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gamerwoo · 9 months ago

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[Tales from the Pack] Jeonghan: Sold (Part Three)

Characters: Jeonghan x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, angst, loooots of mentions of the black market/human trafficking, people in cages, shock collars, violence, murder, guns, possible minor character death, just a lot of bad things happening here and it's very chaotic lmao

Word count: 3,253

Summary: If Jooyeon and Baekhyun never went snooping around the black market, they would’ve never discovered the human trafficking ring and wanted to help. They would’ve never discovered you inside one of the many cages full of people, and Jeonghan would’ve never went against the alphas and demanded they help. But for you, Jeonghan would do anything, even if it means bringing back trouble from a past he never knew about.

a/n: things in bold are meant to be in english

Previous | Next | Sold Masterlist

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn’t do it if it were Jooyeon in there. Or Yeji. Or Soomin. Or any of the girls in this household. You’d see your mate laying in a cage, dirty, exhausted, knowing they were being sold off to a pack of mate-collectors, and you’d just let them go?”

That was enough persuasion for the pack to finally cave and agree to help Jeonghan. Those who had mates understood how it felt. The others could imagine how horrible it must’ve felt to see that, and the determination Jeonghan felt to do anything possible to get you out of that situation.

Junmyeon’s pack was hard to persuade – well, except for Chanyeol – but they eventually agreed to help.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to overtake whoever’s behind the ring, though,” Junmyeon admitted. “We don’t even know how many people are involved.”

“Hanbin will no doubt help us,” Kyung said.

“I can ask Chris, too,” Cooper shrugged. “At least having Felix or Changbin would be helpful.”

“Either way,” Seungcheol interrupted, “we’re going to plan this from all angles. Whether we have four packs or just two – we’re going to make sure we can pull this off.”

“Our main goal is getting Blue out of there,” Jihoon added on, “but we’re gonna try to save as many people as we can.”

Jongdae stopped the explanation, “Who’s Blue?”

“That’s what Jeonghan started calling her,” Joshua explained.

“It’s the color of her collar,” the boy in question shrugged. “What else am I supposed to call her?”

“That rhymed!” Soonyoung smiled, pointing to Jeonghan enthusiastically before taking Jihoon’s palm to the back of the head.

“Where are these captives expected to go after they’re free?” Sehun wondered. “Just…wander off into the woods? They’ll just get caught again.”

“Cooper and I worked together with an ally of mine to find some safe housing for them,” Kyung explained. “Her and her partners work under the table as werewolf doctors. Besides, the public already views werewolves as horrible creatures so I’m sure anybody would be willing to take someone in who was almost a part of a werewolf kidnapping.”

“And how long do we have to figure all of this out?” Yixing questioned.

“That’s the problem,” Seungcheol sounded a little afraid and unsure now, “...we don’t know. Which means we have to plan this and execute it immediately.”

You felt absolute fear watching the girl be thrown to the ground, blood covering half her face. But you didn’t scream or even move. You learned not to. You did anything you were told to avoid drawing attention to yourself. Anything to not get hurt more than you already were.

“Can you be fucking careful?” one of the other men snapped gruffly at the one who’d thrown the girl to the ground by her hair. “If they’re damaged, they’re not gonna pay as much!”

“They already paid half and it was more than enough,” another said.

“But I want the other half in full!”

You knew about whoever had bought you. The men kept saying you were going to be ‘slaves to monsters’, but you were pretty sure they were the real monsters. You’d heard all the stories about werewolves, but you didn’t feel any fear knowing you were soon going to be shipped off to a den of them. However, you didn’t trust any human anymore. Your whole life, all they’d done is hurt you and betray you. None of them were compassionate. All of them just looked for personal gain, and you were somehow always in the crossfire.

Maybe a life with werewolves would be better.

In the cage next to you, you heard a scoff. You already knew it was Saoirse. She seemed to always be doing something to get in trouble, but she was the only person there that you talked to. She was the only human you’d met that wasn’t completely horrible.

“They’re gonna be in for a rude awakening when these cages are empty one morning,” she muttered.

You scooted a little closer to the edge of the cage closest to her, “What?”

Saoirse was the only person you ever spoke to. You wouldn’t necessarily consider her a friend considering the trouble she got herself in, but she was someone that you could keep at arm's length. She’d been nice to you a handful of times, so you’ve gotten her out of trouble with her language barrier in return. You spoke to each other here and there to pass the time and relieve boredom, but that was really it.

She glanced over at you like she just now noticed you were there before she looked back at the scene in the middle of the tent, “Some creatures showed up here last night. They looked human but their eyes were something else, and they promised to get us all out of here.”

You were both speaking quietly so as to not draw the attention away from the men bickering among themselves, but you still kept stealing glances over toward them to make sure they didn’t notice the two of you talking.

“And you trust strangers to save us?” you questioned.

She shrugged, “What reason would they have to come here and find us? And why would they lie about saving us?”

“What reason would they have to save us?” you countered, looking back at her.

She tisked, “Let me have something to be hopeful for, will ya?”

“Hey!” one of the men yelled, making you jump but Saoirse didn’t even seem phased. You whipped your head around while her eyes just glanced behind you to the three men. “Do you two wanna be next?”

You quickly shook your head.

Saoirse never understood what they said, so she just muttered for them to fuck off like she always did, which then angered the men because they couldn’t understand her. Typically, they’d do something to punish her, but today, the man scoffed and waved the issue away.

“The freaks will have a field day with you,” he spat before the three of them left the tent.

“Guess lunch time isn’t happening…” she muttered with a roll of her eyes.

“You need to stop making things worse for yourself,” you huffed, your voice tired.

Truthfully, you were still feeling quite groggy. You always were, but you’d woken up only a few minutes prior to the girl getting beat for whatever reason the men found to do so. You didn’t want to go back to sleep but it was hard keeping your eyes open.

“I’m not letting shit like this happen to me without a fight,” she scoffed. “If I’m capable, I’ll do anything to stop what’s happening to us. I mean, those people last night wouldn’t have come and offered to free us if I didn’t stay awake.”

“We’re all going to the same place either way,” you finally snapped, sending her a glare. “You’re fighting for nothing and making it worse for yourself – and you almost dragged me down with you. Leave me out of your…righteous bullshit or whatever.”

You rarely snapped at Saoirse, but she still didn’t seem phased by it, “You need to stop letting bad shit happen to you, Girl. That’s why it keeps happening. You don’t do anything to try and fight back.”

“And which one of us have gotten beaten the most?”

Before Saoirse could come up with a snappy reply that you knew she’d have, the tent flaps opened again, and two different men showed up with stale bread. They tossed half a loaf in each cage that everyone would fight over and tear apart like animals. Some hurt each other in the process, so hungry that they were feral for every single crumb they could get, even if it meant scratching and grabbing at each other.

As always, you stayed away in a corner and watched the other six people in your cage dive after the bread tossed in, snarling and yelling and fighting over it. You didn’t get food, but at least you weren’t injured even worse.

“Hey. Girl.”

That’s what Saoirse called you. You didn’t have a name – not that you could remember. So she always called you Girl to get your attention.

You turned your head just in time to see Saoirse tossing something through the bars and into your cage. You quickly cupped your hands to catch whatever it was. A piece of bread half the size of your fist.

You glanced back up at her and she offered you a small smirk before biting into her half of the bread. Nobody in the cage dared fight Saoirse over the portion she’d managed to get because she was infamous for fighting back. They knew fighting against her would be a losing battle because she dared to even fight back against the men holding them all captive.

Maybe it was smarter to fight back like Saoirse, even if it meant worse punishments. But life had punished you so much already, and you were tired of fighting.

As you nibbled on your bread, turning so your back was to your cagemates, you decided one really couldn’t teach old dogs new tricks.

The locked gate in front of the flaps to the tent was no issue for Soonyoung before, but the pack needed him focused. So the question stood as the pack planned for the prison break: how to get into the tent in the first place without running into the werewolf traps set around the perimeters?

“Okay…” Cooper began slowly and softly, afraid to speak the plan she was brewing out loud because she didn’t want it to be considered bad or stupid, “what if we had someone on the inside who could unlock the gate? Like…maybe a mouse?”

“A mouse?” Chanyeol had scoffed.

Jihoon considered the idea and shrugged slightly, “I mean, that’s not a bad idea, actually. Small enough the guards probably wouldn’t see him.”

“Where the hell are you guys gonna find a trained mouse?” Baekhyun asked with an incredulous laugh.

Chris simply pointed with his thumb to the boy sitting beside him, “Perfectly trained, right here.”

“Make that two,” Jaesang said as he raised his hand to head-level.

And that’s exactly what step one of the plan was. A tiny gray mouse scurried around the perimeter of the outside of the tent, alongside a dark brown one, going up toward the black iron gate. The outside of the gate wasn’t protected this time, but Felix and Jaesang could see two men inside the gate that were a few feet away from the entrance.

They shimmied up one of the bars to the latch and together, managed to push it up, jumping down as the gate swung open so they could hurry inside before possibly getting stepped on, knowing they couldn’t see the people who would be following right behind them.

The two guards looked up, their conversation falling silent as the gate swung open seemingly out of nowhere.

“How the hell did that happen?” one of the men asked as they both stepped up to inspect the gate’s latch before closing it. “Did the latch break?”

“No, it looks–”

The man didn’t finish his sentence as his head was suddenly thrown back like he’d been punched in the face. The other guy looked up in surprise, only for his neck to get twisted at an unnatural angle, and with a snap, he fell to the ground. His companion soon met the same fate as a human Jaesang snuck up behind him while he was distracted with the pain in his now bloodied nose.

Seungcheol and Cooper appeared behind the first man’s body, Cooper’s hand on Seungcheol’s back being removed now that they were safe to be visible.

“There’s more guys around the back,” Felix informed them as the rest of the group began rushing in through the front gate. “We’re gonna have our work cut out for us.”

“We’ve got four packs against some humans,” Jinyoung chuckled, clearly feeling good about the odds. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”

“Just don’t get too cocky,” Hanbin warned.

“Cocky’s his middle name,” Kyung muttered before going off with her group to subdue the men keeping the people in the cages.

“Alright, get up! Everybody up! Let’s go!”

It wasn’t the first time you’d woken up to a man yelling for you all to wake up, but this wasn’t a voice you’d heard before. This one was softer, but still sounded urgent. Your eyes groggily peeled open as you tried to sit up, your bones and joints stiff and aching. Your vision was blurry so you thought you were surely just seeing things when you saw someone grab ahold of the metal bars and pull them open almost effortlessly. You sat up completely and rubbed at your eyes, only to see someone with blonde hair, yellow eyes, and a kind smile standing right in front of you, his slender fingers wrapped around the bars. He looked like an absolute angel with his perfect teeth, pink lips, and kind eyes that looked right at you. He made your heart flutter.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said before pushing the bars apart enough to create a gap for the people in your cage to get out.

He was quick to scoop you up before the other six people in your cage trampled you to get free. But as soon as you were too close to the bars, your collar went off with a continuous shock that had you letting out a strangled yell.

Jeonghan was quick to grab the collar by the black box and rip the blue collar from your neck.

