#mahogany garage door

[izuminokamiis]

Brick Exterior

Large elegant beige two-story brick exterior home photo with a mixed material roof

[artistofu]

Roofing Gable Tampa Inspiration for a large asian beige one-story concrete fiberboard exterior home remodel with a metal roof

[blauwegiraf]

Exterior Brick Example of a large classic beige two-story brick exterior home design with a mixed material roof

[bee-whistler]

So I had this idea

I wanted a summertime wreath because I secretly love sunflowers and yellow is my favorite color BUT ALSO I am a ghoul and crave the Halloween energy. They I saw the wagon wheel wreath form at the Dollar Tree.

It’s hard to see and will be even harder to see against our front door which is apparently mahogany? Bruh.

But I figure I put my little spidey friend on, so…

…And from the road it looks like another sunflower wreath (there’s two others on this street) but up close there’s a friend. Not many people come to the door anyway but I’ll know she’s there.

[prisimic]

Expansive - Transitional Garage Garage workshop - huge transitional detached four-car garage workshop idea

[shmuberry]

Craftsman Exterior - Siding Large craftsman gray two-story mixed siding exterior home idea with a shingle roof

[nebulousnoiz]

Large Los Angeles Example of a large trendy attached two-car garage design

[ledaatomica]

Gable - Rustic Exterior Example of a huge mountain style brown two-story stone exterior home design with a shingle roof

[kriosgat]

Expansive - Transitional Garage

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

He's My Man (Part 5)

Summary: Russell's taken care of the reader's problem but things take a turn and the happy couple may not be so happy after all...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 6,300ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury/past drugging/brief mention of attempted assault (not shown) mention, angst, fluff, smut, stalker, murder, self-worth issues

A/N: Thank you all for taking this journey with me with writing this new character! I might return to this world someday but until then, please enjoy the finale!

__________

When you pulled up to the dark house, you noticed Russell’s car had been pulled into the garage and covered with a tarp. You swallowed as you pulled in beside it, biting back bile when Owen parked right behind you, preventing any escape if it came to that. You’d given Russell nearly thirty minutes notice to prepare. You really hoped whatever he had planned was going to be over with fast.

“Fuck,” said Owen, dashing from his car in the downpour to inside the garage. He shook himself off like a dog and pulled off his baseball cap. You’d seen the gash on his forehead before but from the overhead light, a skull fracture was very visible. The dried blood had matted into his thick hair and, along with the other injuries, made him look half-dead. 

“Why don’t you go relax inside, honey?” you forced out when you exited, slamming the door shut loudly, hoping Russell picked up on the fact you were here. “I’ll get the bags and then I’ll take a look at those cuts.”

“Thanks, baby. Don’t take too long.” You didn’t like how he kept saying that. He’d hung off of you at the store. Even if he wasn’t a raging psycho, personal space was still a thing.

You pretended to fuss about at the trunk as he went in the door from the garage to the house. It was quiet for a beat, your gaze locked on the open door in the corner.

Two quick shots rang out and you hit the cement floor hard. Nothing could be heard over the rain, your heart hammering away in your chest. Russell wouldn’t have shot Owen, would he? No, Russell would have snuck up on him, taken him out before he knew what hit him.

So had Owen been shooting? Was Russell hurt? You slowly sat up on your hands and knees, crawling along the side of the car until you reached the hood. You peaked your head around the corner and saw a pair of legs lying on the ground through the open door. It looked like Owen so you carefully rose, flinching when Russell came bounding in from behind you.

He held up his hands, your eyes widening at the blood staining his crisp white tee. 

“What-”

“My stitches tore,” he said, turning his bicep towards you, the blood staining underneath the bandage. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, glancing back inside to where the body lay motionless. “Did you kill him?”

“Not yet,” said Russell, inching past you towards a work bench. “Although he did shoot my fucking front door. Do you have any idea how much a custom mahogany door costs? I might kill him for that alone.”

Russell opened a drawer, taking out duct tape and zip ties. He slammed it shut, pausing with his back to you.

“He’s not going to leave you alone if I let him live.” 

“I know. He’s been following me for awhile I guess,” you said. 

“I can frame him for Elpine’s murder if you don’t want me to kill him.” You leaned back against your car, Russell setting the items on the bench and joining you. “I don’t have to…you know.”

“How are you going to kill him?” you asked after a moment.

“Bag over the head. He’s passed out. He wouldn’t even feel it. Are you sure that’s what-” You went to his workbench and ripped off a garbage bag from the roll, Russell closing his eyes. “Y/N, you should stay out here. Let me do this.”

“Owen started slipping roofies into my drinks when I was fifteen.” His head snapped up as you sighed. “He drugged me twice but nothing happened because my dad was around. I had to be more careful once dad started to lose it. Owen’s a good decade older than me I’m sure you noticed. I’ve been scared of this guy for too long. I’m not asking you to kill him. I’m asking you to show me how to do this myself.”

“I appreciate how strong you are but I’m doing it,” he said, taking the bag from you. You dropped your hand, frowning up at him. He sighed, stroking your cheek with his clean hand. “Your soul has enough scars for a lifetime. Don’t add more.”

“You don’t have to kill someone for me, Russell. You don’t need that on you either. Look what you’ve already done.”

“I won’t lose any sleep over him. You can do something for me though.” You sighed, nodding once. “Go back to the store and buy some extra large garbage bags and some duct tape, got it?”

“Um, yeah. Are you-”

“Y/N. We’re on the clock. We’ll talk later,” he said, kissing your temple. “Now go.”

Three Hours Later

“To be perfectly clear, I’m doing this for Y/N, not you,” said Colter with a coldness you didn’t love. You knew Russell’s relationship with his little brother was strained but you’d thought it had gotten better over the past few days.

“Yeah, well it don’t take a genius to see you like her better,” said Russell, Colter rolling his eyes, an uncharacteristic move. “I’ll never ask you for a thing again. You never even have to speak to me. Think what you want about me. Just please do this for Y/N’s sake.”

“I already…” huffed Colter when you side eyed him with narrowed eyes. He let out a slow exhale. “Fine. You owe me, Russell. Big.”

“Colter,” you said, nodding towards his truck. You left Russell as he went back to taping the large cooler in the garage shut. You assumed he’d put Owen inside and cleaned up while you were gone at the store. The rain had paused momentarily but there was another batch of storms coming through soon. You sighed as you stopped next to the younger Shaw, Colter crossing his arms. “I’m not letting you do this. I know Russell asked but I can’t let you move a body for me.”

He narrowed his eyes, face turning into a scowl. 

“I’m not moving…Russell!” Russ’ head popped up, Colter becoming increasingly annoyed. “Tell me what is going on right now or I swear you and me are done. Forever.”

Russell sighed, throwing his head back. “I may have lied about the Y/N wanting to tag along with you so she can tidy up her place in Virginia.”

“You what?” you asked, storming over to him. “You were trying to pawn me off on Colter again? For what! Owen’s dead, there’s no one left to bother me.”

“Sweetie,” said Russell, closing his eyes. “Owen should not have made it out alive and the fact he did isn’t good.” 

Slowly Russell met your gaze, ignoring Colter behind you. “So is this how it’s going to be? Any time everything’s not perfect you’re going to drop me on your brothers doorstep at the drop of a hat? News flash, Colter isn’t my babysitter. I’m a grown woman who has seen and handled more crap than you know. I thought you didn’t think of me as a damsel.”

“I don’t but-”

“But you don’t want me around for the hard stuff. I got the message.” 

“Y/N, someone else could still be left. They could kill you-” You held up your hand, Colter heading back to his truck to give you some space.

“I think I finally understand how you’re so perfect but alone. You live this life like you’re this happy go lucky guy but it’s a mask. All you actually see is the dark side of it. Of everything. You are more than happy to step into my dark side but you won’t let me see yours? You wouldn’t let me kill Owen. You won’t let me help clean it up. Even when it’s because of me. You have to always be the hero. Honestly, thinking about it, it’s been all my shit we’ve talked about. All you say is your got a dark past but you haven’t shared diddly squat. Is this how it’s going to be Russell? Because frankly, I want more than that. I told you I don’t need you to do things for me, I just need you to help me do them.”

Russell swallowed, face going stoic. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

Your heart dropped like a rock into the pit of your stomach, Russell’s jaw clenching. “You should pack up your stuff here and go with Colter. Go back to Virginia. You’re probably right. This was just attraction, plain and simple.”

“Russell, that’s not what I was saying-” 

“Yeah, it was. Just go. Please. I’ll deal with Owen. Just go back to Virginia and start your life over away from people like us.” With that he brushed past you for Colter, ignoring his repeated calls. 

“Asshole,” you mumbled as you went inside and shoved the few belongings that weren’t in the trunk of your car into a bag. You very purposefully left every pair of underwear, bra and pajamas he’d bought you behind. The cheap sports bra and cotton underwear you’d bought earlier would get you through until you were home.

If that’s how Russell wanted to end things, fine. You were free of the mafia. Free of guys with fucked up pasts. Your options were limitless.

And thank god Colter was smart enough to not ask about your red rimmed eyes by the time you were on the road.

Five Days Later

You gave Colter a wave from your front step as he drove off down the street. It’d taken only two days to drive cross country this time. Apparently you drove faster when you were upset. Or you didn’t sleep as much. Either way, Colter didn’t ask and was happy to get to Virginia where he had a missing accountant to find.

He used your kitchen as a base of operations and you let him crash in the guest room. In exchange, Colter got you hooked up with the basics of reward work. There were some extra perils to the job being a woman but also advantages that Colter didn’t have. He went over finding jobs, finding a team, learning how to get access to tools and databases. You didn’t have a lot of confidence in going after a full fledged disappearance yet but Colter mentioned it wasn’t always people that were what was missing.

By the end of his short stay, you had information overload but were grateful for the chance to start doing something good for once in your life.

Meanwhile, Russell hadn’t reached out once. You had to assume he’d disposed of Owen. You weren’t sure why you were still waiting for a text or a call. It was pretty clear things were over. Russell was too protective and you weren’t going to let another man tell you what to do again. 

Yet, you knew you were at fault too. Russell had just killed a guy in his house for you and he knew a hell lot more about getting away with a murder than you did. Russell had points for not wanting to involve you. And you had to be an asshole and pressure him for more when there was literally a dead body at your feet.

“I’m an idiot,” you groaned, leaning against the kitchen island with your head lowered. “Why did I do that?”

The doorbell rang, your head slowly rising. You sighed as you went to it, pulling it open quickly. 

“Did you forget-” You cut yourself off when you didn’t see Colter standing there. No, instead stood Russell in a trim black suit, his hair slicked back and a bouquet of orange and red flowers in his hands. “Russ? What-”

“Let me get this out and then I’ll get out of your life forever if that’s what you want,” he said. You leaned against the door jam, Russell taking a deep breath. “Y/N, I like you. A lot. Too much probably for how long we’ve known each other. Everything you said was right. I avoid my problems because it’s a hell of a lot easier to fix someone else’s in my experience.”

He swallowed, glancing at his feet. “Owen could have hurt you at that store. He could have taken you, shown up at the house and killed you. I fucked up and you don’t seem to understand that Owen’s obsession and how fucking smart you are is the only reason we’re still here and he’s not. I told you I took care of it and I didn’t. I was angry at myself and wanted you somewhere safer than with me so I pushed your buttons on purpose. I lied on purpose so you’d get mad and leave with Colter. You deserve a good man and I’m not him. I kill people. I use sex as a way to be close to women but then never let myself be in a relationship because I don’t want them to see beneath the surface and see the shit that’s in there. I want better for you than me.”

Russell looked up, a tiny smile forming on his face. “Can we try being friends again and maybe I can become that man that deserves you along the way?”

“Russell,” you sighed. You stepped forward, cupping his cheeks, green eyes full of caution. “We can be friends. I’d like it if we were more than that, though.” 

He slowly smiled, his lip ticking up when you stroked his cheek. 

“I’m sorry for jumping down your throat. You do not have to share your deepest darkest secrets with me, never mind the first day we’re actually together. That was unfair of me. I just want you to know you can share them with me if you want to.” 

“I’ve killed a lot of people, Y/N,” he said softly. “Dozens. Some of them, most of them, I never gave two shits about. No nightmares. No trauma. That’s not normal. It’s been years since I’ve felt all that bad about killing.”

“You don’t need to feel bad about killing monsters,” you said. He closed his eyes and you leaned in, kissing his forehead. “S’that why you didn’t want me to kill Owen?”

“Moral and practical reasons,” he whispered. “I don’t kill out of revenge. I don’t think I ever have. It always has another purpose. Protect someone, protect a group or the general public from a threat. Some psych told me once that’s why I don’t struggle as much with what I’ve done as some other folks. The way I grew up helped me with that. But I do struggle with it still and you’ve struggled enough. You don’t need that on you.”

“I understand. I’m so used to being controlled and told what to do…I can never go back to that.”

“You never will,” he said, opening his eyes. You tilted your head, Russell turned into your touch to match. “I’m sure I’ll fuck things up again. We can be friends if that’s all you ever want.”

“I don’t want to be just friends. So what if we fight? That’s what couples do.” You took his hand in yours and the flowers in the other, leading him inside behind you. 

“I quit my job a few days ago.” You froze, spinning around on your heels. He shrugged, still holding your hand. “I can’t change my life without making some changes.”

“You still want to do that home brew for a career?” 

“Yeah. I’d like to give it a shot.” He spotted the stacks of papers on your kitchen table and open computer. “Colter offer you a spot on his team?”

“He did at first but I want to try doing it my way, stop patching up the bad guys and doing something good. He warned me it can be dangerous work though, especially as a woman flying solo.”

“He makes very good points,” said Russell, thumbing at your lip when you smiled. “What’s that look for?”

“Maybe you could be on my team sometimes, show me a few moves from the expert.” You started to walk backwards towards your bedroom, Russell’s eyebrows raising. “If you want to.”

“I’ll show you any kind of moves you’d like, qark.” He held his ground though, stopping you in place. You waited for the but to come, for him to push back on getting back together. Instead, he took the flowers from your hand and went into your kitchen, finding a tall glass and filling it with water. He set the flowers on the island before rejoining you, resting his hands on your hips. “I like the idea of working together as partners.”

“But…” you said, Russell kissing the top of your head.

“But you are far too kind, my queen of darkness. I was expecting to get told to get lost tonight and I have plans I can’t get out of with my friends very shortly.”

“Oh,” you said, Russell’s finger tips finding the ends of your hair and playing with a few strands. “If you have plans, we can meet up another-”

“You want to know my dark side?” Your eyes flicked to meet his, your head nodding once. “You can’t unknow what kind of man I am once you do. I don’t blame you if you change your mind about me.”

“I want to know you. All of you.” He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Go change into something discreet. Dark clothes. Leave your phone home. If at any point you want to leave, say so and I bring you right back here, understand?” You nodded, Russell backing away. “Mind if I change in your bathroom?”

“You can change in the bedroom with me.” He smirked but backed away.

“Another time. We have an appointment to keep.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, Russell glancing away.

“Don’t be mad but we need to pay Owen a visit.”

Twenty minutes later you quietly followed Russell into what looked like a decommission warehouse that should have been torn down a decade ago. The building was pitch black apart from the single light coming from the end of a hallway. You stuck behind Russell as you entered the room, stopping when you found six different men and a woman inside, most carrying a weapon on their hip or tucked into their jeans from what you could tell.

And smack in the center of the room tied to a chair was Owen very much still alive. Although…alive was being generous. He didn’t look more injured than when you’d last seen him but his color was off and his eyes were red and puffy. He wasn’t even angry when he saw you, just…scared.

“He behave while I was gone?” asked Russell to a man and woman nearby.

“Tried bribing Doug and then all of us to let him go,” said the woman. She gave Owen a nasty look before turning gentle as she looked towards Russell. “I think you scared the poor boy, Shaw.”

“Oh, who’s afraid of little old me?” said Russell, giving Owen a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “So. Owen, my friends. Friends, Owen. You’re already acquainted with Y/N.”

Owen’s gaze flickered to you when Russell grabbed a chair from the wall and sat it a few feet away from Owen, facing him. Russell sat down slowly, nodding when you moved closer so you could see both their faces.

“Why’s he still alive?” you asked quietly. Owen’s eyes widened, Russell tsking him.

“On me, big guy,” said Russell, snapping his fingers, Owen reluctantly looking at him. “You got some options. Prison. You die very quickly. Or…me and my friends can make sure you die very slowly. Your choice.”

“Why didn’t you kill him yet?” you asked again. Russell sighed, glancing down. “Russell.”

“There were some things that never sat right with me that I wanted answers to. The stuff with your family’s accident and your dad’s paranoia, him attacking you. I had a paranoid father too. I know the signs, know that they want to protect us in their own way. The coincidence of meeting someone just like me was too high so I started to dig. You mentioned Owen’s drugged you a few times in the past and tried to hurt you.”

“Yeah…I’m not following,” you said. Russell stood slowly, staring down Owen like a predator with it’s prey firmly caught in a trap.

“I figured if he drugged you, who else had he slipped something to? What good man, good doctor, could a prescription drug running family slip into his drinks? The more I researched, the more my friends helped, the more we found.” Russell clenched his fists by his side, knuckles turning white. “Should I tell her Owen? Or do you have the balls to tell her yourself?”

Russell ripped off the tape over his mouth, Owen wincing as he breathed deeply. Russell was on him like that, grabbing his throat, not squeezing but adding enough pressure that it was going to be uncomfortable. “I told you to talk, you sack of shit.”

“Y/N, this guys is lying. I never did anything to you!” Russell’s jaw clenched and you watched him squeeze, only backing off when you laid a gentle hand on Russell’s shoulder. 

“He’s psycho!” said Owen, Russell backing up a step. You looked up to him, Russell’s face unreadable. “Y/N, baby-”

“Shut the fuck up before I stab you in your spine,” you said. Owen’s jaw snapped shut, a flicker of something in Russell’s eyes. Pride? Amusement? It quickly flittered away, replaced with worry when you held out a hand. “Can I have your knife?”

Russell slowly took it out of his pocket, handing the engraved handle out to you. You flicked it open and took a seat in the chair, holding it pointed down at the concrete floor.

“Owen. Tell me the truth and I won’t kill you. I swear. But I can get the answers from you if you don’t cooperate. Don’t make me get my boyfriend’s knife bloody.”

You heard a muttered damn from someone behind you, your focus on Owen. He sagged in his seat and closed his eyes.

“Our old fixer wanted out, wanted to go to the feds so my dad had him killed. I was eighteen and he told me to start earning my place as successor. He told me to find a new fixer. Your dad was one of the best doctors in the city. Things were…arranged. Two weeks later we-” 

Russell smacked the back of his head. Hard. Owen grunted, shaking it out.

“Two weeks later I…put a hit on your family. Your mom and brother specifically. We only needed one kid to survive and I thought a girl would be easier to control. I started drugging your father that night with antipsychotics to create paranoia,” said Owen, his head hanging low. “I orchestrated the whole thing. We fed him the drugs for years, it made him stay close if not a little extreme. It kept taking more though.”

“Do. Not. Skip. Ahead,” growled Russell, grabbing a fistful of Owen’s shirt.

“O-okay. I-I…I started thinking about how to get your dad to stick around once you grew up and you were pretty and smart and I thought you’d be happy with me.”

“How old was she when you decided this?” barked Russell. Owen whimpered, trying to curl in on himself. “Fifteen you disgusting waste of space.”

“You started drugging me then,” you said. Owen shook his head.

“Not with that stuff. Just roofies. But not enough for you to be completely out of it. Your dad started keeping a closer eye on you and I tried waiting for you to come around on your own but it was so hard when you went away to college. I knew I couldn’t let you run off like that again so…” Owen’s shoulders shook, mouth snapping shut.

“So you roofied her, attacked her and she fought back. Her father protected her and you fucking killed him for it. Your dear old daddy found what you’d done and wasn’t happy, was he? He covered up your murder and blamed her father knowing Y/N wouldn’t remember a thing. Y/N was forced to go to med school and learn crap she didn’t want to all while daddy had you banished away from her. You tried to keep tabs on her but it wasn’t until dad died that you could finally take Y/N like you wanted. It’s pure fucking luck I showed up when I did to make sure that didn’t happen. Would you like to tell Y/N about the fucking padded door locks and bars on the window in her old room back at the house? About your plans for her?”

Russell grabbed Owen’s hair, forcing his head up. Owen was trembling, whispering apologies and saying how he didn’t mean it, over and over.

“So…you killed my family…and tried to assault me more than once over the years…and were planning on keeping me as a…pet in the house until I magically fell in love with you. I think that sums it up,” you said. You stood up, handing Russell his knife. “I’m not going to kill him.”

“Thank you,” sighed Owen in relief. “Thank you. I-I knew you’d be able to forgive me-”

“Oh, I don’t forgive you and I wouldn’t be thanking me,” you said, smiling up at Russell. ““Papa Elpine and a few guys made it out I heard. Bobby was his favorite son, right?”

“Y/N! I killed Bobby! They’ll-” Russell shoved some tape over his mouth and hummed.

You crossed your arms, Russell tilting his head at you. “You know they’re going to torture Owen to death.”

“I said I wouldn’t hurt him and I’m keeping my word,” you said, Owen shouting under the tape. “I’d tell you to confess but Elpine’s connected. He’d just have you killed in prison. So. Elpine it is.”

“You sure?” asked Russell. You pursed your lips, Owen pleading with his eyes. Everything in you wanted to say yes, let him get what he had coming. 

So why couldn’t you say it? 

You looked to Russell, nodding. “Get rid of him, please,” you mouthed.

“Look away,” said Russell. You turned around, Owen panting hard before there was a loud crack and the room was still. Russell’s hand found your shoulder, rubbing it softly. “We took care of Elpine’s guys. You know that.”

