roam free in the yard still made him nervous. Who knew, maybe heâd hop the fence and end up in the street, or some dog might give him a scare. He wasn't about to take that chance.
Heâd wanted to tell you about his new job, too. Frankie was back to training pilots, but no longer at his old academy. His former boss had done him a big favor by recommending him to the owner of a different academy (one that trained specialized pilots) and Frankie was finding it a whole lot more engaging and enjoyable.
Now he wasn't training arrogant rich guys who had too much money and free time on their hands, treating flying like some "easy" hobby with zero responsibilities (not that it was always the case, but... most of the time). Instead, he was training people who genuinely saw flying as a calling.
They were all young, eager to learn, and had a real respect for the profession. Frankie truly enjoyed teaching and had a great time with them; plus, the pay was damn good. It was exactly what he needed right now after draining a huge chunk of his savings. His house was about to sell, heâd already sold his car, and you could say he was pretty close to having everything sorted out.
He was doing alright.
Heâd wanted to tell you all of that. For a brief minute, every single piece of news in his life flooded his mind and he wanted to share it with you, but a second later he reminded himself that it wasn't his place anymore.
It made no sense how completely his chest melted whenever he thought about you now.
"What are you gonna do now?" Will asked then, leaning his hip against the table and tilting his head.
Frankie sighed, pulling his hands away from his face.
"What else? Nothing. Act normal, I guess. Like an adult."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing," he got up from his chair and walked over to the Mercedes, opening the driver's side door. "I'm not gonna bother her."
"Ah, I see. The old go-crazy-and-suffer-all-by-your-lonesome routine."
Frankie laughed softly, shaking his head. "I deserve it."
Wednesday, October 9th
You really don't care about Francisco. He barely crosses your mind.
He wasn't on your mind when you woke up this morning, nor when you showered and got ready to open the bookstore. You weren't thinking of him when you brushed blush onto your cheeks, or when you coated your lips in raspberry gloss. And you certainly weren't thinking of him every single time the chimes above the door jingled and you glanced up, checking to see who walked in.
No, you aren't thinking about him at all.
Your morning flew by, peaceful and smooth. It had been a while since youâd spent time at the bookstore, and settling back behind the counter felt incredibly good.
You had missed all of this: helping customers find the exact books they were looking for, listening to their vague, quirky descriptions and the titles they always got completely wrong. You missed the scent of old pages, and the aroma of coffee that drifted through the door every time it opened because at this hour, every cafĂŠ on the block was open and the entire sidewalk smelled of espresso.
It was a quiet, nice morning. A few people dropped in; many left with books, others just browsed for stretches of time, and some simply asked a question before heading out.
In the quiet lulls, you read through the notes Donovan had sent this morning. There were far more than you anticipated, all anchored to comments lining the margins of the document.
In one of them, you read:
His age isnât clear. He could be anywhere between forty and sixty years old. If I didn't know better, Iâd assume he is a man nearing sixty. Keep in mind that the reader doesnât know what you know, and you cannot gloss over that in the main descriptions. You can weave it into the dialogue or the internal monologue. Your choice. But don't make it obvious.
It wouldn't be so jarring if Donovan didnât highlight the paragraphs in an intense, vibrant red. Sometimes he used yellow, other times a soft, light blue. If there was an actual system to his color-coding, you had no idea what it was.
At ten o'clock sharp, the chimes above the door rang out once more. Instantly, your eyes snapped toward the entrance, your mind flashing for a fraction of a second with the thought that it might be⌠him.
But it was Bill who stepped through the door.
Tall and handsome as ever, he wore a crisp smile and his bright prominent green eyes were shining as usual.
The moment you saw him, your eyes widened with joy.
You slipped off your stool to greet him as he walked in, carrying two large brown paper bags and a warm grin.
"Coffee and a slice of cake for my favorite writer!"
Bill set the bags down on the counter and welcomed you with open arms; he smelled of fresh brew and cologne. Your cheek pressed against his warm chest as he held you close for a brief moment.
"You haven't even read anything of mine," you laughed.
His hand brushed up your back. "I don't have to to know it'll be incredible."
"You really have faith in me."
Bill pulled back slightly. "We all do. Julie was thrilled when she found out. She says now sheâll have someone interesting to interview for her school project."
You huffed a laugh and walked back around to the other side of the counter. A customer stepped through the door right at that moment. Good morning, he said. Good morning, you replied. He was an elderly man holding a cane, and he headed straight toward the Hispano-American literature section.
"What are your plans for today?" Bill asked, leaning against the counter. "If you're free, Julie and I would love to have you over for dinner."
"Iâd love to," you smiled, "but tonight is Yovâs bachelorette party. And Santiâs bachelorette party, too."
He grinned. "Oh yeah? What d'you have planned?"
"We're grabbing drinks at a bar nearby," you tilted your head. "Yovâs girlfriends made a reservation for dinner too, so, we'll see what happens."
"And Santi?"
"Oh, I dunno. I know they're going out for drinks too, but knowing them, theyâll probably do something else too."
A chuckle caught in his chest. "Will they have to go rescue him from a hotel rooftop in the morning like The Hangover?"
"Mmm," you narrowed your eyes playfully, "I think it'll be more like Into the Wild."
"Campfires and all that, huh."
"Exactly," you nodded. "Knowing them, they'll have a few drinks and then go have fun somewhere out there. Nothing too crazy. Plus, the rest of Yov's family arrives tomorrow so he gotta be fresh."
"Got it," Bill nodded. "And how... how has Austin treated you so far?"
"Austin?"
He tilted his head, a smirk forming on his lips that made you suspect his question had several layers.
"Austin is fine," you answered, lifting your chin. "I barely got here yesterday and my eye is already twitching, how about that?"
It was a joke. Your eyes were not twitching at all. Spiritually, maybe.
Bill laughed and reached out with his left hand, grabbing the side of the brown paper bag he had set down moments ago.
"Better not drink this coffee then. It has two shots."
You burst out laughing and snatched the bag from his hands. "Don't you dare!"
You needed that coffee, and you also needed the slice of cake he had so carefully tucked inside the plastic container. But above all, you needed him to stay right there with you and give you his opinion on a few things.
You pulled the coffee cup out and set it on the counter for a moment.
Bill laughed softly, his eyes dropping to your hand, and thatâs when you asked:
"You free this Saturday?"
Later
If New York had taught you anything, it was how to dress and do your makeup.
No. Not New York. Alex.
Alex, like so many other wealthy, fashion forward New Yorkers, was a woman who understood style deeply and knew exactly how to tailor it to different people. That was why she had spent a massive chunk of your stay dragging you from one boutique to another, letting you freely indulge in every single one of her perks at beauty salons across the Upper East Side.
She had been incredibly generous. And while you initially thought it was a favor to you, you soon realized it was actually a treat for her. Letting Alex guide and advise your style was exactly what she craved and thoroughly enjoyed, and even Emma had gotten a little taste of her styling expertise when she came to visit a few weeks back.
You werenât normally one to blow money on clothes and makeup. Truthfully, you liked the things you already owned, they lasted a long time, and you rarely found anything you loved enough to desperately want to buy. But in New York, your credit card began seeing action it had never seen before. And honestly? You liked it.
Now, your closet in Austin was packed with new dresses, skirts, blouses, and a few pairs of boots and shoes. You had flown back with two massive suitcases stuffed to the brim, packed right alongside the heavy uncertainty of whether you were even going to stay here. When in doubt, bring it all.
Right now, Emma stood in front of your bedroom mirror, half dressed. She was in her bra, a dress pulled up only from the waist down, fussing with her underwear beneath the fabric to make sure there were no visible lines.
Even though she was wearing seamless panties, she was convinced that the glare of the light caught the faint outline of the edges.
"Iâm telling you, it doesnât show," you said from the bed.
You had finished getting ready ages ago and were now lounging with Mr. Darcy resting on your stomach. You wore a form-fitting black skirt paired with a black blouse featuring soft, sheer bell sleeves. The neckline was high, grazing your collarbones, and the entire front was dusted with tiny sparkles that subtly caught the light whenever you moved. Your legs were covered in semi-opaque black tights, finished off with boots that hit just three fingers below the knee.
"You sure? What about like this?" Emma turned to the side, arching her back to check her reflection.
"Itâs a thong," you said, lifting a hand. "And itâs completely seamless. For heaven's sake, Em, nothing is showing."
"Alright, alright," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "You better be right. What time is your mom picking us up?"
"Seven o'clock."
"And what time is it now?"
You picked up your phone from where it lay beside you on the bed and glanced at the screen.
"Quarter to seven."
She let out a sigh of relief, then finally pulled the dress up over her waist and shoulders, slipping her arms through the sleeves and tugging the zipper up along her ribs.
She looked at her reflection and pursed her lips. You smiled.
Emma looked radiant. Not just beautiful, not just happy; radiant. Everything about her carried a glow that reminded you of the old Emma, the one from before the divorce, before everything had gone down.
She had always been a strong woman, and she had always faced life's hurdles as one. Even as she went through the divorce, you had never once seen her hang her head or crumble the way so many others would have. But she had suffered through bad days and rough patches, and during those times, a very specific light inside her had gone dark.
Between the two of you, Emma had always been the one who had life figured out, or at least the one who always knew how to stay on track.
Since you were little, she knew exactly what she wanted to do and how to achieve it; she graduated early, started working immediately, and married Luca shortly after meeting him. Everything in her life had always been neat and effortless, unfolding exactly how youâd expect the life of a model adult to go.
After the divorce, she barely faltered. That was the thing about Emma; some things just never seemed to shake her. Good or bad, she didn't let much get under her skin. Her peace was sacred.
Until Will came along.
At first, you couldn't quite put your finger on it, this thing that made her nervous in a way you had never seen before. When you were in New York and she would call to give you updates, the anxious flutter in her voice was entirely new. You were absolutely certain she hadn't been that jittery even during the week leading up to her wedding.
There was something about all of this that, for the first time in her entire life, was throwing her off balance. And it only took you a moment to realize why: she was truly in love.
Not in love the way she had been with Luca, or with any other ex⌠no. Truly, deeply in love. The kind of love that makes you feel like a teenager all over again, the kind that keeps him in your thoughts day and night, making you ache for him while simultaneously filling you with absolute peace.
You knew the feeling all too well. Looking at her right now, you recognized it instantly, because not too long ago, you had been in the exact same place. Head over heels.
Emma was in love.
"You look beautiful."
Hearing your voice, Emma caught your eye in the mirror and smiled.
"Thank you. You look beautiful too," she replied, turning around to face you directly.
You offered a warm smile in return, spreading your fingers across Mr. Darcyâs back. You gave his fur a gentle squeeze, and he immediately began to purr.
"SoâŚ" Emma walked over to the bed and drifted down beside you, propping herself up on her elbow. A wave of her perfume reached you instantly. "How's everything?"
You smiled. "How's everything? Everything's good."
"AhâŚ" She reached out and stroked Darcy, who promptly closed his eyes.
"What about you? How's everything with you?"
"Good." Emma sighed. "You talked to him?"
Your hand went still on Darcyâs back. "With whom?"
"Y'know. Francisco. Frankie. Have you talked to him?"
Your lips parted for a split second, your brows knitting together.
"No. Why?"
"Just asking," she said, pursing her lips. "After what happened yesterday, I dunno, I just thought maybe you guys had talked."
"Oh, no. No⌠you know how it is. If weâd talked, I wouldâve told you by now, don't you think?"
Emma huffed a laugh. "True. You better."
"And what happened yesterday? Was he there when you went over to Willâs later?"
"Yeah, but only for a little bit," she said, her hand running over Darcyâs fur almost absentmindedly. "And he didn't say much."
"Hmm."
"It doesn'tâŚ" Emma locked her eyes onto yours. "It doesn't bother you that I hang out with him, right? Because if it does, I can totallyâ"
"Em, no," you interrupted, shaking your head.
"No, Iâm serious. I know it can be weird for your best friend to spend time with your ex."
"Itâs weird if you phrase it like that," you laughed. "But you aren't hanging out with Frankie. Itâs just that he happens to be your boyfriend's best friend. Itâs not your fault."
"It really doesn't bother you?"
You raised your eyebrows. "No, it really doesn't."
"I swear, the first few weeks I gave him the absolute cold shoulder."
You laughed. "Really?"
"Yes, I swear! And he barely even came near me because he knew what I was gonna say to him."
"What were you gonna say?"
"That heâs a fool and an idiot, what else?" She laughed. "Though I think he already knew it, because he always watched his step around me."
"Mhm. You two seem to get along well enough now, though, right?"
At your question, Emmaâs smile faltered.
You knew she spent time around Frankie now. Here and there, they would cross paths at gatherings or over at Willâs place. She didn't tell you much, but it was always implicit. Every time Emma mentioned she was at a certain place, you already knew Frankie would likely be there too.
"Not really," she replied.
You smiled. "Em."
"What? Iâm serious."
"You don't have to hide it from me. I know Francisco can be nice. And I wouldn't expect you to treat him badly just for my sake. That would make things uncomfortable for everyone."
"I don't treat him badly," she said, lifting a hand, "but we aren't friends either, okay? We just⌠we talk like normal people."
"Sure."
"Ugh," she groaned, tossing herself backward and covering her eyes with both hands. "Iâm a terrible friend."
"Thatâs not true!"
"Of course it is! I have fraternized with the enemy!"
"Alright, stop it," you said, propping yourself up on your elbow. "Can we please drop this?"
"No!"
"Weâre adults," you laughed, pulling Emmaâs hand away from her face. "And Francisco isn't the enemy, heâs just my ex boyfriend. I have to coexist with him tomorrow, Em, please. Can we just act like this is normal?"
Emma sighed, narrowing her eyes. "Fine. But letâs be clear: I am gonna act like this is totally normal, but on the inside, I'm gonna enjoy every single second of watching you with Bill thereâ"
"Oh no, thatâs notâ"
"And when Frankie sees you with Bill?"
You threw your head back. "Bill is just my friend!"
"Your 'friend' whom you invited to your brother's wedding, where your ex, who was always a little jealous of him, happens to be the best man!"
A loud laugh burst from your throat as your face flushed bright red. "Itâs not like that!"
"Yes it is! You smart bitch!"
Emmaâs hands dug playfully into your stomach, and the tickling shocked another loud laugh out of you. Poor Mr. Darcy; the little cat bolted off the bed at the sudden noisy outburst.
On the inside, you swore to yourself: it really wasn't like that.
Fortunately for you, five minutes later, the horn of your momâs rental car honked outside your apartment, and Emma immediately bounded off the bed to throw on her heels, utterly unable to tease you any longer.
Hours later, at night.
Sitting at the long table surrounded by Yovâs friends, you felt at ease.
The restaurant was located right in the heart of downtown, and thanks to Cinthia, the maid of honor, they had managed to book a private table out on the terrace.
Beside Yov sat Emma, who had become really close to her over the last few months. The bond between them had blossomed naturally, fueled by all the time they spent together because of the guys. Watching them laugh together, it was hard to believe they hadn't known each other a lifetime.
"And then," one of Yovâs college friends said, gesturing animatedly with her fork, "she completely forgot where she parked the car and we spent two hours walking to our apartment, drunk as hell. And as soon as we got home, guess what? Her car was parked right there!"
The table erupted into laughter, and Yov buried her face in her hands just as her cheeks flushed pink.
Emma leaned in, nudging her playfully.
"To be fair, that happened to us, too," Emma chimed in with a grin, throwing a knowing look your way. "Remember that? My dad was so mad."
"Oh, yeah," you raised your eyebrows, "but we walked all the way home having forgotten your car was parked right outside the club."
Your mom gasped; "What? When was that, and why am I just finding out now?"
You turned to look at her, sitting to your left.
"It was a lifetime ago!" you replied.
She smiled and shook her head. It made you happy to see her here, laughing, enjoying herself, and sharing this moment with all of you, because the truth was, it had been a very long time since that had happened.
Following your fatherâs death, your momâs retreat had been almost absolute. She had rarely returned to the city, and she had never stepped foot in the family home again; a house that didn't even belong to you anymore.
Your relationship with her had fractured deeply because of that, leaving Santi as the one who stayed closest to her. It meant years of brief interactions, arguments over the phone, and her constant attempts to reach out to you, which you always pushed away.
Back then, you were younger. You were grieving one of the people you loved most, and you needed her. But she wasn't there, and for the longest time, you resented her for it.
If you were a mother, you would never do that; leaving the city because you were heartbroken over the loss of the love of your life was understandable, but distancing yourself from your two children was not.
And it wasn't that she had completely vanished, either. No, she had always tried to stay in touch with daily calls, constant texts, and video chats every single night. Until you finally said no more, and began to freeze out any kind of contact.
That lasted for two years. Two years where you cut yourself off from her entirely, reducing your only connection to calls once every few weeks and updates passed down through Santi.
It hadn't been easy at first, but she was entirely honest with you. All of this was difficult for her, and it had been incredibly hard years ago as well. But living together in New York after her trip had been surprisingly fun, and something you had missed desperately.
The two of you spent your days walking, exploring, taking in the city, and spending your nights watching movies, shows, and reading together in the living room.
You reconnected, and it felt so good. You had missed your mom so much, and being with her now felt completely right.
Amid the chatter and jokes, two hours flew by as you finished dinner and dessert. Yov was ecstatic; her friends were all gathered in the same room for the first time in years, and on top of that, her mom and yours were having a wonderful time together.
The atmosphere was incredibly warm and the excitement for the wedding grew with every passing minute; you were starting to feel the rush of emotion building up inside you, too.
You couldn't believe it. This was actually happening. Santi was getting married, and not only that, but his future wife was someone you absolutely loved.
Watching her now, as she laughed with your mom and lifted her glass to her lips, you felt a wave of genuine happiness.
What a beautiful family you had. And what a beautiful family they would have in a couple of years. You could picture it perfectly; just like this, but a little different. With a couple of kids, maybe. Santi wanted two; Yov wanted at least two. And you couldn't wait to have nieces and nephews running around everywhere.
She was an incredible woman, and your brother was lucky to have her. And on the flip side, Santi was a wonderful man, too. You were certain he would make an amazing husband and father, and you couldn't wait to see him step into that new chapter of his life.
"What are you thinking about?"
Emmaâs soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. Turning toward her, you met her bright eyes framed by long curling lashes. She gently touched your elbow.
"Nothing," you answered, a gentle smile tracing your lips. "I can't believe they're actually getting married. Time moves so fast. Santi is fully a grown man now."
Emma smiled. "He has been for a while, huh."
He had been for a long time. But you had barely noticed the passage of time, preoccupied with growing up right alongside him.
Everything had just moved so quickly. Only a few years ago, the two of you were inseparable, going everywhere together; you glued to his side like velcro, and him completely fine with bringing you along. It had always been you and him, him and you.
Every time he hung out with his friends, he brought you with him. Everywhere you went with Emma, there he was, simply because he was too curious and liked your company.
Spending these past months in New York had been a completely new experience for you, as you had never gone that long without seeing Santi. It had felt strange not having him around or seeing him for such a stretch, and it made you realize just how accustomed you were to his presence.
You didn't know if all siblings were like that. Probably not. But you and Santi definitely were.
"Your mom is having a great time," Emma whispered, leaning close to your ear.
You smiled instantly. "I know. I wish Dad were here to see it."
Emma squeezed your arm with hers. "I'm sure he is."
"You think so?" you asked, looking at her sideways with a small smile.
"Of course I do. I bet heâs even having a glass of wine somewhere right now."
That made you laugh. You could picture it perfectly: your dad tilting his elbow back to finish his glass of wine, just like he always did whenever he was celebrating and happy.
Somewhere out there, he was watching over you all. You liked to believe that.
"Another round, my treat! Our boy's getting hitched!"
A microsecond after Benny finished speaking, the entire bar roared in celebration, raising their glasses and hands.
Fuckin' opportunistic bastards, Santi thought amused. Everyone here wasnât just happy for him; they were just thrilled to drink on someone else's dime. Julius, CJ, Baz, Carlos, and even Don had already crowded around, slapping him on the back in congratulation.
Santi laughed, ducking his head a bit, suddenly feeling a wave of self-consciousness from all the attention.
"C'mon Fish, live a little," Will said, stretching his arm across the table to thrust a beer bottle toward Frankie, who was sitting at the far corner.
Santi watched him shake his head.
"Ts, I dunno," Fish replied.
"Not even a single drop?" Ben asked, sounding genuinely offended. "C'mon, celebrate with us. The state of Texas allows a zero-point-zero-eight blood alcohol level, which is..." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, doing the math. "... a drink, a beer!"
Frankie crossed his arms and leaned his head back. "Under what exact circumstances were you researching that?"
Ben scoffed. "You donât wanna know. But letâs get one thing straight," he added, planting his hand firmly on the table. "I am a responsible driver!"
"Fish," Santi called out, raising his own beer. "Weâll call an Uber. Now celebrate with your friend who's about to tie the knot."
Frankieâs smile turned lopsided, and in that brief moment, Santi noticed how the scar on his cheek stood out just a bit more.
"You guys are a terrible influence. Havenât you noticed Iâm a clean guy now?"
"Oh, c'mon," Will laughed, throwing his head back.
"No, no, it's true," Santi chimed in, nodding. "He really is."
Will raised his eyebrows. "I know he is. What is it, up to one or two cans of beer a day, max?"
"Only if I have to drink. Otherwise, nothin'," Fish said, squaring his shoulders with a hint of pride.
Santi smiled, feeling a pang of pride himself. "Iâm proud of you. We all are."
"To Fish!" Benny raised his beer.
Will smiled and imitated his brother. "To Fish."
Frankie scoffed, suddenly shy, and hid his eyes under his glasses.
A second later, Will took a long swig of his beer before slamming the bottle back down on the table.
"Alright, enough with the sappy stuff, you're gonna give me diabetes. If Fish is staying sober, it just means more booze for the rest of us. Call that round already!"
Frankie laughed and looked over at Santi, who held his gaze for a couple of seconds, his eyebrows rising bit by bit.
"Uh?" Santi smirked. "Just one? What do you say?"
A few feet away, Grian was pulling out beer bottles and lining them up on the bar.
Frankie leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, a wide grin flash of teeth breaking across his face.
"It's my bachelorette night and my best man can't even clink glasses with me!"
"Alright, alright, alright," Frankie raised both hands in surrender. "Just one. But only 'cause itâs your night and a nice cold beer actually sounds real good right now."
Will slapped Fish on the back, giving him a rough but affectionate nudge, a grin splitting his face.
"And just so we're clear, we're still incredibly proud of you."
Santi smiled as he watched them, taking a sip of his beer. As he swallowed, a heavy sensation settled deep in his chest.
He couldn't quite explain this feeling. He was thrilled about his wedding, and even more so about what it meant for his life with Yov. Yet his smiles felt forced, slipping away the moment none of his friends were looking.
Will was ecstatic, Benny was right there with him (and a bit tipsy), and Fish had just tipped a bottle to his lips, taking a long swig as the corners of his mouth turned upward into a grin. And in that exact moment, the only thing Santi could think about was⌠someone else.
Terrified that someone might notice the sudden glossiness in his eyes, he pressed the beer to his mouth and finished it in one long gulp.
"Alright, whereâs that next round, huh?" he said, bringing the empty bottle down hard on the table. "Iâm getting thirsty."
Fish smirked slightly, his gaze drifting over Santiâs face. "You alright?"
Santi let out a huff. "As always."
People always say you shouldn't drink on an empty stomach.
Well, you all took that advice to heart.
Following a delicious dinner and a suggestively named dessert specially crafted for the bride and her guests, the group piled out onto the street, where a stretch limousine was already idling by the curb.
Yov burst out laughing. "Fio, what on earth is this?"
Fiona, one of her best friends, gestured grandly toward the massive car before pulling a white sash out of her bag that read Future Mrs. Garcia in bold lettering.
"What does it look like?" she laughed, stepping closer to loop the sash over Yovâs shoulder. "Nothing but the best for our beautiful bride; you only get married once!"
Emma chuckled. "According to whom?"
"I've been married twice," Cinthia chimed in, raising both hands.
"Well, they do say third timeâs a charm," Fiona shot back, clapping a hand over her mouth the exact second the words slipped out.
The sound of your momâs laughter made you snap your head to the right, and you watched her laugh with flushed cheeks as she walked over to Yov and gently took her by the arm; She was already a bit tipsy. She had finished two glasses of wine during dinner and you knew that was always enough to make your mom giggly, and you loved seeing it.
She was having a wonderful time, just like everyone else.
Fortunately, Fionaâs slip of the tongue was swept away by a wave of giggles as the limousine doors swung open, inviting you into leather seats and neon lighting.
One by one, each one of you piled inside, heels clicking against the pavement before sinking into the comfort of the interior. ABBA was already pulsing through the speakers and a chilled bottle of champagne was waiting in the ice bucket.
Your mom took a seat near Yov, still giggly, while Emma slid in right next to you; her eyes were sparkling as she smoothed down her dress and smiled at you. Cinthia, in front of you, immediately took charge of pouring the drinks, handing out flutes of bubbling champagne as the city lights outside melted into streaks against the tinted windows.
It was a short drive, but when the limousine finally pulled up to the curb, the venue took your breath away.
It wasn't a huge chaotic nightclub, but a really nice luxurious place. Nestled behind a discreet entrance, the lounge exuded⌠quiet. The lighting was low and calm, casting shadows over velvet booths, dark walnut accents, and a big glowing marble bar that stretched across the main room. Your first thought was oh, this is expensive.
But Cinthia took charge of that. Of everything, really. She had a wildly successful career in PR, and before you had even made it to the restaurant, she had casually mentioned how she always managed to get exactly what she wanted. It was a natural born talent. The restaurant, the limo, the lounge, and even the expensive bottles of champagne waiting for them were all the masterwork of her and Fiona.
A hostess in a tailored suit checked the name and guided your group past the main floor toward a raised, private tier.
"Right this way, ladies. Your table is ready in the VIP lounge," she murmured.
The private area overlooked the rest of the venue, enclosed by elegant brass railings and draped in heavy emerald green curtains. It was the perfect vantage point.
"You really outdid yourself," Yov breathed, taking in the crystal glasses and the dedicated server already waiting for them.
Cinthia just offered a knowing smirk, sinking into the velvet cushions. "Only the best for the bride. Now, what are we drinking?"
Emma squeezed your arm. "Oh my God, no! No! I'm gonna pee myself!"
"Oh no!" your mom shrieked.