Unfortunately for the wolves, it was chaos trying to free these people. Of course, they were panicking trying to run away and weren’t going to listen to those trying to guide them safely outside the tent and to freedom. Some were guided out and made it to those waiting at the perimeter to guide them toward the safehouses they had set, but others were ignoring all instruction and running for their lives, getting hurt or killed in the process. Some of them ran out, clutching their necks as they were shocked to no end as they tried to make their escape.

Jeonghan wasn’t focusing on that. His only job was to get you out and get you back to the house as quickly and safely as possible. Once he had you, he was supposed to run for it, and that’s exactly what he was doing, dodging other captives and wolves as he ran for the exit with every wolf he ran passed covering him so he could make a safe escape with you.

As you were being carried out, you saw another man prying open the bars of Saoirse’s cage. She immediately leapt out and followed where the man was pointing to, running to follow after you and the strange man who was carrying you. Her eyes caught yours over his shoulder, and she seemed to brighten a little and give you a knowing smile as if to say ‘I told you so’.

The man jogged through the gates before he bolted for an escape.

“Jihoon!” he called. “Cover me!”

Jihoon stopped what he was doing as soon as he spotted Jeonghan, then his eyes looked behind him to see a guard chasing after them. His eyes glowed to life as he held his palm toward the man before flinging him backward toward the tent, his back hitting the iron bars of the gate.

You looked around, seeing absolute chaos around you as giant wolves tore apart men, and captives ran for their lives or were shot down. Then you looked behind you to see Saoirse still running behind you.

If you weren’t looking at her, you wouldn’t have known the scream that came from her mouth was hers before she hit the ground. You could see blood staining the back of her shirt, the pool of it spreading.

“Saoirse!” you cried, reaching your hand behind the man.

He skidded to a stop, turning to see who you were yelling for. He looked over at Jihoon again, and the alpha nodded, running toward the girl.

Jeonghan didn’t wait to see what would happen to Saoirse. He couldn’t wait. He had to get you home. He had to get you to safety. So he turned back around and continued running the way he had been.

While he was focused on your safety, though, you were fixated on Saoirse’s. Sure, she was trouble, but she was the closest thing you’d ever had to a friend. So while Jeonghan ran, you watched over his shoulder to see what her fate would be.

The scream cut through the tense air. Everyone had clamped their hands over their ears, eyes closing tight as if it could help drown out the scream. Mingyu’s eyes were watering just from the sharp noise.

Finally, it died off, leaving everyone to look to Eunjin standing in the doorway of the den, hands still holding a plate of food like nothing happened. But her blue eyes were locked on the girl at the end of the hallway, clinging to the back of Jeonghan’s shirt with fear in her eyes. Eunjin’s eyes were glossy and filled with tears, and the two wolves who had been left behind to take care of the mates began to panic.

Eunjin was staring at you.

“What happened?” Joshua asked urgently as he rushed over to her. He stood in front of her, gently gripping her upper arms and searching her eyes, but it was like he wasn’t even there to her. It was like she was still staring through him at you. “Eunjin? Did you hear something? Do you sense something? What is it?”

The three wolves waited for her response, but they knew her scream woke up every single mate upstairs and they would no doubt be down to ask questions soon. Immediately, they feared the worst. One of their own had died. Hell, maybe you were going to kill them. That wouldn’t have caught Eunjin’s attention like that. She would’ve sensed or heard something more significant than that.

And you were even more confused than anyone else because that was the first thing you experienced after Jeonghan opened the door.

It felt like time was frozen until Eunjin’s lips quivered and she said in a whisper, “I have a bad feeling again…”

The small group looked around at each other with a mix of worried and grim looks. They all knew what that meant. It was a feeling she got when she had met Hansol before. She screamed when she saw him, and then Jiung died and things went downhill with Kyung.

Then three pairs of golden eyes were on you, along with Eunjin’s blue eyes that sent a shiver down your spine for reasons other than her screaming at you.

But Jeonghan didn’t care. He didn’t care if you brought death or something, if he were honest. Maybe Eunjin just sensed death associated with you because of what had happened. He’d make up any excuse in his head for you. He’d defend you in front of his entire pack if he had to. All he wanted was you to be safe, and now that he had you in his arms, he could make sure you always would be. And he’d never let you go.

»»————-　　————-««

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#k-labels #seventeen #jeonghan #seventeen au #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #seventeen oneshot #seventeen fic #werewolf!seventeen #jeonghan au #jeonghan imagine #jeonghan scenario #jeonghan oneshot #jeonghan fic #werewolf!jeonghan

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oreosmama · 1 year ago

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What's in a Virtue (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

Gaz wants you, but the hotel bar you work at has rules; when a bartender calls dibs, all others have to back off. It's how the peace is kept, and as the new girl just trying to rack up some savings, you're not willing to rock the boat.

But Gaz doesn't take kindly to you avoiding him, and he's never been one to beat around the bush. From confessing his love on the first night you met to shouting your name seven times from across the bar, he's not letting you off the hook that easy. Not when he's seen the proof that you've fallen just as hard for him.

A/N: idk man i accidentally googled who ghost was like a week ago and fell so deep into the hot cod men rabbit hole so here we are. Enjoy!

Word count: 8261

Gaz is pretty sure he’s in love with you.

It’s a surprising discovery at 11 pm in an American hotel bar drinking the worst scotch he’s ever had. It’s even more surprising because he just discovered you existed all of thirty minutes ago.

He’s got his glass swirling between two nimble fingers, trying to find that line between hating his drink and actually putting it down. And he’s watching you.

You’re the same bartender who’d asked him (in a horrible imitation of his accent) if he’d wanted his neat scotch “shaken, not stirred.” You’d flushed after you said it and promised to leave him joke-free for the rest of the night. He’d laughed, a bit hollow from his circumstances, and told you it was all right. That he liked it, and that made you flush a little more.

Now, you scuttle like an ant past the other worker, a blonde who’s been making eyes at him all night. Your face is split into this unabashed grin, grippable hips bouncing off the counter as you sweep by and reach below for a bottle, giving him a view of the enviable dip between your breasts.

At first, he thinks it’s just that. Too much American booze, not enough inhibitions; both sending him into that post-mission spiral that makes him touchy and want to touch all at the same time. And he finds it’s nice to watch you rattling glasses and wiping up spills; it’s soothing, the way your eyes are alight with life in this ritzy place, seemingly unbothered by the high level of customers. He especially likes the way you mock the spoiled sods when you can get away with it.

The hotel must be experiencing the perfect storm of weddings, proms, and business meetings—not to mention one very unfortunate layover for one very unlucky special forces sergeant.

He watches as teens keep stumbling back to the counter with pink cheeks, flashing their IDs every time they ask for a new drink. Despite their prom getups and obvious ages, they swear they’re just guests from Mr. and Mrs. Weddington’s ceremony.

The girl you’re with now, stumbling from her heels but selling it as though she’s tipsy, begs and begs for another lemon drop before she “goes back to work on Monday.”

You nod either way, and he watches as you make a display of pouring alcohol into one shaker and juice into another, swapping them out when the teen looks back towards her friends.

You send her on her merry way with a sugared rim and a lemon rind, saying something like “Go easy” as she wanders back to her table. You smile to yourself, amused at this little game you’re playing with half the customers here.

You must feel the heat of his gaze, because you glance at him then. He hopes it’s burning you up as much as it looks, that nervous pinkening of your face as you give him a shrug like what else was there to do?

And Gaz, again, thinks it’s just that. Lust. He thinks about wiping that small smile off your face with his lips, stumbling with you into his hotel room, frantic fingers peeling off clothes. He thinks about how it would be—giggly, probably, despite his surprising coordination when he’s plastered. It’d be you and him swapping words back and forth, back and forth the whole time, silence only filling the room when you’re kissing him and when you feel so fucking new it steals your and his words away.

He doesn’t know why he latches more onto the idea of the moments afterward, the biggest thing being that you decide to stay. Then it’s more back and forth, hobbies and pet peeves and every little thing that’s been on your minds since the 2000s. He gets to know you inside and out, inside again a few more times even as your conversation runs on.

It’s no longer lust at that point. He knows that.

He’s ruthlessly torn from the fantasy by the blonde bartender who, judging by the looks you’re swapping with her, has gotten the entirely wrong idea about the direction of his stare.

He swears to God he was being obvious about it. It was you—it was fucking you that whole time.

But he’s noticed a couple things about you.

The first is that you’re quiet when your customers aren’t overwhelmingly sloshed; awkwardly so, for a bartender. You’re something of a mirror when they are, far more relaxed, laughing easy and cracking jokes, like you preferred your real self be forgotten the next morning.

The second is that you’re soft. Around the edges, all pillowy at the hips and thighs, a sloping curve down each side. And you were soft with your words, no yelling, no arguing with customers, just easy little jabs that no drunk mind would ever cotton onto.

You were only snappy with him the second his head started growing fuzzy.

He wants more of it, even as the pretty bartender makes friendly conversation.

She asks about his day, then his job, then his adventures. Three of the last things he wanted to think about tonight, let alone discuss with a stranger who wants in his pants. However, because she “loves a man with a British accent” and he’s too damn polite to give her the boot, he reveals a little.

Yes, his job is hard. Yes, he’s jumped from an airplane. Yes, he’s killed someone. Of course they were bad.

Until they weren’t. But he won’t tell her that.

However, above all things, Gaz is a planner. And though he’s caught the wrong fish with his bait, his plan B is working excellently.

Gaz glances at you, brushing your hair behind your ear in the increasingly crowded room. The wide array of customers spread out among the limited seating are starting to flood the bar. You can’t pass out beers and shake cosmopolitans at the same time, and a wonderful warmth blossoms in his chest the second you glance at him too, growing desperate.

There’s something like an apology in your eyes. You’re sad you have to ruin your friend’s chances; meanwhile, he thinks it may just be the best part of his night.

The third thing he discovers about you: you’re trying to be the wingwoman for your pretty friend here, and Gaz won’t have it.

You’re going to have to come over here. Beg for help from your friend.

Ruin this little flirtation she’s got going on—what a shame.

You’re too damn polite, just like him. The second he talks to you when you make your way over, you’ll think you have to stay. Humor him for a bit. He’ll ask you for a drink, forcing you to come back a second time around, when the bustle has slowed. He’ll rope you in for the rest of the night by then, and the wait’ll be over.

He feels like a damn schoolboy when you take that first step toward him, and he’s practically vibrating when you get close enough that he can hear your voice for the second time today. It’s far less grating than your friend’s, he’s certain of it—he wouldn’t mind if it was you badgering him, is what he means.

After all, Gaz was on leave, and when Gaz was on leave, he liked things slow. Fresh off a mission, he liked to roll through the motions, order drinks and let the memories turn into static from the corner of the bar. He’d planned on calling Price and damning him for saying it was a blessing to get trapped in the US, set up at a posh hotel on the task force’s budget.

But you stop before him, contrite eyes softening, and he’s getting better at seeing the upside of it all.

“Hate to interrupt—I know you two are trying to get all cozy in the dark over here, but I could use your help, Jeanne. ‘Hugh Janus’ is asking for another beer and our non-alcoholic tap just ran dry.” You look off into the distance, frowning slightly. “I fear we may have genuinely drunk teens on our hands soon.”

Jesus, was her name Jeanne? Gaz hadn’t caught that.

On the bright side, he’s able to confirm one of his sneaking suspicions. Your eyes really are fucking gorgeous up close, and they’re so expressive that he can read you like a book.