“I just wanted him to be as scared as I’ve been. I-I just…why’d it have to be my family?” You found his face, Russell smiling sadly.

“I’ve asked myself that question a lot over the years. Best I came up with is you got to try and let it go. The world’s good and bad and that’s all there is to it.” He wrapped his arm over your shoulder, walking you towards the door. You nearly looked back but he blocked you with his body. “No. He’s gone for good, you don’t need to give him anything more. I’m sorry for not killing him back in Washington. I just thought you deserved the truth. Your dad was a good man.”

“Thank you,” you said, closing your eyes. “I wish I realized that sooner.”

“Come on,” he said, walking you out to the hallway. “Let’s get you home.”

One Month Later

You smiled from your chair when Russell let out a single tiny snore from the couch across from you. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the past few days and honestly, it was kind of adorable the way this incredibly dangerous man made the cutest cooing noises while he slept.

“You’re staring at me,” he mumbled without opening his eyes a few minutes later. You looked around, holding up a finger. “I can feel you watching, like a creeper.”

“Well, you make these cute sounds when you sleep,” you said. He smirked, slowly flicking his lazy eyes open.

“And who’s fault is it that I haven’t been sleeping, hm?” You shrugged and slid down in your chair with your book, grinning behind the pages. “I can see that smile, you know that?”

“Don’t blame me for the amazing orgasms you give,” you said, flicking your eyes over the top of the book, Russell propping himself up on his elbows with a predatory gaze. “Down boy. Later.”

“You better,” he said, plopping back with a huff. “Remind me to never help Frank with a favor ever again.”

“Frank helped you with Owen,” you reminded him. Russell scoffed.

“All he did with Owen was stand there and look scary. I didn’t make him build a fucking deck in the pacific northwest in forty degree weather.”

“Aw, is baby boy cranky?” you teased. He growled, playfully tossing his pillow at you. “You guys should wrap up tomorrow, right?”

“That’s the plan. Then I’m going back to waking up at a humane hour,” he said, forcing himself to sit up and stretch out with a few grunts. “How long was I out?”

“About an hour and a half. You needed it,” you said, flipping a page. Russell glanced over to the dining table, taking in the decorated spread. 

“You set a place for Colter?” he asked. 

“Yes…right next to Dory’s,” you said, closing your book and setting it aside. “You still think he won’t come?”

“He’s not the kind of guy to come to a housewarming party. Especially his brother’s housewarming party. We still haven’t talked since…” 

“I know,” you said, standing and pulling him to his feet. He was still sleepy as you ruffled his hair, Russell turning into the touch. “I’m excited to meet your friends and family properly.”

“They want to know all about you, that’s for sure,” he chuckled. “You can’t imagine the amount of shit they’ve given me after I said I’d never settle down.”

“I moved in a week ago. We’re a ways from settling down,” you said. He titled his head, smiling at you. “Don’t give me that face.”

“What face?” he teased, leaning in close, dipping his head, kissing under your jaw.

“Shaw! Do not give me a hickey! I do not want them seeing-” You sucked in a breath, brain going fuzzy when he nipped at the soft flesh. 

“Too bad, qark. If I have to have hickeys all over my neck then so do you,” he said, suckling the skin. A buzzer went off in the kitchen and he groaned when you slipped away so the rolls wouldn’t burn. “Y/N…”

“Saved by the bell,” you said, taking out the pan and leaving them to cool off. Russell was by your side quickly, hands on your hips so you couldn’t escape. “Okay. How about you can give me as many hickeys as you want later if you’re a good boy this afternoon?”

“Hm, I do like being your good boy,” he said, squeezing your hips. “Deal.”

“Good. Where do you keep-“

The doorbell trilled, your heads turning towards the front windows. A familiar pickup truck was out front, Russell raising his eyebrows. You nodded for the door, Russell cautious as he answered. Colter stood on the front porch with an awkward forced smile and a pink box.

“I uh, picked up some dessert for dinner later,” he said offering the box. Russell took it, setting it aside on the front table. “You going to invite me in?”

“I thought you…” Russell shook his head and opened the door wider, letting his younger brother inside. Colter gave you a brief smile before clearing his throat.

“I uh, can help you get ready or cook. I just…last time we talked Russell…”

You smiled to yourself when Russell closed the gap between them, giving Colter a strong embrace. “Let's leave that shit behind us. Thanks for coming, Colt.”

“Yeah,” said Colter, returning it for a moment before the boys broke apart. “How’s the girlfriend situation working out for you?”

“I’m telling you man, find the right girl, you’ll never want to go back to being a loner,” said Russell, giving you a smirk. “They do come with a lot of rules though, fair warning.”

“I asked you to put the toilet seat down, Shaw,” you chided. 

“Like I said, rules,” teased Russell. You picked up a knife by your cutting board, narrowing your eyes. “We should help before she starts using that on us.”

“Yes you should,” you said, Colter shrugging out of his jacket and boots, joining your side after washing up. “Can you cut up the veggies into strips?”

“Can do,” he said, swapping places with you. You smiled when Russell took the dessert box and started to arrange the treats on a platter over on the dinning table. “I’d like to apologize for my behavior the last time we were all here.”

You frowned as you peeled a bag of potatoes into a bowl. “You mean when I lost my cool on Russell? You have nothing to apologize for Colter. We were asking you for a favor. Again. I’m honestly surprised you don’t hate me. I know you value your alone time.”

Colter was quiet, chopping neatly and pushing the scraps into a discard bowl. “Did Russell ever tell you how he got that gunshot he went to you for in the first place?”

“Someone kidnapped Doug. He went to save him.”

“Did you know I helped him with that?” You shook your head, setting the peeler down. Colter had stopped dicing, a barely there smile crossing his face. “If it weren’t for my brother asking for my help with his friends, I’m not sure we ever would have spoke again.”

“I know there’s a complicated history there.” He hummed, watching Russell across the room. “It means a lot to him that you’re trying too.”

“S’all we can do is try, right?” he said, going back to his cutting. “So. My brother is clearly head over heels. What about you? Should I expect a wedding invitation soon?”

“Uh, no,” you said, laughing to yourself. “We’re certainly not traditional but we’re nowhere near ready for that. We’ll see how living together goes for awhile before we talk about anything like long term plans.”

“Yet you moved in already.” You rolled your eyes. “Just an observation.”

“For convenience sake. Russ is looking into land for the brewery around here since he left his job and apartments in town are limited.”

“Right. I’m sure that’s it. Silly me,” he said. You held up your peeler to him, Colter raising his hands. “Russ, I think I broke one of your girlfriend’s rules.”

“It was nice knowing ya,” said Russell with a chuckle. “Give him a swift death for me, qark.”

“Qark?” asked Colter as you turned your attention to the potatoes. 

“Queen of darkness. Now hurry up with those so you and Russ can have some alone time before dinner.”

Six Hours Later

“This is going well,” said Russell to you in the kitchen as laughed and a smoky scent filtered in from the back porch. “Everyone really likes you.”

“I suppose I have met them all before, except for Dory. She’s such a sweetheart. I don’t know what I was expecting but-”

“She was much younger than us when our dad died. After she went to live with our aunt and uncle. She’s tough but normal in a way Colter and I won’t ever…” You rubbed his back, his strong arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close. “Did you like, drug him? Or bribe him? I seriously can’t believe he’s still here let alone came.”

“Of course he came. No matter what’s happened in the past, he loves his big brother.” Russell tucked you into his side, smiling when you rested your head on his shoulder. “I found a job in Wyoming. Missing prized show dog. I was going to head out in the morning, see if I’m any good at this.”

“You’ll be wonderful,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “Be safe though.”

“I will be.” You turned in his hold to face him, wrapping your arms around his back in a hug. “It’s been a long time since anyone cared if I was safe. It’s nice. This weird little family you have is…I’m jealous to be honest.”

“You shouldn’t be. It’s yours too.” You raised your eyebrows, Russell raising his own, eyes going wide. “No! No, I don’t mean like, officially yours. Like metaphorically. I’m not ready for anything official. Someday but so not right now.”

“Me either,” you said, the tension running out of his face. “I want to know who we are without our old jobs, how to be a happy queen of darkness.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” he said. “Speaking of which, I got you a present for helping organize all of this and cooking for ten people after literally just moving cross country. I know it was stressful so I wanted to make it up to you.”

“I don’t need a present, Russ,” you said, a sneaky smile forming on his face. “Oh. This is a present for the both of us.”

“I got you a new pair of jammies, the lilac set this time,” he said. Russell’s smile grew as yours did, his arms lifting you off the ground, bringing you to eye level. “You deserve all the good things in life, qark.”

“I think we got something pretty good starting right here,” you said, kissing him once, Russell humming.

“I couldn’t agree more, baby. Couldn’t agree more.”

__________

[pearlessance]

Faith in Me - Idle Threats [v]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel faces hard truths and discovers you've been assigned an impossible task. He doesn't intend to let you chart your course alone.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI (no smut in this part, but in almost every other in the series), brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, BIG angst in this one, reader shoots at joel, added backstory to progress the plot

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

The following morning, Joel wakes up to a cold bed. The sunlight leaks in through the window, casting rays of yellow across your room. He realizes he’s never seen it like this, all lit up. There’s a mahogany dresser across from the bed, one of those handmade ones that last through lifetimes. There are scuffs and scrapes in the wood stain, but they make it look cozy and lived-in and comforting and warm, just like you. He realizes too, that the sheets on your bed that he once thought were navy are more of a plum—and that, too, suits you.

He turns his head and finds the ripped paper sitting on your pillow. He unfolds it, and inside there’s a note in your scribbly handwriting that reads, I had plans with a friend. When you let yourself out, make sure you lock the front door. 

Joel’s a little surprised for two reasons. One, you allowed him to sleep in your bed, in your home, without you, as if it were his, too. It makes him feel tender yet…territorial, somehow. Like he wants it to be his. Wants to wake up slowly like this every day, with the smell of your shampoo stuck in the sheets and in his skin. And, two, he’s surprised he slept through the night. 

It’s been a long time since he’s done that. It’s been a little easier, being in Jackson, being someplace safe. But while the walls around the commune make sleeping a little less fretful, his thoughts are what keep him up at night. Guilt and shame and all the loss he’s suffered. The memories, the picture-perfect images in his head, the bloodstain that never seems to leave his hands, the sounds of gunshots and clicking infected, and the screams, always the screams. He’s lucky to get an hour or two of solid rest every night. 

But it was dark when he fell asleep cradling your head in his hands. And now the sun is out, blinding him— midday. He feels rested and sated and revived. As if sleeping here, with you, has changed something in him. Altered the chemical makeup of his brain.

Joel doesn’t know how to process it. So, he doesn’t. Instead, he finds his clothes on the floor and does just what you ask. He locks the door behind him, wondering who this friend is that you’ve left him for, wondering if it’s someone he knows, wondering if it’s another older man who’s got morals as loose as he does.

It had been your words last night, though, and that brings him comfort. I’ll only see you.

He believes it. He has to. Because the alternative is…unthinkable. Dangerous.

When he nears the two-story colonial that Maria had given them upon their arrival to Jackson, Joel notices the door to the garage, where Ellie has taken up residence, is propped open. He hears her rambunctious laughter, and his chest pulls tight at the sound. He makes a mental note to spend some time with her soon—her birthday is coming up, and she’s growing so fast, right before his eyes. But Joel wants her to enjoy this phase for as long as she can. Wants her to get a chance to be a kid the way he’d gotten to. The way…the way Sarah will never get a chance to. 

He swallows hard as the thought crosses his mind.

And he knows he shouldn’t, knows it’s an invasion of her privacy, but he lingers outside the garage, wanting to hear that easy happiness in her voice for a little while longer. He expects to hear Dina’s voice, or Cat’s or Jesse’s, or maybe even all three of them. But he hears you instead, and something akin to relief fills him to the brim as he realizes who your plans are with.

“No, no! It’s good!” You’re laughing too, and Ellie mirrors the sound twice as loud. “C’mon, look. Let me see.”

Joel can’t help himself. He peeks into the room, decorated with band posters and paintings and polaroid photos. The two of you sit on the floor with your backs pressed against the side of her bed, knees pulled up with a composition notebook held between you. In your lap lies that journal Joel has seen so many times, the same one he’s been so curious about. 

Part of him is a little envious that whatever you’ve put in it, you’re sharing with Ellie and not him. But he supposes if not him, at least it’s her.

He watches as you pluck the ballpoint pen from her hands, making minuscule edits to whatever it is she’s drawn in her notebook. “There,” you say, handing both tools back to her. “See? You just forgot the hindwings. That’s all.”

Ellie looks up at you, admiration in her eyes. “How are you so good at this? I love drawing but I feel like I suck at it sometimes.”

“It just takes practice,” you tell her. “And I’m not good at drawing. Just these two things.” You pick up the leather-bound journal in your lap and flip through several pages.

“Bugs and bones,” Ellie says, eyes scanning each page and drinking up its contents greedily. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” you echo. “Just bugs and bones.”

She stops your flipping of the pages and points to one in particular. “What’s that one?”

“A moth,” you answer.

“Is that a skull?”

“It’s called a death’s-head hawkmoth,” you say, setting your journal aside and picking up hers instead. You take the pen and speak as you draw on the page. “People used to think because of the markings it has that it was bad luck to see one. That it meant trouble was coming. But, back before the outbreak, some scientists used to study bugs like this exclusively, and some of them wondered how they survived so long because all they do was eat honey. I mean, all they do. They don’t even harm the bees who make the honey. They don’t have fangs or claws, they don’t sting like bees or cause harm to the environment. How can something like that mean trouble? Just because of the way it looks, because of what people think ?” You shake your head and hand the journal back to Ellie.

Joel knows, without even having to look, that you must have copied the image from your journal into her notebook. He mulls over your words and thinks about all the reasons he’s told you he can’t be with you. Wonders if you’ve ever compared yourself to a moth, remembers Kelly’s words. 

Bit of a troublemaker, really.

He remembers the first thing his brother ever told him about you. 

That’s just how she is. Explosive, defiant, easily provoked.

Remembers how Tommy noticed the immediate change in you after that night spent in the tree blind, that night Joel saw you for what you were and wanted it still.

That girl has been a pain in my ass every single day. Someone has a complaint about her, or she’s hollerin’ about something or other. Never does as she’s told—fights Maria and I on everything.

He thinks about Stella standing outside the bakery, shaking her fist at you with your name shouted from her lips over the loss of a single strawberry scone. One you split with a girl who’s never had one before, and likely wouldn’t have even thought to try it if not for your thievery.

How can something like that mean trouble?

Joel feels that pinch in his chest again. It’s a little different this time, a little more like guilt than appreciation, a little more like perdition, like eternal damnation.

Because he did this to you. Joel put these thoughts in your head, didn’t he? And you don’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve you.

“You write a lot,” Ellie says, and there’s a sensitive tone to her voice. One that lets you know you don’t have to talk about it, but that you can. 

And Joel is a little surprised that you do. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Do you forget stuff all the time?”

You shake your head, flipping back to the next vacant page in your journal. You’re drawing inside of it, and Ellie is drawing in her notebook, and Joel lets himself appreciate the sight of the two of you seemingly so comfortable with each other. Two gifts he’d been given from God, two gifts he’s too corrupt to deserve but too lamentable to ever let go of. “Not really. It’s…it’s the opposite,” you tell her so softly he almost can’t hear it from where he lingers just outside the doorway. “There’s too much I can’t forget.”

Ellie’s drawing stops, but she still holds the pen tightly between her fingers. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” you answer.

“I think…I think I like Cat,” Ellie says, and Joel isn’t even a little surprised to hear it. He’s old, but he’s not blind. “I mean, like like her. Is that…weird?”

“That’s not weird,” you say casually. You don’t even lift your pen, don’t even turn your head to look over at her. Joel sees the relief in Ellie’s shoulders, knows this confession has been made easier for her with how little you’ve reacted to it. “Cat’s cool, right?”

“Yeah,” Ellie says, cheeks flaming. She starts to draw in her notebook again, pursing her lips together to hide her pleased smile. “Cat’s cool.”

Joel clears his throat and knocks his knuckles against the door. “Hey, kiddo,” he greets.

“Hey,” Ellie says, brows pinched together. “Where’d you go off to so early this morning? Maria was asking for you.”

“Just had a couple of things to take care of,” he says. “I’m gonna shower and then I’ll go find Maria. We’ll grab lunch in the dining hall after. Sound good?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. I think they’re serving venison today.” Her eyes widen dramatically, and she gives him a pointed look, and then she’s inconspicuously nodding toward you, hinting at something. 

It takes Joel a little too long to understand what she’s saying. He crosses his arms over his broad chest and shrugs as he turns to look at you, trying to prepare himself for the embarrassment, the discomfort. But when your eyes connect, none of it’s there. It’s just that warm tenderness you bring out in him, and somehow that’s even worse because Ellie is right there and he doesn’t know how to hide this, doesn’t know how to keep it under wraps when every time he looks at you he feels he might burst with the rapture he’s stolen with you. Joel fights his knowing grin as he says, “You can come.” And as soon as the words fall from his mouth he regrets them, coughs to cover up his chagrin. “I mean, for…for lunch. If you…if you want to. You don’t have to, but you’re…you can—if you want.”

You’re laughing as he stumbles over his words, and Ellie’s mouth falls open in astonishment. “Uh…sure,” you say. “Sure. I’ll come with you, Joel.”

His face burns, and he’s trying not to laugh and scream at the same time. 

“ Jesus,” Ellie huffs. “That was painful. Now go, please.”

He knows she’s pushing him out to save herself any more embarrassment, but Joel knows there’s no way it compares to his. He tries to remedy the conversation. “I didn’t mean…I’m just trying to invite you,” he says. To…to lunch. Venison.”

Ellie leans back, grabs a throw pillow from the mountain of them on her bed, and chucks one at Joel’s head. “Oh my God, go!”

Joel does as told, catching the throw pillow in his hands and tossing it on the floor at your feet before disappearing out of the garage. His mortification eases at the sound of joyous laughter that spills from both of you, and he can hear Ellie as he walks away.

“You wanna know something insane? I think he’s seeing someone. Like a girlfriend. Can you believe that?”

Your answer is spoken with mock astonishment, and Joel decides to make you eat your words later as you snark, “Whoever it is should teach him how to talk.”

He does just as he said. He showers quickly, trying to avoid thoughts of you, images that flit through his brain of your shampoo sitting next to his on the side of the tub, of a second towel hanging behind the door. He does his best to not think about you sleeping here, in his bed with your hair splayed out over his pillows. He tries not to think about hearing your soft sighs echo in his room, about waking up to the warmth of you wrapped around him, about your pretty sounding pleas for more, more, always more, needy little girl. 

Joel fails, of course—and twice he has to take his cock in his hand and grant himself a little relief in the shower before he feels sated enough to go about his day.

An hour later, he finds Maria near the stables. She’s talking to a young man Joel can’t quite place. He’s your age, and Joel’s seen him around, but his name slips his mind. Maria listens intently as he tells her about the foal who was born a couple of days ago, updating her on the horse’s progress. When she spots him, she gives him an inviting smile and says, “Joel! There you are.” 

He waits for her to say her goodbyes and the two of them leave the stables and start down the street. “Ellie said you were lookin’ for me.”

“I was,” she says, wasting no time. “When you weren’t home, wanna know the next place I checked?”

Her stare is weighted, heavy. And he suddenly feels a little bit like a child being scolded, knowing he’s been caught but not willing to admit fault.

Joel doesn’t offer a reply. Maria doesn’t either, because they both know right where she went. “She was leaving when I got there, on her way to meet Ellie. Said she hadn’t seen you since yesterday morning at The Tipsy Bison.”

She leaves room for him to confirm or deny the accusation in her words. He doesn’t. 

“You snore, Joel. Did you know that?”

He stops, feet sinking into the fresh snowfall in the middle of the street. The sun shines brightly, though—and he knows the spring thaw is coming soon. He hopes the end of this conversation comes sooner. “Maria…”

She turns to face him, several paces ahead. “She’s only lied to me once before today. And it was to protect someone then, too.”

He opens his mouth to say something, anything —but nothing comes out.

Thankfully, Maria stops him with a raised hand. “Don’t you go lying to me too,” she says. “Look, I…I know you probably think she hates me, and maybe—maybe there’s a little truth to that. But I love that girl like she’s my own, Joel. And she’s irreplaceable to this town. You understand? I don’t need her distracted. And I really don’t need you to be causing issues with the others because of her.”

It surprises him to hear it, in truth. The only interaction he’d seen between the two of you was the one in the dining hall where you’d been throwing things and screaming in Maria’s face, and Joel had assumed it’d given him all the information he needed about your relationship with her. Had he been wrong? Jackson has a pretty lengthy history—maybe there’s more to this than he once thought. Maybe there’s more to you than he thought. 

The desire to pry confessions out of you rises in him, desperate to discover that something that’s happened to you, to drink greedily from your well. Joel realizes he wants to know it all. The good, bad, and ugly.

“I’m not causing issues,” he says, but it even tastes like a lie. He’d sent Kelly away crying and almost stabbed Abel with a broken beer bottle just yesterday.

“Hey, Maria! Come take a look at this!”

Joel’s thankful for the distraction. She raises a hand in greeting to the older woman a few feet away, and then turns back to Joel with a heavy sigh and exhaustion on her face. “Look, you’re both adults, and I’m not trying to give you the talk. What you do together is your business—all I’m saying is…don’t do irreparable damage to yourself or to this town to indulge her,” Maria says. “I’m sure you know by now she can cause a whole lotta trouble when she wants to, and I don’t want you to start thinking this is anything but a way to get back at me, to prove her point. I know you think you’re what she needs, and, hell—maybe you are right now. But she’s young, Joel. She’ll never love you—not the same way you’ll love her. This is just a phase, and she’ll grow out of it. She’ll grow out of you.”