You wanted to answer (you really, truly did) but the words wouldn't come because you couldn't even breathe. Your stomach ached from laughing so hard, and Emma wasn't helping; she was standing right in front of you with her legs tightly crossed, this ridiculous, hilarious wheeze escaping her chest.
"Emma, no, go, go!" Cinthia ordered, shooing her away with a wave of her hand. Beside her, Kat, another one of Yov's friends, looked intensely focused, squinting into near blindness as she tried to wipe her glasses with a cloth.
"C'mon, I'll take you," you managed to choke out between giggles, pushing yourself up from your seat and nudging Emma toward the hallway.
"You need me to come with you, sweetie?" your mom asked.
You turned back to look at her and your grin widened; she had a straw clamped between her lips, her eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Nah, we're good, we'll be right back."
Oh God, your stomach literally hurt from laughing. You couldn't even remember what the first joke was, or whatever it was that had triggered this chain reaction of non stop laughter, but it had been at least ten minutes of tossing one-liners back and forth.
Surprisingly, your mom wasn't helping the situation at all; she was on a roll tonight, spilling anecdotes about Santi; embarrassing stories that would have absolutely mortified him if he were here to listen.
And like any good younger sister, you found them hilarious and were laughing your head off.
"Ask him about the time he tried to impress a girl in middle school by doing a backflip off the diving board," she said minutes ago. "He ended up doing a full horizontal belly flop. The smack was so loud the lifeguard thought a firecracker went off! He had a bright red stomach for a week, my poor boy!"
Yov buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving as she let out a loud, snorting laugh.
"I am calling off the wedding," she wheezed, shaking her head.
"No!" your mom shot back, entirely unbothered, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I have the photo album to prove it. I'll pass it under the table right before you say 'I do'."
"Oh yeah! I've seen those photos!"
Picture this. A fourteen year old Santi with slightly long curls and naturally flushed cheeks. And underneath his t-shirt, a bright red stomach bruised from a wipeout that made you laugh your head off back then, but also curse on his behalf. It wouldnât have been so embarrassing if it hadn't been summer, and if he hadn't done it right in front of every single kid at the pool. The poor guy wore a shirt for an entire week after that, even to get into the water.
It was a simple kind of silly anecdote, but the way your mom told it was hilarious, and it was followed by so many more that your brotherâs ears would definitely be burning somewhere right now.
Emma let go of your arm the second you entered the restroom and rushed straight into a stall.
"Your mom is so funny," her voice echoed. "I missed her. Poor Yov!"
Looking in the mirror, you ran your index finger under your eyelashes to fix the mascara that had smudged a bit.
"I know, but sheâs one of us now. She has been for a while."
"I love her, I love herâouch!"
"What's wrong?" you tilted your head to the side.
"Nothing, nothing, I just twisted my stu-pid foot!"
Laughing, you furrowed your brow. "What are you even doing in there?"
Emma let out a low chuckle. "Nothing. These toilets are too damn low."
"Alright. Just be careful in there." You looked down at your purse and opened it to grab your lip gloss, but the glowing screen of your phone caught your attention instead.
Ten missed calls and many⌠many messages. All from Will. And you would have heard them if you hadn't put your phone on vibrate mode just to enjoy the night better.
Plse answt, one of the messages read.
wwe can't fondsanti
Your heart started beating incredibly fast as you unlocked the phone, your hands turning freezing cold.
You heard the sound of Emmaâs toilet flushing just as you pressed call on Will.
"Oh God, much better," she said as she stepped out of the stall, but you couldn't do anything except listen in silence. Emma watched you bring the phone to your ear. "What happened?"
"I don't know," you shrugged both shoulders.
The phone rang once, twice, three timesâ
"Hey."
"Hey, Will, what happened? I just checked my phoneâ"
"Santiâs gone."
Oh God, he was slurring his words.
"What you mean he's gone? Gone from where? Isn't he with you?"
Emmaâs eyes widened. "Is that Will?"
You nodded and put it on speaker.
"âin the restroom, but Ben went to look for him and he wasn't there, and he's nowhere to be found andâ"
"Where are you right now?"
"Here."
"Here where?"
"Will, honey, can you hear me? Where are you guys?" Emma asked.
"In the restroomâat the bar, in the bar restroom."
Your heart jumped into your throat. "And where's Santi?"
"I-I I dunno, he left, or I dunno, he's not hereâ"
You closed your eyes in frustration. "Listen, is there anyone else there I can talk to?"
"Yeah wait."
On the other end, you could hear music, voices, and a thud that sounded like a door slamming shut. Will muttered a shit, and two seconds later:
"Yeah?"
Francisco.
"Hey, what happened?" you asked, rubbing your hand across your forehead. "Where's Santi?"
"Uh⌠we⌠we don't know where he is. We were just hanging out here and he said he had to go to the restroom." Okay, he wasn't slurring his words. "And then after a bit, we realized it had been a really long time, and when Ben went to check, he wasn't in the restroom, or in the bar. He's not here, he left."
"But how? How could he have left without you guys noticing?"
Emma watched you in silence, her eyes wide.
"I dunno, I'm sorry. He must've slipped out through the other side of the bar."
"Shit, Frankie, are you being serious?"
"I'm sorry, we're gonna go look for him right nowâ"
"Will is drunk, and I assume Benny is too, you aren't gonna get very far," you sighed. "How was Santi acting before he disappeared?"
"A bit wasted too. He started talking about trees and houses, and said Yov was gonna be mad at him."
Emma gasped in shock. Your heart completely skipped a beat.
"Alright, where exactly are you guys right now?" you asked.
"At The Crow. We were planning to head over to Met Park later."
"Okay. Listen to me, stay put, yeah? I'm coming right now. Please don't call anyone else. Have you talked to anyone else?"
You heard Frankie pull the phone away from his ear.
"Did you talk to anyone else? No? You Ben? AlrightâŚ" his voice sounded muffled before coming back clear. "No, they haven't talked to anyone else. Neither have I."
"Good. I'm not far, okay?"
"Okay."
Without answering, and before he could say anything else, you cut the call, your hands freezing cold.
"What are we gonna do?" Emma asked. "You don't think he got cold feet about the wedding, right?"
"No, no," you shook your head, though you weren't entirely sure. "No way. Santi would never do that."
Emma rubbed her cheek. "I'm calling an Uber right now. What are you gonna tell the girls?"
"Nothing. They don't need to know. I'll just text mom telling her we're heading home for some silly reason, and that's it."
Your fingers flew across the screen, typing out some absurd excuse. Hey, Em broke her shoe, we're running home real quick to change and we'll be right back, don't worry, we already called the Uber.
You hit send and prayed that your mom's maternal instinct wouldn't kick in tonight of all nights.
You were going to kill Santiago.
If you bit your nails any shorter, you were going to be left with none. And it felt like this damn Uber driver was practically crawling.
"There they are!" Emma said the second you pulled up to the block where the bar was.
Will, Ben, and Frankie were waiting outside on the sidewalk, the three of them looking like scared kids waiting for their moms to pick them up from kindergarten.
You mumbled a quick thank you to the driver and got out as fast as you could, while Emma scrambled out from the other side a bit more clumsily.
Will put both hands on his head as soon as he saw her. "Emmy!"
"Look at you! Grown men!" she snapped, a little tipsy herself. "How could you lose your friend?"
Shaking your head, you looked over at Benny, who was crouching down and looking like he was about to throw up, before shifting your gaze to Frankie; the only sober one, apparently.
He wasn't drunk, but he looked just as panicked. His hair was a bit messy, and he was looking at you with a strange expression.
"What happened?" you asked, crossing your arms as you stepped up to him. "Have you tried calling him?"
Frankieâs eyes flickered across your face. "He left his phone. I have it right here."
"Oh God."
"Don't worry, we're gonna find him," he nodded. "He couldn't have gone very far."
"How? Look at them," you gestured toward Will and Benny. "They're wasted!"
Frankie took another step closer to you. "But I'm not. I've only had a few sips. My car is right across the street."
"Francisco. You're the best man, you were supposed to look out for him," you frowned, a sudden wave of anger hitting you. "How on earth did you let him slip away?"
He frowned back. "How was I supposed to imagine heâd just take off like that? It's Santi we're talking about."
"Yeah, exactly!"
"Alright, alright," Emma stepped in, raising a hand. "Stop wasting time talking and do something, okay? He could be anywhere! Frankie, can you drive?"
He nodded. "Of course."
"Zero point zero eight!" Ben yelled.
"Okay. You go with him and search everywhere," she told you, gesturing with her chin, "and I'll take these two drunks back to Will's place."
No, you thought. And your stomach did such a massive flip you almost gasped. But on the outside, you just nodded.
"Alright," you said, catching sight of Frankie moving beside you out of the corner of your eye. "I'll keep texting you. Tell Grian to keep an eye out in case Santi comes back here, and to hold onto him."
"Will do."
You took a step backward and your back collided with somethingâNo, with him.
As you lost your balance, his hands instantly caught your shoulders. He was right behind you.
"Sorry."
"It's fine," he murmured over your shoulder, his hands releasing you immediately. "Let's go."
He started walking toward the curb, stopping right there to wait for you.
Before moving, you looked at Emma with your eyes wide open, only to catch the mischievous glint in her gaze as she pressed her lips together, trying not to smirk.
Bitch.
Well, this felt familiar.
As you crossed the street, you turned back for a moment and saw your best friend on the other side, while you awkwardly approached your brotherâs friendâs car. It was a familiar scene, wasn't it?
Unlike that first time in Dallas, Frankie held the door open for you. A gentlemanly gesture that caught you off guard. First, because you didn't recognize the car. It was a different one. Black or dark blue, you couldn't quite tell the color in the darkness of the night. It wasn't any of the cars you had seen at Willâs house, and this one was newer. And second, because it would have been easier for both of you to have just skipped the gesture entirely.
"Thanks." You settled into the leather seat, and he shut the door softly beside you.
During the brief seconds it took him to walk around to the driver's side and get in, you let out a deep sigh. Your eyes scanned the black dashboard and then moved up to the rearview mirror, where a small silver cat keychain and a green pine tree hung, filling the space with the scent of vanilla.
Frankie stepped inside like a gust of air and slammed the door shut.
Alright. Chill. This doesn't have to be weird.
"Where to?" he asked.
You pressed your knees tightly together. "Let's just drive around the block first."
Without a word, he started the engine and pulled the car out of its parking spot, maneuvering smoothly as he kept a cautious eye on the street, while you locked your eyes on him the exact same way.
"Uh," you cleared your throat and looked straight ahead, "he couldn't have gone very far."
"He must be around here somewhere."
"You think he called a cab or something?"
"I have his phone."
"Right," you pursed your lips. "Of course."
You clasped your hands in your lap and laced your fingers together, feeling your palms grow sweaty as you stared out the window, holding back a sigh.
It smelled way too much like him in here. Like his cologne, the fabric softener on his clothesâlike him, because he was sitting right next to you, and that made sense, didn't it?
Your heart was beating so fast.
"He seemed a little down today," he noted.
You turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"
"You know, earlier," he looked back at you, holding your gaze for a couple of seconds before turning his eyes back to the street. "I figured he was just nervous about the wedding, so I didn't want to press him with questions."
"You think that could be it? You think he got scared?"
He shook his head. "No, no way. Santi isn't like that."
"I know he's not. But I dunno, it could be possible."
Through the window, the sidewalks and streets passed by with no sign of him.
"What did he mean when he said Yov was gonna be mad?"
Frankie pursed his lips and turned the corner. "I don't know, he wasn't making much sense. He started talking about trees, about how long they live and how big they can grow, and how it had been a really long time since he last visited the park. I asked him about it, but he said nothing. Then he said Yov was gonna be mad if she found out about the house. When I asked him what he meant, he just said it was stupid."
"I can't think of anything," you sighed, rubbing your hand over your neck in frustration. "It doesn't make any sense. Did something happen with his house? What on earth was he talking about?"
"He's drunk, I don't think much of what he said was supposed to make sense."
"But Santi isn't like that, you know him," you looked at him. "When has he ever said something he didn't mean?"
He sighed. "Never, I guess. Maybe tonight he was just in the mood to talk about live oaks."
You froze, watching Frankieâs profile as he looked straight ahead and scanned the sidewalk on his side while driving at a relaxed pace.
"Live oaks?"
"Yeah," he affirmed, looking over at you. "I didn't know he was that into trees."
Oh.
OH.
Your hand shot out to grab his shoulder. "I think I know where he is."
"What?"
"Turn around right here," you pointed with your hand, "now. I know where he is!"
Frankie accelerated to the corner and made a sharp left. "Where? Tell me."
"I'm not completely certain, but I'm almost positive," you brushed a strand of hair out of your face.
He chuckled. "Are you gonna tell me where or not?"
"Osbourne Park."
"Why?"
"When we were kids, we had this eco-week in school and they sent us to plant trees. Santi and I planted a live oak with Dad. We went there a lot after he passed away, and I amâJesus, I'm almost positive he has to be there. Did he say anything about my dad tonight?"
"Yeah," he raised his eyebrows, "yeah, he did."
A relieved sigh escaped your throat and instantly, the car surged forward as he pressed on the gas.
"Take the next right. It'll get us to the ramp faster," you said, leaning forward in your seat, your fingers tightly gripping the edge of the dashboard.
Without a word, he shifted gears and veered right. The streetlights flashed across his face, throwing shadows over his jawline and making his messy hair look even wilder.
Not the time to be looking at him like this!
"He's gonna be fine," he said quietly, grounding anchor against the worry rising in your chest. "If heâs at the park, heâs just clearing his head. He wouldn't do anything stupid."
"I know, I just hope he's there. Otherwise, I don't know," you murmured, staring out at the blurred shapes of buildings. "I don't have any other idea."
Frankie glanced at you, his expression softening before he turned his focus back to the road. "Easy. He's gonna be okay. And if he's not there, we can keep looking around."
Your heart did another strange, complicated flutter that had nothing to do with Santi. You swallowed hard and kept your eyes glued to the windshield.
The car flew past the exit signs, Frankie maneuvering through the light night traffic. He kept his foot steady on the accelerator, making the drive feel much shorter than it actually was. And within short minutes, the neon signs of the downtown bars faded away, replaced by the dark, towering silhouettes of the trees surrounding Osbourne Park.
He took the final turn into the park's entrance; the headlights cut through the heavy darkness of the empty parking lot, sweeping over the grass.
You popped the door open and scrambled out of the car as the heavy darkness of the park was broken only by the scattered park lights cutting through the night, and hovered by the car for two seconds, waiting as Frankie got out from his side and shut his door with a thud.
The moment you saw he was ready, you started moving into the park, your eyes darting everywhere, scanning every shadow. Then, you locked your gaze just to the right, past the paved, illuminated path that led toward the thicker wooded area where the tallest trees stood, and among them, the live oak.
Your pace quickened. As you got closer, cutting through the deep shadows, you managed to make out a familiar shape.
"There he is," you said, drown in anger and relief.
You broke into a fast walk, nearly a jog, while your heart hammered against your ribs as you felt Frankieâs footsteps keeping close right behind you.
As you got closer, you could make him out better. Santi wasn't on the grass; he was sitting on a park bench right in front of the little green space where the tree stood tall and still young among others.
Your footsteps naturally lost their urgency, your pace tapering off as you approached him from behind. He was half hunched over, elbows resting on his knees with his head hanging down. His curls caught the bright glare of the overhead LED light, making them glint in the dark.
You stopped. "Santi?"
He jumped a little at the sound of your voice, straightened up at a relaxed pace, and turned his head just enough to look at you, his eyes unfocused.
"Bub? What are you doing here?"
His voice sounded completely congested and undeniably drunk.
"Frank," Santi smiled, "what are you two doing here?"
You let out a tired sigh and stepped closer to him. "I could ask you the same thing, couldn't I? What are you doing here?"
Up close, he looked like a little kid. You could see his glassy, tear filled eyes, the soft curls falling over his forehead, and the utterly defeated look that took over every single feature of his face as he stared at you in pain.
Santi hung his head again.
"I'm sorry. It's just..." He swallowed hard. "I need time."
His voice was so low you had to furrow your brow. "What?"
He shook his head.
Confused, you glanced over at Frankie, who was keeping a short distance back. He was absolutely quiet.
"Our house is for sale," Santi said. "Our house."
You shifted to his side and sat down right next to him. Tilting your head to see him better, your chest tightened.
"Our house?"
"Our house," he looked at you, and right then, it clicked.
Santi wasn't talking about his house. He was talking about your childhood home.
"I drove past it the other day. I always do. Itâs on my way to work, or⌠not really, I'm lying. I just like driving past it, I guess," he continued. "You remember the family that bought it? With those three little kids?"
"Yeah."
"They don't live there anymore. It's empty now, and there's this big sign outside with a realtor's face on it," he let out a humorless laugh.
You forced a smile even though your cheeks felt heavy, and you reached your hand out to his arm.
Instantly, Santi placed his hand over yours.
"I want it back, bub," his voice cracked. "Itâs our house. How could we just let it belong to someone else?"
"You know how things were back then. It wasn't easy for momâ"
"Dad lived there. We grew up there. And she⌠she just got rid of it because it hurt? What about us? What about you, what about me?" he spat out painfully, the words hitting you straight in the chest.
You swallowed hard. "I know."
Santiâs face contorted with agony, and a sob broke through his lips. And as if he were terrified of you seeing him like this, he covered his face, burying his head in his hands, trying to hide in the shadow of his own body.
"Santi," was all you could manage to say as you threw your arm around his back, resting your head against his shoulder while thick tears began to pool in your eyes.
He let out a ragged breath and abruptly straightened up, making you shift away from him.
"I made an offer," he said.
"For the house?"
He nodded, looking at you with pure fear in his eyes. "I did. And Yov doesn't know."
"How⌠how? With what moneyâI'm sorry, butâ"
"Our savings, and I'm planning to take out a loanâ"
"Santi, wait," you shook your head gently, "you have to talk to her before you do anything like this."
"I know."
"Why didn't you tell her?"
"I don't know," he shook his head, in pain. "She loves our current house. If she found out I wanted to sell itâI don't wanna disappoint her." A gasp broke through his words. "I'm gonna be a husband."
You smiled involuntarily at the realization. "Yeah, you will."
Santi sat completely still, barely moving, his eyes bloodshot as he stared down at his own hands, his body swaying in an almost imperceptible rhythm.
"I'm gonna be a husband," he repeated, barely a scared whisper. "And a dad, someday."
"I am absolutely certain you'll be a great husband and dad."
His head snapped toward you, his eyes instantly flooding with glassy tears.
"You will," you reaffirmed, squeezing his hand. "I know you will."
He nodded at a very quiet, subdued pace. "I need him, bub."
A beat.
You nodded. "I know. I need him too."
"How can I ever be like him? How can I ask him what to do or how to do it if he's not here? He should be here," his words took on an angry edge right at the end. "On my wedding day."
"I honestly don't know," you murmured, your voice catching as you squeezed his hand tighter. "I ask myself the exact same thing every single day. But I know I have you, and you have me. And you can always, absolutely always count on me, for whatever, whenever. And I'm sure he's so proud of you."
Santi offered a faint, fleeting smile, his eyes searching yours. "I'm gonna miss you when you leave again. Nothing is the same without you sticking your nose into all of my business."
You let out a soft laugh, blinking back a new wave of tears. "You're gonna be way too busy starting your own family. You'll barely even notice I'm gone."
His smile faltered, a deep, raw sadness washing over his features. "How could you say something like that? You're part of my family too. I've missed you so much these past few months, you know that? First Mom, and then you," he said, his voice cracking slightly as a weak smile returned to his face. "Why is everyone so obsessed with leaving this place, huh?"
He turned his head around, his gaze shifting toward Frankie, who was still standing a short distance behind you both, keeping his respectful space.
Frankie offered a quiet smile, his eyes on Santi. "Hey, I came back, didn't I?"
Santi let out a weak laugh. "Yeah, you did."
Then, he turned back around to face the dark park, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. He hung his head, dragging both of his hands over his face and up through his tangled curls, holding them there for a second.
When he finally lifted his eyes, he locked his gaze onto the live oak tree, staring at it in total silence for a long moment, as if soaking in the memory of your dad one last time tonight.
Finally, he spoke, his voice completely drained. "I wanna go to sleep."
You nodded silently, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak.
"Alright, let's go," you whispered.
Carefully, you pushed yourself up from the bench and reached out, pulling on his arm to help him stand. His weight shifted unsteadily, but right at that moment, Frankie was there. He stepped in instantly, his strong grip catching Santi by the arm, anchoring him and helping him keep his balance on his shaky, alcohol heavy legs.
In complete silence, the three of you made your way back across the grass toward the car. The only sound was the rustle of the night breeze through the leaves and the quiet scuff of your shoes. And when you reached the vehicle, you quickly pulled the back door open as Frankie guided Santi inside, carefully maneuvering him so he could settle into the backseat.
The second his head hit the leather, it was over. In less than two seconds, Santiago was completely out, his eyes shut tight as his breathing immediately slowed into a deep sleep.
Frankie drove in silence down the side street by the park, careful with every bump and easing through the road so the carâs movement wouldn't wake Santi. In the backseat, he was completely twisted and bent out of shape, yet fast asleep.
Less than a minute passed after you left the park area behind before a sigh finally escaped your throat.
Your phone lay in your lap, its screen dark ever since you read Emmaâs last message a few moments ago. She was already at Willâs place with the guys, and apparently, Benny had crashed on the couch the second they walked through the door.
Frankie pulled up to a red light.
"You can take us to my place if you want, Iâll stay with him," you said, not looking at him.
He clicked his tongue. "Nah, it's fine. Iâve got him. Yovâs party is still going, you shouldn't miss it. Iâll take him to Willâs and crash with the guys. You and Emma can head out."
"You sure?"
"Yeah," he turned to look at you, "gotta fulfill my duties as bestman."
A helpless smile slowly formed on your lips as you looked at him, and his own lips mirrored the gesture a second later. His eyes held yours like a magnet, and your stupid heart skipped a beat again.
"So, uh, New York," he tossed out, breaking eye contact as he looked back at the road. "What did you think?"
You lowered your head, fixing your gaze on your hands in your lap.
"It's nice. It's a great city," you looked back at him, but his eyes were still fixed ahead. "And I⌠Iâve been writing a lot."
Frankie glanced at you again. "Yeah?"
You nodded, unable to stop yourself from smiling like an idiot.
"Yeah. A book, actually."
"That's amazing," he smiled, "what's it about?"
"Uh, well, it's kind of a love story. It's mostly about Miles, and his relationship with Alya. They meet one night at a restaurant and lose touch for a year until they cross paths again, but Miles is this guy with a huge amount of baggage and things to work through," you waved your hands, showing just how huge Miles's problems really were. "And it's⌠it's a complicated story."
Frankie gave a half-smile, nodding slowly. "Does it have a happy ending?"
You pursed your lips and tilted your head. "I'm not telling you."
"Why? C'mon."
The traffic light turned yellow, and two seconds later, green.
"It has a happy ending, doesn't it?" he pressed, his eyes drifting back to the road as the car started moving again.
You huffed. "You really want me to spoil it for you?"
"Depends. How long do I have to wait to read it?"
"I haven't even finished writing it yet, so probably a while."
Frankie let out a soft laugh. "Alright. I'll wait."
Or maybe you could show him a few pages, you thought. Just a few, just to get his opinion.
It was just a thought. You didn't even know why you were so desperate to show him all of it.
"Emma told me you moved to a new place?" you said, your fingers fidgeting in your lap.
He nodded. "Yeah. Over at Circle Ranch."
"Yeah? It's a nice area."
"It is, it really is," he glanced at you for a split second. "Bingley likes it."
You smiled. "Really?"
"Yeah. We have a big backyard now, lots of grass and a few trees. He loves it, but it freaks me out a little, y'know," he shook his head with a smile. "The other day he climbed up one of the trees and I spent half an hour trying to get him down."
"He probably would've come down on his own. Cats really like being up in high places."
"I know. But what if a dog gets him or something?"
You tilted your head. "Are there any dogs nearby? I mean, from your neighbors or...?"
He shook his head. "Not really."
"Then?"
Frankie laughed. "I don't know. I guess I just don't want anything happening to him."
"Mhm. Cats are really smart. Bingley is really smart," you assured him. "And if your yard is safe, you shouldn't worry too much as long as he stays inside it. Just make sure he doesn't escape."
"Yeah, I bought him a collar with a tracker."
You laughed softly. "That's cool. I should get Darcy one of those. You really are a protective cat dad, uh."
"Well, obviously," he smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. "Heâs my roommate. If he goes missing, I gotta do my own dishes."
"Fair point," you smiled, looking out the window for a moment. "I'm glad Bingley is enjoying his new backyard. Sounds like he has his own little kingdom now."
"He definitely thinks he owns the place," Frankie chuckled, slowing down as you approached a quiet intersection. The playful tone in his voice softened, turning into something softer as he glanced over at you. "What about you? Are you staying at your apartment?"
"Yeah. It feels good to be back home. Even Darcy is enjoying it."
Frankie nodded, keeping his hands steady on the wheel. He went quiet for a moment as the car moved down the dark street.
Then, his voice dropped. "So... Uh, are you, are you going back to New York?"
A sudden hollow feeling carved itself deep into your chest. You bit the inside of your cheek, looking away out the passenger window as the city lights blurred past. In your lap, you tightly laced your fingers together, squeezing your hands to ground yourself.
"I guess. I don't know yet."
You turned your head back to look at him just as the car approached another intersection. The traffic light flicked to a glowing red.
Frankie came to a stop and turned his head.
In the sudden stillness of the car, bathed in the soft crimson glow of the light, his eyes met yours. There was no teasing left in them, no easy deflection; just a brief searching intensity that seemed to pull the air right out of your lungs for a second.
He looked at you as if he were trying to read between the lines of your hesitation, his eyes dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto yours. "You like it there?"
Your heart squeezed.
Yes, you thought, but it doesn't feel like home.
Instead of saying it out loud, you looked away, answering softly, "I guess I do."
You turned your eyes back to him. Frankie was still looking at you, wearing a small encouraging smile. But you couldn't mirror it. There was something heavy sitting deep in your chest that anchored your lips in place.
Frankie noticed. "When Harry met Sally, uh?"
That pulled a small laugh from you. You shook your head.
Seeing your reaction, Frankie shook his head too, a chuckle escaping him as he quickly backpedaled. "No, no. They met in Chicago. Forget I said that."