But he hates the way you say “you two.” It’s so nonchalant.

Was it too much to ask for a little envy? Just a hint of spite, to prove that some part of what he’s feeling, even a little speck of it, isn’t one-sided?

Your friend— Jeanne , apparently—gives him a disappointed sigh, looks at him like he and her are two conspirators planning on eloping any second. “Duty calls. I’ll be right back.”

He nods, trying to find that balance between polite understanding and absolute relief, but his head grows foggier by the minute and all he can manage is a “sounds good.”

You dive into an explanation when the pair of you are far enough away to inspect the taps, gesturing at a couple of them, and then discreetly at a group in the crowd.

From here, he can see it a little more clearly. You’re younger than the blonde, probably just by a couple years, which means you’re newer here. Younger than him, too, since he pegs Jeanne at around his own age.

The blonde disappears into a storage door wedged between two shelves loaded with glass bottles and illuminated white-blue. A manager, maybe.

Only thing he knows for certain from observing this quick interaction is that you’re finally alone.

He flags you down, and his chest floods with that warm, fuzzy feeling all over again when you hustle over, genuine smile on your lips—because you’re so damn easy to read.

“Know you’re busy, ’nd I hate to bother you, darling, but can you get me another scotch? Shaken, this time, if you please.”

The pet name lands perfectly. Even through all the chatter and music, he can hear the quick stutter in your breath. Then you laugh at his joke, like you think he deserves it.

It’s cheap of him to force that laugh out of you with a shitty joke like that, but he’s feeling a little needy. Wants a preview of what the real thing would sound like.

Fucking music, surely.

“I’ll go get it—”

Not yet. I need more time.

“Not right now. I’ll finish this one off while you work through that fresh hell–” he nods toward the anxious crowd “–then you can come back to me. You’ll find I’m pretty patient.”

A little less so, when it comes to you, but you don’t need to know that yet.

The slight slur to his words must be comforting, because you give him that small smirk you’ve been conservative with all night. “I’ll hold you to that. I’ve heard Brits are perfect gentlemen; be a shame if you proved me wrong.”

“I’m all that and more, darling.” He winks. “You’ll see.”

He could be the bloody worst man on the planet, too, if you wanted.

And he could come out and say that to you, all the things he could be for you tonight, if he wasn’t so keen on the instant change in you.

Because here’s what he expected: a few more little flirtations back and forth, everything kept light and easy. He’d keep you smiling and smirking like that, comfortable in your own skin for just a little bit longer before you have to go back to the other customers and slither back into your shell. He’d get to see that breathtaking blush of yours, pink splotches that tell him he’s on the right track. And then he’d get your rapt attention for the remainder of your and his night, quite like he’s given you his.

But that’s not what happens.

Instead, you’re instantly sheepish, finding yourself leaning a little closer, so close he could reach out and run a finger along the back of your hand (a small touch, but it would certainly floor him).

And then guilt. Pure, heart-wrenching guilt, like you’re taking every word of his to heart in the worst possible way.

Gaz panics.

But you’re not wearing a ring, so no husband, no fiance. He guesses boyfriend or some long-standing crush he can’t—shouldn’t—burrow his way in front of. It’s a disappointing discovery, something he’ll be stewing on for the rest of the night or maybe week, depending on how long he’s stranded here.

He’s not a fan of infidelity, and he sure as hell isn’t changing his opinion on that anytime soon. So he settles himself for a night at the bar cut short. Maybe he’ll order drinks up to his room from now on, praying the task force won’t try and shift the bill onto him. He can’t imagine coming down to the bar and seeing you will be nearly as satisfying anymore.

“I shouldn—I mean, Jeanne really likes y—I mean, we kinda have this rule where we, um,” you fumble with the rag on the counter, suddenly invested in a stain he’s been avoiding all night. You swallow. “I’ll just, uh, bring you your drink later. As promised. I should go help her.”

And you dash off as fast as you can between the counter and the precarious wall decor, almost running into the storage door the other bartender whips open while dragging out a new keg for the tap.

Meanwhile, Gaz…

He has a question.

Were you feeling all that guilt over some “dibs” rule at your bar?

He wants to laugh. The whole first-come, first-served thing makes you look as guilty as if you clubbed a baby seal. So what if Jeanne wants to ask him out? If he says no, does that mean he gets you?

Then he actually laughs a little, because it’s so ridiculous that it’s honestly cute. You care about and respect your coworkers, and support them when they’re hitting on guys at bars. So cute. You’re like the ultimate wingwoman, he’s sure, but that’s not going to change the fact that he wants you.

But the night drags on, and this half hour of patience Gaz promised you becomes paper-slim when you pass off his drink to Jeanne and avoid his end of the bar for far longer than is acceptable.

But you’re still giving her reassuring smiles and manning the bar as she lays her interest on thick, asking how long he’ll be staying and telling him when she gets off.

Gaz isn’t laughing anymore. And that little thing you do where you back off and play wingwoman? Definitely not as sweet as he’d thought it was.

Fuck, it might be the one thing he hates about you.

Because you avoid him for the rest of the night, and he still can’t take his eyes off you.

Not to worry, though. Gaz is a patient man. More importantly, he’s a planner.

He’ll find a way.