The words are cold and sharp, stabbing behind his ribs, stealing the breath from his lungs, dousing that warmth you’ve elicited and leaving nothing but ash in its wake. Because in the back of his mind, Joel knows it’s the fucking truth. 

Doesn’t make it any easier to swallow, though. He chokes on it instead.

Maria seems to sense his struggle and offers an apology that does nothing for him because she can never take the words back, can never replace the blindfold she’s ripped off. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I was really hoping Tommy would get through to you but I think you’re more like me. Sometimes we need the truth to hurt a little to understand it.”

The woman tries to grab Maria’s attention again. This time she gives it to her, squeezing Joel’s shoulder in a way that makes his hands curl into fists at his side. He hates Maria at this moment because despite desperately trying, he can’t find a single lie in her words.

She’ll grow out of you. 

Joel swallows it down like a bitter pill.

When he returns home, he’s relieved to discover you’ve fled Ellie’s company for the time being. He thinks about canceling, urging her to have lunch with you alone because of a non-existent headache. 

But she’s so excited to see him when he gets back, excited for the three of you to share a meal, and Joel doesn’t have the heart to ruin it. She babbles about you the whole way to the dining hall, talks about how cool you are, how pretty you are, and Joel agrees.

It throws Ellie off guard enough that she squints and turns her face up at him as they settle at a table with one vacant chair. “I thought you hated her,” she says.

“Hate her?” He shakes his head. “Nah. Ain’t like that.”

This answer, it seems, has her even more suspicious. “Sooo…what is it like then?”

Like religion.

Because Joel wants the comfort you bring. He wants the warmth, the devotion, the prayer he makes you recite whenever he finds himself between your thighs. He wants the succor that comes with urging you into submission, wants the satisfaction that blankets him when you’ve got nothing bratty left to say, foul words replaced with pleas. He wants the respite he finds whenever you’re near.

But he’s never much believed in God, never believed he’d be good enough to get into heaven. And he’s having a hard time believing he can keep you, too.

It’s not the worship he struggles with. It’s the faith.

“Sore subject, I see,” Ellie says. And there’s something on her face akin to understanding, which makes Joel realize she’s growing up at the speed of light.

“Yeah,” he says, seconds before you and Tommy walk through the door. 

The laces in one of your boots have come undone, loosening with every step you take into the dining hall. You talk to Joel’s brother animatedly, a serious look on your face. Tommy’s nodding in response as you tick off something on your fingers, and it’s barely there but Joel can see the fear in his brother's face as he looks at you. 

Something’s wrong. He doesn’t know what it is or how he knows it, but Joel knows. Can see it in the way his brother’s shoulders are pulled tight, can see it in the crease between your brows. Worry emanates from both of you. And when you glance over at Joel and Ellie waiting for you at the table, it dissipates for a single moment as a warm smile stretches across your face. 

Tommy pulls you into a tight embrace—something familiar and affectionate that would enrage Joel had you shared it with anyone besides his brother. Your goodbyes are muffled by the clink of silverware and the dull chatter of the people around you, but Joel can make out two of Tommy’s words. “Be careful.”

You shake off whatever unsettles you and sit in the chair between them. “Sorry I’m late,” you say. “Tommy caught me on the way here.”

“Everything okay?” Ellie asks carefully.

“Yeah, yeah—all good.” It’s a lie, and both of them sense it but neither prod for more.

Joel leans over, takes either side of your chair, and turns it toward himself, legs scraping noisily against the wooden floor. You glare at him and start to call him some obscene name, but then he gently takes your ankle in his hands. He can feel your gaze on him as he sets your boot between his knees and laces it back up—because it’s dangerous for you to be walking around like that. What if you trip? When he’s finished, he sets your foot back on the ground and stands from his chair, trying to ignore the look of bewilderment on Ellie’s face. “You two stay put. I’ll grab lunch.”

He hears both of you break out into hushed whispers the minute he walks away, but whatever it is the two of you are talking about is way less concerning to him than what you and Tommy were talking about.

It takes him less than a minute to slip out of the back door in the dining hall, round the building, and find his brother just outside. He stops him with a brisk hand to the shoulder. “Tell me.”

Tommy lets out a sigh and runs the back of his thumb over a wrinkle on his forehead. “A few months ago, just a couple before you and Ellie showed back up, there was a raid. A bad one. Only lost a few good people but…a lot of the survivors were pretty hurt. We made it through, but the stock we had in medical supplies has been slim ever since. An’ it’s hard—finding stuff like that these days.”

“That’s all it is? A run for supplies?” You’re the best runner Jackson has. Tommy’s said so on multiple occasions. That doesn’t scare Joel, the idea of you going out there. So why has it got his brother so rattled?

Tommy swallows, and Joel knows there’s more. But his little brother hesitates, pity filling his brown eyes, and it does nothing but fuel the panic slowly creeping into Joel’s bloodstream.

“Tell me,” he insists, a little more aggressive this time.

He has to look away to answer. Tommy instead finds the steadily melting snow far more interesting. “There’s a…there’s a hospital out in Casper. About two weeks on foot, one with a horse. It’s got all the supplies we could ever need—aspirators, sterile bandages, ECG monitors, ventilators, antibiotics.”

“Get to the point,” Joel demands.

And he does. Says it outright as if it’s not a death sentence. “It hasn’t been touched since before.”

Joel knows, but he narrows his eyes and asks slowly, “Before…before what, Tommy?”

“Before the outbreak.”

Which means that whatever’s inside… “No,” he says, shaking his head and taking a step back, suddenly unable to pull air into his lungs fast enough. “No. Find someone else.”

“There is no one else, Joel.” 

“Then call it off! Send her on a scouting mission—farther away if you have to. You have no idea what’s in there.”

He can’t imagine it—something worse than clickers, worse than bloaters. Joel’s mouth runs dry as one terrifying thought rings like a warning bell through his head. You’ll die, you’ll die, you’ll die.

“You think that’s the kinda man I am? That I’d send her in there knowing how dangerous it’ll be without giving her a choice?” Tommy glares at him. “It was her idea.”

“I don’t fuckin’ care whose idea it was, I’m sayin’ no.”

“It ain’t your decision to make,” Tommy says in warning.

And Joel knows it’s the truth as much as he knows Maria’s sharp words were the truth—but he doesn't care about any of it. Not when your safety is on the line. “Nah, Tommy, you’re not—you’re not hearin’ me. I’m telling you it’s not going to fucking happen.”

“Maria’s gonna give birth soon, Joel. We need those supplies,” Tommy says, finality in his voice. He shoves past Joel, a clear sign that the conversation is over—but Joel doesn’t care about that, either.

He shoves his brother hard, and when he turns around to face him Joel can see the anger on his face. But it’s no match for his. “Don’t you walk away from me!”

“It’s not your fuckin’ call!”

Joel scoffs. “This is someone’s life you’re gamblin’ with, Tommy. You’re tellin’ me you need those supplies more than this town needs her? More than I need—?”

He stops. Freezes beneath the weight of his brother’s accusatory stare, knowing just what he’s almost said, knowing just what he’s admitted. So much for keeping it secret, Joel thinks. 

His chest constricts, ribcage closing in on his lungs. Joel suddenly can’t breathe. 

Tommy’s eyes soften as he watches his brother fall apart in the middle of the street. “I tried to warn you, man,” he says. “I told you to put an end to it. Told you nothing good would come of it.”

It becomes obvious to him then that there’s no getting through to his brother. Joel decides to take a different approach instead.

When he storms back into the dining hall, you and Ellie have already gotten plates for yourselves and one for him—and the sentiment would warm his heart if he wasn’t currently fuming. He doesn’t sit back in his chair. He stands over you and says firmly, “You’re not going.”

You narrow your eyes, trying to understand what the hell he’s talking about, and roll them dramatically the moment it clicks together in your mind. “I didn’t ask, Joel. Sit down. We got you lunch.”

“It’s a goddamn suicide mission and you know it,” he says, trying to no avail to keep his voice down.

He expects you to lash out, to fight him like you always do. But you sit still in your chair. Don’t even turn to look at him. Just stare pointedly forward, knee bouncing furiously beneath the table. It’s the first time he’s ever seen you hold back that anger, the first time he’s ever seen you try to keep it in check.

Joel’s not sure what that means. For him, or you. “If it’s been left untouched for that long, it’s probably been that way for good reason. Have you lost your mind? ”

It’s then you stand abruptly from your chair. Even though the words are dripping with irritation, you try your best to put on a gentle front as you say, “I’m sorry, Ellie. I’ll catch up with you later.”

And then you’re pushing past him, shoving him with a shoulder, leaving the dining hall with watery eyes. And Joel starts to feel a little bad, but he knows he still hasn’t gotten through to you and he has to. He needs to make you see reason before you run off and get yourself killed. 

Because he’s only just gotten a part of you. It can’t end so soon. It can’t. He won’t let it.

He follows you back to your house, calling your name, trying to avoid the stares the rest of the Jackson residents are giving the two of you. It isn’t until he says your name one final time that you turn to face him.

Joel’s chest cracks at the sight of the tears on your cheeks. He needs to get through to you, but he wishes it didn’t have to be like this. “Baby, please—just listen to me. It’s not safe.”

“Nothing is safe, Joel! Have a little faith in me. Why are you so sure I won’t make it back?”

“Because whatever’s in there is going to be so much worse than anything you or I have ever seen. Don’t you get that? You can’t do this. I couldn’t do it. No one should have to.”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes and breathe a long sigh. When you finally compose yourself enough to speak again, you don’t look at him. And that hurts more than anything, Joel thinks. “Miley…she, uhm…she’s fifteen. Same age as Ellie. Been in Jackson her whole life, never been outside. Not really. And she’s so sweet…one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. She has…she has a—a tumor on her spine,” you say softly. “It can be removed, and she’ll live. But to operate, we need anesthesia. You know where to find anesthesia, Joel? A hospital.”

He shakes his head slowly, feels pressure build in his throat. “No,” he says softly. “We’ll…we’ll find it somewhere else. I’ll help you, baby, okay? We’ll go together—we’ll figure it out—”

“She doesn’t have that kind of time! God, are you hearing me? I’m going. And when I make it back in one piece with everything they need to save her, you’re gonna feel real fucking stupid for not believing in me.”

You turn away, push through the door and slam it closed behind you. Joel scrambles up the steps after you only to discover that, this time, you remember to lock it.

An hour later, Ellie finds him in his room with his backpack on the bed and his boots laced tight and an extra flannel on beneath his coat. She leans against the doorframe with her arms crossed and asks quietly, “Tommy told me what happened. You’re going with her, right?”

He doesn’t find any resentment on her face, and it relieves him if only a little. “Yeah,” he says. “That alright with you?” He prepares himself for any answer she gives. Decides then and there he'll remain here, in Jackson, if that's what she needs from him.

“‘Course,” she says, much to his relief. “Just…be careful.”

He hugs her tight, makes her promise she’ll bother Tommy with everything she needs, makes her swear she’ll stick with Cat or Dina or Jesse, that she won’t hermit in her room. She makes a joke about how he’s the hermit between the two of them, and then she urges him on his way. 

As he’s descending the stairs, she leans over the banister and says, “Hey, Joel? By the way, fuck you for stealing my wife. I liked her first.”

It makes him laugh, and the small moment of ease she creates just before he leaves brings his spirits up. He says goodbye to Tommy on the way to the stables, who points him in your general direction. He ignores the look his brother gives in response to his decision. Ignores him, too, when he warns, “Maria won’t like this.”

Because Joel doesn’t give a fuck what Maria thinks. Not when it comes to you. Because she might say she loves you like you’re her own, but she doesn’t love you enough to refuse to send you to your death. It’s all the information Joel needs about her opinion. 

He takes a horse and enough rations for two weeks and follows the tracks you’ve left behind in the mud. Once he’s deep into the forest surrounding Jackson, Joel realizes that you’re smarter than you let on—because the hoof prints veer off a mile into the trek, off the trail, and into the more secluded brush. He knows he’s getting close when the tracks become more defined, knows he’s just on the cusp of finding you. 

But it’s not him that finds you at all. 

Joel feels the hair on the back of his neck rise a second before he hears your voice from behind him. You look a little like some sort of Valkyrie warrior, standing tall beside your horse with your bow pulled taught, an arrow aimed right at his head. “Go home, Joel,” you say, an edge in your voice he’s never heard before. 

And he knows it’s partially due to frustration, but mostly because you’re here— outside the walls, out in the open where everyone has to be harder, sharper, crueler. He dismounts, keeping a loose hold on the reins. He raises his hands in surrender. “Let’s not do this,” he suggests. “You and I both know I’m not goin’ anywhere. Alright?”

The stiffness in your limbs subsides the smallest bit at his words, the soft side of you he knows and loves peeking through. But it’s only a second before those walls come slamming down again. “I don’t do runs like this anymore,” you tell him. “I don’t take partners.”

Anymore. The word haunts him. Because it implies that you did at one point. But something changed, something happened to make you break Jackson's most important rule, to draw the boundary he’s currently crossing. He can feel the pain it causes you, even from several feet away. And Joel doesn’t want to hurt you any further than he is right now but he can’t let you do this alone. “Put the bow down,” he says, taking a tentative step forward.

You only raise it higher, pull the bowstring back further. “Joel,” you say in warning. “Go. The fuck. Home.”

Another step, closing the distance. One more and fear bleeds into your pretty eyes. 

“Stop.” Your jaw clenches. He’s moving a little faster now, steadily invading your space. “I said stop!” You release the arrow, changing its trajectory in a second. 

It whizzes through the air, sinking deep into the earth between his feet. It’s dead center—and Joel would be impressed if he wasn’t furious. “You just shot at me,” he says in disbelief. 

“No fucking shit,” you bite back. “Maybe now you’ll take me seriously.” But then he lets go of his horse’s reins completely and is stalking forward, face contorted in rage because how dare you. “I swear to God! Don’t do this!” You reach behind your head and pull another arrow from the quiver strapped to your back in the blink of an eye. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

You won’t, and he knows it. The moment he’s able Joel rips the bow from your frigid fingers, ready to grab you by your hair and force you into submission if need be.

But the moment your hands are free you’re pushing his chest—pushing and pushing so hard it nearly sends him off his feet. But Joel feels that anger, that sadness, and he realizes suddenly this has nothing to do with his being here and everything to do with what happened to you. It’s about your something. “Please,” you say, the word broken in your mouth. “Please, Joel, please don’t do this to me.”

“Hey,” he says softly, laying your bow on the ground at your side. “Hey, baby, hey, c’mon now.” He takes your hands between his, pausing your assault. They’re so cold that he brings them to his mouth and tries to warm them with his breath. It seems to calm you if only a little. “S’okay, sweetheart. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you, alright?”

Your cheeks are flushed crimson and water lines your lashes as you confess, “I don’t care about me, Joel, what about you? What happens if you get hurt? What do I do? I can’t lose anyone else, I can’t— please. Just go home, I’m begging you.”

It’s then he understands. Joel knows this kind of grief, is real intimate with it, in fact. He knows how unforgivable it feels to lose someone on account of bad judgment. He pulls you close, wraps his strong arms around your frame and cradles your head against his chest. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, little girl. Okay? You’re alright. I’ve got ya. Shh…s’okay, baby. I’m right here. I’m right here .”

And he is—wherever you are, he silently vows to be with you. To keep you safe, always. To do his damndest to keep you from suffering any more loss, any more of that sinking misery. He lets you cry it out, lets your tears soak into his flannel, lets you catch your breath. 

When you do, you lift your head and wipe your face and fix that hard stare back onto it. “Okay,” you say softly. And then again, a little stronger. “Okay. But you play by my rules, Joel. You do what I say, when I say it.”

He hears the echo of his conversation with Ellie back in Boston. Feels the urge suddenly to spill his guts to you so you know he really, truly understands. But now isn’t the time. So Joel caresses your cheek, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. “Your run, your rules,” he says. And he means it. 

You lean down and pick up your bow, sling it across your shoulder, and pull yourself back up into the saddle. “It’ll be good, having two horses,” you say. “We can carry more supplies back.”

Joel leaves your side only long enough to mount his horse, who he steers back toward you the moment he can.

“Only one problem now,” you say. 

He furrows his brows, following you back onto the path through the forest. “What’s that?”

“You’re twice my age, Joel,” you say dismally. But there’s something else there, something teasing in your voice. “Not sure if you can keep up with me, old man.”

Joel shakes his head as you set your horse off into a gallop, flying effortlessly through the trees at a break-neck pace. He can’t resist the grin that tugs at his lips. He scoffs and mutters under his breath before following after you. “Brat.”

[part four] [part six]

[dilftaroooo]

݁ ִ ࣪⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ "𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙞𝙨 𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡 "

ﾟ𐦍༘⋆ after some convincing i finally decided to write this nasty lil imagine or whatever this shit is, enjoy, mwah~ (p.s. for the native spanish speaking girlies, pls lmk if i fucked up on anything)

ﾟ𐦍༘⋆ wrd count: 2.2k+

ﾟ𐦍༘⋆ tags/tw: mdni 18+ race/ethnicity neutral + age gap (reader can be from 18 to early 20s! so college aged) + dilf!miguel (mid to late 30s) + don’t trust him he’s using u!!! + afab reader + sweet nothings + spanish petnames + cursing + unprotected sex + miguel is a perv + exhibitionism(?) + expensive cars + money + and big booty bitches (you).

Just thinking of you stumbling upon dilf!miguel as you go by door to door offering to wash peoples’ cars for a few bucks. You weren’t expecting a behemoth to be behind the tall, mahogany, double doors to answer your languid knocks – a handsome one at that. One that stood six-nine feet tall paired with honey drizzled orbs surrounded by hooded lids. Soft tufts of hair shimmered burgundy with silver specks which were gifted to him from prolonged time. His tan skin brightened under the powerful sun but it still wasn’t enough to obscure the fine forehead wrinkles and smile lines that adorned his features.

“Can I help you?” The deep baritone of his voice rumbled so deeply you wouldn’t be surprised if you were to look down and see the bucket of soapy water you brought ripple at its force. It should be you that’s supposed to be helping him. You’re the one going from neighborhood to neighborhood asking uninterested people to wash their cars for some cash that wouldn’t even last you a few days. But a side hustle is a side hustle, you thought. Nothing wrong with a stash for a rainy day.

You take note of how seductively the black wife beater he wore embraced his torso and how his pecs puffed out at you like some majestic penguin in the cool lands of Antarctica, staring down at you, a piece of flopping fish dreading to be eaten as he cocks his head to the side waiting for a response. His shoulders are broad and his muscles are taut and veiny – you ponder on what his reaction would be if you were to trace his veins from his neck down to his finger tips and tell him how badly you want them inside you. Gulping down the saliva that was building up on top of your tongue, you spoke your first words like a toddler.

“Would you, um-” Why couldn’t you finish your sentence on the first try? Did you forget how to speak English? Perhaps that’s only the case around him and a few other gorgeous people you’ve met in the span of your years living on earth. “Do you need to have your car washed – sir? I can wash it for fifteen.” You sounded so weak and frail to Miguel, just like how most college-aged girls sounded when they managed to have some sort of interaction with him – their hands clasped firmly around their elbow as they sway from side-to-side, asking him frivolous questions before poking their chest to get him to catch a glimpse of their cleavage that peeked out from their low cut tops. They all played the same game – a game he always loved to play.

He takes this moment to observe what you had on; a peach colored camisole that matched the flower placed delicately in your hair along with the daisy dukes that revealed your plump thighs. Not too skimpy. At least you were somewhat modest. A cute, weak, little thing you are.

He grins and you can see his crows feet crinkle at the gesture, his canines looking sharper than most. “Of course. Been a while since I’ve gotten her cleaned up.” He reassures you to wait for him as he gets his car from the garage and when you lay eyes on the ‘Ferrari SF90 Spider’ he displayed to you, your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. It was a car model that you couldn’t even afford to dream of, glowing a dark navy blue with a rear wing that was coated in a vibrant red. Its engine roaring loudly and aggressively, telling you who the alpha is in the midst of asphalt concrete and dotted yellow lines. Miguel twitched at the gasp you couldn’t contain.

“A-are you sure you want me to wash this?” You ask while ogling at the car parked in front of you. This wasn’t a car some teenager bought with the aid of their low minimum wage job at a department store, this was a sports car – a Ferrari! This was something that should be washed professionally. “I’m no expert car washer or whatever those guys are called. As much as I would love to help you I don’t think I’m fit for something so…luxurious.” He lets out an airy chuckle that kisses your eardrums.

“No worries, cariño.” He would say and it makes your heart tremble and thighs clench. You’re not proficient in Spanish. Only remembering the fundamentals you learned when you were still in grade school and several language apps you’ve downloaded on a whim but you heard that word before in several love songs you’ve come across. ‘Darling’ is what it means. An affectionate pet name.

Miguel drinks up your reaction like drinking water in the Sahari desert. It was the last drop left in a flask that was so kindly offered by you, smiling at him with dry lips as he sticks his tongue out, aching for the pure droplet. You were so considerate – not wanting to risk destroying his five hundred-thousand plus car that he deliberately squandered his money on. But it was ok with Miguel. He always has money to spare.

He finally convinced you to do the job and get his vehicle all cleaned up and tidy. You instantly got to work but not before murmuring a sugary ‘thank you’’ and taking your sponge to the roof of his car. You and Miguel would conjure up some small talk such as your hobbies or careers. You’ve learned that he was a father of a little girl named Gabriella. His ‘sweet sunshine’ is what he would call her. You found that attractive – a father who is willing to take care of their offspring with genuine affection. His wife must be lucky…well, if he had one she would be, you think.

Miguel didn’t go deep into explanation at his lack of a spouse. A typical “It just wasn’t meant to be.” fell from his lips as he looked off to the direction of his house. Sensitive topic, maybe. Which is why he decided to shine the light on you. “You’re in college, right? Anyone there sweep you off your feet?”