You leaned your elbow against the car door, resting your face in your hand as you turned to look out the passenger window. The lingering smile stayed on your lips for a few seconds as the car moved forward, but it slowly began to fade, melting away into the quiet streets.
Beside you, Frankie just drove. He didn't push for more conversation or try to fill the space with words. He simply let the silence settle between you, steering through the night as the landscape outside started to blur into something increasingly familiar.
Willâs house wasn't far now. Just a few more blocks, a couple of turns, and this ride would be over.
And right then, a sudden ache hit you: you didn't want it to end.
The realization washed over you quietly, almost catching you off guard, of just how desperately you had missed this. Just being near him, sharing the same space, even wrapped in these sometime-uncomfortable silences.
You watched the streetlights sweep across the dashboard in waves, wishing the car would slow down, wishing the blocks would stretch out, just to keep the outside world away for a little longer.
But no matter how much you wished you could control time, sometimes wanting to speed it up, other times desperate to slow it down, the reality was that it just kept moving.
And while your heart hammered against your ribs like an untamed creature, craving more of him, Willâs house suddenly appeared ahead.
Frankie pulled the car into the driveway, bringing the ride to a final stop.
A beat later, he let out a quiet sigh and unbuckled his seatbelt, the click signaling the end of the line. The headlights caught the front window of Willâs house.
Your eyes drifted to him then. He glanced at Santi, still dead to the world in the back, before turning his face to yours.
"Frankie," you breathed, and the name felt forbidden on your tongue.
He didn't speak, but the slight tension in his brow gave him away. His hands remained clamped at the top of the steering wheel.
"I'm so sorry for everything that happened to you," you said, knowing this probably wasn't the right time or the right place, but utterly unable to hold it in any longer. "About Henry, and... and everything that came after."
The silence stretched.
Frankie swallowed, giving a single nod. "Thank you."
"And it makes me real happy that you're doing better now."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips, but his eyes stayed entirely dark. His gaze drifted down, anchoring somewhere between the two of you, as if measuring the distance that had grown since you left.
His hand twitched on the wheel, a microscopic movement toward you that he stopped just in time.
"Thank you."
You nodded.
Frankie seemed to hesitate. "And I... I'm so sorry," he murmured, his brown eyes lifting back to yours. "For hurting you and⌠and letting you down. You didn't deserve what I did to you."
You didn't offer an easy reassurance. You just let out a slow nod.
"And I'm really happy you're doing what you love," he added, his voice flattening out as he forced a smile. It was a tight, fragile thing. "I have no doubt everyone is gonna love your book."
You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Thank you."
Frankieâs smile faltered, dropping for a fraction of a second before he held it back up.
"And New York..." He trailed off, his gaze slipping from yours to look down at his own lap.
In that brief second of detachment, your eyes scanned his face with a desperate quiet hunger, memorizing him all over again. You traced the familiar slope of his nose, the soft curve of his mouth, the tiny lines around his eyes that hadnât been there a year ago, the new marks on his face. You searched every single feature, hunting for a crack in his armor, looking for a hidden twitch, a shadow of hesitation, anything that said stay.
But Frankie just gave a soft shake of his head, looking back up. His expression was clear and almost painfully serene.
"I'm sure New York loves you too," he said softly. "Itâs a big city, but it fits you. Youâre gonna do amazing things there."
A cold ache settled deep into your stomach.
Was this encouragement? Was this a gentle nudge out the door? Was he clearing the path for you, sweeping away the debris?
A sudden winter seemed to settle inside the small cabin of the car. You forced a nod, your eyes drifting back to the dashboard where the green light of the clock kept ticking forward.
"Yeah," you breathed. "Thank you, Frankie."
He unclasped his hands from the steering wheel, the leather letting out a soft stick and release sound that felt incredibly loud. And the space between your seats suddenly felt like an ocean.
You looked straight ahead and unbuckled your seatbelt, the snap breaking the trance. "We should probably get Santi inside."
Without waiting for a response, you pushed the car door open and stepped out, your lungs begging for air.
You took a deep grounding breath of the cool night wind as you walked toward the front porch. Pressing the doorbell, you could hear the heavy thud of Frankieâs door closing behind you.
Emma opened the door almost instantly.
"Hey," she whispered, stepping outside and crossing her arms against the chill. "Will and Benny are already passed out. What happened? How's Santi?"
"Nothing," you said, turning back toward the car where Frankie was gently shaking Santiâs shoulder. "Santi was just at the park. Everything's fine."
Emma nodded, watching as Frankie carefully hauled a groaning Santi out of the backseat. You stepped in, grabbing your brother's other arm to stabilize him.
"Careful," you murmured.
Santi blinked heavily, a goofy smile spreading across his face as he looked at you.
"I'm careful," he slurred.
The three of you shuffled toward the porch in an awkward synchronized stumble, Frankie carrying most of Santi's dead weight while you guided his steps. Emma stepped aside, holding the front door wide open to let the makeshift rescue team pass.
"Will and Ben are in the living room," Emma guided quietly, shutting the door behind you. "You can take him straight to the bedroom."
"Alright, keep your feet steady, man," Frankie muttered to Santi, adjusting his grip around his torso.
Santi let out a low grunt, his sneakers dragging lazily against the hardwood floor.
"Why didn't you tell her?" he mumbled into the space between them.
You frowned, staring at your brother. Just then, Santi rolled his head back to look at you, his eyes unfocused but teasing. "He didn't... he didn't."
Frankie didn't acknowledge it, his face a mask of focus as they reached the open bedroom door. He placed a firm hand on Santiâs back, guiding him over the threshold.
"C'mon. Bedtime."
Santi paused for a second in the middle of the room, clumsily tugging at the zipper of his jacket.
"It's too fucking hot in here," he muttered.
A soft chuckle escaped Frankieâs lips. You watched them from the doorway, leaning against the frame with your arms crossed, forcing a faint hollow smile that didn't reach your eyes.
"Hey."
Turning around, you found Emma standing a few feet away in the dimly lit hallway. You stepped out of the room, giving Frankie and Santi some space.
"What's the plan?" she asked softly.
"We're heading back to Yov's," you replied. "Frankie's staying with the guys."
Emma searched your face, her eyes lingering a bit too long. "You sure?"
"Yeah."
You slipped back into the bedroom. Santi was already sprawled out on the mattress, his jacket and shoes discarded on the floor, while Frankie pulled a thick blanket up to his chest.
"All good?" you asked quietly.
Frankie nodded, looking down at him. "Look at him. Like a baby."
You swallowed the tightness in your throat and walked out toward the living room. Emma was already on one of the armchairs. Across from her, Will and Benny were sound asleep on the couches, buried under a messy pile of blankets and breathing heavily.
"I'll call an Uber," you said, pulling out your phone.
Emma nodded. "Your mom texted me, by the way. Asked how long we were going to be. I told her we got held up because you had a stomach ache."
A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. "Right. Did she buy it?"
"Seems like it," Emma said, shrugging her shoulders.
You nodded, your fingers moving quickly across the screen to confirm the Uber ride, while the soft snores of the Millers drifted from the couches. Emma watched you in silence for a beat.
"Iâm completely sober now," Emma noted quietly.
You offered a tight smile. "Me too. The scare Santi gave me cleared the alcohol right outta my system."
On your screen, a driver accepted the ride, the map showing he was only two minutes away.
"Iâll text mom to let her know weâre on our way," you said, just as Frankie walked back into the living room.
"Santi's already snoring," he said, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. "I don't think heâll wake up until noon tomorrow."
"Yeah, well, neither will these two," Emma whispered, gesturing with her chin toward Will and Ben. "How much did they even drink? Weren't you supposed to have other plans after the bar?"
Frankie shook his head. "I lost count. Benny got a little too excited ordering rounds."
"You gotta work tomorrow?" Emma asked.
Frankie shook his head slightly. "Yeah, but not until after ten."
In the heavy silence that followed, you listened to their casual back and forth, the ordinary words mapping out a life you were no longer part of. You bit the inside of your cheek, keeping your eyes glued to the glowing screen of your phone.
"Too much work tomorrow?" Emma asked, leaning back against the cushions.
Frankie shook his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Nah, not really."
You let out a quiet sigh. Shifting your weight, you stepped away from the living room without a word, slipping back into the dim hallway toward the room where Santi was sleeping.
As you walked, you caught a movement from the corner of your eye. You glanced back and saw Frankie watching you from the living room, his dark eyes tracking your retreat. You met his gaze for barely a second before turning your head away, focusing entirely on your brother.
It's fine, you thought. What did you really expect?
You had known that coming back to Austin meant facing Frankie, and facing Frankie meant clearing up a few things. But you couldn't pretend that the world had been on pause all this time. You couldn't expect him to show more than he already had. Because no matter how many feelings you still harbored for him, or how many he kept for you, if he even had any left; time had kept moving. And maybe... maybe this was just it. The end of the line.
The phone vibrated in your hand. The Uber was outside: Eric, dark grey Toyota Camry.
Casting one last look at Santi, you stepped closer to the bed and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. He barely stirred, completely and deeply asleep.
By the time you reached the living room, Emma was already standing by the door, her bag slung over her shoulder. "Ready, babe?"
You nodded, tightly crossing your arms against your chest.
You couldn't bring yourself to look directly at Frankie, but you could feel his gaze burning into your profile; he was standing just to your left.
"Okay," Emma murmured, twisting the doorknob and pulling the front door open.
You stepped out first, your feet moving automatically as if you suddenly couldn't bear to be in his vicinity for a single second longer.
The night air hit your face like a splash of cold water, but it wasn't enough to clear the suffocating feeling in your chest.
"Tell Yov I say hi," Frankieâs voice drifted from inside.
Only when Emma stepped out onto the porch beside you did you finally turn your head to look at him. Frankieâs eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, but you didn't say anything; you just offered a small fleeting smile, turning on your heel before it could fade.
Walking down the driveway toward the car waiting by the curb, you didn't look back. Not before getting into the car, not after the door clicked shut, and definitely not through the window as the engine revved and the house began to recede into the darkness.
The only thing you knew for certain was that you desperately needed a glass or two of that champagne. Or maybe something a lot stronger.
"Hey," Emmaâs voice broke through the quiet, her fingers touching your forearm. "Whatâs wrong? Did something happen?"
You shook your head, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, but your body betrayed you completely. Your eyes burned, blurring with hot tears, and your mouth trembled, puckering into a soft painful grimace.
"Hey," Emma repeated, her fingers tightening just a fraction.
"It's over," you whispered. You didn't sob. You didn't break down. But your mouth trembled as the hot tears finally spilled over, tracks of quiet fire burning down your cheeks.
crime of the century, part five | arthur morgan x reader
summary: you're running from a life you never wanted. arthur's running after you just as fast.
content: angst, canon-typical language
wc: 3.1k
spring is for florals and pinks and young love.Â
elsewhere, valentineâs day rears its ugly head on the horizon, threatening distant husbands with the whisper of divorce. lovers stroll through distant cities, hand in hand, abandoning chaperones in hat shops, whispering of wedding colors and possible dates and grandmothersâ rings. april showers bring the promise of may flowers, magnolias and irises and cornflowers, all bursting through the rich soil, greeting the sun with colorful petals and buzzing bees.Â
but in saint denis, life is as dismal as ever; the springs arenât much better than the winters. neither are too cold; both are too wet, bloating the rivers past their natural borders, forcing residents to forge new roads when the old are drowned out by heavy rainfall. but spring is when stanford had set the wedding date, so spring it is.
your days are filled with the concerns of young lovers, despite the complete absence of love between you and stanford. he wants to discuss the color scheme, the invitation suites, the bridal party, the car you will drive away in. but he still wonât show you the guest list.Â
âitâs a surprise!â he always says, tongue poking through his teeth in the way it always does when heâs trying to look cute.Â
your stomach curdles just thinking about it.Â
âwhat do you think of this green?â he asks, shoving a fabric sample beneath your nose.Â
you give it a cursory glance. âitâs fine.â you shrug.Â
âdo you like that one or this one better?â he interrupts you, handing you another piece of green cloth. they look remarkably similar, and it takes you a moment to differentiate between the two.Â
âi prefer this one,â you say, handing him the second piece.
he looks up at you and frowns. he preferred the other one. ânow, for the bridal partyâŚâ and so on.Â
you havenât seen arthur in weeks, not since the window incident, and youâre starting to think you imagined it. stanford hadnât said anything, not even to taunt you, and cella wisely has also left the matter alone. the only proof you have that it wasnât your imagination is the still-broken window. you let out a long-suffering sigh.
stanford drops the cloth suddenly. âwhat on earth is the matter with you? you wonât focus on the wedding, youâre moping about like a lost cow, and you canât even answer basic questions. go to your room until youâre ready to listen.â
for once, itâs an order youâre more than happy to obey. youâre already out of your seat and halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rings. looking back, thatâs the moment everything changed.
you make it to the top of the stairs and then duck behind the railing so that youâre able to see who walks in without being seen by them. you wait for a full minute before murmurs begin to float up from the foyer. stanfordâs butler walks in first.Â
âsir,â he says, bowing low to the ground. âyou have a visitor. mr. morgan.â
your heart stops.Â
sure enough, arthur morgan is close behind, his languid stroll and low timbre announcing his identity even before he says his name. âmr. morgan, sir, weâve done some business before.â
stanford frowns up at arthur as though he doesnât recognize him. âuh, yes.â he definitely doesnât recognize him. âplease take a seat and tell me whatâs the matter.â
arthur sits where you were, just moments before. âi have something to discuss with your wife.â
stanfordâs brow furrows even further. âwell, iâm not married.â
arthur flinches, barely even noticeably. but you notice. âi meant your future wife,â he recovers with some effort, but stanford doesnât seem to care.
âi see. and, uh, what is it you need to discuss?â
arthur shifts in his chair anxiously. he folds and refolds his hands, settling them in his lap. âwell, you see, itâs a little private.â
stanford arches his brow now, unimpressed by mr. morganâs stalling. âlook, youâd better get to itââ
âi mean it, sir, itâs probably embarrassing for her. i want to tell you, really, but iâm afraid it would insult her.â he takes his hat off and grips it in his hands, broadcasting his nerves for the whole house.Â
âif you donât tell me what it is, then iâm afraid you wonât be able to see her. she already doesnât receive guests, and we certainly donât know you.â stanford returns his attention to the wedding details before him. âi suggest that you leave now.â
âiâm delivering menstrual products!â arthur blurts out. âshe stopped by the store earlier today and said she would want them delivered to the house. she didnât have time to wait.â
lies, you think.
stanfordâs gaze snaps up. his face reddens immediately, and heâs sputtering out sounds, not words. âuh, youâsheâsâgo, uh⌠go upstairs!â
arthur springs out of the chair, all too eager to get out. he almost trips over himself in his haste to climb the stairs. you scramble down the hall towards your bedroom, barely managing to shut the door behind you before he begins his own trip down the hall.Â
still, a long moment stretches before he knocks. you imagine his fist raised, ready to knock, working up the nerve. itâs been weeks since you saw him, months since the last time you really spoke. you perch on the edge of your bed, waiting.Â
what if iâve changed?
you canât magically unchange now. itâs far too late. surely arthur wonât expect the same woman, right? or worse: what if you havenât changed? what if arthur took the opportunity to better himself, and youâre still stuck the same immature girl he left months ago?
arthur brings out the worst in you: your fear, your worry, your anger. all your worst traits that youâve tried so hard to leave in your past come roaring back whenever arthur comes calling.
finally, a knock echoes through your room. him.
heart pounding, you freeze. possible scenarios flash through your mind, each more unlikely than the last. another knock, moments later. forcing your nerves down, you walk to your door and listen. you grip the doorknob, dimly aware of your sweat sticking to it. your other hand smooths down your dress, wiping away any clamminess. you swing the door open.Â
âhello, maâam,â cella says, giving you a brief curtsy. âis everything okay?â
you glance behind her, trying not to show your shock. âum, yes⌠i thought i heard a visitor ask for me.â
her eyes brighten. âoh yes! heâs in your drawing room down the hall. you canât receive guests here.â she looks scandalized at the thought. âiâm here to fetch you.â
you nod distractedly. âhow do i look?â
she gives you a nod. âlovely as always. the color really compliments your eyes, maâam, if i may be so bold. please follow me!â
the walk down the hall is a death march; it seems to stretch on into eternity, the hall lengthening even as you near the drawing room. in your mindâs eye, you can see him: perched at the edge of a plush chair, hat neatly angled on his head to cover his gaze, hands settled firmly at his waist, fingers perhaps brushing the guns he keeps holstered there. the rest of the room is empty in your imaginationâall that matters is him, arthur morgan.Â
cella stops in front of the room. âdo you want a chaperone, maâam?â she asks politely.
âoh, um⌠no, itâs okay. this shouldnât take too long.â still, you canât stop wiping your hands on your skirts. she gives you a strange look, but pushes the door open for you.Â
the first thing you notice is the smell. itâs so distinctly arthur, masculine and woodsy. before him, you didnât know what it meant to have a masculine smell; stanford always smells so delicate, like paper shavings and ink. but arthur has always smelled like the outdoors, like smoke and horses, tobacco and old wood. the smell curls into your senses, almost sending you into a swoon.Â
but then you see him, and if he looked good out your window, he looks even better in front of you. heâs standing, not sitting like youâd imagined. you rework the fantasy. now, his form is backlit by the light that streams in from the window, and when you enter, he turns towards you. you canât see his face, so your mind fills in the blanks. you imagine sorrow. you imagine love, perhaps. you imagine grief. the scene plays behind your eyelids: confessions of love, declarations of intention, arthur sweeping you off your feet and promising to rescue you.Â
but then he shifts, facing the light, and thereâs no room for mistake: bitter anger lines every feature of his face.Â
âyou,â he spits. âyouâre supposed to be married.â
everything grinds to a halt, the fantasy vanishing like smoke. â...what?â
he shakes his head and turns towards you more fully. âdonât act dumb. itâs not cute.â
âwhat on earth are you talking about?â
âiâm talking about your husband-to-be.â
you shake your head, trying to dispel the fog that seems determined to cling to your thoughts. nothing of what heâs saying is making any sense. âwhat about him?â you ask.Â
âyouâre supposed to be married to him!â
slowly, you recover your senses. arthur morgan, the man who sold you out, is angry at you because youâre not married. it doesnât make any sense, but it sure does make you mad as a hornet. âand youâre supposed to be far away from here!â you yell. âwhy the hell are you back?â
âdo you think i want to be here right now?â arthur glares at you, and itâs not just anger anymore in his eyes. a deep, abiding hatredâloathing, evenâsimmers behind his gaze, and you shrink back from it before you realize what youâre doing. âthe whole point was for you two to get married so i could fuck off into some big old house somewhere and never see you again.â his brows furrow. âi should have known youâd ruin everything.â
youâre silent for a long moment, trying to piece together what heâs saying. the only thing you can come up with is: â...you left me!â
arthur has the audacity to laugh. âis that what you think happened?â
you canât believe what youâre hearing. âthat is what happened! thereâs no other interpretation!â
he strolls casually towards one of the chairs, dropping into it heavily. he sighs and tips his head back. âwell, it doesnât matter, because iâm not here to argue with you, sweetheart.â
âhow dare you speak to me that way! youâre in my house!â you yell, stamping your foot. his gaze catches the childish motion. he raises his eyebrows judgementally.
he scoffs. âyou havenât changed a bit. i should have known better.â
never before have you truly felt arthurâs age. but now, as he stares at you and makes secret judgements, you remember that heâs older than you. once, it made you shiver in delight. arthurâs attention felt so delightful, like a glass of bubbly champagne downed before dinner. like the swim in a creek taken after a long day. now, his attention embarrasses you, makes you shrink under the weight of his anger.
months ago, all you wanted was for him to look at you. it wouldnât really matter what he was doing, because at least he was looking at you. now, his gaze burns you.Â
your fears from earlier come rushing back. you havenât changed. heâs moved on and youâre still stuck waiting for him to come back to you. and then suddenly it clicks.
quietly, you say, âi donât know what youâre talking about. youâre the same selfish asshole that ruined my life months ago. i canât believe i have to know you forever.â
if he noticed your silent train of thought, he doesnât mention it. instead, he rolls his eyes. âlook, sweetheartââ
âiâm not your sweetheart,â you warn. âdonât call me that.â
for a moment, something flashes across arthurâs face. if you didnât know any better, youâd say itâs grief. but then itâs gone, replaced by a mask you canât break through. his lip curls as he stares at you. âfine,â he sneers. âletâs cut to the chase. iâm here to take you away.â
silence. he looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to say something, to jump into his arms, to lead him outside. your lips part, ready to tell him the truth. you watch his eyebrows jump and he leans forward for your response.
the truth is that youâve been waiting months to hear this from him. you waited, really you did. all youâve wanted is a rescue from stanford, from the oppressive silence of his bone-white house. stanford could never make you happy; for a brief moment with arthur, you were.Â
but itâs too late. âfinally had need of me, huh?â you ask instead.
he sits back, brows furrowed at your non-answer. ânot you,â he admits. âyour husbandâs money.âÂ
his response hits you like a punch to the gut; itâs the worst thing he could have said. you barely suppress the wounded sound that escapes you. âwell, thatâs too bad,â you manage, lowering yourself into one of the chairs. you take your time arranging your skirts around you, picking at nonexistent dust on the expensive fabric and smoothing the dress down. âiâm not going with you. and heâs not my husband. even if he was, he wouldnât give me any money.â
he stands, placing his hat on his head, readying himself to leave you again. but when he crosses the room, he doesnât go for the door; instead, he kneels in front of you and grabs your hands, tightening his grip when you try to pull away. he whispers your name, but when you look up, itâs not tenderness in his eyes or love or sorrow. itâs something harder, darker. âyou donât have a choice. itâs very important that you leave with me now. not tomorrow, not in a week, right now.â
you stand forcefully, shoving him back, away from you. he stumbles to the ground, landing hard on his ass. summoning all the imperiousness you can muster, you move to the window and stand with your back to him, although you can hear him climbing to his feet. âi will not go with you. i have made my decision. leave now.â
another long moment of silence. then a snort. his derisive tone taunts you when he says: âwould it help if i told you i loved you? would that convince you? letâs share a bed. can i touch you? sit in my lap while i talk to my friends,â he mocks. the vitriol in his voice beckons you to turn around and face him. an awful flush rises to your face, all the way to your hairline. âcome on, donât tell me you believed all that crap.â then his tone turns urgent and he speaks your name: âyou donât know what youâre talking about. you have to come with me!âÂ
he reaches you in two strides, grabbing your hands again. he still towers over you, but you donât feel safe with him anymore. you rip your hands out of his grasp again.
âno, you donât know what youâre talking about, arthur morgan.â his eyes widen and then narrow as you keep talking. âyou have insulted me beyond what i can bear, and i must ask you to leave my home. i am sorry that i have caused you such obvious emotional distress. i hope the sentiments of disgust you espoused just now will be helpful in soothing your hurt feelings at my rejection. please leave now.â
he gapes at you for a moment, then shuts his mouth. nods, and walks towards the door. âas you wish,â he says quietly. âbut donât come crying to me when everything goes wrong.â he pauses and tips his hat in a farce of respect. âiâll be seeing you.â
âno, you wonât.â but the door clicks shut behind him without an answer, and youâre alone again.Â
_._._
when cella comes to collect you, she finds you knelt on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest.Â
âmaâam!â she exclaims. âis everything okay?â
you reach up and pull her down next to you. âcella, if that man ever comes back, tell me immediately. it is essential that i know.âÂ
she nods frantically. âyes, of course, maâam. did he hurt you?â
âno.â you turn your head to see out the window. heâs not there, having long since left on horseback, likely from the back of the house so he wouldnât pass by your window. âbut the next time he comes, i need to go with him.â
her eyes widen in fright. âmaâam, i donât think stanford would be okay with that.â
âyou can come, too, cella. itâs not safe to be around stanford anymore.â she helps you stand, and then ushers you to your room, where she undresses you and settles you into bed.Â
âi think you need some rest,â she says. âshall i bring anything for you to eat?â
you shake your head back and forth. âplease find him.â
âof course, maâam.â
when she bows out of the room, youâre left with only your thoughts. mostly you think about arthur. what if heâs right? is it essential that you leave now? what if heâs wrong? will stanford come find you? will arthur sell you out again? you donât trust him, not at all. why would you? he didnât deserve your trust before.Â
the sleep that follows is fitful, and you wake more distressed than before.Â
_._._
arthur morgan rides away from your house cursing himself.
fool, he thinks. pushing you away when he needs you closer than ever. a clumsy play. another trip there will only endanger him, but he needs to get you out of there.
to his credit, he did come with honest intentions of rescue. but when you looked at him with those eyes, wide and wounded, everything fell apart. powerless, completely out of control, he heard himself actually insulting you, tearing down every defense he assumes youâve built to explain him. he canât believe heâs so stupid; he canât believe youâre so stubborn.Â
despite all evidence to the contrary, you really believe that stanford is safe. you believe that your chances are better with stanfordâa man you hateâthan with arthurâa man you once loved.Â
then it hits him. his choice is clear. itâs not a good one, nor an easy one. it will be an uphill battle the whole way.Â
to rescue you, to build a life with you, he has to prove heâs worth loving again.
Once Smitten, Twice Shy (Adrian Chase x Fem!Reader) Chapter 4
Chapter 1 |Chapter 3 | Fic based on this: ask - thank you anon! đˇď¸ đ¸ď¸word count: 3.6k
a/n: sorry for the wait! đŚ
tags: autistic reader, Adrian being Adrian, fluff, eventual smut, shy reader, forensic entomologist reader, awkward crushes, love confessions, this chapter contains spicy sex scenes, mdni please.
âđâđŁâđ¨ââđâđŁâđ¨â
The 11th Street Kids were all waiting awkwardly in the video rental store after being yelled at by you.
Perhaps they'd been a bit unfair with Adrian earlier, the guy has after all been tortured with a car battery to the genitals.
But strolling out, Adrian looked like a whole new man, and his hand for whatever reason was touching your shoulder.
Everyone glanced sideways at each other before deciding to comment.
âWhat happened back there? Is he going to make it Doc?â Chris broke the ice first.Â
âAnd why is his arm around you like that?â Harcourt asked what was really on their minds.
âAfter icing my balls she's my girlfriend now. Isn't that awesome best friend?â Adrian announced your getting together a little bit different than you'd had put it.