He always does.

~~~~~~

Gaz barely sleep that night. Too busy thinking about the mission, the lives that were lost, all that blood that had coated his hands just three days ago.

The way it bothers him comes and goes in phases. Some missions slip off him like rain water over a slick road, rivulets down drives, and he sleeps just fine.

Others soak into him, further than skin deep, where his body becomes a subcutaneous cache of nightmares and gunpowder, and he wakes up choking, smoke filling his lungs, tearing at the tissue of his throat enough that water can’t soothe the burn.

Mornings like this is where he fights fire with fire.

The hotel bar is unsurprisingly destitute but still oddly open at 11 am on a Thursday morning, and he takes a seat more daringly center-staged than he had last night. He glances around, letting thoughts of you, a bartender whose biggest issue was a dibs rule on men, swathe around him.

Admittedly, a lot of it is foggy. He remembers wanting you—a lot , actually. Too much, he might even say, but after all he drank he’s surprised he even found his way back to his room. But the place, a little more aglow with the open windows (that make his head fucking spin, by the way), looks the same as last night, which means he can still envision you wandering over every inch of it.

And he thinks no, you probably weren’t that attractive. Maybe your snipes weren’t that funny, and he’d had no reason to get so upset with you over a rejection. And every little wish he’d had that you were the woman who could warm his bed while he was out on missions and greet him when he came home was a bit over the top, even for drunk Gaz.

Sober Gaz knows better. Sober Gaz knows that no other human being can have that much of an effect on him anymore, because he’s had to rebuild himself after joining the military, after seeing the most honorable and dishonorable things humans can do, and he’s just not fit for something unconditional.

Drunk Gaz, though….

Hammered and horny. That’s all it was. A terrible mixture, and he’s damn ashamed that an innocent girl like you became the target of it. God, did he even tell you his name? Or was it just instant come-on and creepy watching from the corner of the bar?

Gaz notices he’s not alone as he lets his eyes wander; there’s a group of three elderly women jabbering in the corner, waving too-friendly when he spots them. He tosses them a dashing smile, the one that makes his grandmother’s friends burst into titters and giggles.

It has the same effect.

“Who knew you’d be just as charming sober?” a familiar voice rings out.

Gaz’s heart thump-thump s forcefully.

“In all fairness, you do have a shot with them too, if you really wanted to take it.” You lean a little bit closer over the counter, one-ended smile pulling at your lips, and when he catches a trace of that same perfume, his chest twinges.

Fuckin’ hell.

“She’s newly widowed,” you nod to the gaggle again, demeanor conspiratorial, “and happy to be, apparently. Why am I not surprised you’re popular to all ages?”

He’s got no clue what you’re talking about. Damn, he’s not even listening. Your lips look too soft to him right now, and it’s downright unfair how domestic you look in morning light, placid and playful, like the last thing you were made for was exacerbating nightlife.

“All ages?” he mumbles, because he can’t quite think straight, and the best thing he can do is repeat the last few words he’d heard you say before his train of thought had caught fire, derailed, and crashed explosively against brick wall.

He’s struck still, is what he means. He can’t quite think past the idea of you, coming a little closer to him, letting him trap you against his chest. Letting him breathe in the scent of your hair as you tell him about your day—boring, maybe, if it wasn’t you who was telling the story.

But your voice and tone, that playful edge that sounds like the sweetness of cotton candy and would taste like fucking everything to him, it draws him in.

Gaz comes to the conclusion that not everything was a drunken haze last night.

And he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t quite the fisherman he thought he was, trying to catch you. If anything, he was the fish snapping after your line, bait or no, wanting to be yanked out of the water and gutted until everything he ever was was bare for those pretty eyes.

And he’s that very same fish this morning, gaping and blinking wide-eyed.

Fuckin’. Hell.

“My God, those teenagers last night? And then Jeanne, and the bridesmaids? And, okay, I shit you not, even the bride. You’re a menace in this bar, you know that?”

“Are you included in all that?”

If he remembers anything from the night before, it was the way you clammed up after he made his first move. You’re the spitting image of it now, pursed lips and antsy fingers, even after all that big talk.

It’s an absent thought that flies past him in that moment, but he recalls that you were only loose enough to joke around with people already tipsy. He lets a small consideration tag along, a half-thought, really, that maybe you felt as comfortable around him as he did around you.

That, or he still looked smashed from last night.

You dodge his question completely.

“So what can I get you this morning…?” You let the tail end of the question drag on a bit, and he decides it’s because you can’t remember his name. He tries to stave off the gross pinch in his stomach by recalling there’s an all too real chance he never even told you.

“Kyle.”

You shake your head quickly, mumbling, “No, I—I remember.”

Gaz, though he can’t help but feel like an asshole for it, grins at your stutter.

“Surprise me, then.” He sits back, not remembering when he made the decision to lean a bit closer. “YN,” he tags on, smiling a bit more at your nervous laugh.

You look him over, some short glance that stuffs his head full of cotton, and start working on a concoction with a small grin.

He’s patient, minds his own business and fiddles with his phone as you shake and pour.

No messages from Price, and Gaz shoves down any distant panic that he might have sent an aggravated text or two in his state last night.

But no messages means no updates, which means it’s safe to assume he’ll be marooned at this hotel for another two weeks.

Not as bad as he thought it would be, so far.

You step away with a tray of drinks and return empty handed. Then you slip a glass in front of him, frosty and golden, slowly seeping red by a single maraschino cherry.

He guffaws. “Mai Tai? What, no umbrella?”

You slip a mini umbrella into his drink. “You underestimate me.”

His headache is killing him. The sun’s too bright, and he’s thanking God that the music in here isn’t nearly as pounding as it was yesterday. The memories still haunt him, horizoning his mind. Every drop of blood, every plea, every blank-eyed stare.

And then there’s you. Just you. You read like a sheet of paper, and you’re soft around the edges, and you couldn’t even comprehend half the things he’s seen.

You spoon another maraschino cherry out of the cooling jar and pop it into your mouth, laving your tongue over it before biting down, the juices dying your tongue red.

Fuck.

Gaz wants to kiss you.

He wants you to taste the Mai Tai on his tongue and sigh happily, eyes rolling the exact same way. He might die if you don’t.

“It’s on the house, only because you were true to your word.”

He gets peeks of that red tongue of yours and shifts in his seat. “What d’you mean?”

“You were patient, as promised, and I’m afraid I’ll need a little more of that today.”

Any of it. All of it, for you. Fuck, he could be so patient for you.

Gaz furrows his brow anyway. “Didn’t know you were so greedy. Why d’you ask, love?”

“I guess you couldn’t tell from last night, but I’m a pretty shitty bartender. That’s why they got me working mornings.”

He glances at the Mai Tai. “So you’re sayin’ I’m shit outta luck.”

“I’m saying that if you’re going to let me pick your drink, you’re going to keep getting whatever’s left in the mixer from formerly Mrs. Jones’ group of three. I should warn you, they party hard.”

Gaz sighs. “What’s next on the menu?”

“More mimosas. That was their warm-up. You wanna catch up?” You frame a carton of orange juice in your hands enticingly.

Fruity drinks from here on out. Gaz doesn’t exactly mind the idea, though he’d come down to the bar for something with more of a kick. But he’s wondering how long your shift runs if you’d worked the night before and the morning after.

He’s got a chance here; without your friend present, your guilty conscience must feel balmed.

Gaz shakes his head, tearing a finger at the mini umbrella’s ridges. “I’ll stick to their schedule. Have a feeling I should be pacing myself with that crew.”

“Good feeling,” you nod.

The air of silence that settles is comfortable. There’s the rattle of ice and champagne, the slow slosh of orange pooling in three going on four glasses, and Gaz watches you through it all. But he can see the way his gaze makes you nervous. Your movements are all rickety, and you can’t quite find that rhythm between shaking the mixer and making eye contact.

Gaz wasn’t lying. Most if not all the women he’s met (sans a few of his targets) agree: he’s a kind man. Chivalrous, soothing, amiable.

So he’s not sure why seeing your nerves gets a lovely thrill rattling its way down his spine. Sure, he wished you felt a smidge less timid, a lot more loose and sunny in his company. But, he guesses, it’s because with you, he’s willing to settle. Take what he can get; it’s not unlike a stakeout, really. He’s parked here, waiting for you to come out of your shell on your own time.

Can’t really help that he’s greedy when it counts, though, and when you set the mimosa in front of him, he reaches before you can pull away, getting that warm slide of your fingers against his.

“So what are you doin’ here, in a place like this, if you’re not a good bartender?”

He has to salvage your courage before you slip into the backroom for space to think. He can’t let that happen, overthinker that you are, and you’re too nice to abandon him mid-conversation.

He’s okay with manipulating you that much.

“Gap year. Several actually, but I don’t like to think about that.” You’re fidgeting with a rag, twisting it until the damp cotton creases under your fingers.

“What are you gappin’ to?”

You huff out a laugh. “Med school, hopefully. Grad school, possibly. Just want to do something more, you know? Since apparently a bachelor’s gets you nowhere nowadays, and I’m just thirty grand in hole for nothing.”

“It’ll work itself out. For you, I’m certain of it.”

And he thinks he’s nailed it.

Look. Look at all he can say and do to make you feel comfortable. And look! He can make you laugh and smile. And his touch was nice, right? Warm, gentle, everything you’d want. He’s got it right here. Waiting for you.

And then you blink, long and slow, eyes on the counter. Then…

“You know, I’m really jealous of Jeanne. I mean, she has it all figured out.”

Gaz fights the urge to grind his teeth, but he drops his elbows to the counter and cups at the mimosa. Not good enough, doesn’t burn enough. Too easy on the champagne, and he distantly wonders if you pull what you did last night all the time.

That thing where you go easy on drinks by coming around less, or neutering them completely before you pass them out.

That thing where you’re trying to do better for everyone , where you think you know better. He can only guess that it’s come so often with a cost to you that it’s all you know how to do anymore—giving, no taking. Helping always; never, ever hurting, no matter what you want.

“C’mon,” he mutters, but you’re reaching for another red cherry. Chewing on it as it dyes your teeth pink.

“She’s one of the managers here, did she tell you that? And she’s only a couple years older than me, and she’s just… she knows what she wants. And goes for it, too.”

Is that what it was? You weren’t willing to go for it?

He’ll build that bridge for you, dammit. He’d hold you hand across the whole fucking way if you’d just let him.

“She’s the only person in the whole area willing to give me a chance, even though I’d never bartended before.”

He lets you ramble, lets the sound of your voice sink into him, gives encouraging responses when he has to.

Jeanne likes to go hiking.

Jeanne likes to swim.

Jeanne loves nights out.

Sure, yeah, okay. But do you like any of that?

You don’t. You hate it all, actually. You even have a fear of drowning, heights, the whole works. You’re very much a homebody, curled up on your couch reading, drinking tea—not a huge fan of wine, or alcohol, actually, but don’t laugh! It was the highest paying job you could find, and yes, you do see the irony. Yes, you make a good cup of tea. Why?

Trying to find out even that much about you was like playing a damn tennis match. You won’t stop shoving the topic away, getting all insecure when he asks what you like. What you want.

He plans to change that.

But for now? Fine. You won’t talk about you. But he’s not going to let you talk about Jeanne.

So you’re talking about him.

“We don’t get much of your type around here.”

“Special forces?”

“British.” You give up on wiping the counter, instead leaning on two hands and watching him sip at the piña colada you’ve just made. He’d offered you the pineapple slice. After you’d said no, he watched you watch him bite in, wiping off the juice off his lips with his thumb.

He had to remind himself that it was patience you were looking for, even with your lips parted in a daze like that.

“Special forces, though, huh?” You glance around with faux wariness. “Should I be worried?”

“Depends. How many people round here are up to no good?”

“I mean, there’s the occasional bad tipper but, between you and me,” you lean in, give a small shrug, “I deal with them in my own way.”

Gaz raises a brow, smile growing. “Maybe I’m the one who should be worried.”

“Depends. Are you going to be rifling around for a five or a twenty-five dollar tip in that wallet of yours?”

Gaz sighs, “The best company always comes with the highest price, don’t it?”

“Not as high as you think,” you laugh.

If there was ever a groove to find between you and him, he’s finally located it.

Five minutes too late, it seems.

You’re glancing at the clock when you hear rustling in the storage room, and the blonde bartender that’s bloody haunting him now pushes through the swinging door.

“Jeanne.” You voice is a wonderful mixture of fake enthusiasm and slight disappointment. “Look who’s here.”

Trapped. That’s what he is.

And you leave without a goodbye or a glance in his direction, too.

He tells himself you’re shy, insecure, delicate little thing that he keeps pushing the boundaries of, trying to find the edge of having you and scaring you off completely.

Like taming a wild animal.

Fucking patience. For all his years, all his adventures, he never knew he’d run out of it in the most civilian of circumstances.

He sticks around a while longer, humors Jeanne’s interest. Amazingly enough, they have so much in common, who would have thought?

And who would have thought that after last night, that was the last thing he’d ever want.

~~~~~~

You’re doing that thing again, where you ignore him.

He’d think it’s cute, how shy you were, if you only didn’t sic your friend on him each time you did it. He’s fairly certain his interest is clear.

He’s been going to the bar for the last few days. Sometimes he sees you, sometimes he doesn’t. He prefers the former, and when it’s the latter, he’s reminded of just how shitty the alcohol is in the US, and that he’s trapped here, and how it’s starting to become hell.

But he won’t tell you that. That your home and this hotel are the last places he wants to be on the whole planet, present company excluded.

Despite the fact that present company feels like she has to include her friend in every conversation. He loves how selfless you are, no man left behind and whatnot, but he wishes you could see the failing attraction right before your eyes.

You try to slip off, leave the pair of them alone, but Gaz won’t have it. If you wander too close, he’ll drag you in, call your damn name across the bar if he has to, wrench on that ever-guilty, ever-pleasing heart of yours to go and answer him, talk to him, pay him the attention he needs nightly, apparently.

As of late, you’ve started playing this game. Gaz’ll bring up a topic, anything from the horrors of war to butterflies.

And you think there might be some upsides to the horrors of war, maybe. And butterflies are ugly and gross, always.

Gaz loves how beautiful the mountains are up north; you despise them. They look cold.

But he thought you loved cold weather?

Well, you don’t like cold weather when it’s… on mountains. You guess.

An interesting play, he quite thinks. Such odd tactics you have running in your mind. But you’re trying so hard to be this good, loyal friend. You want so badly to find the middle ground here, please Jeanne and Gaz, let them both be happy.

But when push comes to shove, Jeanne had dibs. And Gaz has to bear the brunt of it.

Two weeks have gone by before Price contacts Gaz again. Tells him the 141 had lain low long enough that he can come back home and get some well deserved leave. The news makes him fucking ecstatic when he first hears it. Thank fuck he’ll never have to use the launderettes here again, never have to listen to the damned click-click-click of the aircon or the mini fridge.

He misses so many things from home.

Shepherd’s pie. Good cigarettes and tea. A whiskey sour from that bar just three blocks down from his flat.

And his flat. His bed. His sofa, the kitchen he barely uses, the door that whines because he can’t bring himself to oil it; gone too long, too often for it to really matter most days. The toaster he doesn’t plug in ever because it damn well almost burned down his flat last time he was out for two months.

All of it empty. Cold and bare. Too unused to really miss.

Gaz slows while packing his things. He stops, grabs his phone, then lowers to the bed. He stares at the recent calls list, Captain still at the top, call ended twenty minutes ago.

Home has a different taste in his mouth than it used to. Not horribly bad, but different enough to notice.

It’ll be quiet. Gaz used to love quiet.

Being here has changed something in him.

Nothing big—all small things, in fact.

A pondering floats down on him, comes to his mind and makes the rest of his body tighten, a coiled spring waiting, wondering. It’s such a small question, too, but things with you always seemed so small and insignificant, until he got a moment of quiet to consider it.

Do they sell your perfume in the UK?

It’s not a huge thing if they don't.

Really, it’s not life-changing. He’s just trying to consider never having it again, never having it flood his senses when you get too close, lean a bit closer to slide him his drink.

Then it’s you not leaning in close ever again. Then no you, ever again.

Gaz can’t quite make it make sense.

Home is good. Hell, he misses it.

But home is no set place anymore. Home could be two poles repelling each other but attracting him, pulling at each half of him, waiting to tear him down the middle while he tries to decide.

Two fucking weeks? Gaz has to check his phone to make sure. Has that really all it’s been?

Bullshit.

Tell him why it feels like it’s been years. Tell him why he can’t imagine going home as anything other than a misstep, one bad fucking decision away from sealing his fate.

A slice of shepherd’s pie and a nice cup of Earl Grey—it can wait.

A little longer, at least. He needs some time to make certain on some things. A month, maybe. On his own dime now. After all, what’s four thousand dollars compared to a missed opportunity for something better?