All of a sudden, you feel coy. Embarrassed and bashful at your answer being a firm “no, there has not, Mr. O’Hara.” There’s a slight quiver in your voice but Miguel can tell that you’re trying to remain neutral and not break into tiny pieces under his watchful gaze. And just like every man thinks when they see an attractive young woman who claims they don’t have a partner, he asks why – why hasn’t anyone stepped up to you and asked for your number in hopes for a date? Why hasn’t anyone paid for your meals at semi-expensive restaurants? Why hasn’t anyone told you they loved you more than anyone they could ever imagine before clasping their hands under your chin, gazing at soft, plump lips before pressing them onto theirs? Why hasn’t anyone dared to run mischievous fingers up the hem of your dress before tasting the sensual keen you let out due to the fingertip teasing your throbbing clit?

Then Miguel remembers there’s a difference between boys and men.

You would notice how sinful Miguel’s gaze is on you. Like a stray cat preparing to pounce on a small alley mouse, the feline waiting as patience is his best friend. The mouse is aware of the cat’s presence and stiffens like a rock. “I just haven’t found the right, uh, time. Though, I would like to…” You try your best to conceal your face, you felt as though he was staring too hard. Miguel adjusts his stance to be directly next to you and you smell his scent – like masculinity, vetiver, and sweat. Your knees buckle.

Then the cat sluggishly leaned in on its prey, familiarizing itself of the little mouse’s smell. “No time for it, huh, amor? Guess pretty girls are too busy for romance, what a shame,” His tsks were faux but they still made you feel bad however you didn’t have the time to empathize with his breath streaming down the curve of your neck and his hand caressing your waist. His hips were practically against your lower back as a result of his staggering height and you can feel his bulge poke you excitedly. “Who will I have to love me at night? It gets so cold sometimes.”

Finally that cat strikes, working its fangs in the fragile neck of the weak mouse. With hands firmly planted on the hood of his sports car, your shorts were practically ripped away from you as Miguel takes its place with his big hand, digits rubbing over the cotton fabric of your panties at the direct spot your swollen clit lays, aching and pulsing for his attention. Your back was securely glued to his chest as he loses his patience and rudely shoves your panties to the side, pushing back your clitorial hood with a skilled finger to hear you squeak like said mouse under the grip of the fervent cat.

“Mr. O’Hara. We can’t. Not out here.” The words exhale from your lips so elegantly as you try to prevent Miguel’s free hand from lifting up your loose camisole top above your breasts, to no avail. They glistened under UV rays and sweat, your areolas were puffy and craved Miguel’s assertive touch. You both were out in the open driveway of his home with dozens of other beautiful houses encasing the area yet there was no one in sight but people still had windows they could look out from. Everyone looks out their window from time to time, right? Maybe not unless they hear the muffled moans and wet squelches coming from outside to which they wouldn’t be able to contain their curiosity and feel compelled to take a quick peek between their blinds only to be met with their hot neighbor ramming the living daylights out of some young woman they’ve never seen before.

Both rocking in harmony as you relish in the filthy pleasure you are both given. The suds from the soapy water covers the expanse of your tummy and forearms as you feel Miguel abuse your guts with the hard tip of his reddened cock. Filling you like a hand in a latex glove, you feel so full, so stuffed, so cramped with all of his veins and precum as he grips a hand around your neck like your favorite, pink, choker – reminding you of oh how dumb you sound taking his dick like the ‘buena puta’ you were made to be. His trimmed, pubic hairs tickled your ass each time he plunged his way back in you after teasing you lightly whenever he pulled out to the head.

“Ay Dios, amor. You’re clenching around me so tightly. You aren’t gonna let me go? Want me to cum in your filthy, young, pussy out here in the middle of my driveway? Have you any decency? Mierda.” He would groan in the shell of your ear. His canines brush against the skin softly and you bite your lip for the fourth time that afternoon as he continued to have his way with you.

“I do,” You pathetically start. “I do have some, ugh, decency, sir. I do.”

“But you’re not showing that to me, love. That isn’t what I see here now, is it? Is this the same girl talking to me while she lets me stuff her full with my cock, hm?” The tap-tap-tapping of his thighs colliding with yours crescendos into a louder pitch, one much more noticeable than a few minutes ago and you wish you could cover yourself with an invisible cloak. He kisses his wet kisses and speaks his sweet nothings as he hovers over your small, mouse-like, appearance with his hulking form. It would have scared you if not for the pecks he left on your body and the conjuring of soft coos he knows you would like to hear.

It was too hot, metaphorically and literally. The sun was blazing and the combination of both of your body heat was not ideal for this kind of weather but Miguel just looks so good fondling your tits and pumping his warm seed into the wet cavern of your insides while he slurs out cursed spanish phrases from his tongue that you couldn’t even bother to pick up, too busy savoring the spurts of cum leaking in your used cunt.

Fortunately, in the middle of your fucked-out daze, Miguel was nice enough to pull the panties and shorts back in their reserved spots (you felt his cum pile up in your underwear as soon as he lifted them up and you shivered at the feeling). You feel something wiggle its way between your hip and the hem of your shorts just for you to look down and catch sight of the wads of cash he stuffed there like you were some cheap whore (perhaps you were).

You glance back up, getting ready to tell him it was only fifteen dollars but he beats you to it by giving you a quick peck on your cheek. It was softer compared to when he was balls deep inside of you.

“Take it. For being so good to me, corazón.” His crow’s feet appear again and you silently wish to give each line a kiss but it was already too late once he turned around and stepped foot into his house, locking his door shut with a loud ‘click’.

©This work belongs to @dilftaroooo. If you see any work similar to mine, please notify me for plagiarism will not be tolerated.

[doromoni]

Hunting Affections

Charles Leclerc x photographer!reader

Max Verstappen x photographer!reader

Part 6.

fanfic + smau fic

y/n faceclaim : Hwang Eunbi

warnings : Ferrari bashing ( Im so sorry , the plot needs it 🥹) , mentions of abuse.

A/N : UP FOR EDITING 🤍

<previous next>

Summary; Love is but a concept — just connections of neurons that take part in the brain … and yet, why is it the most painful when one falls alone?

or

Loving someone who doesn’t love you back , until you can’t no more. Maybe then they’ll actually know what they’ve lost.

Ignorance is medicated by knowledge and experience — but ignorance can only be cured when the problem is seen and acknowledged.

I used to think that I was just what you made of me, thinking that what I’ve accomplished was because of your influence. You were sensitive, I wouldn’t say that you were insecure, no— you just had the tendency of being self righteous and self serving , I grew in fear that I would’ve taken a piece of your spotlight, so I hid in your shadow … always so quiet and obedient.. But I guess , I now know that i was also at fault, I was ignorant of how you made me so dependent to you and your actions.

I liked to think that I grew apart from ignorance, being enlightened by my own wrong actions and thoughts. Braking the chains that hindered me from living life— the chains that you’ve shackled on me. Maybe, it wasn’t your intention to cage me and poison me with your affections… maybe you’re we’re ignorant , just like I once was. But your ignorance is still no excuse.

I could only hope that you find your own peace and fulfillment . Because I have found mine, and I will be selfish this time and I wont ever let go.

———

Majority of racing fans see Red Bull Racing as the evil power hungry villain of Formula 1 , that and all people in its team are hateful scums of the motorsport world . When in fact , they are the most kind and loving team I have had the chance to work with — where people who treat each other with respect and warmth no matter their organizational hierarchy . But do not get me wrong , the other teams aren’t bad … it’s just Red Bull has its business and employee relationships balanced to a tee.

Moreover, the issue of sexism had been rampant in the motor world, that is already a fact, yet I felt both seen and understood in the premises, in walls of the Red Bull Office… who would’ve known. My presence here was not for a diversity hire or some agenda. I was put here to actually innovate the Red Bull Racing brand and pull my own weight.

Never in my career in motorsports have I felt so appreciated and significant enough to be treated correctly , most specifically in this moment , that sadly I cannot say hadn’t happened before .

I was discreetly pulled from my meetings to talk face to face with Christian Horner. All the possible mistakes I could’ve made came rushing in to my mind. It hasn’t been a week since I’ve officially worked for the racing team , yet here I am walking towards the office of the CEO and team principal of Red Bull Racing.

With a deep breath , I gently knocked on the mahogany door that separated me from my possible dismissal.

“Christian, its Y/N”

“Oh , yes yes . Come in!” Christian’s voice echoed through the thick wood. Slowly opening the door , there I saw my boss with his back pressed on the plush leather material of his office chair ; a hand perched on the bridge of his nose as he signaled me to sit.

“ So , am I in trouble? Why did you need me?” I gave an awkward laugh as I tried to lighten the mood

“It’s about Max” Memories of the meetings and debriefings of relationship lectures from the Italian team came to mind. The lectures were harsh and are mostly one sided , as the fault was somehow always pushed to me ; even if I wasn’t entirely involved , but who could they have blamed? Charles? He was their golden boy — so the nearest person to point to was me. It was always me.

Just like muscle memory, my words instantly echoed.

“I’m so sorry “ slipped from my mouth.

My hands trembled as I waited for the unending reprimands to be more careful not to taint the team brand and all the crap that followed.

But, nothing came … Christian’s face contorted to a face of confusion and perplexity

“…For what? “ He then asked leaning a smidge forward ; his chair squeaking a little.

“Oh … uhm , you said something about Max? I’m assuming that I did something to dirty his image?” I said slowly, now also confused.

“What? No! Max’s image has never been better., Well not if we couldn’t cover this issue. I called you here because I wanted you to work closely with the PR head to cover a fight with Max and other drivers”

my brain stop working , as I heard the words Max , fight and other drivers, slowly connecting the dots ; my mouth spoke before I could realize

“WHAT?! Is Max okay?! How did that happen??”

“Max , is physically ok .It was after the press conference. It was between Max , Leclerc , Daniel and Oscar . We couldn’t get any of the drivers to talk … We were hoping that you could talk to Max.”

As I processed his words , the dilemma of professionalism and personal life came tumbling down and the distinction between the two are becoming blurry. The trauma of working for Ferrari with Charles once again came rushing back.

“Sir, are you asking me as an employee to interrogate my boyfriend? “ I asked , swallowing my nerves . Hoping that what I was thinking of was no where near the truth.

“No y/n , I’m asking for you to see If Max is alright and If he would like to sit out the practice races tomorrow … and if he does open up to you about the fight, then you are not obligated to tell us anything without Max’s consent” As Christian said those words , I let out a breath that I didn’t know I was holding in; the huge weight leaving my shoulders , because even if they had asked that of me I refuse to betray the person that I love for my career.

“Thank you, Christian. Where is Max right now?” I asked standing up .

“He’s currently inside his driver room — he’s not allowing anyone to enter. Well we hope you’d face a different outcome ” Christian said as he walked me out of his office.

I chuckled at his statement , a very typical Max Verstappen move. Not that he doesn’t want anyone to near him, he’s just afraid that he might say something wrong in the heat of the moment ; something that I’ve learned to handle in the years that i’ve known the Dutch Red Bull driver.

“Hey, Christian… thanks for not asking me to break Max’s trust” I said as I hesitated going out the door.

“Of course, kid. Max is family and now you are too.” He said as he ruffled my hair, earning a groan and a swat from me.

— — —

Pacing through the Red Bull motorhome in a mix of a jog and sprint , I made my way towards Max’s driver room.

And right outside the door was Mary : Max’s Pr manager, pacing back and forth as she spoke to someone on her phone.

Her eyes met mine , and in an instant she was in front of me

“ Oh thank goodness! , y/n! Finally ! you go talk to Max , please . I need to sort important matters about the issue, which of course will be debriefed in our meeting later… alright bye!”

And just like that , Mary was gone . And once again I am facing a mahogany door, only this time it was my boyfriend on the other side.

I raised my knuckles towards the door and gently knocked. Pressing my ear towards the door

“My love , it’s me . What happened? Can you open the door” I heard rustling, but there was no reply.

“Max, please open the door, love . Remember what we agreed on? Communication is the highest priority, please love, let’s talk”

then a soft click and a knob twisting was heard , as the door opened I was then pulled into his embrace . Max’s head buried in my neck , as I felt wetness and heard soft sniffles, Max was crying.

Suddenly alarmed with the severity of the situation, I instantly wrapped my arms around him , a hand softly brushing his hair ; saying soft reassuring words in his ear.

I continued to hold Max tightly in my embrace, as rouge tears slowly fell from my eyes. hurt filling my heart at the sight of the person I love breaking down. Briskly wiped the tears from my cheeks, I heard Max mumble.

“Max?” I asked as I gently maneuvered his face towards me , cradling his cheeks and wiping his tears away with the pad of my thumbs.

“I- I lost control, and I hit him. I punched Charles … I’m sorry. He was insulting you and I-i … it just happened. I was so angry … and I enjoyed doing it., am I really a monster?” His voice broke . A gasp fell out of my lips as my eyes fell to Max’s knuckles , they were bruised and bleeding from the cuts.

The conversation that we had about physical violence came to mind. Max had entrusted me with the knowledge of the extent to which his father had used physical violence to discipline him in his childhood. They’re relationship was better now… but the trauma still stays. Max had sworn to no longer resort to physical violence , he didn’t want anyone to go through what he had before.

“ Shhh, shhh Max, my love . It’s alright. Everything is okay , you’re okay. You didn’t enjoy hurting him , you fought for me, you protected me… that’s it my love, that’s it . You’re not a monster , you never were and you never will be. Max you’re the farthest from it . My love, I’m sorry that you’re facing this because of me. Im so sorry” I lifted the his busted hand and gently pressed a kiss to his wrist.

Guilt suddenly came twisting my stomach, bile rising to my throat. Because of me , Max had done what he hated the most. Im so sorry Max.

“N-no , I don’t regret protecting you , Schatz. I regret my way of doing it. You will always come first.” Max’s change of attitude gave me whiplash. Gone were the tears and vulnerability. The look of determination overcoming his entire feature, he looks so determined for what? Am not so sure.

“My love , what do you mean by that?” I asked as I searched the answer in his eyes.“The track , Liebling … the track” a grin now stretched his face.

“Max , please think straight .You don’t need to do anything “ I said as I once again raised a hand to his cheek softly.

“It’s my job to protect you, My Schatz” Max said , now pulling me closer in his embrace.

“Yeah , yeah … but who treats your wounds, huh? Big baby, please be safe” words muffling as Max pressed my head to his chest. The worry never leaving my mind.

y/n_stills.

Liked by redbullracing, maxverstappen1, schecoperez and 1,427,995 others

y/n_stills. I didn’t sign up for this @redbullracing I was promised 2 normal drivers. But good job on P1 and P2 on practice 3 I guess

tagged : @maxverstappen1 and @schecoperez

user1 not you using these pics 😭.

user2 y/n outing the red bull drivers. i love it!

user3 Keep em coming @y/n_stills.

y/n_stills. You’re welcome children

maxverstappen1 wow… thanks dear

y/n_stills. Love you 😘 @maxverstappen1

redbullracing you’ve signed the contract

y/n_stills. unfortunately :))

redbullracing excuse us?

y/n_stills. nothing ~ thanks for the snacks 😘

user1 y/n is continuing the beefing with motorteams saga 😭

schecoperez thanks y/n

y/n_stills. you are welcome checo 😇

danielricciardo the sarcasm is so nice 😇

maxverstappen1 you’re lucky you’re not here @danielricciardo

landonorris oh, are we bullying @y/n_stills.?

alexalbon another reason why I don’t regret leaving Redbull. 🫶

y/n_stills. I hate you all >:(( and @alexalbon? lily wants a word with you 😇

mclaren our drivers are well behaved 😇

y/n_stills. Im giving the fattest side eye. 👀

landonorris I am well behaved!

y/n_stills. This u?

landonorris … touché

danielricciardo what did I do??

y/n_stills. @danielricciardo fault by association

oscarpiastri but i’m good right? @y/n_stills

y/n_stills. You’re safe for now @oscarpiastri , little papaya… better watch your attitude 🤨

user4 y/n is not playing y’all HAHAHAHAH

user5 she ain’t holding back fr fr , the grid should watch their back 🤣

user6 everyone say thanks to y/n for giving us driver interactions.

user7 it’s great to see Redbull’s wacky side tbh~ they are not as evil as people make them to be .

user8 they literally instantly cut off their second drivers.

user9 @user8 woah thats statement is baseless, they do give them chances for the drivers to prove themselves… at the end of the day the goal is to win.

scuderiaferrari work for us again

y/n_stills. I don’t go back to my exes , sorry ☺️

user1 SIDE EYE

user2 did y/n really just 🫣

user3 THE TEA IS HOT , y/n your never escaping the rumors , girl.

mercedesamgf1 get it line! you already let her go once smh

user4 which ex 🤔 hmm ? Don’t be shy y/n , which ex.

y/n_stills. 10 mins

viewed by maxverstappen1 , charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 2,729,691 others

story replies

maxverstappen1 Thank you, Liebling! I love you 💙

y/n_stills. love you more 💙

maxverstappen1 lmao no.

y/n_stills. Emilian 🤨 Excuse you? Dafuk you mean , no?

maxverstappen1 no, because I love you more.

y/n_stills. Your love disgusts me 🙄

maxvestappen1 well then be ready to be disgusted for the rest of our lives.

y/n_stills. Woah wut?? Max?

y/n_stills. MAX?? Hello??? You don’t get to dip after that

y/n_stills. max max max max

y/n_stills. safe driving … luv u 💙

maxverstappen1 Love you more 💙

y/n_stills. ugh I hate you >:((

oscarpiastri make em chow their last ka-chow?

y/n_stills. You’re too young to understand top tier humor , oscar

oscarpiastri I’m literally 1 year younger than Lando and 3 years younger than you

y/n_stills. Yes and still a baby

oscarpiastri Wowwwww. Ghee and you’re old, mom

y/n_stills. Watch your mouth, young man 🤨🤨

oscarpiastri sorry mom

y/n_stills. That’s better! Good luck with qualifying ,little papaya 🧡 drive safe

oscarpiastri thank you 🧡

charles_leclerc seriously y/n , stop it

y/n_stills. seriously charles, move on.

charles_leclerc do you honestly not miss me at all?

y/n_stills. nope, so stop whatever you’re doing and be happy with what you have.

charles_leclerc you’re just confused

y/n_stills. Dude? You’re the one who’s confused . For the last time, leave me aloneeeeeee . I swear I’ll block you and file a restraining order.

f1wags

Liked by user1 , user2 , user3 and 168,281 others

f1wags Y/N L/N spotted with Victoria Verstappen today in the F1 Paddock! But the Red Bull Senior Designer is not in a Red Bull Uniform , I see. It looks like y/n is a full time wag today and she is off duty. Go support yo man, girl! 😏

Y/N L/N was a no show today at FP3 , which had fans curious and speculating of the photographer’s absence on the grid . But the curiosity of fans are quickly satisfied, as it was reported that y/n is indeed within the confines of the Red Bull motorhome offices , catering to her responsibilities to Red Bull. Nevertheless, she had shown support by posting congratulatory memes of the 2 Red Bull drivers on her instagram account.

Moreover, it looks like we will be in fact seeing more of y/n l/n but this time within the confines the Red Bull Garage; as a support of Max Verstappen and the whole Red Bull crew!

user1 it’s great to see that y/n takes her job seriously.

user2 we do love a boss bitch

user3 Red Bull had hit the home run with y/n fr fr

user4 a professional queen 🤍

user5 she supports Max both emotionally and professionally, we love to see it

user6 you know what I love the most? Right after her work , she said bye to the uniform

user7 I mean, no one can stop a fashion icon 😎

user8 she’s so extra , I love it HAHAHAHAH

user9 Im in love with her jacket! Someone please tell me where to get it pls pls

user10 Brunello Cucinelli … and the price hurts 😀

user 11 I always forget that they are literally loaded

“ So everybody , welcome back to Formula 1 . It’s a sunny day , no rain forecasted for today’s qualifying. Teams are stowing away their slicks and wet tires and our drivers are all at standby in their cars as they wait for the firsts qualifying session to officially start.”

“ I must say, Crofty . Our drivers are quite tense today during FP3, and even yesterday during the practice sessions; specially our drivers in red .The Ferrari Garage not particularly happy with Charles Leclerc’s rookie mistake during the 4th turn — almost causing a collision with his own teammate Carlos Sainz.”

“Ferrari was not having any of it! the drivers were called to pit instantly— was this another lapse in strategy? Or perhaps a driver error? I cannot tell, the issue was not brought up to the FIA… I mean it’s their own teammate. Very aggressive on Leclerc’s part, I might say”

“ And do you know who’s also driving aggressively during the free practices? Max Verstappen and Checo Perez — I believe that Christian Horner is loosening the reigns on his drivers. There were no radio calls to the drivers when both cars were given warnings for impeding Leclerc’s car during free practice 2 yesterday “

“ Also , another impending incident had also happened to Charles Leclerc, only this time it was by the Mclarens, By rookie Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris .They were also only left of with a warning by the FIA , as the both Mclaren were bound to enter the pits.”

“Wow , wow, The FIA is very lenient with the teams this Grand Prix… but what an unlucky session for Charles Leclerc, They could only hope that his chances in qualifying would be better”

“ First one to go out of the garage is the 7x Champion Lewis Hamilton , and not long after is George Russell. Both Mercedes are out of their garages and is waiting at pit-lane exit. Along with Fernando Alonzo’s Aston Martin.”

“And out goes Charles Leclerc’s Ferrari and Max Verstappen goes next, last year’s pole position and winner”

“Will he be able to do it again? Will Max Verstappen be able to grab another pole and another win?”