But you were much too shy to add anything besides nodding and hiding in the safety of his arm around your shoulder, everyone's eyes now on you. The attention was too much and Adrian knew it, shielding you.
That however was seen as even more suspicious.
âJust blink three times if you're being held hostage by Vigilante and his singed nuts.â Emilia replied, glaring straight over Adrian's head to look intensely at you for any signs of rapid blinking.
"Yeah girl seriously, you didn't enter a contract or anything by giving his balls medical aid.â Adebayo agreed.
âHey! What the hell do you guys think of me?â Adrian whined but the rest of the room nodded, wanting to hear it come from your lips too.
âI'm not being held hostage, I love Adrian.â You admitted in a whisper that had the whole gang in utter disbelief. âAnd it's true we're dating now.âÂ
âSee we're totally in love for realsies! She's my girlfriend! Geez can't believe you all thought I was crazy or delusional or somethingâŚâ Adrian snapped loudly, like a dog let off his chain.
âYeah we definitely don't think either of those things about you anymore.â John replied sardonically.
âLet's focus on the mission, we've discovered something important while you two were canoodling,â Murn stepped in, putting on his big boss pants.
"Canoodling?â Adebayo snorted at the unexpected term.
"Yes, I think that covers it.â Murn replied, unfazed, continuing on, âthere's a warehouse we need to infiltrate.âÂ
âWhat do you think is inside? Guan Tai?â John wondered aloud, the address for the factory up on his screen.Â
"All we found was this jar of goo." Harcourt showed the branded honey like tub.
"It's their food source. The warehouse will have a puddle club most likely.â You spoke up, readjusting your glasses to get a better look. Murn fell silent, warily observing you.
"A what club?â Chris giggled.
âPuddling, the behavioral term for insects gathering on wet soil or rotting fruit, carrion, flesh to extract vital salts and nutrients.â You explained, wandering over to your desk to show everyone an example.Â
There were glass enclosures with an array of beautiful butterflies inside each one.
"Nymphalis antiopa, known as the mourning cloak in North America. Known to favor the salt from corpses.â You motioned to the middle enclosure.
They all observed as you placed a sponge pad down and the butterfly flocked to it. âButterflies use their long tongues, proboscis to drink it up like through a straw. Due to this they're restricted to a liquid diet.âÂ
âI'm trying to figure out what the alien butterflies would like to drink, so I concocted an abundance of flowering plants that produce ample nectar, coral vine, firespike, jungle cucumber, Ixora, and lantana along with carrion on these sponge pads.âÂ
âHowever, I'll have to test a response with the live specimen.â You added and saw Chris freeze at that.Â
âLive specimen?â Murnâs deathly glare demanded an explanation.Â
âShe only meant if we had one to test with.â Adrian quickly jumped in, laughing loud enough as a way of distraction, ignoring the death glare Chris fired him.
"Right, well we will strike the warehouse soon then you're all dismissed.â Murn left it be for now.
Outside in the parking lot by Adrian's Sebring once the others had left, Chris let him have it. âDude, you told me that you wouldn't rat out that I had kept Goff in a jar to anyone!â
 You shrank under the angry tone, sitting awkwardly in the passenger seat.
"She's my girlfriend now P! I just can't hide super important stuff from her that'd be so toxic.â Adrian proclaimed and rolled his eyes, âalso it pertains to her expertise and profession which I am not going to hinder nor ignore.â He waved his finger around and jabbed it at Chrisâ Peacemaker uniform.
"What the fuck ever. Fine, come over to the trailer tomorrow and try out the puddle experiments if you want. But we keep it our secret okay?â Chris looked at you and sighed a breath of relief when you nodded.
âSorry I said something I shouldn't have.â You murmured, twisting the seatbelt in your hands.
âDon't be! It's stupid that Chris kept Goff in the first place, motherfucker nearly cut my pinky toe off.â Adrian kissed away your worries and fired up the Sebring, Lesley Goreâs Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows filling the car.
 âWe'll go over tomorrow and you can do all your cute experiments on him, ooh and when you're done maybe let's torture as payback?â He suggested with a wide grin.
âHm I mainly want to figure out the food source, I think that's key to a few things.â You agreed that was a good idea.Â
That was a hypothesis brewing in your mind that you needed to get out and share, knowing Adrian wouldn't judge you for.
âHave you noticed that Murn is very knowledgeable about the aliens?âÂ
âHm no not really, then again when I hear him or Harcourt speak and give orders I'm usually playing Space Invaders in my head trying to beat the high score.â Adrian admitted with a careless shrug.
âFair enough.â You nodded, it might be you not able to read people easily and being completely wrong about Murn.
But the way his stare caught yours when you mentioned making a synthetic food source. It didn't seem enraged, rather desperate, even hopeful.Â
âWell here we areâŚâ Adrian said leadingly when he parked the Sebring at your place.
âThank you for the lift.â You said politely and went to head home but Adrian followed you out.Â
âNo problem-o what else are boyfriends for?â Adrian grinned, still joining you at the elevator.
âYou're a very sweet boyfriend walking me in.â You replied, unsure of what was supposed to happen next.Â
Was this a good time to kiss?Â
Adrian thankfully made it very clear for you, hunched down so you could reach, his eyes squeezed shut and lips comically primed outward for one.
Kissing him gently earned a nice satisfied hum, Adrian grinning ear to ear.
âAnd you're the sweetest girlfriend ever!âÂ
âThanks, but you should really rest up, your injuries need time to heal.â You pecked another kiss at his cheek.
âHm yeah I'm in a bit of pain to be honest.â Adrian winced.
âGoodnight my fair forensic entomologist, until the next time your beauty graces my vision!â He flooded you with a hundred kisses, then a thousand more air kisses before heading home.Â
The next morning when Adrian came to pick you up it truly did dawn on you. You had a boyfriend.
One who completely doted on you, making French toast for breakfast in your kitchen wearing your ruffled pink love heart apron.
âLooks like what I put in the butterfly enclosures.â You assessed the plate. âSponge pads soaked with simulated nectar for the butterflies. The simulated nectar is made by mixing honey and waterâŚâÂ
Adrian rested his elbows on the countertop, leaning in to listen adoringly.
The two of you enjoyed the morning together, Adrian showing you a reel of silkworms over coffee.
 Then it was time to go confront the Goff in the jar.Â
âWhere's your car?â Chris asked, unable to see the hunk of junk in his driveway.
âI didn't drive, we caught the bus so I can get my drink on with you to celebrate me having a girlfriend!â Adrian explained, waving the bottle of vodka around.Â
âDude are you trying to set up a threesome with me and your girlfriend? Cause she's a bit more mousy than I usually go for butâŚâ Chris was more than down to clown, however Adrian didn't have his regular jester face on.Â
Instead he had his murder face on.âWhat? No, if you so much as touched her inappropriately I'd dismember you with my toolkit, so slowly you'd get to see your own heart stop beating.â Adrian laughed manically, clapping a friendly, perhaps not so friendly hand on Chris' back.
 âGood to know.â Chris' face paled, keeping a very wide berth of you from now on seemed like a smart idea.
"Besides, my gorgeous girlfriend isn't much of a drinker but more of a thinker. Aren't you my beautiful forensic entomologist?â Adrian kissed you sloppily twice on the cheek rather possessively after declaring you were his.
 âThat's right, I don't really like alcohol that much.â You agreed simply, wiping the excess spittle off your cheek.
âCan I please see the specimen?â
 âOf course my darling! Dude, hurry up, where is Goff?â Adrian spoke to you sweetly but snapped at Chris impatiently.
"Tap once for yes, twice for no.â Chris devised a surprisingly good method for communication as you set up your equipment.Â
âOh I know, is your favorite color teal?â Adrian asked hopefully to make a new friend.
"Dude it's YES or NO questions!â Chris shouted, ready to tear his hair out.
*Well how was I supposed to know?â Adrian whined. The two were arguing back and forth and asking Goff rather unscientific queries such as if he was going to sing to or impregnate them.
"Ugh I'll never experience motherhood!â Adrian looked close to crying at the revelation. Chris grimaced entirely confused while you patted Adrian on the shoulder.
"Maybe science will have a breakthrough that allows you to experience it someday.â You offered sympathetically and Adrian peered up to nod tearfully.
"See this is why I love you!â He cuddled you, nuzzling his curly hair to tickle your chin.Â
âI love you too, may I please ask some questions of the specimen, I mean Goff, now?â You asked politely.
âKnock yourself out.â Chris said, lighting up a well needed joint.
"I've made a synthetic version of your food supply that we found in the warehouse. Will you try it?â You asked, presenting a dropper vial with the orange goo.
Tap tap.Â
âNo, is that because you think it's poisonous?â You supposed.
Tap.Â
âHm that's a fair assessment but we can deposit a drop of each for you to come to a decision.â You had both unmarked and squeezed the droppers in carefully one at a time.Â
Goff recoiled but couldn't hide it's hunger.
âYou're hungry right?â You could tell the signs of starvation weren't far off, withering in the wings.
Tap.
âCan you tell the difference?â You asked.
Tap tap.Â
"Wow you really did synthesize it!â Chris was impressed.
"Well duh of course she did! She's a genius!â Adrian always had the utmost faith in you.Â
"It's your choice to eat up or starve.â You shrugged.
âDamn that's cold.â Chris grimaced.
"Well Goff did hurt Adrian so I'm not going to be terribly upset if it chooses the latter.â You huffed, folding your arms sternly.
*Aww you're the sweetest!â Adrian gushed.
Tentatively, Goff tried the sample to the left and then quickly devoured it all.
âDid that taste like your usual food? Nourishing?â You asked.
Tap.
"That's good, both drops were my artificial version.â You replied, readjusting your glasses.
âSpecimen notes no difference in artificial compounds of synthesized food. Standby for any changes in behavior.âÂ
âWoah that was sneaky!â Adrian laughed.Goff began to angrily slam itself against the glass at being tricked.
At the same time the door began to knock with a loud shout.
"EVERGREEN POLICE DEPARTMENT! WE'RE HERE TO ARREST CHRISTOPHER SMITH!â The glass jar smashed from the table and it was too late, Goff was out and you three had to flee for your lives.
Adrian helped you shimmy up out of the trailer roof, but when they climbed up onto the tree branches and went tree to tree, that seemed impossible.
âIt's okay, I've got you.â His reassurance, firearms training and athleticism truly was the only reason why you survived.
Chris and Eagly helping too during the insane chase of course.
In your getaway car, Chris reefed Adrian's working phone out of his hand to let the others know what happened.
âDude what are these searches?â Chris started reading off Adrian's most recent Google history.
 âTaylor Swiftâs sexy butt. How to ask a girl out on a date. Cool bugs in my area. How to kiss good. How to make a Mii in Tomodachi Life love your Mii.â Chris didn't even want to go further down the list.
Adrian merely shrugged, âI wanted to see Taylor Swiftâs sexy butt.â
 You also shrugged. âMakes sense.âÂ
âBut now I have a girlfriend with an even sexier butt!â He beamed bringing you in for a cuddle.
âBleh, gross I'm going to drop you love birds back at her place before I witness some weird mating rituals.â Chris decided.
Back at your place, the idea of weird mating rituals was in the air.
Adrian had helpfully brought condoms, keeping some in his utility belt along with lubricant and wet wipes.Â
âThe way you tricked Goff to eat that goo earlier. You're so smart, it's so fucking sexyâŚâ Adrian cooed, basically in a low purr.
You'd never heard his voice honeyed or low like that before.
But you wanted to hear that tone more.
"My balls aren't crispy anymore." Adrian whispers into your ear and that shouldn't be hot but it is. "Wanna see?"Â
"Yeah I do." You whisper back, leading him through to your bedroom.
Your head fell back against the pillows, one hand buried in the sheets, the other clinging to his shoulder.Â
It took a lot for you to cross this line with him, not because you didn't want to, but more so because you'd been wary from past romantic encounters.
Being intimate tends to have that effect, shutting your brain off and making you incapable of thinking about anything remotely outside pleasure. In fact you tend to go entirely non-verbal.
When you told Adrian that, you weren't sure how he'd process it. But he didn't seem to mind much, swarming a trail of warm open mouthed kisses down your throat as he prodded himself at your entrance.
"It's okay, I'm not a very big guy. But let me know if it's uncomfortable okay?â He cooed at you, grunting thickly when you gasped as he pushed an inch or so inside.Â
Hiking your legs around his waist, you shuddered as he leant right over, adjusting so he could get deeper inside you. Instinctively your eyes squeezed shut.
"Too much?" He wondered, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip, prompting your eyes to snap open again.
You shook your head no, but Adrian just looked at you, pausing his movements.
"N-no, not too much, it's good." you whisper shyly, and Adrian nodded, pleased with your response, he started to finally move again.
âHmm, good yeah it is, isn't it?â He gazed lovingly down at your mewling expression, the way your thighs and core tensed around him.
It was all so intoxicating.
"Nnh, fuck oh fuck yeah that feels fucking fantastic!" Adrian, unlike yourself, is very loud and never shies away from cursing, and does so frequently, but in this context it makes you blush furiously.Â
âYou're so fucking tight for me!â The way he's saying it is dripped in pleasure, not frustration or because something cool exploded.
"Hey, do you feel good too?â Adrian checked in again, trying to get a read on your expression and you realise what the problem is.Â
He's worried you aren't having a good time because you're not great at showing it.
Nodding, you felt a spike of pleasure ripple down your lower back, making you clap your hands over your mouth. It was really good, so good you couldn't even find the words, there weren't any.Â
âYou can't even speak, that's how good it is?â He guessed and when you nodded, cheeks flushed with a lust-filled embarrassment Adrian groaned loudly.Â
âThat's so fucking damn cute oh fuck you're amazing!â The thought alone, combined with your pretty parted lips, the way your dazzling eyes looked up at him, had his whole rhythm faltering, thrusts becoming more and more erratic.
It really didn't matter that you went non-verbal.
He certainly was loud enough for the two of you.
"Hook your legs over my shoulder," Adrian instructed, sitting back on his heels for a brief moment to give you room to follow his plan out to fruition.Â
âThat'll help me fuck you even deeper with my dick!â he explained with a boyish grin.
Hearing the reasoning, you do just that, settling your legs from around his waist with his assistance to lift them over his shoulders.
âNnnghh fuck that's it, fuck, you feel so fucking gooood!â Adrian whined, voice hitching, sweat dripping from his brow.Â
Bracing himself on his hands, Adrian kissed you gently at the forehead before starting to move again. âI love you.âÂ
Then there's no further room for thought, before he immediately slams back into you, hip bone grinding just right with fast hard thrusts that echo across the walls of your bedroom.
Adrian's eyes are transfixed with your own, then they settle on the jiggling of your breasts, before snaking down to where you're both connected. He's like a slow bobble head in that regard, unable to pick which sight of the trio he loves more.Â
âYou're so good for me baby, so damn good, fuck you're close right?â He's adjusting your legs higher at his shoulders, making sure to angle himself as deep as humanly possible.Â
You aren't able to articulate it into words still, but you nod fervently to get the point across.
âYeah you're fucking close, ohh cum for me youâre so pretty like this, so full with my cock, mmmhhnn yeah!â He's running his mouth without shame or abandon, shouting out how much he loves being inside your pussy as he pounds relentlessly into it.Â
âPlease, fuck pleaseâŚneed to feel it, cum for me!â Adrian begging you to finish is all you need to teeter off the edge and suddenly you're there, tightening around him, back arching and nails raking his chest.
"H-holy fuck, that's so, so fucking hot." He groans out, fucking you slowly through it, enjoying every wave, shoulders tensing, grip on your thighs tightening.
You silently whimper, completely overstimulated and somehow still being hit with the aftershocks of the most intense orgasm of your life.
Your legs feel like jelly, weightless as you wrap them around his waist, pulling him in closer.Â
"Ohhh I know, I know, you're doing so good for me, I'm nearly there, beautifulâŚ" Adrian's sweet words don't line up with his actions, he's fucking you like some kind of wild animal, hands bracing the headboard to find further purchase with his hips.
"Fuck, fuck! Yeah I'm gonna cum, ohh fuck! Think youâre gonna give me another one? Come on baby, you can do it! Ahh ohh fuck please!â
 To your utter shock, and his utmost satisfaction, you find yourself dragged over the edge again as Adrian relentlessly fucks into you with hard, deep thrusts, loudly chasing his own release.Â
The very second Adrian feels you begin to unravel again for him, he follows you over the edge, groaning obscenely into your hair.
âYeah fuck just like that! Ohh that's amazing! When you tighten around my cock it's so good, ohh baby! Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm going to bust! Mhhmm yeah, oh fuck yeah it's so much!â  There's no way that Adrian's neighbors aren't hearing this right now, he's basically yelling everything out like a football play by play.
His hips are slapping even more so, your release is a wave of pleasure, crashing against the banks of his, gripping the arch of his back with your nails to hold on.
Adrian fucks you both through it, eventually slowing to a lazier grind, making you softly whimper his name until he stills completely.
âDamn, that was rad.â Adrian sighed once he was finished, lifting his head up to look at you for a moment before he pressed another series of open mouthed kisses to your forehead and cheeks.Â
Y-yeah,â you manage to get out, still more than a little breathless, âthat was good.âÂ
That was entirely insufficient but you don't have the words and go quiet again.Â
Adrian pulled out of you with a sharp grunt and rolled to one side so he could look at you properly.
âYeah, weâre both pretty fucking good at sex, huh?â His relaxed grin sets you at ease, he loves your shyness along with the rest of you.
âWe are,â you agree, because itâs true.Â
You're both very compatible.
There weren't many partners before him but you donât remember any past lovers who had made you feel this good, this accepted and achingly exhausted afterwards.
After a few needed minutes of recovery time, you went into the bathroom to clean up and feel the cold smooth tiles on your warm body.
By the time you get back, Adrian has changed the sheets, and hands you a bottle of Gatorade, another in his hand before you climb back into bed. âGotta replenish and hydrate!â He insisted, making sure you finish the whole thing.Â
Adrianâs still a real talker after, despite his eyes drooping to fall asleep, but you don't mind listening to his rambles. He holds you nice and close, letting you relax against his chest.Â
You're exhausted, pressing a soft kiss to his chest before you sleepily whisper to him, âlove you Adrian.âÂ
âLove you too!â Adrian takes that as cue for your social battery being completely drained and time for a well deserved rest.
everyone thinking clark and his girlfriend are the most vanilla, sweet, innocent couple because of how they act around each other and present as a team â never cursing or fighting, never drinking or getting belligerent, never lying or betraying anybody including and especially to each other. they were the golden couple. they only amp up that image to everybody even more when clark buys them promise rings. everyone thinks itâs sweet, cute as a button how virginal they both are and are waiting for marriage. theyâve only ever seen him give her a kiss on her cheek or her forehead, rub her arm, hug her in a warm embrace and whisper their adorable inside jokes.
but in the private space of their bedroom, theyâve done just about everything but.
even before clark got them the rings.
every night, he whimpers her name and âpleaseâ on repeat right in her neck, wearing nothing but his glasses. grinding his cock up and down the front slit of her pretty, glistening pussy like heâs a horny little bunny that couldnât ever be sated.
âit doesnât count, right? if I donât put it in, mmmmuhhhâ oh, god â if I donât put it in then weâre still virgins,â he pants. still humping her up and down, their parts rutting up against one another as they both implode from the friction. she grinds her clit back, bumping it up against his head and all his throbbing veins, and nods her head up and down, agreeing.
âof course baby, just keep going, we can cum like this as much as we want. it wonât count.â
âoh, oh my, yes, yes please! I have to keep going. Iâm about to cum. itâs gonna get all over your pretty little pussy.â
he learns all his dirty talk from the dirty movies theyâve watched too. apart from his instincts and his imagination, and of course all his grunts and movements were purely primal.
âit looks so big when you press it up against me. I donât know how itâs gonna fit when we get married,â she gasps, watching him rut like a dog and how it goes past her belly button. itâs sloppy, slippery, jutting around from all the blood thatâs filled up. his sac is even heavy against her too. the way it bounces against her hole, gives her another part of him to clench onto too.
âshhh, weâll make it fit. I wonât let it hurt you. weâll be nice and wet together, just like this, then itâll just⌠itâll just slide right in,â he gulps. losing any other words that are left to say the more he thinks about it. âweâll feel so good. and youâre gonna be my wife.â
âkeep â keep going baby, donât stop now,â she pleads. clark nods immediately, kissing on her neck while he humps her even faster. the slick is audible, gushing in between them as they whimper and slide.
âthey think I donât even touch you,â clark hums a laugh, slobbering on her throat through a wet, lazy kiss. âmmm. they think I havenât even seen you naked. they donât know I can still make this pussy feel good without even putting it in.â
she sprawls out her legs even wider, mouth open as she has her toes further up in the air, letting him take over their gyrating completely as they both leak all over each other.
âletâs cum together, honey. let me make you feel good. let go for me, cum on me. I wanna make this pussy feel nice and happy.â
clark ruts harder, faster. kisses her chin and swallows up his favorite noises that leave her mouth when they both feel the electric dip in their bellies. both of them clench, clarkâs tip stills and presses up right against her clit while he lets out his long, gushing first spurt. she cums just as heâs creaming all over her clit, making a mess of her mound and even up to her stomach. they both roar and hum and whine as they rub out their highs, the splatter of all the evidence of their innocent fun coated all over her as they catch up to their wild heartbeats.
he kisses her and hums all his praises right into her mouth, some of it even nonsense as he slaps his filthy, heavy wet tip back on the lips of her pussy and the hood of her clit.
âyou um, felt good? jeez, itâs so wetâŚ.â
clark is in awe at her shiny center, enthralled while he plays with the mess a little more. he gets shy and ducks his head back with a laugh and says heâs sorry if sheâs too overstimulated. she laughs right back at him and shook her head, wrapping one leg around his hips to trap him back in.
âyou can keep playing. itâs all yours.â
âitâs ours. our mess⌠and gosh is it pretty,â he breathes, rolling his head and tapping the sopping wet folds. âprettiest thing Iâve ever seen.â
âI canât wait to be your wife.â
âwell I canât wait to be your husband,â clark retorts, pointedly looking at her and leaning in to give her a warm, selfish kiss.
âcanât wait to feel you inside me. all the way,â she whispers. holds onto his face.
âIâll make you feel so good. I already canât keep my hands off you.â
âand theyâll never know.â
ânope,â clark grins.
eventually, shortly after clark proposed they graduated to âjust the tipâ making both of them cum after only a few shallow pumps of clark tearing her open with just his crowned head. and he grazes her g-spot with the most perfect angle to drive them both crazy. but in public, with their matching shiny engagement rings gracing their fingers, they still are perceived as modest as can be.
âž WARNINGS: p in v, creampie, chaining/bondage, noncon/cnc, nsfw obvi, alcohol consumption. MDNI
âž NOTE: my first actual smut fic, I donât like ts at all but Iâve been working on this for tew long Iâm not gonna let it to go waste đ
After weeks of job hunting, you finally got hired at The National Gallery. Moving to London a few months ago had been harder than you expected. You came here hoping to start overâto build something for yourself. A new city, a new job, new people.. maybe even a new love life. Anything that felt different from the life youâd left behind.
By some miracle, you were assigned to the gift shop, and thatâs where you met Steven Grant.
You clicked almost immediately. There was something endearing about the way heâd light up whenever he talked about ancient Egyptian gods, going on and on with facts no one had asked for, his words spilling over each other whenever he got excited. You never minded listening. In fact, you loved it. He fit right in at the museumâat least, thatâs what you thought. Your boss, however, looked like sheâd rather set herself on fire than let him anywhere near the tour groups.
Most nights, the two of you worked the late shift together, and those quiet hours usually dissolved into conversation. Youâd start with stocking shelves or cleaning up, but somehow you always end up standing behind the counter, talking so long you forgot there was actual work to do.
Tonight was no different.
Steven was rambling about Egyptology again, hands moving as he spoke, completely lost in one of his usual tangents. This time you could barely focus on what he was saying. You had something else on your mind.
Youâd been flirting with him for weeks, making it as obvious as you possibly could. Youâd even asked him out three separate times. And every single time, heâd somehow âforgottenâ by the next day, looking at you with that confused little frown and insisting you were making it up.
At first, it was almost funny. Then frustrating. Now? You were done waiting for him to make the first move.
Tonight, you were going to do something he wouldnât forget.
Never in your life had you had to beg someone this much just to go out for one night.
After the twentieth please, Stevennnn, he finally gave in.
Honestly, you were starting to wonder what exactly he had planned that made staying in so important. Every time you suggested going out, heâd dodge it like you were asking him to commit a crime.
Youâd agreed to meet an hour after both of you clocked out, mostly because you wanted to make sure heâd actually show up this time and not mysteriously âforgetâ again.
The hour passed quicker than expected, and before long, you were climbing out of an Uber in front of a restaurant far fancier than either of you could probably afford. You wanted something nice.
Your only real goal tonight was simple: get the both of you tipsy enough for him to stop overthinking everything.
You pulled out your phone and texted him.
Should I wait outside?
The reply came almost instantly, like heâd been staring at the chat the entire time.
No, Iâll be there in five.
You smiled at the screen, gave the message a quick thumbs-up, and headed inside. They seated you in a quiet corner near the back, dim lighting casting soft shadows over the table. You scrolled on your phone endlessly, time felt unbelievably slow nowâright on the sixth minute, he walked in.
But something felt⌠off.
It was him. It looked like him. Same curls, same slightly hunched posture, same face youâd spent the last few months trying not to stare at during every shift.
And yet, it didnât feel like Steven.
You couldnât quite explain itâjust something in the way he carried himself. More sure. Less awkward. Like he wasnât shrinking into the room the way he usually did.
Still, you brushed it aside.
âHey, sorry I kept you waiting,â he said, sliding into the seat across from you. His voice sounded way different, the stupid, British accent practically gone.
He sat down then casually rubbed at a faint red mark on his cheek, like heâd just come from somewhere he shouldnât have been.
âSomething came up.â
You raised an eyebrow, confused but laughed it off. âThatâs alright. I already ordered.â
His brows lifted. âYou did?â
âJust drinks,â you said, leaning back with a grin. âGot their fanciest beer.â
He blinked at you. âI⌠donât drink, actually.â
The answer came too quickly, almost rehearsed.
You tilted your head, amused. âWell, you are tonight.â
Steven looked like he was already searching for an excuse to bolt, so you leaned forward before he could.
âYou wouldnât make a girl drink all by herself, would you?â
For a moment, he just stared at you.
Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched into something that wasnât quite Stevenâs shy smile. It was sharper. He picked up the glass the waiter had just set down, turning it slightly in his hand before meeting your eyes.
âSuppose thatâd be a bit rude, wouldnât it?â he said, voice low, with a confidence youâd never heard from him before.
. . .
It didnât take more than three shots for you to be completely off the hook.
The alcohol hit you embarrassingly fast, warmth rushing to your face until everything around you felt pleasantly fuzzy. Your original plan had been to get both of you drunk enough for everyone to loosen up, but that quickly fell apart. Steven, somehow, barely looked affected at all. He nursed his drinks like they were water, while you were already slurring halfway through your third beer.
It ruined your plan entirely.
But you were too drunk to notice.
By the time the bill came, he paid, though not without a brief pause when he saw the total, his mouth tightening for a second before he handed over his card anyway. He wouldâve never let you pay, even if the price physically pained him.
When he walked you outside, the cold night air quickly hit your face. Your steps were uneven, words tangling together between little bursts of laughter as you stumbled over nothing. Steven stayed close beside you, steadying you once when your foot caught against the curb.
âWhatâs your address again?â he asked, already pulling out his phone. âIâll get you an Uber.â
âWaitâŚâ you murmured, grabbing both his wrists before he could finish typing.
Your grip was clumsy but enough to stop him.
âListen,â you said, swaying closer, eyes glassy as you looked up at him. âWhy canât you just let loose for once?â
He looked at you, confused at first, but he didnât pull away.
You tightened your hold slightly, words spilling out before you could think them through.
âI mean⌠any guy wouldâve brought me back to their bed by now, but you just have to be soo fucking lame.â
The moment you said it, a sober version of yourself wouldâve wanted the pavement to split open and swallow you whole.
You didnât mean it. Not really. You were just saying bullshit, whatever came to your intoxicated mind, hoping somehow it would get a rise out of him.
And it did.
His expression shifted.
Just slightly, but enough.
Something in his face hardened, annoyance flickering there first, then something else. Something sharper. Like jealousy mixed with bruised pride.
What you didnât know was that this wasnât exactly Steven.
It was his body, his face, his voice.
But the man looking down at you now wasnât the shy, awkward museum worker who forgot your confessions and blushed when you teased him.
This version of him was different.
More daring. More certain.
And unlike Steven, this one wouldnât pass on an opportunity that was practically being handed to him.
. . .
The door shut behind the two of you with a soft click, and for a moment, everything was swallowed by darkness.
It was colder inside than you expectedâalmost unnaturally so. The kind of chill that seeped through your clothes and raised goosebumps along your arms. You stood still, blinking, until he reached past you and flicked on the light.
The flat came into view all at once.
Your eyes landed first on a fish tank, a lone goldfish swimming in lazy circles beneath the dim glow. Then everything else started to registerâshelves cluttered with random objects, papers scattered across surfaces, drawers left half-open, clothes tossed carelessly over a chair. It looked like someone had been living three different lives in the same space and forgot to clean up after any of them.
âSorry about the mess,â he said from behind you, putting his coat down. His tone had an edge to it, almost teasing. âDidnât expect visitors.â
You ignored the comment, too busy taking everything in.
It felt strangely intimate, being here. Seeing the space he retreated to after work, the place youâd imagined a dozen times but never thought youâd actually step inside. Your gaze moved over every detail like it might be the last time youâd ever see any of it.
You wandered deeper into the flat, leaving him by the door.
The desk caught your attention first. It was a disasterâcovered in loose papers, scribbled notes, and open books stacked so high they looked ready to topple over. You stumbled closer, squinting at the pages. Sketches of symbols. Handwritten translations. Entire piles of books about ancient Egyptian history and mythology.
Of course.
You laughed quietly to yourself. It was the most Steven thing youâd ever seen.
Then your attention shifted to the bed.
At first, it looked normal enoughâunmade sheets, blankets half-pulled to one side. But then something near the bedpost caught your eye.
Your eyebrows furrowed as you stepped closer.
chainsâmetal chains. looped tightly around one of the bedposts, secured with what looked like a heavy clasp.
You grabbed one of the chains and held it up. âThis is for..?â you asked, smiling faintly as you raised an eyebrow at him.
âI have a really bad sleepwalking problem.â
You blinked at him slowly, trying to decide if he was serious.
It didnât feel like a joke. But it didnât feel entirely serious either.
âYeah?â you said, still holding the chain up.
âYeah.â
silence, except for the constant hum of the fish tank filter in the corner of the room
Then he began walking toward you.
Slow, unhurried.
Not threateningâbut not exactly reassuring either.
Your gaze stayed locked on him for a second too long, like your brain was trying to catch up to something your body already felt.
Your fingers loosened. The chain slipped from your hand and clattered softly onto the floor. You didnât even notice when it happened.
All you noticed was him getting closer.
Closer, and closer, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you sat down without even realizing it. He followed immediately, one hand braced beside you as he leaned in enough to slowly push you back against the mattress.
The room suddenly felt too warm despite the cold flat, your head spinning from the alcohol and the way he was looking at you nowâfocused, intense, He climbed over you carefully, settling between your legs as you pushed yourself up slightly on your elbows, unwilling to stay still another second.
You couldnât wait anymore.
Your hands flew to his face, fingers gripping his jaw as you pulled him down into a desperate, hungry kiss. And he kissed you back instantly.
One of his hands caught your wrists easily, guiding them down against the mattress while the other traced slowly down your chest, deliberate enough to make your stomach tighten. The kiss deepened almost immediately, rougher than you expected, like heâd been holding himself back for far too long.
The room now filled with soft moans and whines, he pulled back just enough for you to breathe, forehead nearly resting against yours, and for a second you just stared at him.
Something about him had completely changed.
Your gaze flicked briefly toward the chains hanging from the bedpost as his fingers teased against the waistband of your skirt. You sat up on your elbows, returning your eyes back at him.
His brow lifts slightly.
âI have an idea.â
Before long, Marc was chained to his own bed. It wasn't the familiar, safety setup Steven used to prevent midnight desert excursions. This time, the metal cuffs bit into his wrists strictly to keep him from touching you. A flash of surprise crossed Marc's face, he wasn't used to being âsubmissiveââvulnerable, but the heat pooling in his gut quickly wiped away any real protest. You stepped back to the foot of the bed, admiring your very first attempt at âbondage.â A slow, almost freakish smile spread across your face.
âWoah, okay⌠I mean, this is new.â a breathless laugh escaping him. It was a mix of genuine nerves and arousal.
You didnât reply. Instead, you climbed back onto the mattress, crawling over him until you were straddling his lap. You leaned down, pressing sweet, agonizingly gentle kisses along his jawline.
When you finally drifted up to his lips, you stopped just an inch away. Marcâs eyes stayed shut, bracing for a kiss that never came. You couldn't help but giggle.
Tapping his nose playfully, you sat up on your knees, straddling his waist before slowly starting to pull your dress up over your head. Immediately, Marcâs eyes went wild. He didnât know where to lookâdarting from your thighs, to your body, up to your face.
A dark flush crept up his neck, and the sheer frustration of his helplessness kicked in; he instinctively tried to lift his arms to help, only for the chains to snap taut with a sharp metallic clink.
âNo, nooo,â your voice muffled, âIâve got it.â
He couldnât even form a coherent response, he was too busy staring at your practically naked body, offering nothing but a mumbled, breathless string of gibberish and a thoroughly wrecked laugh.
The dress was thrown to the floor, followed quickly by your bra and panties. Left completely bare, you shifted to position yourself right over his faceâMarcâs mouth was already parted, practically salivating for you.
You gripped the metal of the headboard, anchoring yourself as you slowly sank down. A soft moan caught in your throat.
Beneath you, Marcâs tongue slid up your wet length, swirling and burying itself into your tight hole with a desperate, frantic hunger. Unable to hold back, you ground yourself heavily against his mouth, letting out whines so loud the neighbors could probably hear.
You bit down on your lip as you moved your hips, he followed your rhythm, so badly wishing he could touch you, hold you.
âmmmm, yeah, justâlike that.â You stuttered, your face lowering onto the headboard while your hands gripped tighter to hold yourself.
He groaned, a desperate, muffled sound against your flesh. Instinctively, his chest heaved and his shoulders braced as he tried to reach up to grab your hips..againâonly for the heavy clink of the chains to remind him he was entirely at your mercy.
The louder your whines got, the faster Marc licked, completely consumed by the taste of you. He was a man starved, his jaw working against your inner thighs as he tried to devour you whole.
The pleasure was so intense it was making his mind fracture at the edges; he could feel the slight tremor in his body as he fought to stay completely present, terrified that Steven might front and ruin the moment.
"Marc," you stuttered, voice shaking as a wave of heat washed through youârealizing how close he was bringing you to the edge, you deliberately rocked your hips backward, pulling just out of reach of his tongue.
Marc let out a harsh, frustrated groan, his head straining off the pillow to follow you. "Please," he choked out, his voice wrecked, his lips glistening with your slick. You looked down at him, leaning heavily on the headboard, enjoying the sight of the ruthless mercenary completely unraveled beneath you.
you tilted your head, smiling. You were really enjoying this.
You quickly unbuttoned his pants. The sound of the zipper was sharp in the quiet room, followed by the ragged sigh of pleasure he couldn't suppress. As you lowered yourself onto him, his hips bucked instinctively. With one hand guiding his shaft and your mouth working a steady pace, you felt the way his body twitched and surrendered to the friction, his control (which barely he had) shattering.
He could imagine his hands gripping your hair as he pushed your head deeper onto him, if only. But this was just as good.
You kept your gaze locked with his, watching the way his pupils dilated and increased your pace, letting your palm slide along his cock with deliberate friction. He groaned, his body arching off the mattress as far as the chains would allow. "haaa..," he hissed through gritted teeth, his head dropping back against the pillow.
While shifting himself, he turned his head to the side, forgetting about the vanity mirror that is angled perfectly toward him. His eyes locked onto the glass, a familiar reflection staring back with furrowed brows pulled tight.
âShit,â he muttered, a very clear tone of annoyance.
Stevenâs face rapidly turning a humiliated shade of crimson. âBloody hell, Marc... what are you doing?â
That voice..
âWhat?â You pulled back, blinking in confusion, your breath hitching as you looked at him. You had heard the words, but they hadn't come from the man you were looking at. âDid you⌠did you say something?â
Marcâs eyes snapped back to yours, his pupils dilating as he fought to regain control. His posture stiffened, When he spoke again, there was a clear difference of accent, you couldnât brush it off this time.
âNo,â he rasped, his eyes locking onto yours with a desperate, intense hunger that demanded you ignore the impossible. âJust⌠keep going.â
âWhy are you doing that?â you asked,
âDoing what?â
âSwitching accents,â you pressed, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. âAnd how does it just⌠disappear like that? Youâve never done that before.â You hiccuped.
He blinked, his gaze flicking toward the mirror for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to focus entirely on you. He looked frantic, his chest heaving against the chains. âUh, Iâm justâmaybe youâd find a constant British accent irritating,â he deflected, his tone sounding like a clumsy, poor imitation of himself.
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but the sheer absurdity of the moment made a nervous laugh escape your lips. âWeirdo,â you teased,
Deciding to let the bizarre moment slide in favor of the heat between you, you dipped your head back down. You felt his body coil with anticipation, his muscles bunching as you returned to your rhythm.
âY-yep,â he stammered, the word breaking into a ragged moan as he bucked against your touch.
âIs that... is that her?!â Steven rambled, his breath coming in short, panicked huffs. âHow did we even get here, Marc? I meanâreally? Tied up? Andâand all of this?â He gestured vaguely with his chin. âI shouldâve known youâd do something after making me switch out for that stupid fight.
The voice that spilled out was sharper than his own, embarrassed was an understatement, but Steven definitely felt painful envy. Marc just rolled his eyes.
âYou had your chances, Steven,â Marc muttered, his voice gravelly and dismissive. He stammered slightly as he tried to regain his footing, his gaze darting back to youâonly to find you already staring at him with a look of utter bewilderment and confusion,
the guy youâre sucking off seems to be having a full blown conversation with himself right now.
âSwitch with me,â he pleaded, his voice dropping to a desperate, quiet whisper. âJust for a minute. Let me⌠let me feel it. Please.â
The disconnect was too much to ignore, I mean you're literally watching this guyâs lips pressed firmly shut while a second, frantic voice poured into the room, seemingly from thin air
You snapped your head toward the vanity mirror, your eyes darting between the man physically chained to the bed and the man staring back from the glassâtwo versions of the same face, one exhausted and hard, the other pleading and raw. You shook your head, not being able to differentiate between reality or if you were just really drunk.
Marcâs eyes locked onto yours, the reflection, however, didn't look at youâhe was staring at Marc out of embarrassment, avoiding confrontation.
âYouâre just hearing things!â Marc rasped before you could even open your mouth, his American accent strained and heavy as he fought to force the other presence down. âRight, I mean youâre drunk, Itâs been a long night.â
âOh come on!â The reflectionâs voice echoed in the small room, âYouâre lying to her and keeping all of this for yourself!â
You couldn't find the words; nothing could bridge the gap between what you were seeing and what you were hearing. How was the reflection speaking? And why did he sound exactly like Stevenâthe real Steven?
But, you did drink a bunch..maybe you were just hearing things.
Your eyes moved away from the reflection back towards Marc.
Marc scrambled to salvage the moment, his heart hammering against his ribs. He wanted to get back to what they were doing, but Stevenâalways interfering, always hoveringâwas actively ruining everything.
âHeyâhey, how about we do something else, yeah?â he rasped, his voice strained and desperate. He looked at you with an intensity that burned, his wrists rattling sharply against the bedframe. âGet me out of these bloody chains, and Iâll help you clear your mind.â
That instantly brought you back to the heat of the moment, the logical part of your brain dissolving as you gave in. You moved to the bedposts, clicking the chains open, your fingers brushing against his wrists. You didn't even notice the shiftâthe way the frantic, hard-edged intensity in his eyes suddenly softened.
Marc hadn't wanted to give up the body, but the effort of holding Steven back had finally shattered his focus. And steven wasnât holding back anymore.
He surged forward, grabbing your waist and pulling you back down onto the mattress. You gasped as you hit the bed, the sudden shift in his demeanor catching you off guard.
He didnât waste a single second, completely ignoring the muffled, frantic rambling of Marcâs reflection in the mirror. Instead, he placed a firm hand on your stomach and pushed in, the sudden pressure dragging a stuttered, loud moan from your lips.
He leaned forward the more he pressed in, going in to kiss you, practically devouring your lips as if this would be the last time heâd ever touch you, he pulled away just slightly as he started thrusting, the wet, heavy sounds of the friction mixing with the hitching of your breath and his low, jagged gasps.
He lowered himself fully onto you, the weight of him grounding you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He began to press firm, heated kisses against your skin, He began to suck at your skin, leaving hickeys with a possessive urgency, hearing your whimpering and stammering moans fueled him.
He wanted that physical proof to stare back at him when he saw you at work tomorrow, a reminder that this moment was real and not just a fragment of his fractured mind.
He also knew how much those would piss off Marc when he finally regained control.
And it also didnât take long before Steven was close.
His voice hitching as he begged,
âPlease, can Iâhaa, cum..inside? he stuttered in between breaths. âWant youâwanna fill you up.â
Your mind was fogged but you nodded, a hazy, submissive movement, completely lost in the moment. The thought of consequences didn't even registerâ though luckily you were on the pill.
With one final, shuddering thrust, he let out a muffled groan, his face burying deep into the bedsheets as he released himself inside you. Followed by ragged, hitching moans that escaped your own lips.
Within seconds, the room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. The only thing tethering you back to reality was the steady, rhythmic hum of the fish tank, the soft bubbling of the filter.
Summary: Four months into your divorce, and Joel is still hopelessly in love.
Pairing: divorced!Joel x divorced!reader
WC/Tags: 2,385 / divorced au, no outbreak, exes, still in love, pining, Ellie is your adopted daughter, arguing
A/N: inspired to the song I listened to while writing, âWe Know Usâ by Ella Langley for day 20 of @juneofdoom âitâll be fineâ
Joel knew it is possible, highly possible, that you no longer wear your ring. Why would you? It had been over a year of separation, and nearly four months of being officially divorced. So he isnât sure why it bothers him so much when he sees your finger bare.
Thereâs a box in your hands, the lid half folded closed as he pulls into your driveway. You had moved into town, said it was closer to your job but he isnât sure about that. He thinks itâs just further away from him.
When you see his truck you nod, unable to wave with your hands full, and approach the drivers side. âLate again, Miller.â
âSorry,â he offers you a wide smile as he tries to read your expression. âHer game went long.â
âitâs my fault mom!â Ellie laughs as she slips from the backseat. âWe went into over time but we won!â
âIâm glad honey,â you smile back and Joel is relieved you arenât actually angry. âDinner will be ready in a few.â
Everything considered, coparenting with you had been an easy process over the past year. Both of you shared Ellie, your 15-year-old adopted daughter, equally. Ellie had been sad about the divorce, angry even, but when she saw how hard you two worked at getting along for her sake, her anger had dissipated. It doesnât mean there arenât bad days, but most are good.
You step to the backseat where Ellie had just vacated, and shoved the box onto the seat. âAll the stuff for her wood working project is in there. It isnât due for a month but since sheâll be at yours all weekend I thought she should get a head start.â
âShe doesnât need to work on it tonight?â
You close the door, shaking your head a little. âShe won the soccer game. Figured she should have a break.â
âMm,â Joel hums in agreement as you step back to the drivers door, leaning your palms by the window. âCanât say I disagree. She played great.â You smile, but donât respond and thereâs a pregnant pause as you stare at one another. Joel takes in your face, your hair, and then his eyes drop back to your hands. âYou took off the ring.â
You glance down and then back him. âItâs been a year, Joel. Figured it was time.â
Joel swallows hard, the weight of your words settling in his chest like a stone. He hadnât realized how much heâd hoped, against all logic, that you might keep it on out of habit. Or loyalty. Or something.
His jaw works silently for a second, then he nods, once, slow, as if heâs accepting something irreversible.
âYeah,â is all he says at first. âMakes sense.â
You swallow thickly before your face brightens with a smile. âWhy donât you join us for dinner? thereâs plenty.â
He considers this olive branch, runs a hand over his mouth before he concedes like he always does when it comes to you. Like he should have when you were his wife.
He reaches past you to grab the box from the backseat without getting out fully, his arm brushing yours briefly through the open doorframe. The contact sends a jolt up both your spines that neither acknowledges.
Ellie is already halfway up the walkway when Joel finally steps out and shuts his door with more force than necessary, the sound echoing between you two like punctuation to an unspoken conversation no one wanted to have.
Inside smells like garlic and herbs, the comfort food routine Ellie loved since she was ten, and suddenly this feels too domestic for divorced parents dropping off their kid after school games and woodworking supplies on weekends.
âGrab some waters, baby?â You tell Ellie and she glances at Joel, her cheeks a little pink from her game.
âDads staying?â She beams, and Joel braces his hands on his hips.
âWhy not?â You grin, and shrug a shoulder.
Ellie wrinkles her nose before nodding. âI call middle seat!â
Joel watches Ellie bolt to the table like sheâs claiming territory, already pulling out her usual chair, the one with the chipped paint. He exhales through his nose before he follows you into the kitchen without being asked, opening the fridge and grabbing three waters like he knows where everything goes. Like he lives here, even though heâs never spent a night in this house.
Youâre at the stove stirring something that smells too good for a casual dinner, not that Joel would ever say it out loud, but his stomach tightens anyway.
âSmells damn good,â is what comes out instead.
Ellie pops up from behind him suddenly and snatches two bottles from his hands before darting off again toward her seat.
Joel just shakes his head as she nearly trips over nothing on purpose to make him react, same kid who used to do this when he walked in after work every night.
The three of you sit down, and you dish out their plates. Ellie digs in right away as you stir your own pasta on your fork. She tells you about the game, how intense it was, and you ooo and ahh at the right moments. Joel watches you finally, forgetting that he shouldnât stare at you anymore. Youâve always been a natural born mother, even when the doctors told you that you couldnât be one biologically.
The idea to adopt had come in your third year of marriage. You had wanted a baby, badly, and Joel had wanted to make you happy. Adopting an infant was always a harder process, and when Ellieâs file came along, a skinny 9 year old with a smattering of freckles, he had been surprised when you hadnât closed it immediately. Something about Ellie had caught your attention, and in turn it had caught his too.
Ellie transition into your home hadnât been the easiest, but you had handled it with ease, taking all of her discrepancies and aches and tucking them into the crevices of your heart.
Joel had loved watching you become a mother. He thinks it was one of the highlights of his life.
As he watches you now, raising the fork to your mouth while you listen to Ellie, he rubs the ring on his left hand. He didnât have the heart to take it off yet, every time he tried the digit felt empty. Wrong. He wondered how your finger felt without the ring he had placed there nearly ten years prior.
The fork hovers near your lips when you catch Joelâs movement, the slow rub of his thumb over the band on his finger. The one he still wears.
Your chest tightens.
Youâd never asked him to take it off. Never told him he should. But part of you assumed, after all this time, after everything, that he wouldâve removed it by now out of convenience, or maybe even shame.
But there it is: shiny from wear, slightly dented where the prongs hold a diamond that matches yours, or did.
Ellieâs talking about some play she made in overtime but Joel isnât hearing her anymore, not really. He's staring at your face like trying to memorize how soft your eyes get when Ellie gets excited about something small and joyful like soccer games and pasta dinners with both parents sitting across from each other again for once.
It hits him then, how much easier this feels than any shared custody exchange has ever been before tonight. No tension in his shoulders, just peace. He hates it.
Joel helps Ellie clear the table, his hand on your waist as he brushes by you to the sink, saying softly. ââXcuse me, sweetheart.â
You feel the heat rise in your face but you ignore it. You have to.
Ellie groans, rolling her eyes and you give her a look. âWhat now?â
She frowns. âYou two are just so fucking bad at being divorced.â
Your brows shoot up just as Joel tells Ellie to mind her tongue, that thereâs no need for cursing. She rolls her eyes again, moving towards the stairs.
âAll you do is fight meanwhile youâre still in love! God grownups are so dumb.â She calls, and then her bedroom closes and the two of you are alone, staring at one another.
âI- I donât know what got into her,â you breath, shaking your head. âIâm sorry.â
You continue picking up the table, placing the dirty dishes in the sink and hoping that Joel will leave it alone. That he doesnât feel the pull too.
Joel doesnât leave it alone.
He turns the faucet on, water filling the sink, but he doesnât start washing. Instead, he leans against the counter with his arms crossed, your counter, in your kitchen and just watches you.
The silence stretches. Not uncomfortable. Heavy with everything Ellie threw out there like a grenade and walked away from.
When you finally turn to face him after stacking plates too neatly in your nervous habit (he remembers that), Joel exhales sharply through his nose and pushes off the cabinet.
One step toward you.
Then another.
His hands come up, hovering at your elbows like a question: Can I?
âWhatâre you doing?â you whisper, and joel blinks. âWeâŚjoel. weâve made alot of progress.â
His brows furrow. âHave we?â
âYes, we have,â you reply, stepping around him. âWe can be in the same room without screaming or tearing into eachother. Itâll be fine.â
Joel sighs, leaning to the sink to turn off the faucet. âWhatâll be fine, exactly? Ellie? Cuz she sure as hell seems to miss us.â
Joel shuts off the water harder than necessary, the faucet clicking with finality. He turns back to you, arms braced on either side of the sink, caging himself in instead of advancing.
His voice is low when he speaks again, rougher now. âEllieâs right, baby.â
You flinch at the nick name, baby. He hasnât called you that since⌠well.
âShe sees it,â Joel continues. âAnd she wants her mom and dad together.â His throat works as he swallows. âI think about it every damn day too.â
The confession hangs between you like a live wire sparking.
He didnât mean to say that last part out loud.
But god, thereâs no taking it back now, not when his eyes are burning into yours with all this pent-up longing neither of you has addressed in over a year.
Your mouth tightens. âDonât do that.â
âDo what?â
âAct like itâs that simple!â You snap. âAct likeâŚlike we can undo the last year. We canât, alright?â Joel frowns as you stare at him, and you shake your head. âI think you should go.â
Joelâs expression shutters immediately, like a door slamming in his face. The warmth from seconds ago vanishes, replaced by that familiar guardedness, the one he wore like armor during your divorce negotiations.
He doesnât argue.
Doesnât raise his voice.
Just nods once, stiffly.
âYeah,â he says quietly. âOkay.â
You watch him walk to the hall closet where Ellie always hangs her jacket when she comes home, his routine, and grab his coat off the hook without hesitation. He puts it on slow, like giving you time to stop him.
But you don't move from where you're standing by the sink with crossed arms and a hammering heart.
He looks at you one more time, and his face is sullen. âLove you, sweetheart.â
You know that. You know he loves you, that no divorce or separation will change that, and it makes your chest burn. With a sigh you take a few steps down the hall, and tilt your face.
âIf we know us,â you say softly. âWe know how this ends.â
âCanât we just pretend?â
His question is pleading, barely a whisper, and you feel sadness bleed into your bones. You step forward until your feet are a breath from his, and then you lean your forehead into his chest. He still smells the same, like wood and earth, and the tension in your shoulders melts just a little.
Joelâs hand comes up, cupping the back of your head, his fingers stroking over your hair.
âWe cant do this again, baby,â you whisper into the cotton of his shirt. âTo Ellie.â
âI know.â
âOr to us.â You sniffle, pulling back to look into his face. His eyes bounce over you, drinking you in as he nods.
âI know,â he repeats, voice softer. His hand brushes down your face, his knuckles just a little rough. âI justâŚalways been hard to walk away from you.â
You nod, and take a small step back. His hand falls away. âDo yourself a favor Joel and take off the ring.â
Joelâs breath hitches when you say that.
His hand drops from your face like itâs been burned. For a second, he just stares at you, the way he used to before everything got complicated. The way he looked when all either of you had to do was love each other and build a life together.
His fingers curl slowly toward his left hand. He doesnât remove the ring right away. Instead, Joel turns it once around his finger, a nervous habit, and exhales through clenched teeth.
You can see the war in him: part of him wants to rip it off immediately because you asked. Another part, the stubborn, loyal fool who still sleeps on your side of the bed sometimes, wants to keep wearing it forever as some kind of twisted promise or penance.