…He’ll see if they have deals on extended stays.

~~~~~~

“YN.”

Nothing.

“YN.”

Still nothing.

“YN!”

You’re avoiding eye contact and maintaining a six-foot radius at all times, like he’s got the damn plague.

It’s been the same setting for the past four weeks; corner of the bar, closer to the same dark shit that swirls in his glass now, aiming for privacy and good company.

He used to think he was a good shot, but his accuracy’s been bloody terrible as of late.

Twelve times. He’s tried asking you out twelve times.

After the most recent attempt crash-landed with you interrupting to tell him about your sister’s obsession with popping zits, he considered it. Oh boy, did he consider giving up, asking himself why the hell he ever got so desperate in the first place.

Tonight was supposed to be some last hurrah of sorts. His flight leaves tomorrow morning, and his patience with you has become so thin it could snap with a single breath.

But he gets here, sees you.

Sees you bustling around the bar—which, in his mind’s eye, is his flat. And you look right at home, by the way. Wandering in and out of his room, his kitchen, the living room. Curled up on the settee, your soft thighs winking at him from beneath his own sweatshirt. Then you’re dancing in the same way, hips swaying to the obnoxious beat, leaning in closer instead of pulling away when he grabs onto you like he ought to.

For all that’s good and pure, you never distance yourself like you do now.

There’s no easily spooking the you in his head that wants him just as badly as he does you.

Your name falls from his lips an unavoidable number of times from the corner of the bar, and you finally fold.

See—wasn’t so hard, was it?

Not so painful if you’d just give in and go on a date with him now, too.

You saunter over, a world-weary sigh falling from your lips. “My God, Kyle, you sound like a damn cockatoo over here. Or my mom, which was a bit unsettling. Need I remind you I regret telling you my middle name.”

“Then you won’t be surprised to know you’re getting a good scolding, with the way you’ve been avoiding me.”

That same look takes up your features, pouty lips and wrinkled brow, like he’s barking up the wrong tree all over again. Might be his favorite expression of yours, second only to that little grin when you see him each day.

The same one that keeps him barking.

“You know it’s for a good reason, Kyle. I’ve told you this.”

“Remind me again, darling. Is it a boyfriend?”

You huff a sigh. “No.”

“Husband?”

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Lesbian?”

“What?” You stare at him wide-eyed, and he shrugs.

“Just makin’ sure my bases are covered. So what is it, then?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m also dead fuckin’ serious,” his voice raises when you try to walk away. He can barely refrain from swatting out at your wrist, spinning you back around to look at him. Over the weeks, he’s discovered your biggest weakness is his eyes, and he puppy-dogs them now. “Out with it. Please.”

His white-knuckled hands ache from where they grip under the bar’s ledge, and he’s trying blessedly hard to keep still as you look him over. Every scar, every bag under his eyes, every premature wrinkle. You can see it all and more, probably even see the nightmare he had three days ago, where it was you tied up, enemy’s gun pointed at the pliable skin of your temple, your cries echoing in the empty warehouse.

Where, a building over, in sniper-position, Gaz’s frozen. His fucking trigger finger won’t twitch, and he can’t breathe, can’t move even as the gunshot lit up your skin, and he rolled out of the same hotel bed, coughing on the floor, wheezing.

He tops off his eyes with a dashing smile, pleasant like his mind hadn’t painted the picture of you bloody and dying, still haunting him.

Gaz isn’t as easy to read as you are. You wouldn’t be able to tell.

“You’re looking at me like that again.”

“Like I’m whipped?” As if he could look like anything else.

“No, like…” You bite your tongue, and Gaz would give anything to know what you’d planned on doing with the hand you’d raised toward him just then, only to let it drop down at your side. “Never mind.”

“C’mon.” God , his hands ache. “Just tell me. Thought we were friends?”

“We are friends, Kyle.” You ignore how smug he gets, fixing him with a look. “But that’s all we are.”

Gaz scoffs, “I don’t get it. Just because your friend has, what, a li’l crush on me, and she doesn’t even know me, this can’t happen?”

You know what this is. He knows you know what this is. And he knows you want it, too.

“It’s…” you bite the inside of your cheek while avoiding his gaze, and he knows it’s because you can’t think when he looks at you like that. Pleading. Desperate. And so damn breathless at the sigh of you that it makes it that much harder for you to say you don’t want him. “It’s a whole big thing we agreed on when I started working here. It’s how the peace is kept, not just between Jeanne and me—but for everyone. That’s just how we do it.”

“YN…”

You ignore him. “And I like this job, Kyle. I do. I don’t care that I’m horrible at mixing drinks, and that I can’t handle drunk people to save my life. It feels good to have something to do when I don’t know what else to do with myself, and I can’t have some little lover’s quarrel ruin that.

“And Jeanne is a great person. And I know you don’t like it when I bring it up, but it’s true. She saw you first and called it. So I’m stepping back, not getting in the middle of it because I owe it to her, and I don’t get why you won’t just do me that solid and give her a chance. You two are a much better fit than you and I would ever be—”

“You hate camping.”

You fall silent, staring at him in confusion. “What?”

“You hate camping. And the woods. The outside, really. You told me that. Then you told me your daily circuit is the bar, then your home, sometimes to the café down the street from here, but that’s rare. And that you like books, but I know s’not the cute, adventure-y ones you pretend to like. I googled a few of yours, ones I caught you sneakin’ on your breaks—dirty little bird, you are, by the way. But I like that about you. All of it. Everything you think you have to keep under wraps.”

“Kyle…”

“I like the way you say my name, too. And how soft your skin looks, and those thighs—fuck me. Is your perfume cherries, by the way?”

“Peaches,” you mumble. He nods.

“That too. I mean, every little thing, darling. I swear, I want it. Don’t care that we’re complete opposites, that you’re scared of what I do, what I’m built for. I need you to know that I want you because of that, not in spite of. I don’t need you all the time, I promise. But I don’t think I could handle it if I didn’t have you at all.”

You want him. He can see it. You’re melting into a goddamn puddle before him, wandering nearer and nearer like you can’t help it.

What else can he say? What the hell else does he have to do to prove that he wants you so bad it’s driving him up the walls? Gaz is wrenched so tight in his seat that he could snap and hurdle the counter, drag you out of here and show you everything he’s willing to give.

He needs a promise before he leaves. Something.

“God, Kyle, I didn’t…” your breath stutters, but you won’t pull your gaze from his. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were so serious about this.”

You didn’t know? You couldn’t fucking tell? After a month of him puttering around here, begging for your attention, doing anything he could to get you to look at him—

“I thought you were just…”

Fuck.

Gaz shakes his head.

Fuck.

Messing with you? Teasing you? That’s all you thought it was?

He tips his head back, locking onto the ceiling.

What could he have said during the past five weeks that would make you think that?

He runs through every conversation, every interaction, every whipped, needy look he couldn’t hold back because he couldn’t stop them around you.

And then he thinks about Jeanne. How you’ve been pushing her on him. And how he’s a perfect fucking gentleman and entertained her interest with polite conversation.

Then there’s you, his shy little rabbit watching from the other end of the bar, so damn skittish that he can only draw you back in after she’s long left him alone. Not even surveying or passively watching, but crafting wildly inaccurate conclusions in your little overthinking head.

No.

No, no, no, because, fickle as you are, you’re a giver.

And Gaz’s been stealing that role from you this whole time.

He hasn’t let you show your worth. He doesn’t need to see it, no, but you think you have to prove it. You like your trials by fire. You don’t like winning by default.

You don’t think you could be wanted for wanting’s sake.

In all fairness, Gaz didn’t think he functioned like that either—unconditional terms and all that. So he thought he’d had to give back. Give back so much that it frightened you, and you couldn’t hold up what you thought was your end.

A bloody fool. That’s what he is.

His little American rabbit plays by different rules. In the UK, women in bars are so straightforward, so honest.

What a fuckin’ sod he is.

His flight leaves in nine hours, and he hasn’t packed, hasn’t slept.

Too busy thinking about you. How much of a wrench you’ve been in his plans.

He didn’t think wanting you would be like asking the world to spin the other way.

And, hell, what’s he supposed to do when he does leave, gone off on the mission Price’s hinted to him, the one that’s halfway across the globe, and you’re back here, trying and probably succeeding at forgetting he exists.

Fuck.

You not knowing he exists.

Him having never met you.

The ideas make him sick.

But Gaz…

Gaz is a planner. Above all else.

And if you want an opportunity to show what you can give him, he’ll give you just that. While he’s on a mission, mind on worse, far more horrible things, he’ll give you that chance you’ve been itching so hard for.

“Your phone.”

You’ve been watching him go through phases, even refilled his glass while he was out. Scotch on the rocks, this time. Like you thought he had to start taking it easy from here on out, like you think he deserves it.

“What?”

“Let me give you my number.”

“Kyle… that’s not a good idea.”

“Don’t care, love.”

To your credit, you have a healthy amount of wariness. In several jerky movements, you pull your phone from your pocket, open it to a new contact, and pass it to him, eyeing up every little thing he types.

Kyle (Hot Guy from the Bar) Garrick.

His phone number.

Then he texts himself quickly, saves your number too, and holds your phone out.

When you grab at it, he holds tight, tugging for your attention.

Like he hasn’t, in a most wonderfully heady way, already got it.

“No funny business with this, love.” His features turn grim. “No giving it to your friend so she can woo me—”

“Woo you?”

He gives you a stern look. “A phone call. A text. A fuckin’ pocket dial, I don’t care. But I want it from you, or no one, yeah?”

Only after you nod, slow and unsure, does he push himself out of the barstool for the last time, nodding to you. Eyes soft as he whispers, “Have a good night, darling.”

Your eyes don’t leave him as he walks away, phone still gripped tightly in your hand.

~~~~~~

Part 2

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz cod #cod gaz

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mydastouch · 3 months ago

Text

Spoilers for Life Is Strange: Double Exposure

Please read before you filet me. Now… don’t kill the messenger but I am absolutely not surprised Chloe and Max breakup in LIS:DE. And I say this as someone who chose Bae over Bay and love Max and Chloe (individually) with allllll my heart.

For starters, they had a LOT - and I mean A LOT - of unresolved trauma from their past. I’m specifically talking about Max not talking to Chloe for five years after literally leaving town once Williams funeral was over.

It’s not Max’s fault she left but she was wrong for not staying in touch with Chloe. Again, I say this as someone who also sucks at staying in touch (it’s a big big character flaw of mine).

Next, the fact that for Chloe to live means everyone - including her fucking MOM - had to die. Suddenly and horribly. In a storm. That came from nowhere in their point of view.

There’s NO WAY both Chloe and Max don’t hold major guilt from that. Chloe with survivors guilt and Max with just guilt period. And the fact that they would have started their relationship right after that… how can a healthy relationship form with that as the foundation.

Next, Max has a habit of using her powers to kinda manipulate situations to go her way. In the game AND in the comics. And from what we have seen: she doesn’t stop doing that even after the storm. Chloe literally cannot SEE a future with them together because she doesn’t know if Max went back in time or not.

Im not saying Max is a manipulative sociopath - of course not - but, damn, isn’t that just a bit fucked.

It’s not like Chloe is innocent either. She pushes Max to use her powers so much, is selfish and abrasive, and lowkey guilt trippy AS FUCK in LIS.

I love them both down individually but together.. I’m just surprised they lasted more than a few months.

Last but not least, the game kinda centers on Max trying to have Chloe stay alive. It’s actually insane how many times my girl Chloe died and my girl Max had to rewind time to save her. It’s almost like the universe was saying “Hey Chloe gotta go” imho.

Now, if you were in Max’s shoes, you would probably choose your loved one over the town in a heartbeat. However, even with this ending the situation is still fucked and I’m not surprised at all they broke up.