Max’s eyes never left the car infront of him , his gloved hands flexing on the Red Bull steering wheel. Body fueled with adrenaline

Mind zeroing on the red Ferrari, til the radio sound came on and the voice of GP sounded,

(Radio conversation are italicized)

; Max we are with you. Do what you need to do;

;Thanks guys, will do. I’ll keep it clean, tell checo I said thank you;

;Thanks Max, will relay your message to checo;

Max’s eyes came to view the Ferrari’s side mirror , to see Charles already looking at Him ; eyes glaring with rage. Max scoffed , lifting his visor — staring back with no fear nor regret.

“Oh, a radio from Max to his engineers, “say thank you to perez”. What could that mean?”

“And that starts the first qualifying session for this week’s Grand Prix!”

***

“ 17 minutes in Q1 and all cars are out of their garage with Lando Norris is currently leading and Piastri 0.100 seconds behind his team mate. 1 minutes left in Q1”

“Oohh! And Charles Leclerc spins out to the gravel… the wing might’ve taken some damage on that turn. It looks like the car is beached! Let’s look at it in another angle .Ferrari could only hope that Leclerc’s time will get him to Q2”

;MERDE!! THE CAR IS UNDERIVABLE!

; You’re pushing the car so recklessly!! Go back to the garage!;

;Fix this, Oversteers like shit…;

“ And that’s the checkered flag! Sargeant, Zhou, Magnussen, Hulkenburg and Ocon . And that is it for Haas and both Alphatauris are in q2! Leclerc barely making it! “

As Q1 had ended, both Red Bulls are called back to the garage and asses damages.

;That’s P3 , P3 , Max. Don’t push the car … let’s conserve the tires for now , Leclerc has been beached;

A scoff escaped Max’s lips.

;Copy;

Heat, sweat, the roar of the engine and enraged shouts filled the Ferrari garage. Charles Leclerc was seen in an argument with his engineers and mechanics — tension within one side of the garage grew rampant as the mechanics scramble to replace the front wing of the car.

Q2 was not any better for Ferrari, barely qualifying both drivers to Q3. Having everyone confused at the driver difference — as Sainz qualified in P4 while Leclerc qualifying P9.

“And welcome back to Formula 1 , We are starting Q3! Verstappen , Perez , Leclerc , Sainz, Norris, Piastri, Alonzo, Hamilton, Russell and Stroll battling for pole position”

“And that’s 12 minutes on the clock! And Half of the cars are on the circuit”

“ Hamilton sets the fastest 1st sector and 3rd sector , while Piastri sets the fastest 2nd sector!”

***

“And that is the checkered flag! The drivers have 1 one more lap for qualifying!”

“LECLERC TAKES THE FASTEST TIME! That’s P1, and Sainz crosses the line! That’s P2 and P3 for Oscar Piastri!— an amazing drive by the Ferraris!”

Everyone was tense at the red bull garage as they wait for Max to cross the finish line.

;Max , your currently in P7 , P7 , thats P7. You can do one last lap , send it Max;

;Copy, copy, where’s Leclerc?”

;Currently P1;

Max’s fingers flexed , a smirk growing in his face.

“Max makes the fastest 1st sector, and the 2nd sector…. and that’s the fastest 3rd sector!! And max crosses the checkered flag! ”

“AND THAT’S P1 FOR MAX VERSTAPPEN ! MAX TAKES POLE AGAIN! “

; What position was that?;

;That’s P1! P1! You got pole Max. Nice driving!;

; Amazing job everyone , let’s do well in the race;

“And that Qualifying! P1 for Max Verstappen, P2 for Charles Leclerc, and P3 for Carlos Sainz!”

The three drivers parked their cars to their respective places . The spaniard came rushing to hug Max , excitedly patting the Dutch driver’s back while the words “great driving” and chuckles were exchanged. The spanish driver parted from Max, then nudging the pole sitter towards the car of Charles .

The 1st Ferrari driver was getting out his car, clearly fuming. Max went near the Monegasque driver only to whisper “That’s for Y/n”, then moving away not once looking back.

“Max! Max! Congratulations on getting pole today! How does it feel to be in pole in this circuit again?“ Max went to answer the question

“Getting pole was amazing , specially this one… this holds a significant meaning to me personally.Today had been great , the car was amazing to drive ; and the team was as cooperative as ever.”

“Also Max, People had noticed that you were particularly motivated today? Is there a particular reason for that?”

“Well it’s always a motivation to win for the team , for all their hard work and all the time they spent making sure that the car was to its best. Also my friends and family are here to support… and of course my girlfriend who’s in the garage cheering me on right now”

Max answered smoothly with a practiced smile , as Leclerc was fuming from his peripheral vision.

“Ah ,of course! Y/N! A dear friend of ours here at Sky Sports! And lastly , any words for tomorrow’s race , Max?”

“Winning is always the goal , so yeah , We will try our best to keep the adding wins to the record. Thank you”

Max turned his back to the camera , handing the microphone to the Monegasque Ferrari driver — a face splitting derisive grin plastered on his face further infuriating the Ferrari driver.

“Thank you Max! We now have Charles Leclerc here with us! So Charles, how does P2 feel?”

Charles wanted nothing more than to storm out and leave the interview , as his face grew redder by the second .

“Well , its not better than pole. To be honest I’m very disappointed with the results.”

“Still an amazing effort for the team! That’s P2 for you and P3 from your teammate, right? Basing from the previous races, Ferrari had brought serious upgrades”

“Yes , but it is not enough for pole. But we will do our outmost best to beat Red Bull in tomorrow’s race. That I am sure. Thank you” and with that Charles went storming back to the Ferrari garage

“Oh! Uhm.. thanks Charles! Next we have another Ferrari Driver, Carlos Sainz on P3! So how do the upgrades feel Carlos?”

“I personally thought that the car was great compared to the last car during the last Grand Prix… the upgrades worked. We are very far from the Red Bull level of machinery, but we are getting there ….”

y/n_stills.

Liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, oscarpiastri , and 728,627 others

y/n_stills. Another pole for you , love! Amazing driving as usual. Couldn’t be prouder 💙

P.s you didn’t have to show off, just because I’m here 🙄

tagged : @maxvertappen1

maxverstappen1: I mean that pole was for you :))

y/n_stills. 🥺🥺🥺

redbullracing a motivated Max is a scary Max

y/n_stills. Boy you said it 🥵

maxverstappen1 🫣🫣🫣

landonorris ew, keep it in your pants

y/n_stills. go cry somewhere else , norris ~ we are happy here.

comments are limited

—SPORTS HUB DAILY—Formula 1 driver Charles Leclerc sparks fire within the Ferrari Garage

Article by Joseph Bens

Ferrari Driver Charles Leclerc was seen to be having a heated argument with his team, despite qualifying 2nd for the race this Sunday. The team statement was that they are happy with both of their drivers’ performances during the qualifying. According to Sainz , the car was very pliable and relatively easy to handle�� and so we can rule out Leclerc having major issues with the car.

The Monegasque was reported to be unusually touchy and erratic based on fan reports as he was very adamant not to sign merchandise and interact with fans. The usually friendly driver was then seen storming off the circuit with alleged girlfriend scurrying in tow .

An inside source had tipped that an scuffle had happened between the drivers last Thursday, after the driver press conference , between Leclerc and Verstappen . The details of the fight were unknown, but it was said that Verstappen came storming out of the room — followed by Daniel Ricciardo, Oscar Piastri and a bloodied Charles Leclerc. The FIA not taking action as the incident was said to be just that, an incident and the drivers involved has refused to release a statement.

The Red Bull driver and the Ferrari driver are bringing heat on and off track! And we cannot wait for it to unfold. Tomorrow’s race would be one to watch indeed!

———

——— F1 Breaking ———

Ferrari appeals for FIA investigation towards Red Bull Racing and McLaren Racing for Impeding and possible brake checks

[bhaalbaaby]

kinktober day 8

Title: Up To No Good (5600 words) Pairing: astarion/wyll/reader Warnings: nsfw, biting, but with more blood this time, anal, double penetration, alcohol A/N: imagine being between wyll and astarion. woof lol had to end it early because it's already so long lmao... kinks of the day: blood kink, double penetration, alternate universe

Read on AO3!

You really done it now. You try not to think about the upcoming trial as you hear your partner on the phone, trying to keep his voice hushed. You thought that if you found a loophole in his contract surely you could help him get free of his lousy job at Mizora Incorporated. How wrong you are. Wyll comes back, running his hand over his close-cut hair, the waves he worked hard on. He holds his phone in his fist, rolling it back and forth against his other calloused hand as he tries to come up with the words to say.

"Baby... We might be able to get out of this, but I have to go talk to Mr. Ancunin. Now."

Your brows furrow as you sit up on the couch, biting your bottom lip. "Now?"

He nods as he grabs his suit jacket. "Can I come too, since this is my fault?" You try to hide your desperation. Mr. Ancunin seems like a level-headed lawyer, but something about him is off. You don't trust Wyll to go there by himself, especially not in this upset state. He grimaces as he shrugs his jacket on. "I don't know. My dad barely got Astarion to approve of this meeting." You grab your shoes, quickly putting them on as you ignore Wyll's disapproval. You would make it right. You had to.

The ride to Mr. Ancunin's penthouse was quiet. The city traffic was mild and the cool air from Wyll's car kept you on edge. You wrap your cardigan around yourself tighter as you stare up at the tall buildings. When you agreed to date Wyll, you weren't thinking about the consequences of being a public figure's partner. Wyll Ravenguard, son of politician and general Ulder Ravenguard who was running for president. Gods, why did he have to be so handsome and down to earth? 

Mr. Ancunin had to live in the glamorous building you had to have seen. On your own, the doorman would have told you to mind your business and stop loitering, but with Wyll, he gives the doorman an easy smile as they let him into the parking garage. You mumble to yourself about nepotism, feeling your stomach do flips. You never met Wyll's lawyer and you rehearse your apology. Sorry, I snooped in his files, sorry I said there was a loophole, sorry I said that Mizora was corrupt on a public forum and called for justice for Karlach and Death to Zariel.

Karlach told you she appreciated it, but you got too passionate. Wyll's job is at stake, and his public persona under his father too. All because you got too passionate and caring. When Wyll parks, he hurries to your side to open your door. He still has his warm smile as he brings your knuckles to his lips. "Don't worry, my love. All will be okay." You don't want to doubt him but there's a gnawing in your stomach that makes your palms sweat. You wipe your hands on your dress as you step out of the car. 

Mr. Ancunin's home is very elegant and modern, not a mess to be found. He looks down at you, his glasses on the hilt of his nose as he raises a pale eyebrow. "Mr. Ravengard. You truly keep me on my toes. So does your little girlfriend." He waves his hand at you before letting you in.

Wyll keeps his hand on the small of your back as he smiles gratefully at his lawyer. "I appreciate it. I really do. So does General Ravengard."

Astarion's jaw tightens at the mention of Wyll's father, but he leads you both to his office. His desk is a dark mahogany that feels a bit dated with a modern black leather chair behind it, and his computer to the side with tabs open. You make out a Word document and an internet browser with the news plastering your face. You wince as you sit in the firm leather chair next to Wyll.

"You're lucky this will be an easy win as long as you two can behave." Astarion scoffs as he moves his computer in front of him. You feel like you're in the principal's office as he starts typing away. Wyll starts talking, but you tune him out, your mind racing. You just need to apologize and then everything will be done and over with right? Wyll reaches over and holds your hand gingerly in his hand. Astarion seems very annoyed as he continues to type, pushing up his glasses. You notice that his dark eyes aren't brown but a mesmerizing red.

You shift in your chair as you glance over at Wyll. He's so confident and professional. His whole life he's been trained for moments like this. You on the other hand fidget as you hope and pray that Wyll can handle it and that your meek apology for overstepping will make it all go away. To your surprise, Astarion doesn't even address you, his questions pointed towards Wyll. You trust in Wyll that he won't lie or make you look bad. He's so honest and earnest that you can tell Astarion is getting tired. You're making him work overtime anyway. You look around his nice office and figured he would be out and about enjoying the city this Friday evening.

Astarion clears his throat and Wyll squeezes your thigh. You blink, coming back to Earth. "Is there anything that you wanted to add, (Y/N)?" Astarion asks, his eyebrow raised. You shake your head no, giving him a shy smile before quickly adding, "I'm sorry for the chaos and confusion. I just wanted to speak about the injustices." Wyll winces and the corners of Astarion's lips turn downward.

"Thank you for that. You two are welcome to leave. This is plenty for me to work with. You should have the media and Mizora off your back by Monday." You both let out a sigh of relief and Wyll sits forward. "This calls for a celebration, I think."

Astarion smirks as he shrugs, "If this does go away and you two are officially off the hook, then we'll celebrate, Mr. Ravengard." You politely smile, still worried you may say something that will get disapproval from both again. "Of course. We'll be waiting by our phones awaiting the news, Mr. Ancunin." Astarion stands, chuckling. "Now, if you excuse me. I have plenty of emails to send."

You and Wyll spend the weekend down low, afraid that one slip-up would cause for another intervention with Wyll's dad or worse Mr. Ancunin. He seemed more intense since you at least think Mr. Ravengard likes you. Wyll is better at keeping his worries hidden as he continues with his routine, going to the gym, talking to his friends albeit on the phone rather than in person, and spending the evenings with you. You two spent Saturday night in bed and Sunday too nervous to have sex unsure about what Monday would bring. 

Astarion calls Wyll in the morning when you two get ready to go to work. "They've accepted the terms so long as you two don't bring it up anymore." Wyll pulls away from the phone, muting it as he glances at you. "We have to for Karlach's sake."

Your nostrils flare wishing you could get better terms for your friend but you nod, not wanting to cause more discomfort for her. "That's amazing, Astarion. We should celebrate!" Astarion chuckles as he replies, "You two should do that."

"No, it's my treat. You helped us when you didn't have to." Wyll is so kind and genuine. You always admire him for that. Astarion sighs, "Well, as long as it's not too late. It is a Monday night and I have a lot of work I need to do since I was busy with you two." Wyll's warm smile is contagious as you find yourself smiling along, not wanting to spend time with Mr. Ancunin, but as long as it makes Wyll happy.

You choose a simple black dress as Wyll sticks with his business casual black button-down and black pants. Gods, if you only had more time, you would have jumped his bones, especially when he puts the matching jacket over your shoulders, his cologne still lingering. You make sure you give him bedroom eyes as you get in his car, letting your hand linger on his thigh as he drives. "This will be a quick thing, don't worry, (Y/N)," Wyll says, giving you a knowing smile.

You roll your eyes as you check your lipgloss. "You always say that but then it ends up being a networking thing for you and your dad." You hope it doesn't sound snarky as you quickly add, "But Astarion also will want to make it quick too since we're a handful."

Wyll nods, "We should be open to all opportunities tonight." You wonder what he means by that as you ride the whole way in silence. 

The bar is not that busy as professionals usually don't drink on Mondays. You and Wyll arrive before Astarion and you find a small booth towards the back away from patrons. Wyll orders for you both, knowing what you like. You lean against him as you wait. Besides this little mishap, you don't know anything about Astarion. You hope he would be relatable and want to talk about something other than work. Wyll rubs a gentle pattern on your arm as the drinks arrive. "I hope he shows. It'd be embarrassing if we got all dressed up and he didn't come." Wyll jokes, though his usual smile is nowhere to be found.

You peck his cheek. "Of course he will. Your dad is a big client." You note as you see the silver-haired man come into the bar. Outside of his lawyer persona, he could be handsome, and charming. You see him at a place like this and feel lucky he chose you. You cringe at the thought as you take a sip of your drink, grateful Wyll knows you so well. 

"The man of the hour." Wyll announces as he stands, shaking Astarion's hand. Astarion chuckles, rolling his eyes as he shakes Wyll's hand, reaching down to shake yours as well. "I just pulled a few strings of a couple of important people to make issues go away." Astarion states as he sits down across from you.

The waitress is quicker this time to the table to get Astarion's drink. You're right in that he has a certain aura around him that people are drawn in. You can even feel it on yourself as you drink more and stare at him. He orders an expensive red wine and the waitress leaves a bit flustered when he says he doesn't want any food. She didn't even offer that to you two. "So, do you always offer celebrations like this to all of the people who assist with cleaning up your problems?" Astarion asks, his eyes are intense.

Wyll's smile is easy as he nods, "Not usually with a drink, but you've been working hard, Mr. Ancunin, and we needed to relax. Seemed like a good excuse to get out of the house."

The waitress is so fast with Astarion's wine, it's almost startling. "Thank you dear," Astarion says, his voice almost a purr. She giggles as she asks if he needs anything else. You and Wyll share a look as Astarion says no. "Who knew you had such a pull on the ladies," You say cheekily once the woman is out of earshot.

Astarion rolls his eyes as he sniffs his wine. "I get who I can. And she may get lucky tonight." There's a sadness you can't place in his tone.

Wyll lifts his glass as he smirks, "We'll drink to that." His eyes soften as he takes a sip of the wine. "I won't lie to you two. I have neglected myself this weekend handling this issue."

"Oh no, I'm sorry to hear that." You frown, holding your cup in both of your hands as you lean forward, the dress dragging a bit lower to reveal your cleavage. It's on accident as you sit back to readjust, but Astarion's eyes still linger. "Is there anything we can do to help ease your pain?" Wyll asks.

An idea flickers in Astarion's eyes and he tuts. "Well, there is something, but it's far-fetched. I would require you both to trust me."

"Of course. We do," Wyll replies quickly, also leaning forward, his expression serious.

Astarion smirks as he sits back, "Maybe we should see how tonight goes."

You don't like that answer, glaring at him. "Why can't you tell us now?"

Astarion clears his throat before taking another sip of his wine. "Well, you two should know before you find out from someone else." He lowers his voice as he leans into the table. You lean in as well, glancing over at Wyll. "I have a special condition that requires a controversial substance."

"Weed? Acid? Coke? Heroin?" The list spills out of your head before you can stop yourself.

Wyll gives you an incredulous look while Astarion looks amused. "No, not that. Worse." You raise your eyebrow as you can't think of anything worse besides meth, but he seems too classy for a meth addict.

"Blood. I haven't been able to feed on anyone in a tenday." Your looks of shock do not surprise Astarion as he sighs, "I'm glad I was able to operate coherently as I did, but I can't go that long without blood."

"You're a vampire?" Wyll asks, trying to keep his voice low.

Astarion nods, sipping his wine. "That's one word for it. Blood deficiency is what I call it to keep people's alarms low." He laughs to himself. "But this is why I said we should see how the night goes because you're both looking at me like I've grown another head. I'm not like the ones on TV which are stereotypical at best, offensive at worse." He scoffs, his fangs more apparent.

You swallow hard as you glance at Wyll. You could say no. You have to say no.

"How much do you need?" Wyll asks instead, the goodness in him still shining through.

Astarion's eyes light up as he smiles. "Only just a bite. You'll barely notice that I took a sip."

You take a long drink of your alcohol, feeling the effects when you put the cup down. Expensive stuff increases the percentage in just a cup, you think as you sigh. "What's the worst that could happen? We give blood at the blood bank, so why not?" You say to Wyll, feeling the liquor loosen your tongue.

Wyll shrugs, "But we can change our mind if it's a bit too much."

Astarion nods as he scoots closer to you both. You feel claustrophobic in between them as Astarion rests his hand on your thigh. "Yes, I won't go further than you two want." You can tell he wants to kiss you both, but that waitress is still watching, waiting.

"We can go back to my place and see where this night goes." Astarion suggests. You both nod, flagging the waitress over as Wyll handles the tab. 

Astarion's room is a contrast to his office, his bed a California king with soft white sheets and silvery patterns on the fluffy duvet. "Don't worry about getting it messy. It's seen plenty." Astarion says as you two get on the bed, watching him carefully. Wyll gently bites his lip, reaching for your hand. You wonder if he'll stop before anything happens, but Astarion approaches him first, their lips meeting. You're slightly jealous watching as Astarion kisses your partner. Wyll's grip on your hand tightens as he pulls you closer. You kiss his neck, hearing his moan muffled against Astarion's mouth. He lets go of your hand as Astarion comes for you next, his kiss more practiced than yours. You try your best to match his passion, feeling hands on your chest. The kiss isn't as long as Wyll's as Astarion returns his lips.

You watch as Wyll and Astarion's tongues intertwine, Astarion's hands massaging your chest through your thin dress, Wyll's hand running along Astarion's thigh. You moan softly, tugging your dress lower, giving both of them full access to yourself. Astarion pulls away as Wyll grabs your breast, his lips quickly wrapping around your nipple, making you squeal.

Astarion grabs your chin, leading you to kiss him. His lips are soft and inviting as your hand rests on Wyll's head, fingers running along his soft waves. He pulls back, turning to Astarion. "Is this what you do with all the people you bite?" He asks as he helps you out of your dress. You feel like both of them are overly dressed as you lie back on the soft bed in your panties, wondering which one will offer you their cock first and where.

Astarion chuckles as he presses kisses down your torso, burying his face between your thighs against your lacy panties. "Not often. You two are the first couple in a while. Both of you will satisfy me." He states as you squeal feeling his warm mouth against the fabric. Wyll smiles down at you as he undoes his pants. You watch with hungry eyes seeing the imprint of his member tighten in his underwear as he slips the pants off.

"As long as we don't tell anyone." Wyll adds, leaning down to kiss your moaning lips, your legs wrapping around Astarion's curly head. He lifts his head, pressing kisses along your inner thigh.

"Of course. We'll all sign NDAs once this is all over." He jokes as he slips your panties to the side, his tongue flat as he laps at you. You arch your back as your hands make quick work of Wyll's briefs, your hands wrapped around his thick cock. He tenses, the muscles on his stomach contracting as you stroke him.

You try to ignore Astarion as you glance up at Wyll, his handsome face looking towards the soft-lit ceiling as he bites his lip. Your brows furrow as Astarion suckles your clit, your mouth dropping. You bring Wyll's cock closer to your face, knowing your hands won't do much work as you start trembling.