Finally with deliberate slowness, he twists the band counterclockwise and pulls it off. You both stare at it for a few moments, and you hate how small it seems in his palm. Then Joel slides it into his pocket, and his eyes meet yours.
âI-Iâll be back in the morning to pick her up.â he says quietly, and you nod. He opens the front door. âGânight darlinâ.â
you watch him walk down the patio steps, getting into his car with quiet finality. You arenât sure what to do, if you should wave or call after him, but the ache in your chest is so large you mostly have to focus on breathing.
Gripping the doorknob, you close it shut, press your forehead to the wood, and try not to cry.
Joel Miller slept with you once and now heâs wondering if he just changed both your lives forever.
Contains: smut, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, creampie, unprotected sex, pregnancy, praise, multiple orgasms, body worship, dirty talk, slightly insecure Joel, breast play, riding, fluff, angst, nervous Joel, flirting, panic, one night stand, unspecified age gap
Wordcount: 7,249
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Joel tilted his glass a little, glaring at the bottom of it.
It had been his second glass, but he could hardly feel any effects of the alcohol, which wasn't unusual given his tall, broad figure. His high tolerance was a curse and a blessing at the same time, but right now, he wished he would feel a little more at ease. Especially because his little brother seemed to be on another planet, and his wild behavior was usually a lot more endurable with his head pleasantly buzzed.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Joel, do you see this chick over there?"
Seriously, what was wrong with his brother using such terms at his age? He was talking like some college freshman who had gone out for the very first time in his life.
"No, Tommy. And I'd rather not."
"Joel, she's basically undressin' you with 'er eyes." Tommy grabbed his shoulder, trying to get him to shift his attention toward her, but Joel just peeled his hand off.
"Well, I wouldn't really like that in this goddamn cold."
It was untrue that he despised any kind of interaction with beautiful women, specifically when he felt that he had sparked an interest in them, but he doubted that Tommy had a good eye for any of this. He was⌠difficult sometimes. After dating Maria for quite some time, then breaking up with her in a huge fight, followed by months of reunions and more fights that ended ugly, Joel wasn't so sure he was the one to turn to for advice. Even though he would obviously never tell Tommy that.
"Joel, she wants to fuck ya."
"Who are you even talkin' 'bout?"
Okay, now he was interested. Just a tad. Despite its recent growth and all the new refugees coming from the East, Jackson was still a small town, so people knew each other. Especially Joel, who had been living there for four years now.
"The pretty one."
"JesusâŚ" He drew a heavy breath through his nose as he finally wheeled around to see who his brother had been watching for the past minute.
Oh. He had expected a lot, but not the person his eyes now landed upon.
At first, he assumed that he was mistaken, and that Tommy was talking about one of the women at the table beside you, but no. His brother was very clearly watching you.
"Are you fuckin' serious? You think she's starin' at me?" Joel chuckled, reaching for his glass only to remember that it was empty. How pathetic.
"She is. And she almost looked like she was about to drool."
"Christ⌠Tommy, she's like â I don't know, 35. What would she want from me?"
"I told you, she â "
"Yeah, yeahâŚ" Joel grunted and determinedly put his glass back on the counter, turning the idea of getting himself another round over in his mind.
"Well, I'm gonna go over to this other group now and introduce myself like a polite gentleman would do, and if I were you, I'd join so I could talk to that pretty woman andâŚ"
At this point, Joel stopped listening to his brother and just gave a nod when Tommy excused himself to execute his plan and approach the group of ladies next to you.
Tommy was insane, Joel thought, scoffing to himself while the idea of refilling his drink became more and more appealing with every passing second. But then again, drinking with his brother was one thing, but sitting alone at the counter sipping beer while Tommy was off flirting with women was even more humiliating. No, he would have to find different ways to deal with the loud noises and indistinct chatter without the liquor. At least until he was sure that Tommy was either safely at his house or had gone home with one of the women he had just met.
"Hey."
Joel's head spun around quickly, his breath catching in his throat. Shit, his body was too old to move that quickly, he thought, pressing his hand against the side of his neck.
Only then did he realize whom he was facing. It was probably the last person he had expected to see right now, maybe except for his brother, who seemed to be only just getting started throwing around compliments and lighting up the women with his widest smile.
"Oh, hey, how are you?"
Joel wasn't a friendly or particularly charming man, but he tried his best for you. What were you even doing here, talking to an old grump like him? Well, no matter what the reason was, it didn't change anything about the fact that you were pretty, had a beautiful smile, and were flashing your eyes at him at that moment.
"Oh, I just spotted you across the room and thought that maybe you â I don't know, you'd like some company?"
So you had been watching him? His brother was right? Otherwise, you wouldn't have headed straight over to him the second Tommy had left him alone at the counter.
"Of course, always," Joel said, but cursed his rough voice that might have just told you to fuck off. Hell, he just wasn't well-liked amongst women, and there was nothing he could do about it. He wasn't a natural, he wasn't the kind of man women really liked to spend a great deal of time with. Waste their time, rather.
"Can I sit?" you asked sweetly and didn't even flinch at his gruff tone. You were definitely either immune to it or hoping to crack his shell the moment you began having a conversation with him. He genuinely didn't know which he would prefer to be true.
"How are you? I feel like I haven't seen you in town forever. Did you attend last week's town meeting?"
Joel shook his head, feeling grateful to be able to talk about something that wasn't just superficial small talk.
"No, I was really busy fixin' my brother's window that day. The storm, you know⌠The glass broke out of the frame, so I had to replace it."
"Wow, that's impressive⌠I could use your help sometime, I think."
"Oh yeah?" Joel scoffed, averting his gaze to hide his flushed cheeks. He just wasn't used to this, talking to beautiful women at the bar who seemed to have a genuine interest in hearing about his daily life. "With what?"
"I have some lights in the living room that don't work. It's not too bad because I have others that light up the place, but I'd like it fixed sometime."
"Yeah," Joel growled and nervously turned his glass in his hand, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Goddamnit, was this really all he was capable of? Saying yeah and staring at the floor like he'd rather be buried beneath the parquet than spend another second in your presence?
It wasn't even true, for that matter. Joel didn't mind talking with you, which was remarkable since he couldn't stand half of this town's population. And for fuck's sake, you were pretty. He just couldn't stop thinking about how. He had seen you many times before, of course, but had never paid attention to you in such a way.
"Your brother went over to talk to some of my friends over there."
Yeah, that was it. Now you were about to come up with a lame excuse for why you had to head back over there and throw yourself at Tommy's chest like everyone else did. Joel just wondered why you had even come over in the first place rather than just staying with your friends and his handsome brother, whose brassy laughter was soaring through the entire bar.
"Yeah⌠That's Tommy, mhm?" Whatever, perhaps it was time to go home, and it wasn't such a bad thing that you were about to leave him alone.
"I don't really get it. Without being mean, of course."
"Get what?" he murmured, narrowing his eyes and planting his palm flat on the wooden counter.
"Why they all wanna talk to him⌠I mean, I just think there is an even more appealing Miller brother."
His brain short-circuited, and for an instant he was speechless. There were no thoughts running through his head, but when he had finally caught up on what you had said, he wanted to laugh.
"What?" Joel chuckled and awkwardly shifted his weight onto his elbow, trying to seem casual with his cheek resting on his palm, but he assumed it just looked ridiculous and forced.
"I just⌠wanted to talk to you. That's all."
"Talk about what?"
Now it was you who laughed, throwing your head back, which looked incredibly endearing. "Nothing specific, Joel⌠Just you. I just felt like coming over to you."
Your words stole his breath again, only this time his heart rate picked up as well, causing an uncomfortable hollowness to swell in his chest. So all of it was true, you were here because it was where your heart had led you? Tommy had been right when he had claimed that you had been subtly watching him?
His mind hadn't fully processed everything when your lips were already moving again.
"Not that I have anything against your brother, of course⌠He's such a polite man. But I just â I saw you by the bar. And you looked⌠handsome."
"Handsome?" Joel repeated, his voice a low, raspy drawl. At this point, he didn't even take your words seriously anymore, as you were probably just too drunk to think before you spoke, which was the very reason for your mindless stammering.
He wasn't handsome, he was harsh and mean to the people around him, while the ones he didn't want around were treated coldly and without any interest in getting to know them better. Joel didn't know where to place you in that⌠Sure, you weren't someone he usually saw on a daily basis, but at the same time, he didn't mind having you around. Seeing you briefly in the grocery store or at a town meeting had the advantage that there wasn't much potential for you to piss him off. Most of the time, the two of you just exchanged a few words before everyone went on their way.
"Yeah, handsome. I like what you â did with your hair today."
Joel had no idea how he had ended up in that situation, but when he later looked back, he assumed that this sentence had been the reason for it all, that with those words, the seeds had been planted.
The conversation about hairstyles and clothing had led to one about favorite seasons of the year, and then, all of a sudden, you had asked if he wanted to catch some fresh air.
Of course, Joel had agreed, since a crowded, noisy bar was high up on the list of the most uncomfortable places for him. He had agreed so quickly that you had asked him why he had even come in the first place if he hated it so much, but Joel had just shrugged, mumbling something about his brother, who had the talent of always getting what he wanted. And tonight, he had wanted to go to the bar with him.
One thing had led to another, you had caused his cheeks to flush with more of those sweet compliments, and ten minutes later, Joel and you had entered his house, your back crashing into the wall the moment he had locked the door behind you.
Your mouths were pressed together so tightly he couldn't breathe, and he didn't care about it either. All he cared about was savoring as much of the feeling of your soft lips as possible and getting his fucking hands on you.
"Holy shit," he choked after a while, grabbing your wrists with both hands and pinning them above your head. He didn't even intend to restrain you or cage you in, he just genuinely liked tracing your soft wrists and your pretty skin.
"Joel," you panted, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him back, which made his head spin. You, desperately crying his name just because you desired him so much. You, stretching your body toward him just because you wanted to be closer to him. It was a beautiful dream, impossible to believe.
After accepting that his hands weren't so successful in their mission to remove more layers of clothing from your body â he kept getting distracted by every inch of skin he uncovered â Joel pulled back a little to guide you to his bedroom.
You gasped for air, your flushed cheeks dimpling with a mischievous smile as you took the hand he offered you. You followed him with light steps, the anticipation tangible in the way you held yourself and squeezed his hand, which made it hard to believe that you weren't drunk. You had promised him as much after all on the walk back to his house.
Still, he took the liberty of asking you again the moment he had guided you onto his bed, which practically invited the two of you to take advantage of it with its wide mattress and plush pillows.
"You promise you're not drunk?" he huffed while sliding your shirt over your head before he got sidetracked once again.
"I'm not. I promise." He hadn't tasted any alcohol on your tongue, he had to admit.
"Why, do you think I'm acting drunk?"
Joel scoffed and dropped your shirt on the ground next to the bed, struggling to keep his gaze on your face while he yearned for a glimpse of your torso. He wanted to be respectful, of course, and not make you feel like he only appreciated your looks and couldn't have cared less about the things coming out of your mouth.
"No, I'm just⌠I don't know, I'm wonderin' what you want with an old guy like me. You could have anybody you want, sweetheart."
Now it was you who chuckled, though something was also shimmering in your eyes that prompted him to nervously shift on top of you. Your gaze was intense, that was all. The fire in your eyes seemed to burn off the layers of his clothes, making him feel vulnerable, which was remarkable since you were the one half-undressed.
"Are you serious? Joel, you⌠Of course I want you. You think I would only want you if I were drunk? Is that what you're trying to say?"
"No, I meanâŚ" He started, but then his voice trailed off as he realized that it was precisely what he had assumed. It just sounded a lot worse out of your mouth.
"Let me show you," you whispered and put your hand on the back of his neck, tugging him closer so that the words that followed could barely be heard, nothing but a breath between you.
"Let me show you how much I want you."
Joel grinned, coming off a lot more casual and natural than he viscerally felt.
"How?" he grunted, his lip twitching when you took his hand and brought it to rest on your lower belly.
"I want you to feel it⌠Can you do that? I want you to feel how wet I am for you."
His ears grew hot at your blunt words, his stomach coiling with a mix of anxiety about messing this up and a desperate urge to melt into you. Shit, he had an extraordinarily beautiful woman under him who was inviting him to touch her most intimate parts. He would never forgive himself if he messed this up.
"Yes," was all that he breathed.
You moved his hand to the waistband of your jeans, but the moment his fingers brushed against the cool metallic button, he took over and undid it himself.
Without yanking your jeans down your legs, Joel slipped his hand inside your pants. There was something enthralling and nerve-tingling about leaving your lower half dressed while he touched you, and he might get a proper look at you later. If you let him, and if he hadn't done something wrong by that point.
"You look pretty," Joel murmured, just to fill the silence surrounding the two of you. He wasn't sure if you minded the quietness, if he was doing both of you a favor by speaking, since your expression was unreadable. Actually, it wasn't entirely unreadable, there was still sweet longing etched into your features, but Joel supposed that this was just your standard look for tonight.
"Thank you," you murmured, batting your lashes and opening your thighs wider for him, allowing him to settle between them.
His hand was now nicely sheathed between your jeans and your underwear. He had to twist his wrist a little to move freely, but he liked your warmth and how your pussy seemed to have a magnetic effect on him. He wished he could touch your bare skin, maybe even slide a finger inside, but you hadn't asked him explicitly yet, so he â
"JoelâŚ" you whimpered, which came so suddenly he twitched slightly. "Please⌠Please, touch me."
God, you seemed on the brink of begging him, which wasn't at all what he had expected. The sight of the sheer hunger in your eyes, how you chewed on your bottom lip as though it would quench your needs, was both terrifying and heart-warming. Terrifying because Joel felt a little overwhelmed by your undisguised desire, and heart-warming because it was simply an endearing sight.
"Like that?" he whispered and pressed the heel of his hand against your clit, or at least he assumed he was pressing against the right spot beneath the fabric.
When your breath hitched and your muscles tensed, his suspicions were confirmed, and his shoulders eased a little.
It wasn't like he was completely talentless when it came to the art of making love, it was just that he was a bit rusty. Here in Jackson, Joel didn't have a recurring partner to have sex with, which was why he was afraid the things he had learned over the course of his life were slipping out of his head the older he got.
Someone like you, though, someone who was many years younger than him and surely had a lot of sex, given that you were so beautiful and charming, definitely knew what you wanted. So what if he just wasn't competent enough to compare with those other men and please you?
"Joel?" you whispered, clearly aware that his mind had drifted off again.
Your warm hand rested on his cheek, your thumb drawing a few vague circles over his skin.
"It's okay. It feels good. Very - fucking good."
Your voice was breathy, lips parted as you forced large amounts of air into your lungs. Which was a good sign, right?
"You like that?"
"Yes, Joel, fuck... I like it - so much. Please."
The corner of his mouth instinctively curled. He liked hearing you beg. A lot. Besides its obvious effects, it also made him more secure in his own skills and caused his hand to rock against your core with more force.
After a few more minutes, he couldn't wait any longer and pushed your underwear to the side to gain access to your hole, which was hopefully dripping for him by now.
"Is that okay?" he panted against your lips, the sweat pooling on his brow most likely trickling onto your head at that moment, but it was better not to think about it and perhaps become self-conscious. Instead, he focused on your sweet whisper and your swollen lips.
"Yes, Joel. Please, justâput them inside. Please."
It was all the assurance he needed to remove the damp fabric and let his fingertips circle your hole. He hoped they were warm enough to feel pleasant, but sensing no hint of startlement from you, he was confident you didn't mind.
Goddamnit, you were soaked. He had hoped to find some wetness, prayed that there was enough to comply with your request and push his fingers inside you, but he hadn't dared imagine your juices running down your legs like that.
"Do you believe me now?" you laughed, burying your hand in his locks and yanking his face against yours, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss.
"I... Yeah. Yeah, you... fuck, you're wet, baby."
Joel dipped his fingers in a little deeper but moved his thumb to your clit to keep up the friction that had evoked so much pleasure within you in the first place.
"It's all for you, Joel... 'Cause I want you. I want to feel you so bad."
Your words, in combination with how you felt, how your pussy sucked him in greedily yet so effortlessly, drove him near insanity. Joel's head was spinning like he had just gotten off a roller coaster and the earth beneath his feet had yet to stop tilting. It was a tad unsettling, still, he wouldn't trade the feeling for the world. It was too precious, you were too precious, for him to take a second to calm himself.
"Ohhh fuck. Yes, Joel, please, Iâyes, like that."
He was working his middle and ring fingers inside you, thinking that you were relaxed and wet enough to take two at once. The idea of you being so comfortable with him that you opened up for him just like that was filling his heart with pride, even though he knew that he shouldn't get too presumptuous about it. You were just confident and experienced, that was all. There was no reason for you to get nervous with him, because it was just him. Just a slightly insecure, awkward old man who didn't really have a clue what he was doing.
"Feels good, Joel," you whimpered and rolled your hips forward, inviting him to start moving.
Which he did gladly. At first, he thrust them in and out of you slowly, occasionally going knuckle-deep while other times just feeling how beautifully you stretched around him.
But after becoming certain that you had accommodated the size of two of his fingers, he allowed himself to match the pace of his digits with the tight swirls over your stiff bundle of nerves, which he didn't forget no matter how tight and warm you felt around him. How much he wished he could experience it with his cock as well.
"Oh my god," you cried out, arching off his bed and digging your toes into the mattress.
He loved how your entire body responded to him, not just your hot, pulsing pussy. He wished he could tell you that, but he didn't know how without coming off as strange. Was that a normal thing to say during sex? Would your pretty smile broaden, or would your eyebrows draw together? Or would you show no reaction at all but internally question whether it had been a good idea to go home with him?
"Joel. Joel, IâI'm gonna cum," you informed him, causing his stomach to flip.
He couldn't help it, the idea of bringing you to the edge so quickly made his chest flare with pride and excitement, filling his veins with adrenaline.
"That's it, baby," he whispered in your ear, driving his fingers all the way out of you, which produced a squelching sound. The moment you began whining for his fingers to stuff you full, he worked them back inside you. All the way, until his knuckles were inside you. He curled them a little, hitting your spongy, sensitive walls and using your natural wetness to smoothly glide his pads along your insides.
This was downright obscene, and doing something like that with a woman he hadn't exchanged more than a few words with in the past made it feel even more brazen. Though in a good way, if that made sense.
"I'm gonna cum," you pressed out, cheeks turning red while you moved your left hand to his shoulder, gripping the fabric of his shirt firmly.
"I know, sweetheart. I know you are. It's okay, you can cum any time you want."
It took him another minute of circling your little nub and keeping you full of his fingers before you unraveled for him. The sight was the most intoxicating and gorgeous thing he could imagine. Your head was thrown back, eyes pinched shut, and mouth open while throaty moans spilled from your throat. Since you couldn't see him, Joel felt nearly intrusive for regarding you in your most vulnerable state, but he couldn't look away either.
"Ohhhh fuck. Huh. Joel, fuck."
Your hands fell away from him and instead came to rest next to you on the bed.
You looked so exhausted and weak, he considered rolling off you to give you some room to breathe and restore your strength, but he didn't dare do so when you slung your legs around his hips.
"Shit, that was good," you grinned and looked up at him through your lashes, both tiredness and devilment glinting in your eyes.
"Yeah? You liked it?" he growled casually, trying to make his voice sound as carefree as possible.
"Yes. Of course. I don't think I've ever come so quickly while being with a man."
"Oh, you... you like women too?"
You burst into laughter at once, which made his brow furrow in confusion.
"No, I meant I've never come so quickly except when I do it myself. And when I have to be fast, you know? Not that there's anything wrong with liking women."
Shit, he really did turn into an idiot the second he got close to a beautiful woman.
"Oh, yeah... I get it now."
"Joel?"
The tender skin of your hand traced his patchy beard, seemingly not minding the stiffness and sharpness of the little hairs.
"Yeah?"
"I wanna do something for you now."
"Oh, youâyou don't have to, sweetheart. You really don't."
You narrowed your eyes at that, licking your bottom lip.
"But I want to. Will you let me ride you?"
Despite feeling a rush of arousal go through him and head straight to his core, he was slightly taken aback by your words. Not that he doubted in any way that you were capable of doing it, it was just that no woman had ever asked him that question so bluntly.
"Yeah, sure..."
Joel grinned wryly and trailed his thumb along your cheekbone, wondering how it was possible to look so breathtaking and adorable at the same time. Your hair was a little messed up, your face blotchy after your high, but that didn't decrease his lust for you in the slightest. No, it only added to it, if anything.
Within seconds, you had climbed on top of him, straddling his clothed thigh while Joel slowly placed his hands on your waist as if to gauge where to touch you best.
You took your lip between your teeth, the grin you were wearing making your whole face gleam.
Then, you reached behind you and unclasped your bra with a seductive sheen in your eyes. His mouth dried at the sight of your bare chest. Instinctively, his fingers jolted upward, which didn't seem to escape your notice.
"You can touch me, Joel."
While he ran his index finger along the underside of your breast, careful at first as though he were afraid you would break under his hands, you took care of your pants and underwear, then of Joel's clothes. He helped you by lifting his hips and sliding his arms out of the sleeves of his shirt, but for the most part, he only paid attention to your body and your protruding nipples, which were a sight for sore eyes, hardening under his touch.
At times, you squealed or jerked when he twisted your nipples, which filled him with anticipation and made his skin prickle. Faster than he could process, the two of you were naked, except for your socks, but neither of you had the patience to remove another piece of clothing, which was why your eyes went straight to his cock.
Joel maybe would have felt embarrassed about being so eager for you if he hadn't touched your soaked pussy a moment ago. He was rock hard, the tip swollen and red, which caused a flicker of pity to appear in your eyes.
"It's so pretty," you commented, wetting your dry lips with your tongue.
"Yeah? You think so, baby?"
Joel splayed his left hand across the small of your back, yanking you closer. You reached for his member, forming a fist around his shaft, which was answer enough.
"It's gonna feel so good," you panted and slid your hand up and down a couple of times, hot blood pulsating through his veins at the stimulation.
"You wanna put it inside, darlin'?" Joel groaned, feeling the remnants of his nervousness disintegrate as greed consumed him. There was no space for it anymore, his thoughts were replaced by his craving to feel your pussy hugging his pulsing member. It would feel so good, he just knew it.
He could only hope that he wasn't going to burst the second you sank down on him, that he would be able to hold back for a few minutes, which would hopefully give you the time to take from him what you needed to slake your own longing before he spilled his cum inside you like a pathetic teenage boy.
"Yes," you hummed and tilted his dick a little, lifting your hips to properly climb on top of him.
It took you two attempts to work the head of his cock inside, as the slippery mess between your legs caused the tip to slip aside at first, but then the two of you moaned in unison, feeling your walls give way.
You were tight, but not so tight that he anticipated any discomfort from your side while he reached deeper inside you. Besides, you were still the one in charge and could stop any time you needed a break to get used to him.
But holy shit, it didn't seem like you wanted anything like that. You just glided down on him as though the most hidden and secretive corners of your pussy were begging to be filled by him, and you didn't have the patience to wait a second longer than necessary.
"Oh my fuckin'..." Joel growled, throwing his head back, his lids falling shut, but then they opened again when he felt you kiss his neck.
"Baby. You feel goddamn good, you know that?"
You whimpered softly but didn't let go of his skin. No, you were clinging to his body like a monkey, your hands squeezing his bicep with every other inch you took of him.
"Ohh god. Oh shit."
You rolled your hips a tad, allowing him to claim yet a little more of your body until he hit your cervix, and you ground your teeth.
"Don't hurt yourself, baby," Joel grunted, one of his hands landing on the back of your head while the other rested on your hipbone, guiding you into him without urging you to pick up your pace.
"I justâFeels really good. You're so deep, Joel."
"I know I am," he hummed, glaring down at your head, which was still pressed against his collarbone. He couldn't see a lot, though, as sparks were flickering in his vision, drowning everything in a hazy, blazing bubble.
"You like that, sweetheart? You feel good?" Joel asked and moved a hand to your breasts again, which bounced wonderfully under the steady rhythm you had set for yourself.
"Yes, Joel..." you murmured, almost in awe of his girthy length inside you.
Your eyes were round and glossy, making you look like you were on some other planet or perhaps just encapsulated by his cock, stuffing you full with every thrust.
"You feel perfect," Joel grunted and weighed the flesh of your breast in his hand before he suddenly dropped it between your thighs, finding your hardened clit in no time.
You flinched slightly at the first touch, but after a few gentle swipes, it seemed to start feeling good again. Your motions became a little more uneven, sometimes you stopped about halfway above his cock when he pinched your clit just right, but Joel didn't mind it at all. No, he devoured every single image like a dry sponge, rewarding you with little kisses on top of your brow.
"I ain't gonna last long," he muttered in your ear after a while, his thick Southern accent even more distinct now than it always was when he felt strong emotions. "Sorry, sweetheart... You justâyou feel very fuckin' good. I'mâGod, baby, I... You're so warm..."
You raised your head from his chest at that, planting both hands on his shoulders to have better support while you rocked back and forth. He didn't know what exactly your technique was, didn't know how you did it, but the sensation was a totally new and spectacular one.
"Holy fuckin'..." he grunted, squeezing the flesh of your waist so tightly that the skin turned white.
A split second later, Joel's world collapsed. His body released the tension it had been holding, and he spurted his creamy seed within your wet pussy.
"Fuck..." was all he felt capable of muttering, shoulders slackened and eyes pinched shut.
Everything went still for the moment, the noises gushing from outside his house, the creaking bed, and even his own thoughts. He even forgot all about his guilty conscience for cumming before you instead of waiting like a gentleman.
Then, his high abated slowly, and he felt capable enough to raise his regretful gaze to face you.
"I'm so fucking sorry, sweetheart," Joel whispered in your ear, feeling his sticky cum pushed deep inside your pussy by his dick, which was still buried all the way inside you.
Although you just gave him a smile and assured him that you were perfectly satisfied with what you had received from him, Joel insisted on making you cum a second time, which you didn't mind in the slightest.
Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth and curling your toes in excitement, you spent another fifteen minutes on your back, legs spread wide and lids fluttering while Joel used both his tongue and fingers on you until you saw white.
He licked you through your high, kept his tongue attached to your clit, and when you neither flinched away nor told him to stop after your apex, he just kept going, feeling addicted to your juices.
Your orgasm was followed by another, but after that, you weakly cradled his head and pulled him up to you.
That night, both of you had a restful sleep.