They needed space from each other and their past. How can they do that when they’re trauma bonded?

(Again I love them down individually and they had many cute moments but let’s be realistic y’all. Life is Strange and life is ass)

(Also also some of y’all clearly have a bias towards Chloe that is kinda blinding you from the reality. I will agree though that them breaking up over a letter is fuckeddddd and unrealistic)

#lgbt #lis #lis de #lis de spoilers #chloe price #max caulfield #pricefield #Chloe #Max #breakup #time travel #life is strange #life is strange double exposure #pricefield breakup

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goodneighborxfallout · 9 months ago

Note

How would the companions react to Little Lamplight and Mayor Maccready?

Thanks for requesting!

Cait:

Little Lamplight: “It may seem cruel for these children to have to live like this but… I think I would prefer this over my own childhood, you know?”

MacCready: “Not a hope that this little shithead and MacCready are the same person! Way too polite, that bloke.”

Codsworth:

Little Lamplight: “A society run by children? Oh mum/sir, I don’t dare imagine little Shaun having to grow up in a place like this.”

MacCready: “Oh dear, such hostility from a child? I suppose I can’t expect anything different. These poor kids never had any proper adult guidance! Sir/mum, I propose we send a Ms Nanny their way!”

Curie:

Little Lamplight: “Oh, this is just horrible! No child should have to survive in these conditions! Isn’t there anything we can do to help them?”

MacCready: “Such vulgarity! Has no one got manners anymore in this world?”

Danse:

Little Lamplight: “Look what the war did to these children! This is yet more proof of why technology in the hands of the wrong people can have devastating consequences!”

MacCready: “The exact attitude one would expect from someone who’d grow up to be a mercenary.” (Mac: “What’s that supposed to mean??”)

Deacon:

Little Lamplight: “A parentless life is a sad reality for many children in the wastes. However morbid this may look, they’ve been managing well.”

MacCready: Deacon will try to convince mayor MacCready that he’s just a really tall child. On top of that, he will forever call adult MacCready ‘mungo’ and make up countless different reasons for how he knows that term.

Gage:

Little Lamplight: “Interesting set-up. I guess they’re pretty safe here from outside threats, except - you know - the gigantic green monsters next door.” (insert sarcasm)

MacCready: “Kid, you have no idea the kind of company I’ve had to deal with all these years. You wanna rile me up? Then stray away from your vanilla boring ass insults ‘cause I ain’t impressed.”

Hancock:

Little Lamplight: “Huh, cozying up right next to a super mutant den? Either these kids are incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Probably an unhealthy mix of both.”

MacCready: “So this is the origin story of our favorite mercenary? Hm, I’ll admit, almost as good as mine.”

Longfellow:

Little Lamplight: Longfellow won’t say anything, but a profound sadness washes over him at the sight in front of him. If somewhere deep down he still had hope for the world, it was now for sure fully taken away.

MacCready: “Youngsters these days…”

MacCready:

“Ahh the good old times.”

Nick:

Little Lamplight: “I can’t tell if I’m more impressed by their tenacity, or more disappointed that they need it to survive.”

MacCready: “Well, behind every hardened mercenary, there is some kind of tragic backstory, isn’t there?” He sighs. “Maybe I’ve been too hard on the kid.”

Piper:

Little Lamplight: “Oh god… I’ve always known the Wasteland was hard but… these are children. They should be getting raised by two loving parents not living like… this.”

MacCready: Piper’s always known MacCready as a chill mercenary who tries a bit too hard to flirt with her. She’s never paid much attention to him, but seeing him as a child living in these circumstances, she suddenly finds herself looking at him in a completely different light.

Preston:

Little Lamplight: “This is why we have to bring back the Minutemen! Children deserve to grow up in a safe place, not hiding out in a cave.”

MacCready: “Damn… With how chill he is, you’d never guess he had this kind of childhood. Certainly explains why he’s so good at his job though.”

Strong:

Little Lamplight: “Not safe for small human! Brother smash small human!”

MacCready: “Small human talk too much!”

X6-88:

Little Lamplight: “And here I thought I’d already seen the worst of the surface.”

MacCready: “Interesting. Somehow the child version seems tougher than the adult.”

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luckybyler · 9 days ago

Text

What are your wishes for 9-1-1 on 2025? (We listen and don’t judge):

Mine are:

1. Buddie canon

2. Tim Minear getting a planner AND USING IT

3. An El Paso episode full of Diaz family drama. I’m talking everything from Chris’ custody to a fight over Eddie’s sexuality, to Tia Pepa’s deep dark secret, to who gets to inherit Los terrenos de la abuela and it turns out there’s a secret treasure buried beneath them, etc.

4. A musical episode

5. A B shift episode. I wanna see our favourite people from the point of view of other firefighters and first responders at the 118 and other houses

6. Athena and Bobby having to be a couple outside of permanent chaos

7. Find a way to either give Buck’s baby to him or to officially retcon that stupid sperm donor storyline. “Just pretend it didn’t happen” doesn’t do it.

8. A bottle episode. Maybe a Quiet shift with zero calls.

9. An episode where they’re reunited with ALL of their parents - the Buckleys, the Diaz, the Hans, the Grants, Karen’s parents if they exist, Hen’s mom and Clive… and have them clash in a wonderful horrible-parenting-off. Please invite Abuela and Tia Pepa too just to watch. And bonus if the children are there as well. I wanna see them calling each other out and flinging uncomfortable truths at everyone else and stuff. Throw in a narcissistic “heart attack” or two. The drama would be delicious.

10. Decent screen time for Chris. That goes hand-in-hand with point 2.

11. A love interest for Josh

12. A FOREST FIRE as the big disaster. Because this is LA.

What are your wishes for 2025?

#911 abc #911 show #buddie #911 spoilers

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what-have-i-unleashed · 1 month ago

Note

Cross

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️😇🧸👻🎶👽💤🦾💝🫂💔 🪢📓👗🔪🌟🥇🍫🎭❤️‍🔥💄🖕😸😬😭😶

Have fun <3

i just know you're trying to kill me with this......+

cross

🏳️‍🌈 - a sexuality headcanon he's bisexual, your honor (this is canon anyway). specifically a disaster bisexual. he likes women who can kick his ass and pathetic loser men.

🏳️‍⚧️ - a gender headcanon why are you even asking me this? he's trans the skeleton 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

😇 - a headcanon about their religion/lack thereof i think he's an atheist. i mean, how would he believe in gods when he lived with one with the biggest god complex of all?

🧸 - a headcanon about their childhood forgive me i haven't read the comics yet... but he does strike me as the type of kid who hogs the slides on the playground idk why.

👻 - a headcanon about what scares them alright mr. scared-of-cows, do you by any chance also refuse to step foot on a farm because the chickens mauled you once?

🎶 - a headcanon about music emo guy listens to emo music 🫵🫵 (don't ask me which bands specifically because my taste in music is horrible and horribly limited *cough cough kpop cough cough*)

👽 - a headcanon about a weird quirk of theirs might be a fever dream of mine, but i distinctly remember that he wears his fuckass scarf-jacket thingy thing before putting on his boots... like... sit down emo baby, let me teach you how to dress the correct way unless you want to accidentally suffocate yourself...

💤 - a headcanon about their sleep he's a light sleeper, from all the training he has. i also think he's the type to sleep upside down in the bed too.

🦾 - a disability headcanon there's no fucking way this guy is not vision-impaired or colorblind in some way. maybe he's color-agnostic (is that the word) - basically he can see colors but his brain cannot tell them apart or identify what color he's seeing.

💝 - a headcanon about their love language isn't he the type to gift people he admires a lot? i think he'd shower people with little trinkets and gifts, having them keep a piece of him with them in their everyday life.

🫂 - a friendship headcanon i think his friendship with frisk is kinda cute. though i imagine it's especially hard for him to make friends after all that x-event debacle. he's gonna be super cautious about people around him from now on, constantly worried about the instance they turn on him.

💔 - an angsty headcanon is the previous statement angsty enough...? or do you want me to link to the "cross gets bullied by the mtt" series to show how gullible he can be under authority figures in his life.

🪢 - a headcanon about their family oh, i think cross is so fucked when it comes to his feelings about his family. even with all the shitty things that happen, he can't help but still want approval and love from them, xgaster most of all. of course xgaster only sees cross' outbursts as a simple "rebellious phase", because that's all cross will be to him - his child.

📓 - a headcanon about their hobbies i think i kinda like the headcanon (maybe canon?) that he bakes. he's probably a decent self-taught baker too.

👗 - a headcanon about their clothes EMOOOOOOOO!!! i need cross to wear them skinny jeans too - it's gonna be hilarious watching him struggle to fight in them (skinny jeans my beloathed).

🔪 - a headcanon relating to fighting/violence as an ex(?)-soldier with probable ptsd, i think he'd struggle with violence a lot. he's not as trigger-happy as murder, but he's not as composed/restrained as killer either. he gets jumped easily, and it's a 50/50 on whether he'll pull his swords or not. it's gonna take a while to train that instinct/reflex out of him.

🌟 - a headcanon about their desires/wishes bro just wants to go back to the way things were (probably not canon though lol). i think he's... nostalgic for the time he doesn't know anything. ignorance is bliss and all that.

🥇 - a headcanon about what they’re best at idk why but babysitting is the first thing to come to my mind. though that's probably not good, or at least contradicting with my violence headcanon somewhat lol. i just think he's the type to be good (or semi-good) with kids. boy-failure needs a win somehow.

🍫 - a headcanon about food he's not canonically lactose intolerant but it would be funny if he was. one more reason to hate cows.

🎭 - a headcanon about what they lie about his tinder profile. next question.

❤️‍🔥 - a romantic headcanon i would make everyone be on the aromantic spectrum eventually and now cross is on the chopping block. demi-romantic for you, boy-failure. i think he's the type to be enamored with others easily but also over time he'd just realize they'd be better as non-romantic partners. his crush is intense but it burns out fast.

💄 - an appearance headcanon he's very well-groomed with whatever resources he has. it's no good being a slob or looking like one - that's what he was taught.

🖕 - a headcanon relating to anger oh yeah he has anger issues alright. more therapy for you.

😺 - an animal related headcanon not totally animal-related or a headcanon, but i'd love to see cross going to farmtale and have an aneurysm upon seeing the cow-shaped gaster blasters lmao.

😬 - a headcanon about the worst thing they’ve done his backstory.........

😭 - a headcanon about the worst thing that happened to them also his backstory..........

😶 - a random headcanon! i answered too much now so i shan't give you one.

#i answer #twinribbonz #cross sans #this takes years off my life

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annabelinlove · 1 year ago

Text

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

I turn my face from the fire and look at the person who just sat next to me. Sirius Black looks at me with tired eyes, cigarette that’s waiting to be lit in his hand. I blink a few times to focus before answering.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, trying to sound awake, but judging from his face, I know I’m not doing a good job.

“You know what I’m talking about, pet. I am with you the whole day, if not me then Prongs or Moony, right until we’re tired and go to our room. When I can’t sleep, or wake up feeling restless, I come here to have a smoke and guess what. You’re here. Every single time. Reading, or writing or just staring at nothing like you were doing just now. We talk and then I go back to my dorm to go back to sleep, but I never see you leave. And every morning before class, you’re already here, prepared and everything. So tell me, darling. When was the last time you’ve slept?”