Wyll leans down, tugging at your nipples as you slowly let his cock fill your mouth. You always love how he feels inside of your mouth, you never found yourself getting tired of sucking him off. Your tongue runs up and down his length before letting him go as far as you can take him, gagging slightly. Your hands rest on his thighs as your foot runs up and down Astarion's back, your hips rocking against his mouth.

Astarion pops his head up, slipping a finger into your hole. "That's not fair," He purrs as he watches you pleasure Wyll.

"What's not?" Wyll asks, trying to keep his voice even as you moan around his cock. "That you're handsome, rich, and have a perfect cock. I bet you'll even bottom for me." Astarion rolls his eyes before returning his tongue, the tip so sharp against your clit. You remove your mouth to cry out, digging your nails into Wyll's hips.

"I'm sure yours is also great Astarion. You're distracting (Y/N) though." He says, slightly pouting as he guides your mouth back, his fingers tugging on your hair as he takes over, ignoring your whimper around him, Astarion's fingers picking up speed.

He laughs softly as he removes his mouth. "She tastes glorious. I'm sure you two have lots of fun." He teases as he presses kisses on your panties, avoiding making you cry out again. You wish you could join their banter, but your brain goes to mush when Astarion leans up, his thrusts consistent as his mouth wraps around your nipple, his tongue flicking. You breathe heavily through your nose, glancing up at Wyll who grunts softly. You feel spit coat your chin, the moans getting lost by the wet noises between your thighs and your mouth.

"I think she's ready for you." Astarion states before gently nibbling your breasts, making you moan louder.

"Are you sure?" Wyll asks, glancing over at his lawyer, his hands now rubbing your clit. You rock your hips, trembling. You wonder who he pleases most of the time and how lucky they were. Sometimes you doubt how you can handle Wyll most of the time, so lucky to have him, but to have him and Astarion at the same time? You feel bad that your body would give out before they both get a turn.

"I want to see how good her mouth can be. She's making you look so delicious." He explains, bringing his fingers to his lips.

Wyll chuckles leaning down to kiss you quickly before going between your thighs. He unbuttons his shirt, tossing it on the floor. His fingers tug your panties down as Astarion takes Wyll's previous spot, also taking off his shirt. He isn't toned like Wyll, but you can see he works out sometimes from his arms. You're overwhelmed, unsure to look at Wyll who puts your thighs on either side of him before deciding to turn you over, deciding on where to look.

You look up at the pale vampire who smiles down at you. You undo his belt as you feel Wyll rub his cock between your cheeks, palming your ass. "You look very pretty like this," Astarion says to you, running his fingers gently through your hair as you try to keep your mind from scrambling more.

Astarion's cock isn't much different than Wyll's besides being uncut and not as girthy but makes up for it in length. Gods… You briefly imagine both of them inside of you and a shiver runs down your back as you feel Wyll pull back and the small rip of a wrapper. You don't waste any more time, bringing the cock to your lips. Astarion breathes heavily through his nostrils as you gently suck on his tip.

You roll your tongue along his tip pulling away as Wyll slowly thrusts in. You push your ass back towards him as he starts his pace, taking his time as he watches you struggle with sucking Astarion. "First-time threesome?" He asks as he gently pets your head.

You nod as you stroke him. "B-b-but I'll do my best to please you, Mr. Ancunin." You say, ignoring the pleasure that flushes your skin each time Wyll thrusts in. You run your tongue along Astarion's cock, his hand guiding you lower to his balls. You suck on them as your hand continues to stroke him, focusing on the tip. He thrusts into your hand, keeping you lower still. Wyll's hands grip your hips as he picks up his pace, grunting. Your toes curl as you clench around him.

"Does she come fast for you, Wyll?" Astarion asks breathily as you moan around his balls. Wyll chuckles as he spanks your ass hard.

"She does. Says my cock is the best she's ever had." Heat comes to your cheeks as they talk about you like you're not there. "She's struggling hard." Astarion notes as he finally lets you up, using your mouth for his pleasure. You moan around his cock as he continues to fuck your mouth, trying to match Wyll's pace as he fucks you hard, spanking you with every other stroke. "But she's a good girl who waits," Wyll states, gripping your ass hard as he spreads your cheeks, watching as your asshole contracts.

"Are you a good girl?" Astarion asks as he stuffs your mouth. You whine, trying to nod your head as he grips your head, enjoying the gagging that escapes your throat. You don't know how you're keeping yourself together now as Wyll hits your spot over and over, beckoning for you to come with each stroke, but you hold yourself back giving all your attention to Astarion's thrusting cock.

"Neither of you can come yet. I want the honors." Astarion states after a while. He pulls his cock, rubbing his length on your wet lips before sitting back, watching as Wyll pounds you into the soft bedsheets.

"Wyll, be a darling and suck me off. You can still fuck your girlfriend." He stands, bringing his member to Wyll's lips. You take the opportunity to grab a pillow to muffle your moans as Wyll is so close to bringing you to orgasm. You wish Astarion would just fuck you now so he could say he made you come.

Your nails dig into the pillow as Wyll slows just a bit, wet noises coming from his mouth. You turn your head slightly to watch as he glances up at Astarion, his lips perfectly positioned around Astarion's pink tip. You look away quickly, feeling yourself get even more turned on, your legs trembling.

"Don't you dare come, (Y/N)." Astarion growls as he watches. You squeeze your thighs together as you think of something else, not the way Wyll's lips look wrapped around Astarion's cock, the way his cock buries itself deep inside, your walls clenching around him. You think of Astarion's sharp teeth and their true purpose and somehow that turns you off enough to let Wyll continue to pommel your ass.

Wyll stops soon, laughing as he removes his mouth. "I can't come either. She's so wet." He comments giving you another smack. "Another few strokes and I'd be the one in trouble."

Astarion chuckles as he gets down. "Turn over, (Y/N). It's my turn." You're delighted at the words as you obey. You need to release. He kisses you quickly as Wyll sits back on the bed, "Can I watch so I don't get worked up?" His question is sweet and Astarion rolls his eyes. "Sure. You can also make it tough for (Y/N) too."

Wyll's eyes light up at the suggestion and you mentally curse him while you whine. "Make it tough?" You ask as Astarion reaches for a condom. "Of course. It's fun to make you wait for your orgasm." Astarion notes as he puts the protection on.

You flare your nostrils as Wyll lies next to you. "You're so pretty, baby. I'm glad I get to share how pretty you get when you're like this." You roll your eyes at Wyll's compliment as he tilts your head up towards him, Astarion pulling your hips closer. You break the kiss, and look into Astarion's red eyes as he slowly thrusts inside. You moan as Wyll slides his hand down between your legs, rubbing your swollen clit.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck you." You cry out, holding on to his shoulders as your legs wrap around Astarion's hips. Both of them chuckle as you become a moaning mess, closing your eyes tight as you clench around Astarion. Your stomach tightens as you try your best to not come instantly.

Wyll leans down, kissing your neck, resting his head against yours as you pant against his chest. "You're doing a good job taking his dick, baby. You made my fingers so wet already." Wyll whispers in your ear as his circular motions quicken, Astarion's strokes so deep and precise.

"Gods help me," is all you can say as you say as your legs tighten around Astarion's waist. Astarion laughs as he leans down, grabbing Wyll's firm ass.

"She's not gonna last." He comments, as your hips rock against him, breathing heavily.

"What should we do about that?" Wyll asks, his voice always so earnest. Astarion glances down as he pounds you into the bed, finding where you're most sensitive.

"Fuck her ass. I know she can't handle us like this, but imagine how she'll be with both of us?" His eyes dance as you continue to bury your face into Wyll's slightly sweaty chest. He chuckles as Astarion slows, "Lube is in my dresser."

Oh, he's serious.

You glance at Astarion, the madman. Wyll kisses you one last time before going to get the lube. "Yes sir." Once Wyll rolls off the bed, Astarion's arms scoop you up, making you cry out as he bounces you on his cock.

"You taste as sweet as you sound." Astarion teases as you bury your face in his neck, holding on for dear life. The sound of skin on skin fills the room with Wyll rummaging around to find the lube.

"Don't you come, darling? It's not time yet." He growls as his fingers dig into your ass. You curse as you glance over at Wyll.

"Hurry up!" You cry, the faith in yourself to behave and not make a mess on Astarion's cock as the new angle has his cock nestled against your g-spot. Wyll laughs as he shakes his head. "You hear how close she is, Astarion?" Wyll asks as he returns to the bed with the little bottle. Astarion leans down, pressing kisses against your sweaty neck.

"Absolutely. I think I'll bite her once you're in." He purrs as he leans back slightly as you cry out, feeling Wyll rest behind you. You try to relax as Astarion slows, sucking on your sensitive skin. It's going to hurt no doubt. You've been bitten before, but not for blood, to feed.

You feel Wyll press his now-slicked cock against your puckered hole as Astarion stops, allowing Wyll to fill you. You tense, his thick shaft hot as he stretches your hole.

Your mouth drops open, a scream catching in your throat as Wyll lets you rest your back against him, his hands massaging your chest. Astarion smirks as he leans forward, picking up his pace as you struggle against Wyll in your ass. Your mouths meet as he holds your legs higher.

Wyll groans as he ruts against you, twisting and massaging your nipples as your body contracts around both of their cocks. You close your eyes tight, your body heating up as Astarion pulls away, peppering kisses down your neck.

"Be prepared for a gush, my dear Prince. Biting tends to make people..." He pauses to kiss your neck again, grinding his hips as flush as he can as you toss your head back against Wyll's shoulder. "In rapture."

Wyll's arms flex around you, expecting the worst as he rocks his hips. You're getting used to his girth in his angle now that Astarion slows down, kissing your neck and getting you ready for whatever a vampire bite feels like.

His teeth are like hot icicles sinking into your skin like butter. The scream that erupts from your body seems otherwordly as Wyll holds you still, blood running down your neck and collarbones as Astarion's thrust is languid. You close your eyes tight, feeling lightheaded. His mouth is warm as he continues to feed, moaning as warm gushes of blood fill his mouth. Your arms that wrapped around his shoulders start to go limp. How much did he need?

Wyll also slows as your breathing shallows, Astarion showing no signs of stopping. "Hey Boss, I think that's enough," Wyll says pushing Astarion off.

Astarion's pupils are blown as he leans back, taking in the sight of you barely holding on to consciousness and Wyll's suddenly sobered-up look of concern. Astarion laughs as he licks the blood that runs down your neck, hiking your legs up again as he picks up his pace, harder this time, arousing more moans from your lips.

"I'm sorry pets. It's been a while since I've had someone as tasty (Y/N)." He says as he licks his lips, leaning forward to kiss Wyll. Wyll hesitates before kissing him back, your blood still on Astarion's tongue. You watch them through half-lidded eyes, trying to regain your energy as your torture continues.

Wyll curses under his breath as he pushes you towards Astarion, his thrusts fast, your body barely able to catch up. "Yes, pound her. Oh Gods, feel how she clenches around us." Astarion purrs, holding you up as you withstand Wyll's brutal pounding, your cries echoing through the penthouse. Wyll's hand clutches your breast and the other slides down to your hips as your ass smacks against him until he moans, holding himself still. You hold on to Astarion tight until Wyll finally pulls out, shaking his head. "Fuck, my love..."

He rests on the bed as Astarion also pulls out, resting you back on the bed. You're slightly annoyed that the bite isn't as erotic as you thought, not making you orgasm, but you hide it by kissing your sweetheart with the look of bliss on his face.

Astarion isn't eluded like Wyll, getting him cleaned up by removing the condom and handing him a towel. "You should get your girlfriend off," Astarion says with a wink as he throws the condoms away. Your eyes widen as you shake your head.

"I think I need a nap." You reply quickly, trying not to make sudden movements. He rolls his eyes, returning to the bed, pulling your hips back to him as he leans down. Wyll sits up, watching, raising his eyebrow. "You didn't do enough, Astarion?" There's a slight edge to his voice, that he plays off with a smile.

"I don't think we did enough," Astarion says, kissing your ass before burying his tongue between them, your moan slipping out before you can catch yourself. Wyll watches, sighing as he guides your hand back to his cock. "Then we'll have to start again," Wyll says after a moment, guiding your face up to his.

[theboywithburninghands]

It’s time. The sequel to my first fic set in @rottentricks’ Murder Mystery Universe. First chapter is a go. Enjoy!

T/W: Blood and gore, mentions of suicide, mentions of drugs and alcohol, profanity

Beasts Ch. 1: Knock Knock

I am the beast that cuts the meat!

Now that they’re dead, you can sink in your teeth!

———

“Hello and good evening to all you listeners out there in Autumnvale! It is currently 7:15 PM on this dark and snowy February night, a brisk 19 degrees and 8 minutes before sundown, which means you should be home and your doors should be shut tight. I’m Matthew Laney and joining me as always is my partner in crime, Arnold Zorelli…”

The radio continued playing on the dash of a silver Jaguar S-Type, the driver a gray haired fellow with square, amber-rimmed glasses and a $350 black suit jacket. He reached for the volume control knob, but paused and looked at his passenger.

“You mind if I turn it up?” he asked.

His passenger, a beautiful brunette woman perhaps 15 years younger than he was, turned her gaze away from the treeline rushing past them. In the light of the headlamps, the trunks were dim and gray and mausoleum-like. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black in the low light.

“No, go ahead,” she answered, turning to look back out the window. The driver increased the radio’s volume a few notches.

“…coming up on the one month anniversary of the bugnuts insane Wren case. If you’ve been living under a rock, first of all, how cheap is the rent? But secondly, our town’s own shrink Dr. Cole Wren got busted for tampering with a patient’s antidepressants until he killed himself, then framed the butcher Jax Kingston when the patient took his own life, so he could take to the streets and protest against racial discrimination.” The jock, Laney, recounted.

“I don’t think Batman could have pulled off something like that,” the color commentator said.

The jock laughed. “And Wren couldn’t either! Because he got busted by a grad student on live TV!”

“Oh yeah, I remember, ‘You’re not a hero, you’re a freak!’”

“I want that on a t-shirt,” Laney said. “But we here at WVRT hopefully will have the grad student, uh, her name is Pomni Freeman, on the show for the anniversary to discuss her experience.”

“Pomni? Never heard a name like that,” Zorelli said.

“Uh, it’s Russian I think. I kinda like it, it’s elegant,” Laney replied.

“Beats what people used to name their kids in the 60’s,” Zorelli chuckled.

“Oh, what, like ‘Starlight’ or ‘Coast’ or ‘Zephyr?’”

“I knew a girl named Zephyr.”

“Man shut up, you did not!” Laney exclaimed.

“No, hand to God, there was a girl in my 4th grade class named Zephyr Tomlinson,” Zorelli declared.

The Jaguar pulled into the driveway of one of the new McMansions that had been built on the edge of town, one of three at the end of Roche St.’s cul-de-sac. An eccentric architect from another country, who had already made millions building “mansions” quickly and cheaply throughout the state, approached Mayor Caine Mason with plans to turn some of the disused housing on the edge of the woods into a high-end neighborhood. These “mansions,” built with outsourced construction crews and supplies, were considered a way for more middle class folk to break the barrier into high society.

Most in Autumnvale agreed that those who bought the McMansions were either rich already, needed more space for their families, or were incredibly insecure about their already upper-middle class status and wanted to look even more well-to-do. Even Mayor Mason, who allowed the architect to build the “mansions,” hated the way they looked. Blocky and uneven like a four year old’s Duplo building.

“Tammy, you’re doing that thing. What’s the matter?” the man asked.

“Nothing,” Tammy replied.

The man pulled his Jaguar into the garage, closing the door behind it. Tammy exited the car as soon as the engine was cut off. The man walked after her, locking the Jaguar with his key fob and unlocking the deadbolt to the back door. The door was mahogany, or at least a reasonable imitation of mahogany, with one of those ornate floral patterned oval windows of frosted glass in the middle of the door. The back door opened into the kitchen, Tammy hanging her brown lambswool peacoat on one of the clothes hooks.

“Can I make you a drink?” the man asked. He went into the kitchen, where a small bar had been set up on the island. Black Thistle, Woodford Reserve Double Oaked, The Glenlivet, Gray Goose and Rémy Martin XO, with the appropriate lowball and highball glasses, wobble snifters and shot glasses on a silver tray, next to an ice bucket and a few bottles of Schweppes Tonic Water.

“I’m fine,” Tammy said, removing her high heels and putting them on the shoe rack, rather than in the closet. “I’m just tired after all that.”

“After all what? Standing in a corner staring at your nails?” the man said, pouring some Black Thistle into a lowball.

“Amos, I don’t know anyone at those ‘mixers,’ okay? What am I supposed to talk about, anyway? I don’t know shit about international trade. All those guys look like they want to slip something in my drink, anyway…”

The man, Amos, added a few ice cubes to the gin in his glass.

“Just about all ‘those guys’ are business partners who I’ve known for decades. They’re married or gay,” he said, completing his drink with tonic water. “I took you out because I figured you would appreciate a bit of fresh air, not just sitting around the house all day watching Desperate Housewives.”

Tammy, heading up the stairs, glared down at Amos. “If you want to hang out with a girl, try dinner or a movie somewhere. Frankly, I’d rather stay home and watch tv than stand around like a bimbo while your rich friends ogle at me.”

Tammy went up the white carpeted stairs, walking by the balcony overlooking the sitting room on the ground floor. The full grain black leather couch faced a 42” plasma screen television on the brown particleboard console.

Amos looked down at his drink, tempted to throw the lowball at the wall. He instead tipped the contents into the sink, ice clanging on the bottom of the basin, rinsed the lowball glass and dried it, placing it with the rest of the set on the black granite counter. He took out a small present, wrapped in pink paper with a fuschia bow, and set it on the counter.

“Happy three month anniversary to you too. Cold bitch.”

The security lights flicked on at 7:30 on the dot.

—

Tammy entered the master bedroom, the walls a pleasant mustard yellow and the carpet creamy white. The powder room door stood shut on the left wall. Amos always got on her case for leaving it open since it blocked the bedroom door from opening. That was the fault of the stupid architect that built this place. Corners cut everywhere.

She stripped to her underwear. Black lingerie Amos got her that was worth about $400. It made her look good, but it was itchy. Designer clothes were a waste of her money, but if she wasn’t the one paying for it, she’d wear it. She unhooked her bra and tossed it into the laundry basket. She opened the walk-in closet door and took a moment to look in the mirror hanging on the opposite side. She checked the alarm clock on the nightstand. Its dim red LED lights said 7:32.

She pulled on one of her sleep shirts from the walk-in closet, a plain white T made of some sort of cotton blend that was soft on the skin. She would have checked what kind on the collar tag, but it got torn off a while ago. She itched the red impressions that her bra left behind on her skin.

The bathroom door opened, just a crack.

Tammy went to the California King Bed, its black medallion-patterned sheets and plush gray comforter neatly made. The housekeeper must have stopped by. What was her name? …She didn’t care all that much.

She laid on her side of the bed, checking the clock again. 7:34. She grabbed the stereo remote from the nightstand and pressed play. The big black machine on Amos’s dresser whirred as it spun the CD in its tray. A song by Lou Reed began to softly play over the surround sound speakers set up in each corner of the ceiling.

“Just a perfect day…

Drink sangria in the park…”

She cranked the volume up a few notches. A single wild eye watched her from the crack in the bathroom door. Amos called out from downstairs.

“Tamika! That’s a bit loud, doll!”

She rolled her eyes and didn’t touch the remote. The music continued:

“Just a perfect day…

Feed animals in the zoo…

And then later a movie too,

And then home…”

The bathroom door crashed open. A heavy black combat boot kicked it hard enough for the prong knob to dent the adjacent wall. Tammy sprung up on the bed. A hulking figure in a red hoodie and a featureless chrome mask like the back of a spoon stomped towards her, clutching something in their

right, latex gloved hand.

“Oh it’s such a perfect day!” Lou Reed sang.

“What the hell are you doing? You’re not- GET OFF! GET OFF! AMOS!”

The figure grabbed Tammy by the neck with their off hand and slammed her back onto the bed. They raised the object in their dominant hand over their head, a handaxe glinting in the lamplight.

“Tammy?!” Amos called out from the sitting room, rocketing up the stairs. Even at this dead sprint, there was no way he could reach her in time.

“I’m glad I spent it with you!” Lou Reed continued.

The figure swung their handaxe with barbaric force, Tammy raising her left arm to defend herself. The first strike cut a red and white fissure through flesh and bone, the second swapt her arm off at the elbow. The appendage tumbled off the bed with a heavy thud, the stump spouting. Tammy let out a scream more beast than human.

“Oh just a perfect day, you just keep me hangin’ on…”

Amos twisted the bedroom doorknob and barged the door with his shoulder, only to be met with a dull thunk. The bathroom door was open. The bathroom door that he had told her a million BILLION TIMES NOT TO LEAVE OPEN AND SHE WAS GETTING KILLED OH GOD-

“Hey,” came a voice behind him.

Amos turned to see a figure in a chrome mask and black hoodie behind him. They stood with a wooden baseball bat, and swung it at Amos’s head like a delinquent kid swinging at mailboxes. Amos managed to block the swing with both hands, stumbling backwards over the railing. He plummeted fifteen feet straight down into his own sitting room. He smashed into the leather couch, breaking off the front legs and snapping a spring with an almost musical TOINGGG. The chrome-faced assailant peered over the railing at him, almost childlike in their curiosity. Gee, mister, that sure was a nasty fall…

“You just keep me hangin’ on…” Lou Reed continued.

Amos, dazed but unharmed, lurched to his feet off the now cracked leather couch, making for the front door. He heard rapid footfalls on the stairs behind him, unlocking the front door and sprinting out onto the tiny lawn, leaving Prada shoe prints in the new fallen powder snow. He thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t taken his shoes or coat off. He looked over his shoulder to see the intruder watching him from the doorway, bat held in both hands. He must have known he couldn’t catch him, or else-

Something cold and heavy collided with him, knocking him to the street. His glasses skittered across the pavement and his head bounced off the cement. Before the tiny synaptic fireworks had a chance to stop flashing in his vision, a set of teeth sank into his neck, puncturing his larynx like a knife through Saran Wrap and rendering him unable to scream. He could only rasp as another set of teeth clamped down on his right leg, thrashing it about the way a dog would play tug of war.