You dozed off the moment Joel had crawled up and spread the blanket over you, and he joined you in your dreamscape shortly afterward. He was even too tired to clean up the mess the two of you had made, thinking that he would have all the time in the world to do it the following day.
With a heavy groan, Joel shoved the cupboard against the wall, dropping his hands to his hips.
"That's it, ain't it?"
His brother pursed his lips and eyed the corner of the room, then the rest of it.
"Yeah. Looks right, mhm? We did a good job 'ere. Thank you, Joel."
He gave a small nod and let his gaze wander over the freshly painted but dried walls of the room with a satisfied hum. The creamy white reflected the light much better than the dark grey had, which had been one of the main reasons why Tommy's wife, Maria, had asked the brothers to repaint the garage of their house.
Now everything looked much friendlier, Joel had to admit, even though he had been the one to raise his eyebrows in doubt when Tommy had brought the idea forward to him. After all, there were many more important things to tend to than the color of their garage.
But whatever, the job was quickly done, and if it made his sister-in-law happy, he would sacrifice a few hours of his free time to help them out.
For once, Tommy and her were doing well in their marriage, and their fighting had been reduced to things around the house, which Joel considered a good sign.
Besides, it looked like he was about to get rewarded with a cold beer in Tommy's garden, which was precisely what his sweaty body was craving right now.
A moment later, Joel was sitting with him on the terrace. The sun stood low in the sky, warm enough to tingle pleasantly on his neck but not as pungent and aggressive as it had been a few hours prior.
"Cheers, brother," Tommy grinned and clinked his glass against his. "Thanks again. Maria really appreciates it. She even thinks about invitin' you to 'er birthday next month."
"Very funny," Joel scoffed but nodded anyway. "No problem. If I get rewarded so generously..."
He tilted his head toward the glass filled with beer that had come straight out of the refrigerator and tasted cold against his tongue, filling his body with the refreshment he had been missing over the past hours.
"You're welcome. This is precious stuff, so you know we really appreciate it."
"How's your 'lil guy?" Joel asked after a while, looking around the garden as though he was expecting his nephew to jump out from behind a tree any minute.
"Oh, he's doin' well. He's visitin' a friend right now. But I swear to God, they grow so fast, you can't even keep track. He's learnin' how to read, Joel. I feel like it was yesterday that Maria and I took him home from the hospital."
Although everything about his words sounded very clichĂŠ to Joel, he had no doubt about their authenticity. He felt the same way, really. Watching Benjamin grow up had been one of the strangest and most beautiful experiences of his life, and it reminded him strongly of raising Sarah all those years ago.
"Speakin' of children, you know what Maria told me today?"
Joel took another swig of his beer, then set his glass back on the table.
"Shoot."
"So, you remember y/n? The girl from the bar?"
Joel's breath caught in his throat at the mention of your name, and he just hoped that the warmth creeping into his cheeks didn't show on his face.
"Yeah," he answered and subtly avoided Tommy's gaze.
There was nothing to be embarrassed about, it was just that Joel had never told his brother that he had hooked up with you four months ago. Sure, he hadn't been able to avoid talking to him about you the following day, but he had left out the part where he had taken you home and slept with you.
He didn't really know why he had lied, though. Tommy was surely the last person who would judge him for having a one-night stand.
"People are talkin' 'round the town."
"About what? I haven't heard anythin'."
"Of course you haven't," Tommy snickered and patted him on the back. "'Cause you live behind a rock."
"What are they sayin'?" Joel rolled his eyes and felt his heart pound in his chest a little faster than usual. Just because he hadn't seen you again after that one nightâexcept for the occasional, inevitable run-in at the grocery store that had been limited to a friendly greetingâdidn't mean he didn't care about you.
"They're sayin' she's pregnant."
Oh.
Joel's stomach twisted, his skin turning pale. Obviously, he wasn't looking in a mirror that could have confirmed his suspicions, but he just knew that it was the truth.
"Pregnant?" he repeated, eyebrows shooting up to portray indifference.
"Yeah..."
"Who's sayin' that?"
"Well, Maria told me. She talked to some of 'er friends, and apparently Nicole saw 'er with a baby bump. And then she talked to some of her friends who told 'er that, yeah, she's pregnant."
"How far along?" it burst out of him before he could stop himself and reconsider showing such intense emotion in front of Tommy.
"Jesus... I'm not sure. What, are you mad at it? Do you like 'er? I thought you weren't so interested after your conversation at the bar."
"No, I... I mean, no. I'm not interested. I just... I don't knowâ"
"So, her friend didn't say how far along she is, but Nicole said she assumed around fourth or fifth month."
Jesus fucking Christ.
There was a good chance Joel had messed up badly. Of course, that chance wasn't a hundred percent, but if Nicole was right about her assumption and if you hadn't been with anyone else shortly after him and before him, there was... No, he didn't even want to finish the thought for now. First, he needed a few more pieces of information.
"And she said anything about whose child it is? Does she have a boyfriend?"
Obviously, Joel knew that you didn't have one. Against his own will and what he deemed the right thing to do, he had silently watched you a little, just a tad more closely than the other residents of Jackson. He had kept his ears open when walking down the streets and had automatically scanned you when he saw you at town meetings. If there was a boyfriend, you would have surely sat next to him at one of those events, but you were always just accompanied by your friends.
"I don't know. But I haven't heard anything... Have you? Why am I even asking..."
Joel joined his laughter just to conceal his nervousness.
Holy shit.
What if he had really gotten himself into some trouble because of his careless actions?
When he was home an hour later, Joel still felt anxious even though his body was supposed to feel more normal at this point. He sank into the couch cushions, all the air leaving his body as he exhaled.
Well, if that wasn't something.
He didn't want to feel certain that he was responsible for this and that it was his kid before talking to you, but Joel didn't really doubt his involvement in it. He had come inside you, after all, acting stupid and risky like a reckless teenage boy.
Talking to you, yes... If that wasn't long overdue.
He needed to know if it was his child, and if it was, why you hadn't come to him earlier for help. He needed to know if there was any way to help you and if you had any plan or wish whatsoever regarding the future.
Joel nervously tapped his fingers on his thigh.
It had gotten late.
The sun was setting, and the sky was painted in rich orange colors. The wisest thing to do was to wait until the next day to approach this issue with a clear head and a relaxed body, and still, Joel rose to his feet at once.
He didn't even hesitate when he grabbed his keys and dashed out the door.
When you finally brought yourself to open your mouth, it wasnât a question that came out. It was a fact, simple and blunt. âYouâre one of them.â
âI am,â he replied, the sun still emblazoning him in radiant light. Almost made it hurt to look at him. âBut I never wanted to be a human again until I saw you.â
warnings: black dog/hellhound au with hints of a bigger plot that I'm too tired to dive into. reader is referenced as smaller + younger than Joel. alpha/omega dynamics. slices of life. time jumps. non-descriptive smut. fast burn/love at first sight. biting. blood. rough handling. language. non-major character death(s). thunderstorms. reference of reader's parents. nudity. sneaking in a CoD reference cuz why not
note: Trying to remember how to write for the fun of it. This is the result *awkwardly throws out into the universe*
i.
You stand on your bedroomâs balcony, concrete tiles cold beneath your bare feet. Your eyes look towards the horizon, fingers tightening around the wrought iron railing.
A storm brews. The sun is swiftly retreating behind the distant hills, leaving the city dark and cold in its wake. Electricity taints the air, the hair on the back of your neck prickling -
And then you hear it, harmonizing with the thunderâs rumblings, the ghastly howls of the Black Dogs chasing down the scent of their prey.
ii.
Nightspyre, for all its blackouts and seediness, isnât the worst place to call home. Not when youâre collared and marked by an Alpha, not when your Alpha has stared Death in the eye and made Her flinch. Not when retaliation for every spilt drop of innocent blood emerges each sundown in the guise of hulking shadows and gleaming red eyes.
The collar had been your request. An old-fashioned tradition dating back centuries, replaced in recent years by sharper, more permanent means of securing a mate. Your mother, rest her soul, had treated her collar as her most prized possession every moment of her short life. Red velvet with a gold tag inscribed with your fatherâs name. Gone are the days Omegas gathered and gossiped over the patterns and colors adorning their necks. Bitemarks are the present trend, judged and compared by the size, placement, and number of teeth.
Theyâre advertised as the ultimate display of devotion. A lifelong promise between an Alpha and their chosen mate. A claim warning off others from sniffing too closely. Simply put: a marked Omega is a loved Omega.Â
But you learned the hard way when people saw your mark, they didn't see love. They saw something cruel. Something monstrous.
Only when you began wearing a collar you'd fallen in love with after seeing it in the window of a thrift store, adorned with faint golden moons and stars, did the concerned looks and judgmental whispers gradually stop. Convinced them maybe your Alpha wasn't so heartless as they initially believed.
After all, everyone knows monsters don't know how to be gentle. It goes against their very nature. Everything they touch dies an agonizing death.
iii.
âDo you think itâs possible? To know someone your whole life and also know nothing about them at all?â you ask, fingertips tracing the jagged edges of the bite beneath the curve of your collarbone. Itâs a hideous thing made in a frenzied moment of raw need, consequentially stained your favorite sheets irredeemably scarlet.Â
Your Alpha looks up from where heâd been dragging his tongue over the knob of your hip bone, replying, âOf course.â He moves to hover over you, bracketing your head with his arms, fogging your senses with his distinct scent of petrichor and woodsmoke. âAs long as lies exist, no oneâs ever truly known. Just pieces of âem.â
âPieces, huh?â You touch his face now, thumb lifting his upper lip in the semblance of a snarl, revealing a glimpse of too-sharp teeth. âI wouldnât mind collecting more of yours, Joââ
A warning nip to your hand, blood hot under the surface. âCareful what you wish for.â
iv.
Lightning bathes the living room in a flash of white. Outside the city is wet and dismal, but here, inside, itâs flickering candlelight, and your Alpha is pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, body more shadow than flesh, and you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment to pretend the hand on your cheek has fingers instead of claws.
v.
Three years ago you first saw Joel during one of the worst storms in Nightspyreâs long history. Youâd been new to the city after finishing your degree and securing a job there, still a rookie navigator of its maze of cobblestone streets and alleyways. The weather was a fickle tormentor, you quickly learned, swapping between dry heat and violent downpour seemingly at whim. Youâd entered a restaurant for a late supper in cloudless twilight, and exited an hour later to bone-chilling rain hurtling down from a pitch black sky. And it had been a miserable discovery for you to make whilst shivering beneath the front entry of an abandoned church, paint-chipped with boarded up windows, that absolutely nothing looked familiar in the rain. For all you knew, youâd tripped and stumbled into a completely different world.
A lightning bolt streaked across the sky, your eyes following its descent from the heavens, and that was when you first saw it. A black dog prowling amongst the faded and cracked tombstones, tail unnaturally stiff, seeming completely indifferent to the pouring rainâand âdogâ seemed like an insulting descriptive at the time, too small and domestic for the behemoth canine, but calling it a wolf didnât settle right with you either. It wasâŚit wasâŚ
It was staring right at you now, crimson eyes cutting across the distance and the darkness like searchlights. You froze, heart lodged in your throat, and it was such a bizarre thing, to be in the presence of something as simultaneously terrifying as it was so eerily beautiful. And the longer you stared, the more convinced you became that this was no ordinary creature. There was a dreamlike quality to its appearance, blurry around the edges, like it could change shapes at any second.Â
Fuck, maybe you had tripped into a completely different world.
Another bolt of lightning bathed the cemetery yard in white light, the dogâs figure caught in the flash. Its black fur was thick around its neck, adding further bulk to its already broad body, and completely dry all over despite the puddle forming at its paws. You heard the uptick of your rampant heartbeat. Instinct screamed at you to run, but something else made you stay. A conviction you both were meant to share this moment together.
And it scared you how much that belief didnât scare you.
Darkness swallowed the light again, taking the red eyes with it. You remember how youâd stood there until the clouds changed from black to gray, rain losing some of its vicious sting upon striking your skin, and youâd returned home in a numbed state of exhaustion and confusion. In the days that followed, you didnât get sick from the incident, not even so much as a sniffle, adding another layer of oddness to the whole ordeal. And that dogâŚyou couldnât shake it from your mind.Â
You wanted to know more about it. Any and every last scrap of detail you could find.
vi.
Welcome back! Your recent internet searches:
black dog breeds
massive black dogs with red eyes
black dog folklore
hellhounds
People also searched for:
fairy hounds
perro negro
okuri-inu
the hound of the baskervilles
dogs in folklore, religion and mythology
vii.
âYou realize how ridiculous you sound, right?â Abe told you, wiping at his glasses with a cloth, a nervous twitch in his fingers. âThe Black Dogs are a silly legend to scare children. Anyone who says theyâre real is selling something.â
âIâll tell Professor Ratna you said that,â you replied with a smirk.
Your quest for answers revealed everyone had an opinion one way or the other on the topic of massive red-eyed, dark-furred canines. Most thought they were myths limited to the boundaries of their pages in books or the online web. A few though, spoke in hushed murmurs, casting around wary glances, as if afraid of accidentally summoning one from the depths of the earth. Others talked with booming voices and gesticulating hands, telling you everything you wanted to hear like theyâd been waiting for this conversation their whole lives.Â
One homeless drunkard who dwelled in the alleyway next to 57th Street Tavern explained through slurred words, âIâve seen âem, twice I have. Theyâre big brutes, shaking the ground when they walk. Butâbut they leave nothing behind. No tracks. Scary fuckers, they are. And they know itâthey feast off fear, then they feast on flesh.â
You asked him how heâd lived through the close encounters unscathed and he shrugged off the question. âI ainât never hurt nobody. The folks they hunt down, theyâre already going to hell. The Dogs just bring âem there faster.â
Youâd visited Professor Ratna next, catching the older woman in-between classes during her lunch break. Sheâd politely entertained your inquiry rather than outright scoff at it as the rest of the university faculty had done. âMy specialty is mycology, not folklore, so I am no expert on the subject,â she said, taking a sip of tea. âThat being said, Iâd urge you to be cautious if youâre going to continue going around asking these questions. Few things happen in this city the Dogs donât know about.â
âMakes it sound like theyâre keeping the city hostage.â
She set down her teacup and looked you straight in the eye. âNo, my dear. They are what keeps the city safe.â
You had left her office even more unsure of your own convictions than youâd felt when you arrived.
âWell, if youâre ever unlucky enough to come across one, run the other way as fast as you can,â Abe said, hesitantly looking up to meet your gaze. âDonât even think about trying to pet it.â
The thought honestly hadnât crossed your mind until then. It sounded like the quickest surefire way to lose a hand, perhaps even the whole limb. But if you had taken the chance at the church, you couldnât help but what would the pelt have felt like â
Thick, dense fur like other canines? Or deceptively smooth and oily like a serpentâs scales?
(The answer, as it turns out, is a curious mix of both.)
viii.
The next day, a man knocked on your front door. He was tall, body thick with muscle and marked with smatterings of freckles andâoh. Your gaze stopped on his abdomen, refusing to dip any lower as realization turned your brain to mush.Â
He wasnât wearing a stitch of clothing. Nude as the day he was born.
He wasnât saying anything either, brown eyes sweeping over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. In another setting, preferably one without nakedness, perhaps over a candlelit dinner, you would have been flattered by the attention but as it was â
Pressing closer against the safety of the door, you took a tentative sniff of the air. His Alpha scent knocked into you like a tidal wave, barely stifling a reflexive whine in your throat. He smelled like thunderstorms, electric and pungent, like wet grass and ozone all blended together. And something else beneath the surface, something distinctly fiery. Smoky. God, you wanted to drown in that scent.
But first things first â
âWhat the hell are you doing here?â
The Alphaâs nostrils flared, followed by a low rumble from the depths of his chest that had your grip on the door tightening to keep you from doing something embarrassing (shamelessly flinging yourself at him came to mind). âI followed your scent. Mint and vanilla.â Another inhale, deeper this time, eyes darkening. âSassafras.â
His voice was hoarse, grating. Sounded like he hadnât used it in months, maybe even years.
Your thoughts deserted you again, leaving you to dumbly stare at him for a moment. âUm.â
Youâd dated a couple Alphas in the past, nothing that ever developed seriously and that was mostly due to the fact they all didnât like your scent. Scent-compatibility was an essential factor when it came to bondingâafter all, youâd be smelling that scent for the rest of your lives together so it was better to be a pleasing one. One described it as boring, another said it was too clean. Whatever that meant.
But this Alphaâthis strange, heavenly-smelling, unfairly attractive man liked your scent enough he followed it all the way to your front door.Â
âIâuh,â you blinked once, twice, slowly rebooting your brain, âwhat was your name again?â
The question had a curious effect on the man, emotions rippling across his face, one after the other, looking lost, but only for an instant, before he swallowed thickly, throat bobbing in a distracting manner.
âItâs Joel.â The corner of his mouth dipped. âI think.â
âYou think?â you echoed, eyebrows raising. Who didnât know their own name?
He lapsed back into silence, but there was a defensive edge to it that wasnât there before.Â
You exhaled a quiet breath and gave him a scrutinizing look, gaze dragging all the way from his head to his dirty bare feet and back up again without pausing on anyâŚintimate areas. You wished you could peel back his layers, cut straight through the weird aura and iron defenses and find out what was there at his center that heâd hidden away.
It must be something incredibly precious, you thought.Â
Or something shockingly hideous.
âTell me, Joel,â you crossed your arms to hide your trembling hands, âhave we met before?â
The Alpha tilted his head, midafternoon sunlight turning the dark of his eyes into liquid gold. He swallowed again, then quietly admitted, âOnce. A couple nights agoâŚâ
You found yourself leaning closer. He didnât move away. You could almost taste the rain, the howling wind, the thunderclaps, the lightning, everything wild clinging to his skin.Â
âAre youââ You cut yourself off, glancing away. You worried your bottom lip for a moment, hesitant to release the words burning on your tongue, scared of their potentially devastating influence.Â
âYouâve been asking an awful lot of questions around town, Sass,â Joel said, soft as a caress. âHavenât you figured it out by now?â
And that â well, that just about confirmed every last suspicion you had.
When you finally brought yourself to open your mouth, it wasnât a question that came out. It was a fact, simple and blunt. âYouâre one of them.â
âI am,â he replied, the sun still emblazoning him in radiant light. Almost made it hurt to look at him. âBut I never wanted to be a human again until I saw you.â
ix.
âAny regrets, Sass?â Joel asks in the midnight hours.
âHmm?â You curl closer, ear pressed against the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
âIf youâd known itâd be like this,â he whispers into your hair. âWould you have run away if you had the chance?â
âMaybe,â you say, and you feel more than see the sudden tension roll through his body, shielding himself from the hurt. âBut I wouldâve found my way back sooner or later. Iâd miss you too much.â
Joel says nothing, doesnât have to. The way he presses you into the mattress, moves inside you, against you, with roaming hands and searing kisses, becoming one â speaks volumes more than words could ever convey. Â
x.
The south side of Nightspyre is a haven for smugglers and thugs, consisting of multiple rows of derelict warehouses and an understaffed police presence, half concealed in the smog produced by the factory district. The streets are sticky with unknown substances beneath your shoes, each breath burning the inside of your nose.
âGets prettier every time I visit,â Tess says wryly, standing next to you and looking at a spray-painted dick on the side of a dumpster.
You shoot your friend an amused look. Her brown hairâs half-up in a bun, sheâs tough as nails, and carries at least four concealed weapons on her person at any given point. Female Alphas arenât a common sight in the city, but Tessâ intimidating presence fends off the inappropriate comments, striking fear into the hearts of even the biggest Alphas with one icy glare. Sheâs the perfect ally to have by your side.
âLetâs just grab Joel and get out of here.â You pick up the pace. Your eyes note the different colored ribbons hanging from the overhead telephone wires. Each represents an illegal activity, whether it be gambling or drugs. If one knows their code, these ribbons act as a map of the district. Â
Tess holds a hand up, stopping at a crossroads. You watch as she looks to the left, center, and right, then up at the ribbonsâred, orange, and black respectively. The code regularly changes depending on the month or weather or local events, memorized by those who frequently visit the area, but there is one warning that will never be made different.
âBeware the path marked by the ribbon dyed black,â you recite quietly. âFor if you follow it, youâll surely become the next meal of the pack.â
âSure you donât wanna grab a drink instead?â Tess asks, jerking a thumb in the direction of the orange ribbon.Â
You say nothing, adjusting the shoulder strap of your bag, and turn right â trusting that your friend will follow close behind, watching your back as she always has since you first met.
xi.
It's a wonder that there's enough of the body left to investigate, you think, crouching behind a car that smells overwhelming of weed and watching a group of men in police uniforms toss around ideas about who or what killed the dismembered and burnt corpse.
Deaths like this, they're how the myth of the Black Dogs continues to circulate and gain credence amongst the locals. The police, on the other hand, refuse to acknowledge them or the black ribbons pointing the way. They'll claim any other excuse under the sun - rabid wildlife, homicidal rage fueled by drugs or alcohol, deranged serial killers, hell even lightning strikes - but to openly admit beasts of folklore are responsible for the high fatality rate? Not a fucking chance.
They've tried setting traps a few times, reassuring folks they'll catch whatever savage thing is responsible for making the streets run red with blood. "Don't worry," they always say. "We have everything under control."
Itâs you who should be worried, you want to retort, images flickering through your mind of sharpened teeth and paws the size of tires. Only a fool attempts to catch a hurricane in a glass jar.Â
xii.
Itâs another forty-five minutes before you find him.
You slide down a steep slope of dead grass, fresh mud from last nightâs storm painting the sides of your pants, seeping into your shoes, almost dragging you face-first into the brown sludge of Pickettâs River if not for Tessâ fast reflexes. Eyes on the culvert pipe, you grit your teeth, remind yourself why youâre here, and step forward into the mess of sewage and soil and rainwater. Disgust is immediate, soaked above your knees, but you force yourself to take another step and another and another until you reach the large, ebony mass lying at the culvertâs gaping mouth, black mist emanating from his heaving flank.
âThere you are,â you murmur, dropping to your knees near the muzzy outline of his head. Triangular ears twitch before they are concealed in a haze of shadow again. Your heart sinks, forcing a bit of levity into your tone. âWeâve got to stop meeting like this, yeah? Our backyard is a helluva lot nicer than this shithole.â
âIâll build a doghouse for him myself if itâll save me from getting dragged outta bed at this ungodly hour,â Tess offers from somewhere behind you.
Sheâs smart enough to stay back, especially when the sound of her voice has eyes snapping open in a blaze of red, immediately narrowing into smoldering slits, lips curling back from bloodstained teeth, snarling in challenge.Â
âNone of that,â you scold, followed by a bop against his nose with your finger. He stills, some of the feral luster clearing from his eyes. His body remains primed to fight, muscles coiled, lingering side effects from last nightâs hunt. âItâs over. Itâs a new day.â A hot breath of air wafts over your face, flooding your nostrils with a concoction of coppery blood, damp earth, and sulfur. âFucking hell, thatâs awful. You, Alpha mine, need a toothbrush. No, scratch that, you need to gargle bleach to get that nastiness out of your mouth. Ugh.â
Joel shoves his head forward, rumbling a deep, guttural note as his wet nose pressed against the vulnerable tendon of your throat, a hint of teeth grazing your pulse. If not for the bitemark under your shirt and the history of early mornings identical to this one spanning across the course of your relationship, perhaps you might have screamed or fainted in fright. Given the circumstances though, you merely tilt your head back further, allowing him to drink his fill of your scent until he remembers.
He had explained once, his human memories were like sand in this form, his mind an hourglass torn between two lives. Your scent triggers the reset, tipping everything right side up again, memories falling back into place until the next hunt steals them back again.
You know when it clicks because Joelâs breath hitches, a violent shudder rippling along his spine. Itâs always agonizing, watching him transform, listening to the grinding and splintering of bones and sinew realigning themselves. The cloud of obsidian mist begins to lighten, the once ambiguous outline of a colossal beast slowly, so painstakingly slowly merging into a man â naked, trembling from the aftershocks, clinging to consciousness by his own stubborn will.Â
Brown eyes meet yours, blood smeared across his mouth and beard. âSass,â he says, a dry rasp sending a wave of warmth all the way down to your frozen and wet toes. âArenât you getting tired of coming after me yet?â
âNah,â you shake your head, smiling. âI think itâs good for our relationship. Keeps things interesting.â
He snorts. âInteresting. Sure, thatâs a word for it. How many timesâ it been this week? Two, three?â
âFour,â Tess chimes in, punctuated by a pair of jeans striking Joel square in the face.
âMorninâ Tess,â is the low, sheepish response from your Alpha. He pulls the pants off his head, hair ruffled every which way. âDidnât see you there. Is that a new haircut? Itâs nice. Suits you.â
Your friend hums, unimpressed. She used to think you were cute together, that the twang of his accent was amusing, but after eight months of accompanying you in retrieving his naked ass from various sordid and revolting sites around Nightspyre sheâs become immune to his charms.
You pull out a shirt and shoes from your own bag. âWeâve gotta get a move on. Police already think youâre strange. Donât need to give âem another reason to dislike you.â
âFour hunts in one week,â Joel mutters under his breath as he begins dressing, a disturbed look in his eye, and you hear what he isnât saying, unspoken words weighing heavily upon your chest like individual stones.
Four more damned souls.
xiii.
Sometimes you canât find him the morning after a hunt, losing him amongst the creeping shadows, and youâre forced to wait, anxious and helpless, until thereâs another storm, another hunt, another death to reunite with him.Â
Those times, the house feels too empty and your bitemark aches something fierce, a brand seared against your skin. Nightmares plague your sleep until your sheets are a tangle of sweat and tears. The cloudless blue skies and starry nights are further personal insults, mocking your heartache.
xiv.
Itâs a tricky concept to wrap your head around, the idea that Joel had once been a human decades, perhaps centuries ago. Time isnât something Black Dogs keep track of and Nightspyreâs historical archives are in the city hallâs basement which floods every other rainfall. Heâs older than you, thatâs something you can confidently say. Less confidently you can guesstimate he was probably in his late thirties when he was turned.
Your first year together you tried to piece together his story, pestering him with whatever question crossed your mind. Were you born here? What were your parents like? Any siblings? Hobbies? Your attempts proved mostly unrewarding though - his memories of that life are few and flimsy, giving him a headache if he thinks about them too long - and by now youâve learned he prefers to make new memories than dwell in the past.