I stare at him with open mouth. I never knew he noticed these things, or actually thought about them. He’s looking at me with concern written all over his beautiful face. His frown forms wrinkles between his eyebrows and I wanna kiss them away. But you’re best friends, you can’t screams the voice in my head and I’m glad that my brain is working even without sleep. I want to open my mouth and answer him, but I have no idea what to say, so I just stare at him.

“C’mon, you know you can tell me anything. I’m your best friend, we’re supposed to tell each other when something is bothering us, so the other one can help. That’s what we’re here for.” he urges, desperation in his voice. His eyes are boring into mine, like he’s trying to read my mind, but I can’t help him do that.

“So that’s all I’m good for? Am I just a problem solver for you?” I tease him, trying to avert his attention from the topic. One side of his mouth twists, and I’m glad it amused him at least a little bit.

“You’re so much more than that to me, love.” Sirius promises, his features softening. He grabs my hand and his warmth seeps into me. “You are everything to me, so please, please tell me what’s bothering you. Why don’t you ever sleep?”

“Nothing, I’m just not tired.” I say nonchalantly, hoping that I sound convincing. He lifts one of his eyebrows and gives me an unimpressed look.

“Yeah, right. The circle under your eyes are so dark, I’d think you were a raccoon if I didn’t know any better, pet.” he jokes, but his eyes don’t hold any amusement, just pure concern. I sigh and look at our joined hands, my fingers toying with his rings. I open my mouth to say something but he interrupts me.

“I swear, if you’re gonna ask me why I’m wearing my rings now, I’m gonna strangle you.” he threatens, and I smile for the first time tonight, because it warms my heart that he knew I was gonna ask that. He knows me too well, it’s scary sometimes.

“I don’t wanna sleep.” I murmur, hoping he can’t hear me, but from the way he squeezes my hand, I know he did.

“Why don’t you wanna sleep, darling?” he asks gently. I shrug my shoulders, but he’s patiently waiting for my answer.

“Because I think a lot. And my mind goes to places I dont want it to go. I think about everything, the school, the future, us. And once I start, I can’t stop, until I fall asleep. But when I do, the nightmares begin. They’re horrible Siri.” my voice breaks and I try to take a deep breath, but fail. “I’m always alone in the dark, but I can feel I’m not alone, you know? Like the feeling you get when someone is watching you. And then, out of nowhere, someone just appears right in front of me. It’s either you, Jamie, Remmy, Marls or just anyone I like, but..B-but they’re dead, they’re always dead and staring at me with huge, lifeless eyes. And I try to move, to help them or run away, just to do something, but I can’t. It’s like I’m frozen in place. And then I hear voices, yelling at me that it’s my fault they’re dead or asking me to help or just telling me how worthless I am. And I can never wake up. No matter how much I try, to just wake up, I can’t. I keep telling myself that it’s not real, you are all okay and its just my imagination, but the longer it lasts, the realer it is and I can’t wake up and it’s terrible and it’s killing me and I don’t wanna sleep ever again because..” Sirius hugs me close to his body shushing me softly, stopping my rumbling. I didn’t even realize I was crying until I can feel the wet patch I formed on Sirius’ shoulder. I hiccup loudly, trying to keep my breathing calm, but failing once again.

“Shh, it’s okay love. Try to breathe. I’m here darling, don’t worry. I’m here with you and I’m not going anywhere. Just beathe, my love.” He murmurs into my ear, rocking us lightly. One of his hand if tightly wrapped around my back, drawing small circles, while the other one is in my head, protectively holding my head to his shoulder. I listen to his soft words, breathing in his cologne and trying to stop shaking. We stay like this for Merlin know how long, but he doesn’t stop whispering sweet nothings and rocking us lightly even after my breathing is regular and I’m no longer shaking. He squeezes me one last time, before slowly pulling away, yet his hands never leave my body. I’m basically sitting in his lap, but neither of us seem to mind.

“I’m so sorry, darling, I had no idea. I’m so fucking sorry..” he apologizes, but I interrupt him before he can say more.

“It’s not your fault, Siri. You couldn’t have known, because I never told you. I didn’t want you to worry.” I try to reassure him, hating that desperate look on his face, but he just shakes his head, and places his hands on my cheeks, his cold rings soothing my hot skin.

“I should have asked sooner, I knew something was wrong, but I decided to let it be and that’s on me, but I promise I’m never gonna do it again. I’m so sorry I’ve let you suffer alone for so long, my love. It’s never gonna happen again, I promise. You’re never leaving my side again. You’ll sleep in our dorm from now on. Company could help you, and you’re gonna try some of Remus’ tea, he hides under his bed and even if that’s not gonna work, we’ll go to Madam Pomfreys. You’re not in this alone okay? You have me and you always will, I’m not going anywhere and I won’t stop, until you get the rest you need and deserve okay?” he promises and I believe him. The look in his eyes is determined and I know that when he sets his mind on something, he doesn’t stop, until he achieves whatever it is he wants. I smile at him and nod, not being able to say anything. But Sirius doesn’t mind, he closes the distance between us, and gently kisses my forehead, the kiss lingering longer than usual and butterflies inside me are awakened. He leans back with me still in his arms and lays comfortably on the sofa. I set my head on his chest, and close my eyes listening to his heartbeat.

“You’re gonna get through this, I promise. I love so fucking much, more that you know, my love.” These are the last words I hear before drifting into sleep for the fist time in what feels like millennia.

And who knows, maybe one day I’ll share my secret about how I feel about him. And something about the way he holds me right now and his words tell me, that he will be glad I share another secret with him.

#sirius orion black #sirius black x reader #Sirius black fluff #Sirius black angst #sirius x reader #sirius x you #Sirius black x you #Sirius being sweet #I dont know how to tag #marauders era #the marauders #harry potter #marauders #marauders fluff

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okminer07 · 5 months ago

Text

A Match Beyond Measure Pt 12

I don't know if I've said this before, but any and all feedback is appreciated, I'd love to be able to improve as a writer and hear what you think, any suggestions. Anyways, on with the story.

Cecilia was a little thrown off by the change of subjects, “Oh…. w-well a while. I guess”

“Did you take a class or somethin’?”

“N-not really, I used to work part-time at a bakery during high school if that counts.”

Garret sighed, “I don’t miss those days, that’s for sure.”

“You didn’t like high school?”

He let out a short laugh, “Hated it. Mine started way too early and I lived a decent ways away, so I’d have to wake up even earlier to even make it on time. I don’t think my teachers liked me all that much either. There was this one woman, Mrs. Dechaseray and I swear she had it out for me. Always got mad at me for forgetting the date and then would give me an F because of it.”

“That’s… harsh.”

“Yeah, I know. And then there was our gym teacher. God, he was awful. One time he called me up to stand in front of the entire class and used me as an example of why exercise is important.”

Cecilia’s eyes widened, her hand coming up to her mouth in shock, “That’s awful.”

“Felt like it. And yeah, maybe he had a point if I’m being honest but it still hurt.”

“What do you mean he had a point? That’s just horrible.”

Garret frowned, “Well, my old man would say similar things so I was kind of used to hearing it.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you saying sorry for? You didn’t say them. Plus, they really did have a good point.”

“Well, I think you look pretty good.”

He smiled down at her, “Think so?” she nodded. “Thanks, I’m glad to hear that. High school wasn’t all bad. My last two years, I took up woodshop which was pretty neat. This one time, I helped make this huge-”

A loud crunch along with the blare of a horn pierced through the air. Garret froze and looked down.

“Ah shit.”

Cecilia cautiously crawled and peered over the edge of his palm. All the color drained from her face as Garret lifted his foot to reveal the crushed remains of a red sports car. She began to tremble, it was nearly flat. Completely ruined and unrecoverable, like it had gotten caught under a steamroller. Was it empty? Oh god, had someone been in there?! She looked to Garret who was still staring down at the ground, cringing at the sight.

His eyes flicked over to Cecilia, “I uh-”

“What the fuck happened?!” both jumped at a voice screaming up from the ground. The two of them both looked back down to see a man dressed in a business suit running towards the remains, “My car! The fuck you do to my car?!”

Garret looked around aimlessly before addressing the raging man at his feet “I’m uh- I’m real sorry sir. I swear to you it was a-”

“You fucking son of a bitch! Do you know how much this cost me?! Do you?!”

“N-no but I-”

“Do you know who I am?!”

“I uh- no” he glanced over at Cecilia, “B-but I swear, I can pay you back for-”

“What is one of your kind even doing in these parts?! You lost or something dumbass?!”

“I-”

“It’s my fault sir!” Cecilia yelled, peering back over the edge nervously, “I-I was distracting him.”

The man’s head turned to look at Garret’s hand, spotting her head poking out from behind it, “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m-”

“Oh let me guess” the man sneered, “You’re one of those lazy bitches who thinks they’re too good for traffic or cars. Thinks they're saving the fucking planet by hiring some giant to carry their sorry ass wherever-”

“You shut your fucking mouth!” Cecilia’s hand flew up and clamped tightly over her ears which still rang from Garret’s thunderous yell.

The man below had backed away, his hands slowly lowering from his own ears, “Watch it asshole. Don’t you be talking to me like-”

“Don’t you be talking to her like that!”

Cecilia shook as she looked up at Garret’s face. His jaw clenched as his gaze hardened. For the first time since she’d met him, he looked mad, furious even. It sent a shiver down her spine, seeing someone like him in a mindset where people don’t think before they act. She began to look uneasily at her surroundings, at the fingers thick as tree trunks and taller than her entire being. What were those fingers capable of when the person attached to them was tested? What could the rest of the person be capable of?

She couldn’t stop a small whimper from escaping her. Garret’s eyes, now looking ice cold rather than just blue, flicked over to her and they immediately melted. His mouth dropped from a sneer to a contemplative frown as his eyes fixed on her.

“I-I think I should go,” she murmured, not wanting to spend any more time around these two arguing, “Would… would you… you know”

He nodded, “Oh, right.” Cecilia jumped slightly as Garret turned and began to slowly kneel down. He placed his hand flat upon the ground and she hopped down onto the pavement.

“T-thanks again, for lunch.”

“Yeah, I’ll… I’ll text you, once I'm done dealing with all of this” he nodded over at the flattened car.

Cecilia nodded as she turned and began to hurry away, the yelling of the man starting up again the moment she’d left.

Her home as a child used to have this very vibrant wallpaper in the living room. It was covered in all sorts of different kinds of butterflies, and Cecilia had very vivid memories of almost everyday after school staring up at them all to pass the time. Her mother would be close by, sitting at the kitchen table with the phone in her lap while she stared out the window looking out into the front yard.

There were hundreds of this day in her memory. At times, they all blended together. Some days she’d ask what was for dinner, often not getting a response. Other days she’d sit and do homework at the same table as her mother yet they exchanged no words. Sometimes she’d ask if she wanted to do something, bake, or go to the park, but her mother almost always said no.

A lot of the time, however, she’d be stuck doing exactly what her mother was doing, waiting.

It was either the phone or the door that broke the silence. Cecilia preferred it when it was the door. She’d lift her head off the couch to see her dad shuffling in, army duffle bag in tow. Her mother would finally move as she turned and smiled up at her husband who would lane down to kiss her, occasionally asking what their daughter was still doing up.