The intruder watched the two Nightwalkers devour the man, two others emerging from the dark of the woods, eager and silent, hungry for good meat. The Nightwalker that had a hold of Amos’s leg ripped a bloody wedge of flesh free, walking a few paces away and then laying in the road, tearing at its keep like a sirloin steak. The other Nightwalkers chose their cut of meat with no hesitation, one biting into Amos’s right elbow and the other his stomach. The first Nightwalker that had a hold of his neck continued to chew, determined to sever his head.

The intruder in red came downstairs, sticky with blood and carrying their blood-soaked handaxe, their jacket pockets crammed with jewelry and wads of hundred dollar bills.

“Fuckin’ hell, did you make her into a smoothie?! Ugh.” The intruder in black said. “I told you to try not to kill her, you stupid asshole. We just needed her to get the safe open. Ugh, whatever. You got it open?”

The intruder in red nodded, patting their lumpy pockets.

“Good. Nightwalkers took care of Gramps. Let’s wrap it up before those things finish their food.” the intruder in black said, slamming the door shut.

“Just a perfect day…

You made me forget myself…” Lou Reed sang.

The two of them grabbed whatever valuables they could find, Tammy’s purse, Amos’s wallet, the anniversary gift, and a laptop from the office. They emptied their spoils into a pillowcase and tied it off.

“Where’s the important thing?” The intruder in black said.

The intruder in red pointed up the stairs.

The duo hurried to the master bedroom, the intruder in black groaning upon seeing what was left of Tammy on the bed and the floor and the wall.

“God, you fuckin’ animal… come on.” The intruder in black scolded.

“Oh it’s such a perfect day…” Lou Reed repeated.

The pair of assailants went into the closet, the one in red pulling an ornate wooden box from the floating shelf on the back wall, tucked away inconspicuously with other shoeboxes.

“You’re sure that’s it?” the intruder in black asked.

The intruder in red opened the box and showed their partner the contents.

“Looks real enough to me. Let’s go.”

“You’re going to reap just what you sow…” Lou Reed warned.

He repeated this warning several times as the men went outside, hurrying across the cul-de-sac and tossing the pillowcase into the back seat of their nearby pickup truck. The box was set down carefully on the seat and secured with the seatbelts.

The Nightwalkers, now six in number, watched them with mild interest as they ate, having torn Amos into multiple pieces of varying size and shape. A specimen with boar-like tusks approached, clutching a fibula in its teeth with a few strings of muscle still attached. It almost looked friendly. The intruder in red knew better and took a swipe at it with their handaxe, the Nightwalker skirting backwards a ways with the bloody leg bone still in its maw. It stepped off, laying in the road and tugging the last bits of meat off the fibula.

The two intruders climbed into the truck, the one in black gunning the engine without turning on the lights. The intruder in red rolled their window down and tossed the handaxe out beside the Nightwalkers with a clatter, and the truck sped off into the night. One Nightwalker, a single, cyclopean eye on its skull, walked over, sniffed the blade of the handaxe and licked it clean.

The door to the McMansion having been left open, a Nightwalker with six legs and an elongated, aardvark-like muzzle went into the house. Lou Reed’s song had ended and another song by Great White began. Nightwalkers generally abhorred light, but Amos and Tammy had only managed to turn on a few lights before their ends, so it was tolerable for this intrepid beast. The Nightwalker sniffed, loping carefully up the staircase. It tripped and fell onto its belly a few times, having never encountered steps before in the woods. Once at the top, panting, it nosed the bedroom door open, and found a delectable feast lying unclaimed inside. It laid down by the arm on the floor and tore into it without hesitation.

“My, my, my!

Once bitten twice shy, babe!”

—

Pomni Freeman, seated in her studio apartment, added the finishing touches to a tree on her landscape. She used her smallest brush to add some shading to the leaves, leaning back to see how it looked from a distance.

“Hmm… that looks…” she said, closing one eye and chewing the end of her paintbrush. She shrugged. “It’ll work.”

She set her small brush down on her collapsible work table, picked up her larger brush and swirled it in the milky blue paint on her pallet. Her painting was almost done, about 80%, only the top right corner being blank white canvas, the rest a (if she said so herself) gorgeous mountain landscape with a river running through it. This painting was due the first of February, but due to… extenuating circumstances, she was given as long as she needed to finish it. It’s difficult to paint if you can’t raise your arm too high, after all.

Her wounds healed up well after the stitches were removed. It took a week or so, but she could eventually reach up and down without the risk of tearing anything. Then it was back to the grind as usual.

Well, no. Not quite. She did have something else new.

Jax Kingston. 22, butcher by trade. Her boyfriend. She and him had only been dating for a little less than a month now, but she was pretty certain she loved the big lug. Not only did he save her life, he was everything she wanted in a partner. Soft-spoken, funny, strong in every way… hot. Sure, he was rough around the edges. He could be kinda gross sometimes. Pomni had seen him put a claw to his nose and shoot a snot rocket into the snow, and some of his jokes were so dark they were horror stories… But he loved her, and she loved him. So, there wasn’t much to complain about.

They had gone on a few dates since she had her stitches out. Autumnvale was a small burg, so there weren’t a tremendous number of destinations to go to. They had been for walks around town, had breakfast at Ragatha’s café, they even went to the premiere of A Winter’s Tale at Gangle’s playhouse. Jax had a very difficult time understanding the elevated language, but enjoyed it regardless.

“It was kinda like watching a movie in another language. You could sorta tell what was going on just by watching their faces, you know?” he had said.

Pomni was always impressed at how clever he could be, despite him never graduating high school. She knew that was incredibly elitist of her to even think about, since plenty of people didn’t do well in school and later turned out to be geniuses. Einstein threw a chair at his teacher for God’s sake.

She had also spent a few nights over at his house. And as much as she loved Ragatha’s cooking, Jax was an artisan with meat. He made her pork chops with mint sauce one night, the pig cut just right so there was plenty of meat on the bone and cooked until perfectly thick and juicy. Another night, he slow-roasted some ribs that were so tender the meat was falling off the bone, combined with a tangy, sweet homemade barbeque sauce that his mom taught him how to make. And another night, he made her some smash burgers, the beef seasoned to perfection with just a hint of Worcestershire sauce, topped with cheddar cheese, relish, sautéed onions and sliced Beefstake tomato, all on a lightly toasted Kaiser roll.

Pomni was used to being just a little bit hungry most of the time due to mostly eating peanut butter sandwiches and Nature Valley bars rather than an actual proper meal. But she always felt like she was gonna pop after dinner with Jax, and it was such an enormous relief to not feel the gnaw of hunger for once.

They watched movies on Jax’s VCR. Jax’s collection was an odd assortment of horror or sci-fi films and older romance films. Films like Lake Placid and Tremors right next to Harold and Maude and Casablanca. Apparently his parents let him have all of their tapes since their VCR broke ages ago and they didn’t feel much need to replace it. Pomni sat in the rabbit-wolf’s lap, both of them wrapped in a thick flannel blanket, watching a movie while the bitter winter wind howled outside, rattling the window panes and slightly stirring the fire in the hearth.

It was one night, when they were watching Men in Black, that Pomni looked up in the middle of the film and looked her boyfriend in the eyes.

“Hey, you don’t have to sleep on the loveseat tonight.”

Jax looked down at her, lupine eyes inquisitive. “What do you mean? I don’t mind the couch. You’re not hogging my space or anything…”

“I didn’t say I wanted to sleep on the couch, did I?” Pomni said. In the firelight, her pale skin shined and dusted with pink.

“Oh,” Jax said, his ears sticking up straighter. “Uh. Well, sure. Yeah. We can do that.”

Jax didn’t sleep on the loveseat again. His rather bulky frame took up most of the mattress space, but Pomni hardly noticed. She spent her nights in bed with Jax nestled against his side or in the crook of his arm. Cuddling up with him was a surefire way to keep warm on those frigid nights, sometimes even too warm, as she had woken up with sweat-dampened clothes on a few occasions, but that was a minuscule price to pay if it meant being close with him.

Jax was a good bedfellow, although he had woken Pomni up a few times with some quaking snores. She could fall back asleep fairly easily, but on nights where he was particularly congested, she had prodded him awake and asked him politely to try blowing his nose. He always did, and Pomni was usually sound asleep by the time the groggy rabbit-wolf climbed back into bed.

Pomni was filling in the single blank corner of her landscape with cyan-white paint when her phone rang.

“Gaaah…” she grumbled, setting down her brush on her pallet and wiping the her hands on a washcloth while the phone rang again. Probably her parents calling for the squintillionth time. The caller ID’s robotic voice blurted out a name;

“CALL FROM— KINGSTON, K.”

Oh shit. Jax’s dad. She hurried over to the phone before it finished its final ring and picked it up.

“He-Hello?” Pomni asked.

“Hey, Pomni, it’s Jax.” replied a familiar growly voice. He always used the same phone greeting.

“Hey, babe! What’s up, are you with your dad?” Pomni asked, her tone brightening immediately.

“Uh yeah, how did-? Oh, caller ID. Right. Uh, ahem, yeah, I’m with dad. I was wondering if you wanted to come over and visit?” Jax asked.

“Now?” Pomni asked. She looked at her painting.

“Uhhhhh yeah. We’ll make you breakfast. Mom’s gonna be getting back from vacation today and I was hoping she could meet you.”

Pomni hesitated. …She couldn’t say no to breakfast.

“Okay, sounds good.” Pomni answered.

“Cool. Uh, the address is 2927 Dover St. It’s about a half mile walk from Ragatha’s place, from the main intersection? Just follow Dover St. and it’ll be on your right. You’re gonna be warm enough, right?”

“Yeah. I can be there in about… half an hour, give or take. I can’t stay too long though, since I have a painting I gotta finish, okay?”

“That’s fine. You want to come over tonight?” Jax asked.

Pomni smiled. His enthusiasm was so cute.

“We’ll see, okay? I really want to get this finished, and it might be dark out by then. But if I do, I’ll let you know. Did you get your phone set up yet?”

“Oh sh- crap… No, I haven’t, the phone people haven’t been out yet.”

“Jax, the whole reason we got you that thing is so I can call you at home. It’s getting kinda frustrating.” Pomni put a hand on her hip.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Jax apologized. “The landline people just haven’t gotten out here yet, honest. They have to dig a trench for it and everything.”

“Look, hun, if I can come over tonight, I will, but if I’m not there by sundown, just assume I had to stay behind, okay? That doesn’t hurt your feelings, does it?” Pomni asked.

“Oh, totally, I’ll dump you on the spot.” Jax drawled. “‘Course it doesn’t. I get it, you’re busy. I work for a living too. We got other nights if this one doesn’t work out.”

“Thanks for understanding… I love you, see you in a bit, okay?” Pomni said, her cheeks warming a bit.

“…I love you too. Dress warm.” Jax said, a smile in his voice.

“I will. Bye-bye.” she replied, pressing the End Call button. She put the phone back on its charging dock and stretched, popping her elbows and back, before untying the old apron she had repurposed into a smock and hanging it on her easel. She took off her pajamas, taking a moment to look down at her scars.

Two deep crescents on the right side of her belly, the taut scar tissue having turned reddish-brown over last month. They looked kinda cool, sort of like a tattoo. Two moons… Hm, that gave her an idea for a drawing. A vast, starry expanse with two moons, big and all encompassing like twin planets… Wasn’t there some crackpot theory about there being two moons at one point?

She ran the tip of her finger on one of the scars and felt an echo of that night’s numbing terror. Agonizing pain and hot, sticky blood and frigid concrete… The night she should have died. She hadn’t uncovered any damning clues, but… she did meet the person she loved. And, to credit herself a bit, she helped catch the guy who tried to frame him the very next day.

She slipped on some fresh underwear and began to dress in her new snow clothes. Her parents bought her two outfits “just in case.” In case of another Nightwalker attack? Yeah. When monkeys flew out of her ass. She wasn’t letting that happen ever again.

She put on the red outfit. Nothing against the blue one, but red was her favorite lately. It looked neat, a rose-red puffer over a black fleece and black snow pants with a red beanie. Her gray university beanie went flying off her head when she took her tumble down the steps, and it was gone when she finally made it back to her apartment. Someone might have taken or thrown it out. No big deal, it would’ve been snowed over and soaking wet anyway. She also didn’t enjoy being pegged as a “city girl” whenever she wore it.

She pulled on her black wool gloves, black scarf, and brown galoshes, double checked to make sure her radiator was on (she wasn’t about to let her painting freeze), and grabbed her purse.

She opened the door out onto the balcony, the cold February air ghosting over her as she shut her apartment door and locked it. Her keys went into her front pocket, and only her front pocket from now on. It seemed that winter still had some air left in its lungs, as it showed no signs of slowing. It had snowed another half an inch last night. She looked at the stairs.

Pomni’s mother had gotten in contact with the landlord and given him a piece of her mind for a good half an hour. She told him, in no uncertain terms, the only way to avoid litigation was to make sure the steps were ice-free every time it snowed. Period. No asterisk.

So they were ice free, sprinkled with little beads of rock salt. Even as she took them, she took care to grab the railing anyway. That was part of the reason why she fell down the stupid things in the first place.

As she maneuvered her way down the steps, the high pitched whine of a siren rang through the air. Cops. The station wasn’t that far from her apartment (although, nothing was too far from anything in a town this small), so she heard them whenever they were called out to stop a bar fight or domestic dispute. Seemed like they were really in a rush this morning, as she soon saw two cruisers, red and blue lights flashing, turn onto the road her apartment was on. Pomni instinctively ducked under the stairs as the APD flew past her. Her opinion of the cops hadn’t improved much at all since January…

Once they were gone, she expelled a plume of steam and continued down the road into town. Autumnvale had been awake for a while, little communities like this got started around the asscrack of dawn, or, at the first sign or reliable sunlight, when the Nightwalkers fled to whatever pit they came from to avoid the sun. She waved to a farmer, a bull-man, passing by on his green and yellow tractor. He doffed his baseball cap.

“Mornin’, Nancy Drew.” he called over the engine.

“Morning,” Pomni replied. She cringed a bit at the nickname. Sure, she had helped solve a mystery, but that didn’t make her a detective. She wasn’t even much of an artist, the trade she was actually good at. Still, it was nice to see the townsfolk actually smile and wave at her now.

As she turned left onto Main Street, she saw a few unfamiliar faces looking around town for what was clearly their first time. They had to be tourists. No locals would be out right now, they had jobs to do, not to mention it was too damn cold to just putz around.

Autumnvale had seen a small spike in true crime tourism ever since the Wren case made the national news. While this was good for local businesses, Pomni hated it. Nothing against the people, but, come on. They had to have known better than to approach her while she was just trying to get home and bombard her with a million questions. Why yes, complete stranger, she did almost die a month ago. Oh of course, she would love to go into graphic detail about how a wild animal almost pulled her guts out of her belly like hot spaghetti. No issue reliving those experiences, no sir.

She pulled her scarf up over her nose and mouth and hurried over to the opposite side of the street from this crowd of strangers. If they tried to get her attention, she would just answer back in the paltry amount of Russian that her grandpa Nikolai taught her. Hopefully “Где продуктовый магазин?” would sound convincing enough to get them to back off. Luckily, they seemed preoccupied looking at the now vacant property that was once Dr. Wren’s office. The sign above the door that had previously said “Dr. Cole Wren, Licensed Practitioner” had been removed after someone threw cow shit on it, and the burgundy front door had been taken off the hinges and replaced with a plywood board after someone, possibly the previous offender, spray painted “MURDERE” across it in silver. They probably would have added the second “R” had they not been spooked by a passing car and ran off into the alleys.

Pomni found Dover St. and began to follow the sidewalk. It led past a few apartment buildings into a more suburban area on the edge of town. The houses were a good deal further apart than most suburbs one might see around the country, and the houses were cute. Usually simple little cottages big enough for two or three people at most, the occasional two story house looking as though it was built back in the eighties, yet still standing tall despite two decades going by thanks to skilled craftsmanship and a sturdy skeleton. It made her happy that all these places weren’t getting torn down and replaced by those stupid Mcmansions that were popping up in the southern outskirts of town. No charm or character to those things, just a focus-grouped blueprint that looked just like hundreds of other focused-grouped blueprint. They were ugly to boot.

Eventually she reached 2927. She checked her watch. 10:08 AM. Not too shabby for an on-foot trek. The house itself was quite cute, a simple but functional one story house that must’ve come right out of the 70’s. It had been kept clean and orderly despite its age, a relic from the past that bravely refused to go anywhere. The backyard brushed up against Lake Sausalito, the 71 square mile freshwater lake where most of the cold winter air came from. That was Pomni’s theory at least, she was no meteorologist. Apparently the lake was great for bass fishing in early summer, and if you could stomach the chilly water, a good place to cool off. But in the winter, it was a black, rippling mirror, probably frigid enough to render an active volcano extinct if you could somehow dump all that water into it.

Pomni approached the front door. She pressed the doorbell and rubbed away any wetness that had accumulated on her pink nose. There was a brief exchange of voices, and the door opened.

“Pomni, hello!” Kinger exclaimed. He had on a blue t-shirt, depicting an obese cartoon fellow sitting in a rowboat with a small pyramid of beer cans next to him, a line cast out of sight on the opposite side of the boat, reading “Gone Fishin’” in black beneath it. Without his usual bucket hat, Kinger’s little cross on the top of his head was on full display.

“Hi Mr. Kingston, thanks for inviting me over.” Pomni replied with a smile, taking off her galoshes.

She quite liked Kinger. He was the definition of a good ol’ boy, he worked his ass off and had a story for every occasion, and he got along with pretty much anybody. He and Pomni’s parents had gotten breakfast together the day before they left town, and they had nothing but good things to say on their (second) goodbye phone call. He was the perfect guy to raise someone like Jax, a poor little kid abandoned in the wilderness…

Pomni stepped into the house and was met with the warm, rich aroma of eggs with the faint zest of sausage. Her stomach immediately jumped for joy. She followed Kinger through their sitting room, a cozy, wood-paneled place reminiscent of a log cabin, complete with a brick fireplace and a deer’s head hanging on the mantle. Jax stood in the kitchen at the end of the main room, in his usual white dress shirt, suspenders and black tie. He turned from his griddle of sausages and smiled his razor-toothed smile.

“Good morning, Pomni.” he said, offering a salute with his free hand.

“Hey babe,” Pomni replied. She put a gloved hand to her mouth, the term of endearment just slipping out. She wasn’t sure if Kinger was alright with that…

“Aw, look at that! She’s already using pet names! You’re moving up in the world, aren’t you, my boy?” Kinger chortled, patting his son on the back as he opened the cabinets to get out some plates. Jax rolled his eyes but maintained a small smile.

Pomni was made to sit at the table after she took off her layers, Kinger serving her a plate of eggs with two smoked apple and turkey sausages. She went for the sausage first, and it was heavenly. The skin broke with a satisfying pop and the meat within was tender, hot and perfectly seasoned. The sweetness of the apple balanced out the savory flavor of the turkey perfectly. She finished both sausages before even touching her eggs.

“Shit, Pomni, don’t forget to breathe.” Jax snorted.

“Jax, you better clean up that mouth. Your mother will be home any minute now.” Kinger scolded, brandishing a fork at him.

Jax rumbled and put his ears down. “…Right. Sorry, dad.”

Pomni looked up from her plate. “Oh yeah, your mom! I was going to ask, Mr. Kingston, where has your wife been? You said she was on vacation, right?”

Kinger nodded. “That’s right. Every year, right before winter, Queenie goes on a week-long trip with her girlfriends to Pelican Point.”

“Pelican-?” Pomni almost choked on her mouthful of egg, swallowing it and coughing. “Pelican Point? You guys can afford that? I mean, no offense, but…”

Pelican Point was a beach resort town on the West Coast, known for being the retreat for many politicians, media moguls and trust fund babies. It was a common joke among blue collar workers that they would one day steal all the cash from their boss’s safe and run off to Pelican Point. Multiple gossip magazines told stories about the debauchery that went on there as well. A tv star had once been found wandering the beach tripping on datura, frothing at the mouth and mumbling about plastic men and cables plugged into the Earth’s core. A star tennis player was caught with a prostitute, but in his rum and cocaine-induced fervor, mistook the private detective sent to expose him for a burglar and chased him down the hall with a shower rod,

naked as the day he was born.

“That’s right! Pelican Point.” Kinger said proudly. “I covered her airline tickets and she and her friends covered the hotel fees. We’ve been saving for a good vacation somewhere sunny for a while now.”

“What about you? Don’t you want to go?” Pomni asked.

“HA! Are you kidding? Nothing for me to do but dodder around the beach and drink Mai Thais at the bar. There’s not even any good spots for ocean fishing. It’s so heavily regulated, you have to sign paperwork to blow your nose.” Kinger shook his head and had a sip of coffee.

Jax smirked. “Kinger likes to keep busy. I guess I get that from him. I’d hate it there too.”

A thought popped into Pomni’s head. Jax, all six feet three inches of him, lounging on a folding beach chair in a hibiscus-print shirt and sunglasses, sipping a tropical beverage out of a coconut shell with a crazy straw. She bit her lip to keep from giggling.

The sound of tires grumbling across snow made the three of them look towards the window, Jax’s ears pricking up. A pair of headlights winked from the window for a moment before pulling up beside Kinger’s pickup.

“Ah, that’ll be her! Let me go help her with her bags!” Kinger pulled on his red and black flannel jacket that hung over the back of the chair, grabbing his bucket-shaped fishing hat from a hook on the wall.