The day he knocked on your door becomes his birthday. He turns forty and who gives a fuck if itâs accurate or not, certainly not either of you. You celebrate with cake and ice cream topped with hot fudge.
âMy mother used to make cake like this,â Joel says after swallowing a bite. You look at him, your own spoon hovering in front of your mouth, ice cream threatening to melt, but his eyes are glossed over, lost in a memory, and you canât bring yourself to move, scared of disrupting the moment. âShe added chocolate chips in it. Made it sweeter. Sheâd let me lick the batter from the spoon.â
An image of a young Joel forms unbiddenly in your mind. You can imagine him hovering at his motherâs side, waiting patiently as she scoops and pours and mixes the ingredients, how wide heâd grin when he finally got his prize, smearing chocolatey goodness across his mouth.
âYour ice creamâs melting,â Joelâs voice yanks you back to the present.
You blink a few times, reconciling the child in your head with the Alpha in front of you, then look down at your spoon where, sure enough, the ice creamâs more of a liquid than a solid, blending with the cake and fudge in a gooey swirl. You stick it in your mouth, not really tasting, not really thinking except -
Next year youâll remember to buy chocolate chips.
xv.
A horde of ominously gray clouds accumulates on the horizon, blotting out the sun. Standing together on the balcony, Joel drapes himself over your backside, chin on your shoulder, both your gazes locked ahead.
âDeath is becoming greedy,â you say, mouth coated in bitter venom. You donât care if She overhears, so long as you carry his mark youâre untouchable. Not even Her powers can disentwine your souls. Where one goes, the other will follow - and she needs Joel too much at the moment to let him go just yet.
âItâs not Her. Thereâs something else poisoning the city, rotting it from the inside outâŚâ Joel trails off, interrupted by the first drizzling drops of rain, the distant clap of thunder summoning his alternate form to the surface. His fingers flex against your waist, forcibly swallowing down the growl building in his chest with an audible gulp.
âIâll see you in the morning.â
You donât say tomorrow morning. Not anymore. Itâs too specific, too painful when it doesnât come true.
âSee you in the morning,â he echoes, and gently turns your head, sealing the vow with a kiss. Itâs chaste, sweet, foreheads coming to rest against each other, savoring the moment even as the rain pelts your skin and clothes. âGo on, get inside and get warmed up. And no matter what you hearââ
âDonât go outdoors,â you finish, pressing one last kiss against his jaw.Â
xvi.
Joel starts to age again. Itâs a slow, gradual process for his body to remember what it means to be human. He still heals unnaturally fast, still answers Deathâs call whenever thereâs a soul to collect, but -Â
There are flecks of gray peppered in his beard. Along his temples. They turn silver when the light hits them just right. Never once does he make an effort to shave them off or dye them.Â
He needs glasses when he reads. It shouldnât be possible yet somehow the dark frames make him look even hotter, especially late at night when theyâre perched on the brim of his nose as those perfect lips silently mouth along with the words of whatever genre-of-the-week has snagged his attention.
âDoesnât it bother you?â you ask abruptly one morning. Joelâs in the middle of peeling oranges, making an attempt at adding more fruit to both your diets, and the kitchen air is oversaturated with citrus. âDying?â
His hands pause, pensive lines creasing his forehead. Itâs a sign heâs thinking hard about his answer, giving it the necessary time to form and develop. You wait, perched on the kitchen stool, pushing your toes against the floor to keep your leg from bouncing anxiously.
âI already died once, remember? This,â he says, gesturing towards his gray hairs and then at the house as a whole. âThis isnât dying, Sass. Not for me.â
You lean forward with your arms upon the counter. âWhat is it for you then?â
He looks at you for a long second, soft and fond, and smiles. âThis is me finally living.â
xvii.
Loving Joel is easy, you learn. As natural as waking up with the morning sun, as necessary as drawing breath into the depths of your lungs. You donât believe much in fate or destiny, but there are moments where he looks at you, like he canât believe youâre the one who's real, and it feels like itâs always supposed to have been you and him.Â
âOf all the churches in all the world,â you quietly laugh under your breath one night, head resting on his stomach.Â
His hand stills in the middle of stroking a warm line down your spine. âWhat do you mean?â
âNothing,â you shift just enough to press a kiss against his sternum, smiling to yourself at the hitch of his breath. âJust thinking how lucky I am.â
Joelâs hand continues its movements again, but this time when it goes back up it carries on past your shoulder, pads of his fingers dipping into the teeth indentation marks there.Â
And you know heâs thinking the same.
xviii.
Joelâs sliding home inside of you, all scorching heat and possessive growls, face buried against your neck. You wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders, nails cutting scratches deep into his skin, drawing blood. Theyâll be gone before heâs done with you. Damn healing factor, a blessing and a curse.
âI want to be like you,â you murmur carelessly against the hinge of his jaw, mouthing a kiss thatâs more tongue than lips.
âNo,â Joel grunts, and then heâs moving back, pulling out of you. You whine, a pathetic and desperate high-pitched plea of an Omega trying to appease her Alpha, to call him back to fill the emptiness threatening to devour you alive. He ignores it, grabbing at your face with a large hand, forcing you to look at him, really look and fuck, youâve never seen him like this before.
That emotion in his eyes, dark and gleaming and intense â itâs fear.
âYou donât want to be like me, Sass. You can never be like me,â Joel says, and he doesnât even try to mask the tremble in his voice. âI wonât allow it.â
You reach a hand up, purposefully slow and obvious in its approach, and curl your fingers around his wrist. He loosens his hold instantly, exhaling a ragged, shuddering breath like youâve stabbed him.
âOkay,â you say, and thatâs all.
His face is wet when it buries against your neck again.
xix.
Thereâs a secluded house on the city outskirts, an unextraordinary two-story dwelling with a yellow front door and a stepping stone pathway, known to its pair of inhabitants simply as home.Â
Most mornings you can be found in the front yard, humming a song from your youth while painting your next masterpiece. Joel will sit in the shade on the porch steps, coffee in hand, watching you watching the world. There are plans to build a greenhouse in the back, another hideaway to retreat to when the world feels just a bit too large. A bit too bloody.
xx.
âItâs going to hurt,â Joel warned you, six months after youâd first met, peppering kisses against your shoulder.
For as many strides as Nightspyreâs made keeping up with modern law changes and customs, out here amongst the untamable hills and freak electrical storms people remained convinced the best and safest life for an Omega was at an Alphaâs side.
Unclaimed Omegas didnât last long in Nightspyre. If an Omega didnât find a mate themselves, then one was found for them. Didn't matter if they didn't like each other, if their scents didn't match. Having an Alpha mate was an Omega's golden ticket to a better life - or, at the very least, a larger cage where the bars werenât so easily seen.
âNot from you,â you panted, tilting your head to grant him more access. He was still an enigma to you, so many layers left to unwrap, but you knew there was no one else in the world you wanted more as your mate than him. No one else made you feel the way he did. âIt wonât hurt if itâs from you.â
His hands pinned your arms down, making you gasp, and then - then there were sharp teeth slicing through skin, biting, claiming, intertwining your lives together irreversibly.
"But even when I'm quiet / I love you, baby, I promise"
â Olivia Rodrigo / "honeybee"
Arthur photo cred â | other photos and dividers are from pinterest
⢠pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader
⢠warnings: smut (18+, mdni), consensual sex, p in v, emotional smut, mutual pining, tenderness, YEARNING!!!, acts of service, Arthur Morgan fell first, awkward Arthur Morgan, emotional intimacy, reader caught snooping, Arthur hides little keepsakes of you
⢠word count: ~2.1k
You hadn't meant to go rummaging through Arthur Morgan's things.
You're a curious girl; you couldn't help it. That's what you'd tell him if he caught you crouched beside his cot anyway, one hand buried in the old wooden chest he kept at his bedside.
Dutch had sent him out with Javier just before sunrise, and you thought Arthur left behind the book you'd been searching forâthe one he swore he hadn't taken, despite seeing him with it tucked beneath his arm not two nights ago.
The book wasn't in the chest, but a small tin was. Hidden beneath an old shirt and tucked so far in the corner, you almost missed it at first glance.
You recognized it instantly. Arthur carried it everywhere he went, guarding it with the same quiet possessiveness as his journal and the guns at his hip. You never asked what was in it, and he never offered to tell you.
You knew better than to open it, better than to invade his privacy.
You did it anyway.
The lid gave way with a soft metallic click, and for a moment, all you could do was stare.
Curled inside was a faded ribbon, pale pink and fraying at the edges. Beneath it sat the wrapper from a piece of peppermint candyâyour favorite. The kind you always liked to share with him when you could remember to buy them in town. There was also a pressed wildflower, one you'd given him well over a month prior, and the stub of a pencil you had lent him once that he'd never given back, namely cause you'd forgotten to ask.
Small, ordinary things. Your things.
Your fingers hovered over the ribbon, the tip of your forefinger running along its worn edge. You remembered wrapping it around his wrist one morning, just before he set off on a train robbery you thought might take him from you.
He complained about the sun beating down on the back of his neck as you tied it into place, and you laughed as he grumbled that he felt foolish wearing it. He tore it off just before leaving. You didn't think he'd kept it all this time.
"You got a good reason for diggin' through my belongings?" Arthur's voice sounded from behind you.
You froze, turning slowly toward him, the tin tucked behind your back.
"Hiya, darlin'," you said with a smile, but that waver in your voice gave you away. "What brings you back so soon?"
You hid the tin to little avail, and when he stepped in close, near pinning you to the post, you let him take it without a fuss.
He looked at it, flipped it open to see the contentsâuntouched, just as he left themâthen tucked it into his pocket.
"You gonna explain yourself?" he asked, shifting on his feet and crossing his strong arms against his chest.
"I was justâ" you stammered. "Didn't go lookin' for it. Reckon it found me instead."
He huffed. "You expect me to believe that?"
Seeing him like that, heckles raised, made something in you falter, and you gripped his forearms before you could think better of it.
"Oh, Arthur. Don't look at me like that," you implored, thumb smoothing along his skin. "Didn't mean no harm."
The tips of his ears were pink as daisies, his eyes downcast. He looked more like a scorned child than a grown man caught guarding his private affairs.
When he didn't speak, your mouth opened in his stead.
"...Why'd you keep 'em?" you asked, looking up at him with inquisitive eyes he couldn't quite look away from. "My things. Ain't nothin' special about 'em."
"Didn't seem right," he muttered.
"What?"
"Throwin' 'em out."
You stared at him then like he'd said something out of sorts. Such unimportant little things, and he was holding onto them like they were worth something all on their own.
After the silence grew uncomfortable, and he still looked awfully ashamed to have his secret uncovered, you stepped around him.
"Well," you said, hands clasped idly in front of you. "I oughta get back to work, else Miss Grimshaw will never let me hear the end of it."
He nodded. "Yeah."
You felt every bit as awful as he looked then, your mind scolding you for never knowing when to keep your hands to yourself. You wondered if you'd ruined the fragile thing between you as you went on to do the washing, his eyes never meeting yours for more than a second afterward.
It made your heart feel heavy as stone, made your eyes prick with an emotion you seldom thought to show.
When night came, the moon hanging its dreary head over camp, you waited for the rest of the gang to retire. You watched Arthur throw himself onto his cot, watched him drape an arm over his eyes, his chest rising and falling with slowing breaths.
You crept over to him after a while, careful not to make a sound, and sought to rouse him gently.
"Arthur." You whispered, giving his arm a careful shake. "Wake up."
He let out a low grunt as you nudged his shoulder.
"...Mm."
"Arthur."
He frowned, brows knitting together before one eye cracked open. "S'matter?"
His voice was thick with sleep, gravelly enough to sound almost unfamiliar to your ears. When he realized it was only you, kneeling beside his cot in your underclothes, the tension in his shoulders eased.
He ran a hand over your hair, seemingly forgetting that he hadn't spoken a word to you since mid-day. "You alright?"
"'M alright," you murmured, taking his hand from your hair and kissing his knuckles. "Gotta relieve myself. Didn't wanna go by my lonesome, 'case the wolves get me," you teased quietly. "Will you walk with me?"
He didn't say a word for a moment. Only grunted, pushed the blanket down his legs, then tugged on his boots.
"Which way we goin'?" he asked, doing up his belt.
"Whichever is fine," you answered in earnest.
Side by side, you headed in a direction you couldn't quite distinguish as being east or west, north or south. All you knew was that the camp was quiet, the fire nearly gone out, and the crickets sang louder the farther you went.
You wrung your fingers in front of you as you thought up what to say, shivering slightly from the wind in your chemise. Arthur draped his jacket over your shoulders without a word.
"Reckon we're far enough now."
He shifted his weight, turning away to give you privacy. Before he could take another step, you rose onto your toes, and your lips brushed his cheek. Quick as lightning in a passing storm, it was gone before he'd even realized what had happened.
Arthur froze, his shoulders going rigid in the moonlight.
"...What was that for?"
You were suddenly very interested in the toes of your boots, and the mud slick beneath them.
"I... just wanted to say I'm sorry. For snoopin'."
He frowned, and in his silence, you huffed. His jacket still hung from your shoulders, nearly swallowing you whole.
"Well? Say somethin'," you urged, still not looking up.
He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Wasn't nothin'."
Your brows shot up, gaze meeting his in surprise. "Oh, it was too. You ain't hardly looked at me since."
"I'm lookin' now."
"But you're angry with me," you chided, lips pulling into a pout.
"Wasn't nothin' you did," he said with a sigh, his thumbs hooked beneath his belt. "Foolish of me to be holdin' onto such things."
"Ain't foolish to care," you said then, lifting your chin high in defiance. "I thought it was awful sweet of you."
He scoffed. "I ain't a sweet man."
"Could'a fooled me."
He didn't argue, didn't utter a word in response. Only looked at the ground and scratched at his beard like he couldn't think of anything to say.
You reached up and smoothed the collar of his jacket, giving your fingers something to do when he asked, "You goin' or not?"
You shook your head. "Don't need to."
"...No?"
You shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "I lied."
"To make me come out here?"
You nodded slowly. He only sighed in return and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Come on then. Let's get backâ"
Your fingers curled around his wrist just enough to stop him. "Don't wanna leave things the way they are," you murmured.
His shoulders dropped a little, and he turned his glance to your fingers against him. His thumb ran absent circles over the back of your hand for a moment.
"Neither do I," he saidâso quietly, you could've mistaken his voice for the wind rustling the leaves.
Before the courage could leave you, you kissed him once. His lips were rough against yours, his stubble scraping your chin. He held his breath until your arms went round his neck. Then he let out a sharp breath, and his hands, which hovered awkwardly at his sides a moment prior, settled on the curve of your waist like it pained him.
You pulled back just enough to look at him when his lips stayed still against yours. "You gonna kiss me back?"
He blinked in confusion. "Thought I was."
"You ain't," you said, your amused breath ghosting across his mouth. "You're still as a deer that's 'boutta be made supper."
His fingers shifted against your waist, the tips of them slipping beneath the hem of your chemise and resting against your bare skin. The sensation drew a quiet gasp from your lips. He swallowed it a heartbeat later.
You gave ground without realizing it, one slow step at a time, until the rough bark of a tree caught against your back. He followed without meaning to, one hesitant step for every one you took, until there was nowhere left for either of you to go.
His lips had long since left yours, brushing along your cheek, your jaw, trailing down to your neck and collarbone just before the thin line of your chemise. He lingered there, breath warm against your skin, as though anticipating you telling him no.
When the word never came, and your fingers threaded gently through his hair, urging him lower, his hesitation began to leave him.
His hands lingered at your waist a moment longer, thumbs grazing the fabric gathered there. Slowlyâas though giving you every possible chance to stop himâthey bunched the cotton up.
What came next surprised you in its gentleness. His mouth descended upon your breast, his tongue working over the bud with the care of a man at risk of losing his composure.
Your heart beat quickly beneath his hand where it rested, and you felt him harden against your stomach.
"Arthur, please," you breathed, fingers curled tight around his shoulder, the others settled along his nape.
"You're alright," he mumbled, nipping lightly.
There was nothing hurried about the way he took you, there against the old oak.
He held your hips, helping you move against him as you found your rhythm. Your soft moans had his breath hitching in your ear, accompanied by low groans that betrayed his pleasure. The wetness between you had him hissing low through clenched teeth.
"Need more," you whined, arching into him for a better angle.
He shifted you onto him with a firm tug, hitting right where you needed him. He pressed kisses to your shoulder, hands settling against the tree to keep it from digging into your back. "I got you."
You buried your face in his neck, whimpering when his calloused fingers moved between your thighs to work you over. He didn't let up, rubbing tight circles against you that had your hips bucking against his palm, chasing the friction he provided.
He watched your face contort, watched your chest heave as your muscles drew up tight.
"That's it," he encouraged, voice raspy and thick. "Let it happen."
Your pleasure crested over you like harsh waves against a shore, your thighs trembling against his sides, slick with your arousal. You cried out against his shoulder, nails biting into his back.
He took it all in stride.
Just a couple more thrusts on his part and he went still, hips stuttering with a muffled groan as his forehead fell to yours. He hummed as he filled you, eyes blinking open to see yours staring right back.
"...You okay?" he asked, and you nodded.
"I'm right where I wanna be," you said, stifling a yawn.
He brushed your hair back after tucking himself away, pulled his jacket tighter around your shoulders when the wind picked up, then kissed your forehead in silence.
He didn't need to say another word. Somehow, you understood him all the same.
The tin would find its way back beneath Arthur's shirts before sunrise, nestled into the corner of the chest where it belonged.
In time, there'd be more ribbons.
More flowers.
More little things tucked away beside the rest.
a/n: i loved writing this sooooo much âĄâË đŚ˘ăťââ§ââË･â thank you to the lovely @risingtripletaurus for the request. you're the best ever and i hope i did your vision justice!
i've been writing a lot less than i expected so i hope you'll all forgive me. but thank you for trusting me to write Arthur; i adore him so much and i'm glad i get to bring him to life with my writing and share it with you. love you all sm!!! đ¤đ¤đ¤
Summary: You work at a bookstore Clark loves to visit, and you think you have a chance at finally getting a date with him, but he starts acting strange after a new guy starts working there...
The door chimes jingled, and you turned from where you were placing new books on a shelf to see Clark Kent, the journalist from down the street, pushed into your bookstore.
His suit jacket was wrinkled, his hair was mussed and messy, and his white button up had come untucked, but he still looked so cute. You wished you could fix his clothes for him. Instead, you put your books down and rested your hands on your hips.
"Well, look who it is," you said, smiling brightly. "Here for another book already?"
He laughed, embarrassed. "I know, I know."
You shook your head. "Hey, I'll never complain. Just surprised you finished the last one so quickly. What was, that, three days?"
"Just about, yeah." He scratched the back of his neck. "Loved it, though. Do you have the sequel?"
You couldn't keep the smile off your face as you watched the blush creep up his cheeks. "I believe so, let me double check for you."
You skirted around the side of one of the bookshelves and started scanning titles, searching for the book you'd recommended to Clark a few days prior.
"Lots of business today?" he asked, browsing one of the display shelves.
"Not really," you sighed. "I think the rain earlier scared people off."
"Ah, that's unfortunate." He paused and looked over at you, opening his mouth, then closing it again.
You pretended not to notice. "You said you were looking for the sequel, right?"
He hummed in agreement. "That's right. And the third, if you have it too." He took a few steps closer, then opened his mouth again, shuffling in place.
You glanced up at him. "You alright, Clark?"
His eyes widened in surprise. "Huh? Oh, yeah, no, I'm great, I was just wondering, um, if you had any book releases you were looking forward to."
There was something about his voice, the way he spoke, that felt... off. He was always a little awkward, but this felt different somehow. You peeked over at him to see his eyes absently scanning books, looking at them but not really seeing. He looked over at you expectantly.
You shrugged. "A few. There's a new one by my favourite mystery author coming out next month. It's the last in a trilogy. Ooh, it's exciting too, because the series actually got picked up for a movie adaptation!"
"Oh that's neat. What's the series call--"
"Hey, where did you say the spare books were for that new romantasy dragon thing that just came out?" a voice called out, cutting Clark off mid sentence.
A young man's head popped out from the back and Clark froze in place. He blinked once. Twice.
You turned to the newcomer. "Over by the desk, there should be a box with all the new shipments."
The young man clicked his tongue and winked at you. "Thanks, love."
He disappeared back around the door frame, and Clark's eyes snapped to you. "Who's that?" he asked cautiously.
"That's Justin, he's a new hire. He started, what, two days ago?"
"Ah."
You continued scanning the shelves for the book, but something felt wrong. It was so quiet. You turned and saw Clark staring at the door Justin was at, expression blank, yet full of something you couldn't quite describe. "You good, Clark?"
He blinked. "Huh? Yeah, yeah, sorry, I'm alright. What were you saying?"
"I wasn't saying anything, you just... went quiet."
He chuckled awkwardly. "Sorry about that, I got, uh, distracted."
You hummed, then crouched down to check the bottom shelf. "What caught your eye?"
"N-nothing really. Just... I've never heard anyone call you that before."
You frowned and looked up at him. "Call me what?"
He gestured at the door. "Your new guy. He called you, um..." He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. "Nevermind, it's nothing."
Something was very wrong, and you paused your search, rising to your feet. When you examined Clark more closely, you could see that he refused to meet your gaze, instead choosing to become enraptured in a display from a new romance release.
"Clark, what's going on with you?"
Before he could answer, Justin popped his head back out. "Hey, how many books do we take out for a display again?"
You scrunched your face in displeasure. "We went over that this morning, dude. It depends on the display, you just have to, I don't know, fill it."
He nodded. "Ah, ok. Hey, what are you doing this Saturday?"
At that, Clark's head pops up.
"This Saturday?" you repeated. "Uh..."
"We're actually already busy on Saturday," Clark blurted out, stepping closer to you.
Justin's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Oh, really? What are you up to?"
"We're going to the aquarium," Clark continued, the words just falling out of his mouth. "There's a new exhibit they're opening and we're going to check it out."
You stared at him, eyes wide. What on Earth was he talking about? The aquarium? Since when were you going to the aquarium?
"Huh. Well, have fun on your date. I'm gonna... start cataloguing those new arrivals, I guess," Justin said, shrugging and disappearing behind the door once more.
The shop felt especially quiet in his absence, an odd tension in the air. For a moment, neither of you said anything. You didn't even move.
And then you turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "So... want to explain what all that was about?"
He groaned and hid his face behind one of his hands. "I am so sorry, I didn't mean to--Gosh, I don't know what's wrong with me right now. I'm sorry."
"You've been acting weird today, is everything alright? Can I help you with anything besides a new book?" You stepped closer to him, close enough that you could count his lashes. "Clark, look at me."
He did.
You smiled softly. "What's wrong?"
He closed his eyes and turned his head down to the ground. "I... I can't say I'm a fan of your new co-worker," he said carefully, like he was afraid he would say too much.
"Justin? Why?"
"He just... You met him, what, two days ago and he's already acting so familiar with you. It's unprofessional." He opened his mouth to keep going, but saw the way your eyebrows were both raised now and stopped, letting out a sigh. "I-I don't like the way he talks to you. Calls you names."
You snorted. "He doesn't call me names, Clark. He calls everyone love. Hell, he'd call you love if you didn't look like you wanted nothing to do with him."
A deep flush was starting to creep up his neck, his cheeks reddening as he stared at the ground. "He was going to ask you out," he mumbled, shuffling from side to side.
A jolt of shock rolled up your spine, and you stared at him in disbelief. Was he... jealous?
"Clark Kent, are you jealous because you thought Justin was asking me out?" you asked, eyes wide as saucers.
He sucked in a deep breath, then met your gaze. "And what if I am?"
You couldn't hold it in as laughter bubbled up from deep inside your core, bursting out at the seams in a loud giggle.
"And now you're laughing at me. Alright, I'm going to head home," he said, turning on his heels and starting for the door.
You quickly reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. "No!" you yelped, schooling your features into a very serious expression. "Don't go, I wasn't done."
He hit you with a 'seriously' look but stopped pushing towards the door.
"He wasn't asking me out," you started. "I think he was going to ask if I could cover his shift. Saturday is his anniversary with his wife."
You watched as the loading screen in his brain got stuck on the rotating circle, short-circuiting.
"Wife?" he managed to say.
You nodded. "Yeah. Wife. He got married like, three years ago, Clark. He won't shut up about her. Here, check this out." You turned around and called out, "Justin, can you come here a second?"
You both stared at the door and waited for a moment before Justin peeked out.
"Yeah, what's up?" he asked.
"Does Melanie have a favourite book?" you asked, and in an instant, Justin's face lit up.
"Does she ever. She's been obsessed with this one sci-fi book recently. That one about the guy who goes to space, but his ship dies halfway through transit to the other planet, so he and the crew have to like, make it to another moon before they run out of oxygen. You heard of that one? She says it's the best book she's ever read. I think she's bought it as a gift for like, four of her friends at this point. She--"
You cut him off before he can keep going. "Awesome, thanks Justin!"
He nodded. "No problem, darlin'."
You turned back to Clark and crossed your arms. "See?"
Clark buried his face in his hands. "I am such an idiot," you heard him say, his voice muffled through his fingers.
You chuckled and pulled his fingers away from his face. "Not an idiot, but you should remember to maybe ask some questions before jumping to conclusions. You're a journalist, aren't you? Isn't that your whole thing?"
He let out a little laugh, eyes locked on where your hands were connected. "Yeah, I guess so."
You let go and started back on your mission to locate this book for him. "It's a shame he'll have to find someone else to cover his shift, though."
"Why? You're not going to?" he asked, furrowing his brows.
You looked at him in surprise. "I can't. I have a date."
His eyes widened. "You what?"
"A date."
"With who?" he exclaimed, panic lacing his voice.
A smile broke out across your face as you closed the distance between the two of you. "Well, unless that wasn't actually an offer to take me to the aquarium, I kind of thought you."
It looked like lightning struck him the way he froze in place. His fingers twitched. "You... really?"
"Were you just saying that to scare off Justin?"
"No!" he cried out, then pulled back. "No, of course not. Never."
"Then, yeah." You looked up into his piercing blue eyes, feeling heat enter your own cheeks. "I uh... I'd been hoping you'd ask."
His eyes softened as they took you in. "I've been wanting to for weeks," he confessed. "I'm not... good at all this."
You chuckled. "That's okay. We can learn together."
As he grinned at you like he'd just won the lottery, you could have sworn you'd never seen something so beautiful.
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