She would run to her father and wrap her arms around his waist. He’d pat her on the back and ruffle her hair. Sometimes they’d all sit down on the couch, and he would tell them stories. Stories from his travels. Stories about-

“Cece!”

“Huh?” Cecilia looked up and across from her where Maddie was seated.

“Are you even listening?”

“I… yes.”

She crossed her arms and raised a well-manicured brow, “Then what did I just say?”

“Um…” she looked over helplessly at Rebecca who was sitting right beside her with her iguana, Enoch draped over her shoulder.

She sighed, “Jennifer got the job.”

“Huh?”

“We don’t like Jennifer.”

“Why?”

Rebecca glanced over at Maddie, “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“Because she had the audacity to show up to the party after the whole thing with her and Kyle!”

Cecilia blinked, “Whose Kyle again?”

“Her ex” whispered Rebecca.

“Oh. wow, the audacity,” she replied flatly.

Maddie threw up her hands, “I know! And then she’s all like…”

Cecilia began to tune out once again as Maddie continued to rant. A part of her sort of enjoyed listening to her drama, even though half the time she had no idea what she was talking about. Today however, she just couldn’t seem to keep her mind from wandering.

It was no surprise to her that the day right after the whole cafe incident, Rebecca had called her and insisted they all get together. They did this quite often, usually all gathering at Rebecca’s place since it was the nicest and her friend was insistent that she couldn’t just leave Enoch for any longer than she already had when at work.

Often these little get-togethers were when they could talk outside the cafe. Away from the prying eyes and ears of anyone else.

“Here” Rebecca got up and held Enoch out to her, “I gotta go check on the pizza.”

She nodded as the iguana was thrusted into her arms and Rebecca hurried off to the kitchen. Cecilia sat frozen as the bright green lizard clawed its way up onto her shoulder. Enoch had always been friendly, but she was still always nervous that he would one day try to rip her ear off.

“So… what are we watching?” called Maddie over her shoulder.

“I was thinking Grease.”

She snorted with laughter, “Has it been too long since you’ve seen your darling John Travolta?”

“Shut up”

Maddie held up her hands, “Hey, I’m not complaining. I like tall, dark, and handsome bad boys too.” she smirked over at Cecilia, “And I think Cece does too if you know what I mean.”

Cecilia shrunk away, “W-what do you mean?”

Rebecca rounded on them “If you’re implying that guy Garret looks like John-”

“Oh come on! You can’t tell me you see it just a little bit” whined Maddie.

Cecilia felt herself trying to sink deeper and deeper into the couch. She knew it wouldn’t be long before one of them would bring… him up.

“So everybody with black hair looks that way to you?”

“Black hair and blue eyes,” she corrected.

Rebecca scoffed, “If anyone we know is an accurate comparison, It's Xander.”

Maddie rolled her eyes, “Yeah if Travolta forgot the gym existed.” Cecilia couldn’t help but giggle at that.

“You’re just jealous I’ve got myself a man like him” Rebecca stated matter-of-factly, “Anyways, pizza’s ready.” She stepped back into the living room, setting down the large pepperoni and mushroom pizza before turning around to grab them some plates and napkins.

Cecilia handed Enoch back to Rebecca as she sat down, his claws pricking tiny holes in her sweater. She grabbed a slice and began picking off the pieces of mushroom.

“Maddie” groaned Rebecca, “Can you please be an adult and use a plate?”

Maddie paused mid-bite, her slice gripped tightly in her hand, “What’s wrong? And what about Cece? What’s more childish than picking off the vegetables?”

She paused, glancing up at the two, “What? I don’t like vegetables.”

“Well, she’s still keeping everything on the plate where it doesn’t run the risk of getting sauce all over my couch.”

Maddie rolled her eyes as she snatched a plate off of the coffee table, “Since when are you a neat freak?”

“Can we start the movie now?” asked Cecilia.

Around two hours later, once the credits had begun to roll, Cecilia got up and started to clear their plates and napkins. Rebecca was currently preoccupied with cooing at Enoch and letting him eat bits off her slice.

Maddie eyed them with a slight air of concern, “Are you sure you should be feeding him that?”

Rebecca ignored her, continuing to snuggle up with her scaly pet.

Cecilia shook her head and smiled, “She’s fed him things like ice cream and donuts. I think he can handle a bit of cheese and marinara sauce.”

Her friend shrugged it off as she got up from her seat, “I brought a bottle of red with me if any of you want some.”

“I’ll have a glass” Rebecca got up and followed Maddie over to the kitchen, “You want any?”

“No thanks,” said Cecilia.

After her two friends had each poured themselves a glass, they plopped themselves back down on the couch.

“So…” started Rebecca, “Gone out with anybody recently Maddie?”

“No, can’t say I have” both of them kept not so secretly glancing over at Cecilia, “Everything going good with Xander?”

“Yup, going alright.”

They both turned to their friend who was very slowly turning a shade of pink. Oh boy.

“So… a giant,” said Maddie.

“Heh, yeah,” she mumbled, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

“How has that been?”

“ Uh well, like I said… interesting.”

“I would imagine so.” Maddie leaned back, “You know, I’m honestly quite impressed.”

“Impressed?”

“Well, I’m just wondering what the hell you said or did to bag that guy.” Cecilia’s face went from slightly pink to beet red.

Rebecca nearly choked on her wine, “Maddie!”

“What?! It’s a reasonable question.”

“They barely have seen each other!”

“How would you know? What, you’ve been backseating all their dates without telling me?”

Cecilia covered her face with her hands and groaned, “It’s not official or anything like that, guys. Like I said, I don’t even know what it is.”

“Well, why don’t you tell us more?”

A smirk appeared on Maddie’s face, “tell me more, tell me more,“ she began to sing.

“Guys-”

Rebecca joined in “Tell me more, tell me more.” she scooted closer while Maddie got up and sat down on Cecilia’s other side, “tell me more, tell me more.”

She sighed, “Will you guys stop singing if I do?” They promptly stopped and nodded, leaning in closer, “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” said Maddie.

“How has he been so far?” asked Rebecca.

She shrugged, “Well, like I said, nice. Very nice actually.”

“Uh-huh, and what do you mean by that? Because someone not being mean to you doesn’t count as being nice.”

“He’s just been… very nice.”

“Is he the reason for the broken glass bottles I found when I opened the day after your first date?” shot Maddie.

Cecilia’s cheeks flushed, “Uh yeah. Sorry, I forgot to clean those-”

“What was dinner like? What did he-”

“Quiet.” Rebecca scolded before turning back to Cecilia, “You’re being careful right? Is he being careful? Like, he hasn’t put you in any danger?”

“Rebecca, come on. There’s always an amount of danger when dealing with those skyscrapers.” continued Maddie, “And why-”

“Because, and I don’t mean to be judgemental, but he doesn’t seem… particularly… you know… experienced in taking precaution.”

Cecilia gulped, “He… he did say he hadn’t spent much time around humans” She looked down at her feet, “But… I think he’s trying. I still don’t know what to make of this.” she sighed, “And… and I feel bad th-that I’m still…”

“Afraid?”

she nodded.

Maddie tilted her head, “I mean, I haven’t known you as long as Rebecca has, but I’ve seen how you’ve reacted to giants in the past. Hell, remember when you nearly fainted when that group of teenagers started ruff housing in the parking lot? Sean had to coax you out from the back.” she waved her hand at her, “But just a little bit ago, I saw you voluntarily stepping into a giant’s hand. Sure you looked like you were going to faint at any second, but you still did it, and I’d say that’s pretty impressive for you.”

“And I think you have every reason to be afraid. Like Maddie said, there is always a sense of danger around giants. But even putting that aside, there’s still the fact that we have no idea what his motive is.”

Cecilia cocked her head, “Motive?”

“Yeah, like why the hell would a giant want to be with a human in the first place.”

Rebecca patted Cecilia on the shoulder, “It’s not that we think someone wouldn't want to date you. I just feel it’s a bit… odd.” That's the understatement of the century, “And again, this is nothing against you, but I just find it hard seeing a giant finding a human attractive.”

Her eyes fell back to the floor. That had been something that had been in the back of her mind as well. Lately, whenever she passed by a mirror or saw her reflection, it always just made her more confused. She wasn’t hideous, but in no way was she pretty enough for someone like Garret to want to be around her rather than with… someone more like him.

A loud ding filled the room. Rebecca pulled out her phone and groaned, “Damn it Xander.” her face was illuminated as she opened her phone and began to type.

“What is it?” asked Maddie.

“Oh nothing. Xander says he’s just feeling sad and wants me to send him a pic or something.”

Maddie glanced over at Cecilia, rolling her eyes. Both of them knew by now what Xander meant when he said ‘pic’, “Well, tell him that you’re busy.”

“I just did.” Rebecca set her phone down and turned her attention right back onto Cecilia, “So… I know you said you’re still not sure what to make of this, but has Garret said what he makes of it?”

She shrugged, “I mean… when he asked me to join him to grab lunch, he called it a date.”

“And that night,” said Maddie, “Did he see that has a date as well?”

“I-I guess so.”

“Did you see it as a date?”

She froze, her cheeks heating up, “I uh… maybe not in the moment, but looking back, I think so.”

“How the hell would that even work?” Maddie chuckled, “I mean, it’s not like he can score any sex out of-”

“Maddie!” yelped Rebecca. Cecilia went beet red, going to hide her face in her hands.

“What?”

“I don’t think that’s an appropriate thing to bring up right now.”

“Oh come on, you had to be thinking about it too, right Cece?”

“Not necessarily no” she mumbled.

“Well, I certainly would if I was in your place. You’re wondering what his motive is, and that’s been the motive of most of the douchebags I’ve gone out with. I’m just helping eliminate possibilities.”

Cecilia groaned, I wish Sean were here right now, why did Jaffery have to change their date night to the day before? “Can we please stop talking about this and go on to you guys asking more normal questions?”

“This isn’t a normal situation.”

“Can we at least pretend it is?!”

The room fell silent. Cecilia’s hands fell away from her face. Maddie and Rebecca both were staring at her, perplexed.

“Please?” she murmured.

This whole thing, everything since that night at the cafe, had left her mind reeling. She didn’t even want to begin laying out everything in her mind, it was too much. Too many questions without answers. Too many new and unexpected experiences. She just wasn’t ready to sit down and analyze it all, especially with an audience.

She jumped when she felt an arm wrap around her. Rebecca patted her shoulder, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… to get up all in your business.” she whipped her head around to look at Maddie.

“Yeah, sorry I guess. This is just so-”

“This all must be a lot for you, and if talking about it doesn’t help, then we won’t.”

Cecilia looked her friend in the eye, and smiled, “Thank you.”

Rebecca gave her shoulders a squeeze, “But we are still curious. Can we still hear about your first date or whatever it was? Like when Sean told us about meeting Jaffery?”

She let out a short chuckle, “Yeah, I guess.”

Maddie leaned in closer, “Oh yes, tell us everything!” Rebecca shot her a look. She groaned, “Or whatever you feel like sharing I guess.”

Quick shout out to @ipilokko whose when helping me brainstorm ideas and as a whole helping me by being that second oppinion. You should totally go check out her comic, the artwork is quite impressive!

#g/t #g/t writing #gianttiny #romance #orginal story

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