“Here dad, I can help,” Jax got to his feet, the table shifting outward a bit from his bulk.

“The heck you will, son. You sit and enjoy your food. Your old man may be getting a bit long in the tooth, but I can still manage heavy lifting.” Kinger said, pressing a thumb to his chest. He then opened the door and headed outside.

“…So what’s your mom like?” Pomni asked. She finished the last bites of her eggs.

“Uh…” Jax scratched behind his ears. “She’s nice? She looks out for me and… does mom stuff. I don’t know, I’m not really a great introduce-r.”

“Well, she raised you, and you’re amazing, so I’m sure she’s great.” Pomni smiled and held Jax’s paw. The rabbit-wolf squeezed it delicately, his paw large enough to completely encase her petite hand in a fist.

“Thanks… uh, did you want the rest of my food?” asked Jax, offering Pomni his plate of half-finished eggs.

The door flew open just as Pomni accepted the offer, nearly making her drop the eggs. Another chess-piece shaped person, this one a darker brown than Kinger and with a head-shape resembling a queen, stomped into the room. She had on a violet mink coat and a pair of matching earmuffs. She just about threw her keys onto the counter and balled her fists, letting out a growl that would make any pitbulls nearby tip their hats.

“Oh that fucking QUACK! If he wasn’t behind bars I’d choke the life out of him myself!”

Kinger followed behind her with a rolling suitcase, also violet.

“Jax! Oh, my baby, come here…” Queenie hurried over to Jax and threw her hands around him.

“Hi mom…” Jax hugged the chess-piece woman right back.

“Honeybunny, are you okay? You’re not hurt? I swear to God if that weasel hurt even one hair on your body I’ll burn the station down!” Queenie declared.

Kinger hurriedly stepped into an adjoining room to put her suitcase away, but Queenie called after him, still hugging Jax. “Kinger, don’t think I’m done with you! Why didn’t you call me?! I would have been on the first flight back to The East Coast if you told me what was going on.

As Kinger shouted back a muffled excuse, Queenie looked over at Pomni. She blinked and let go of her son.

“Oh. Hello. Jax, who is this young lady?” she asked.

Pomni stared with large eyes, holding up an open palm. “Hi.”

“This is Pomni Freeman, mom. She’s a grad student from the big city. She’s… my girlfriend.”

Queenie looked rapidly from Jax to Pomni for a moment.

“You… have a girlfriend?” Queenie whispered.

“…It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.” Pomni said, managing a tentative smile.

Queenie held up one finger at Jax. “Alright, I know you were framed and put behind bars, so you get a pass this time. Your dumbass dad not communicating with me is another pretty good excuse. But oh my God Jax, you have a girlfriend?!”

Queenie practically squealed this last bit of her sentence, going over to Pomni and shaking her hand. Her grip was feverish but not too hard, thank goodness.

“Hi, honey! I’m Queenie Kingston, I’m Jax’s mother! Oh, give me just a second to get out of my coat and we can chat!”

She went into her and Kinger’s bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Pomni listened to the muffled arguing behind the door for just a moment before looking at Jax, a small smile on her lips with an eyebrow arched.

“You didn’t tell her anything?” she asked.

“Ehhh… it was dad’s idea, really,” Jax shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “He kept saying he wanted her to have a good time and not worry about home. Pelican Point ain’t cheap, she might not ever get an opportunity like that again, you know?”

“I’m not mad or anything, babe. Don’t sweat it.”

Pomni scooted forward on her chair and smooched the rabbit-wolf on the lips. He returned the kiss timidly. Pomni finished up her boyfriend’s leftover eggs, and soon Queenie exited the bedroom with Kinger. She had dressed herself in a pastel yellow concert tee for a pretty okay country-western group that was big in the nineties. She took a seat across from Pomni as Kinger strategically went to the kitchen to work on making her some breakfast.

“So, Pomni, you’re a grad student. That means you probably got that scholarship the Mayor created a few years ago, hm?” Queenie asked.

“That’s right ma’am, uh, I got selected by The Fine Arts department for my high grades…”

Pomni told Queenie just about everything. How she got her scholarship, how she met Jax, her encounter with the Nightwalker and Jax’s rescue, everything with Dr. Wren… It must have taken almost an hour to explain everything, but it flew by so quickly. So much happened in just three days.

Queenie, who was pretty much finished with her breakfast at this point, shook her head in disgust at Dr. Wren’s crimes. She swallowed her last bite of food and waggled her fork between her thumb and forefinger.

“I know Hindsight’s 20/20, but I never liked Dr. Wren. Doesn’t surprise me he’d do something so scummy. He was no help at all for Jax when he was a boy. Just slapped him with a “hyperactive” diagnosis and put him on pills that turned him into a robot. It broke my heart seeing him just sit and stare at nothing.”

“Yeah… I feel like shrinks are always quick to give a kid adderall or concerta or something…” Pomni said grimly. “It’s why I’m glad I only have to call my shrink once every three months.”

Jax huffed. “I remember how it felt. My stomach hurt so bad I wanted to puke, and I just… didn’t feel anything. It was creepy. I wanted to laugh or smile but I would, like, have to force my body to do it.”

“Oh, bless your heart, you poor thing…” Queenie cooed.

Kinger, who had been listening tacitly, finished his cup of coffee and placed it in the dishwasher. He went over to the television, sat on a sturdy wooden table painted shades of aqua and cerulean, with different colored fish whittled into the side. Purple, seafoam green, salmon pink (appropriately) and cyan. He sat himself on a brown leather recliner, turning on the boxy CRT tv, hitting the mute button so as not to interrupt the conversation in the kitchen. However, what he saw when the screen warmed up to full brightness made him break his silence.

“Ho-ly smoke!” he exclaimed, sitting up and pressing both hands onto the recliner’s armrests.

“Kinger, what’s the matter?” Queenie asked as she rinsed her plate off in the sink.

“Come look at this! The Cyclones made it to the playoffs!” Kinger unmuted the television, a deep-voiced narrator discussing an upcoming showdown.

Queenie rolled her eyes. “Since when do you care about sports?”

“If they’ve made it to the playoffs, they’re gonna start up the betting pool at the pub again! Ha!” he clapped his hands together. “If I play my cards right I can probably send you back to Pelican Point this time next year!”

“Dad, didn’t you lose like, 2K last time you tried betting on games?” Jax asked with a smirk.

“Aw, I just got greedy is all, Jax. This year I’ll be more careful, for sure.”

“Yeah, you’ll be careful, alright. You aren’t putting a damn penny in that betting pool.” Queenie said, one hand on her hip and the other pointed at Kinger. “It’s too risky! I’d like to be able to keep the gas on for the rest of the winter.”

The channel finished playing ads and played a quick screen wipe transition for ADC News. It then cut to some live footage of the police pulled up outside of the McMansions on the south side of town. The voice of Robert Watts spoke over it.

“Welcome back to ADC News, if you’re just now joining us, a grisly scene discovered just two hours ago at this Autumnvale residence. A neighbor out for an early morning walk discovered what she described as a ‘bloodbath’ on the road outside 51-year-old foreign investor Amos Halloran’s countryside home, the door wide open and snow having drifted into the house. Police arrived moments later to discover bloody animal tracks leading away from another body in the upstairs bedroom.”

Pomni leaned forward to get a better look at the screen. Queenie set aside the kitchen sponge and rapidly dried her hands on a washcloth so she could come watch as well. Jax cleaned his dagger-sharp teeth with a plastic toothpick, leaning forward ever so slightly to watch as well.

The tv cut back to the cougarman sitting in the newsroom. “Police have identified the body out front as Mr. Halloran, as well as his 32-year-old girlfriend Tamika Pryce upstairs. Both bodies show heavy signs of a Nightwalker attack, but Autumnvale’s police are now questioning whether this was a simple fatality, or something more calculated. Misty Reynolds is on the scene now with more details, Misty?”

The picture cut to the same on-site news anchor that ADC always used, that thirty-something brunette woman. Pomni always thought she was cute. She stood center frame in her trademark white parka with the hood drawn up, wearing a red scarf, about a house away from the crime scene. Her nose was slightly pink from the cold. A few cops could be seen milling around out of focus in the background, and a black van that could only belong to the coroner had arrived.

“Thanks Rob, this quiet neighborhood was shocked to find what was initially thought to be the aftermath of a fatal Nightwalker attack, but upon the police investigating the house behind me-” Misty pointed with her thumb. “-they found signs of a robbery.”

The picture cut to a police officer that Pomni faintly recognized from around town, an older guy. He always looked sort of droopy, like the years working as a cop had gradually tugged his face downward. The text scroll on the bottom identified him as Deputy Sterling Hunt.

“A personal safe was opened and emptied of its contents, and there were signs of a violent struggle in the house.” he said.

“Oh my god…” Queenie said, shaking her head.

The footage cut back to Misty.

“Police have yet to discern if these were merely opportunists looking to take advantage of an empty house, or if this was a more calculated effort. All Autumnvale residents have been implored by the mayor to be absolutely, positively certain that their houses and apartments are locked up tight.”

It cut to the mayor, Caine Mason, at his desk. Same impeccably pressed red suit, same serious as a heart attack expression on his face.

“Winter is already our most dangerous season. We can’t allow any unnecessary bloodshed for the sake of our citizens.” he said.

“No shit…” Jax mumbled. Queenie shot him a look.

“Did you know them..?” Pomni asked Queenie.

“I only met the husband a few times at church.” she said. “I never liked him. He’s… He was the type to look down on you if you didn’t have some suit-and-tie job. Didn’t mean he had to die though. No one deserves to die.”

“Not even Dr. Wren?” asked Jax with a tiny smile.

“One person deserves to die,” Queenie said without looking away from the tv.

Jax put a paw on Pomni’s shoulder.

“Y’okay?” he asked.

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine I-I didn’t know them.” Pomni replied.

“I know, but…” Jax trailed off, scratching the back of his head.

“I’m a big girl, Jax,” Pomni said with a faint smirk. She motioned him closer and whispered in his ear. “If you’re worried, I’ll stay over with you tonight, okay?”

Jax smiled, but it vanished quickly. “Wh-What about your painting?” he asked.

“You’re more important than some painting, hun. I got the rest of the afternoon anyway.” Pomni whispered. “It’ll be fun.”

Pomni gave Jax another discreet kiss on his furry cheek. She then got up from the table and began putting on her layers.

“You heading out?” Jax asked.

“Yeah, I better mosey on. Thank you so much for having me over, Mr. and Mrs. Kingston.” Pomni smiled.

Queenie came over and gave Pomni a quick hug. Pomni normally would have flinched, but she had been quietly expecting a hug from this jovial woman, so she took it in stride. It wasn’t too bad, maybe a little heavy on perfume.

“You be safe now, pumpkin. You’ve got our number if you need anything, okay?” Queenie said.

“Yes ma’am. You be safe too,” Pomni said. She pulled her gloves out of her coat pockets and tugged them on, wiggling her fingers, then zipped herself up.

“Pleasure to have you over, Miss Freeman. Don’t work too hard, okay?” Kinger said with a good natured chortle.

“I’ll do my best,” giving her best laugh back.

Queenie gently but deliberately swatted Jax on the arm, who was still seated at the table.

“What are you doing? Go see your girlfriend to the door like a gentleman.” she chided.

Jax got to his feet a bit too quickly, jostling the table with his lap. He walked Pomni to the door, tied on her scarf for her as she put on her hat, then unlatched the door.

“Call when you get home, okay? I’ll still be around here, I gotta help dad with some furnace stuff…” Jax said.

“Sure thing,” Pomni said as she pulled on her boots.

Jax opened the door for her, then leaned down hesitantly. He clearly felt a bit awkward about PDA in front of his parents, especially since both of them were pretending not to watch. Pomni slung her purse over her shoulder, then stood on her tiptoes and pressed a smooch to his lips.

“I love you,” she said. “Bye.”

Queenie put a hand over her heart.

“…I love you too, see you soon.” Jax said, his ears sticking straight up and a bashful smile on his wolfish face. Pomni waved to him and stepped out onto the porch, walking carefully out onto the road. Jax watched her for a little while longer before closing the door.

Pomni took a deep breath of the cold and crinkly air before expelling it in a cloud of steam. She felt full and warm. She set out on her trek back to her apartment.

A crow croaked on a nearby branch, preening its oil-black feathers. It shook its head and watched the girl on the road, jostling a small dusting of snow from the branch it perched on.

[sidthedollface2]

Third Love

Ch: 3 El Boracho

Pairing: Eddie x Mexican Female Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Eddie tries to win over your affection and use you in hopes of getting signed to your dads record company. There's just one problem. Your situationship and a heartbreaking past that threatens to expose the darker side of you.

CW: MDNI 18+ flashbacks, mental illness, smut (fingering, bjs) Modern au Eddie, fuckboy Eddie. Spanish words. Reader with other man (not cheating). Eddie with other girl, gave you a cute lil nickname cuz youre a sweetie. 🍑

Finding a day that both you and Eddie were free turned out to be harder than you thought. He still managed to send you text messages. His sweet Good Morning message brought a smile to your face and his play by play of how his day was going made you feel like you two knew each other more than a weekend.

Your schedule was already tight with zoom meetings and studio time. A particular Rapper had a falling out with the label, stating creative differences and unprofessionalism by the label. In other words the Artist was defying the requests to create a radio friendly track while also claiming his royalties weren't reflecting the millions he was bringing the company. Word Had gotten around that this Artist was money hungry and ungrateful for the success he had attained in such a short time. Everywhere you looked and social media was stretching the truth, and cancel culture was not giving up on him.

"Dad, you can't take him off the label. Austin can blend into multiple genres, right now the rap world thinks he's a clown. But If i can convince him to cut his hair and do this Nirvana cover set the rock world will embrace him with open arms."

A sigh leaves your dads lips as he looks out from the 13th floor of his office. Tall glass windows brighten the room, L.A. traffic and high rise towers surround the building. You sit on one of the many couches where contracts are signed, and famous musicians cheer to their success. Gold and platinum albums cover the walls, a photo of your parents sits on your dads large mahogany desk. Soon this would be your office and you wonder what photos would make it to your desk. A best friend maybe, or perhaps a lover, possibly both.

"This whole Company is going to be your responsibility soon. If you think Austin can turn this around without getting canceled then do what you have to do. But if it fails then the possibility of more failed artists will run this place to the ground, and that'll be on your shoulders."

You thank your dad for trusting you to deal with Austin and assure him you'll be home to cook him his favorite meal, just like how your mom did. You're half way out of his office when his following question has you stopping in your tracks.

"Mija wait. Have you told Sebastian about the contract?"

Almost all the talent you were seeing thought that your Dad was the only person to offer them a contract when in reality it was you. Your dad handled the office work and mostly stayed behind the scenes where lawyers and financial advisers were involved.

You knew first hand how the singers or bands commanded a crowd. How talented or how much work needed to be done to get them to a level where they'd bring a profit to the company. As a band Glass House wasn't ready yet. Sebastian as a front man was incredibly talented. You just didn't have the heart to tell him that his friends were keeping him back.

"They're not ready yet." You replied, closing the door behind you. As you reach the elevator doors and press the G button for the garage, you quickly send Austin a message. "You owe me big time."

~~~~~~~~~

After finding out that Max was your roommate Eddie had asked if she would meet him for coffee to talk about how her trip with Lucas went. Not to get some personal information about you. Nope. That wasn't like him, he would never betray your trust that way. Or would he?

The delicious scent of coffee grounds and vanilla filled the crowded shop. People in business attire stood at the order pick up line, glancing at the names of drinks that had been served. Eddie's tight black jeans and cut off sleeves of his shirt was a stark contrast to the suits and ties that were gathered as he walked up to grab his drinks.

"Since when do you get cold brews Red?" He asked, sliding her the vanilla cream cold brew she ordered. "Since my roommate made me try one of hers." She took a sip of her drink, humming in approval of its bitter but sweet taste. Coffee order, check. Eddie took a sip of his Americano, "You didn't tell me you had a roommate." He questioned. "She's hardly home because of work, and she spends the night with her boyfri–" She cuts herself off and shakes her head. "Sorry, not boyfriend. Actually, that reminds me Lucas wanted me to give you some nerd D&D stuff. Left it at the apartment though."

It was wrong and he knew it. He followed Max to her apartment, knowing it was also your apartment. Hesitancy written all over his face as he walked into your safe space. Bright light filtered through large windows. Planters and hanging pots decorated the space. A money tree with three thick roots spiraled together giving home to large green leaves sat in the corner by another window. He knew Max didn't care for plants so this love of greenery must be yours. He walked over to the bookcase in the living room, it was large and filled to the brim. "These are all yours?" He asked as Max sauntered to the kitchen in search of some snacks. "Nope. All roomies." She replied.

Eddie slowly glanced at the titles, tracing his finger along the spines. He plucked one from the shelf and smiled to himself, A Game of Thrones, book one to a series of 7. You liked fantasy, he thought as he placed the book back in place. "Have a seat. I gotta look for the damn manual in all my junk." Max explained, throwing Eddie a smuckers peanut butter jelly sandwich. "Yeah yeah take your time." He replied, secretly asking for more time to roam through your home. Eddie watches as Max bounces over to her room and he wonders which one was yours. He sat at the couch, eyes wandering every little corner, memorizing the small details of your apartment. For knowing Max as long as he did he knew all her likes and dislikes so it was easy for him to decipher her hobbies from yours. Gaming consoles filled the space under your TV, A Ps5, Xbox, Nintendo Switch, guess no PC games for you. On the wall behind the couch a painting caught his attention. A man Eddie assumed was a warrior, large orange feathers held in place by a thick gold band rested on his head. Armour draped over his shoulders and down the center of his chest leaving his torso and arms bare. Animal leather draped along his waist as a loincloth. Physique sculpted like a God. He carried a curvy woman in his arms, she wore a white dress and a flower in her hair, she was dead and this warrior carried her down a large mountain. At the bottom of the beautiful painting are the words Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhuatl, he couldn't even sound out the words but wrote them down in his phone to google later.

Eddie took steps toward the hallway, his heart beating faster than normal as he stood outside your room. His hand held onto the door knob to your bedroom, this was crossing a line. Invading your privacy like no one had ever done. The bed you slept in at night, that housed your nightmares, all your delicate clothes and personal belongings just on the other side of this door. Photos of your father and your beloved mother sit at your nightstand where you'd silently cry into your pillow begging to turn back the hands of time for one more minute with her. Detailed notes and revised contracts of future artists litter your desk, a calendar of all your past and future events hang on the wall above. Multiple medications fill the medicine cabinet of your bathroom, antidepressants, anxiety, pain pills and sleep aids to name a few. Medications that no one knew about except your father. Small beads of sweat gather around his hairline as he thought of entering without your knowledge. He tightened his grip on the door, his breath deepend causing his chest to visibly rise and fall. The thundering beat of his heart heard loud through his ears, blocking out the good vs bad thoughts if he were to enter your room. If Eddie entered your room, all your deepest secrets and pain would be delivered to him on a silver platter. Your Mothers passing, your Fathers business, your brother's trip to your family's homeland, the mere fact that you had a brother. The real reason Sebastian was involved so much in your life, all details about you lay just beyond the door.

A shaky breath escaped from his lips as Eddie released the door. He did want to get to know you, just not like this. Not veiled in deceit and lies.

"Bathrooms over here."

Eddie jumped at the sound of Max's voice just behind him.

"Dammit Red, scared the shit outta me." He chuckled, clutching his chest in surprise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn't get home till almost 11pm, dragging your feet up the steps of your apartment. The comfort of your bed softly calls you towards it. The soft glow of the living room brought your mind some sense of peace, you were finally home. You shuffled to your door, eyes drowsy with sleep. Searching for the key to your room, the sound of metal grinding the tile floor was heard as you looked down to your feet, a shiny chain peeked from beneath your shoe. You leaned down and cradled it in your hand, a silver chain with a red and black Fender pick hung from its length. On one side the initials EM delicately carved the surface, and CC on the other. Too exhausted to think much of it, you pocketed it in your jacket and turned in for the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie had called you everyday leading up to your date night. The conversations were usually quick, a hurried 'have a good day' and a 'don't forget your lunch.' It was sort of domestic you thought, but you welcomed it as it made you feel cared for. Tonight Eddie had asked if it was ok to facetime you, which you nervously accepted.

You sat in the living room of your Dads house, when your phone rang the screen came to life as the name 'Eddie' was displayed. You answered with a shy "hello" as Eddie's beautiful face filled your phone screen. His long dark curls framed his pale face and his wide smile brought a tiny flush to your cheeks. "Hey, Princess Peach" he greeted. His deep voice rattled your nerves and the sweet pet name had you smiling into your phone. How was he able to pull a smile from just a greeting you had no idea. Eddie's eyes roamed over your shoulder and you informed him that you were at your Dads house. "I've never seen a house so huge, Quick tour perhaps?"

"Oh, yeah of course." You agreed, getting up from the couch and walking up the stairs. You gave him a glimpse of the foyer from the top of the stairs and Eddie gasped. White marbled floors and a wrought iron staircase circled both sides of the room, in the center a white grand piano gave the entryway a luxurious look. Eddie swallowed, and he all of a sudden realized that you were way above his social status. Your Dad must be a Billionaire if not then for sure a Millionaire. Not even Steve's house, the wealthiest person he knew had a foyer. Shaking the uncertainty from his face he focused on the piano. "You play piano? Or any instrument?." He asked, genuinely curious. You threw your head back and your boisterous laugh echoed in the room. "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you. It's just. I was a producer before, and yeah, I can play many instruments." Eddie beamed at the knowledge. You continued down the hall and motioned to a bedroom. "This is my room." You continued walking, not bothering to open the door. "Whoa whoa, I don't get to see where the magic happens?" He chuckled, raising his eyebrows suggestively. You smiled at your phone and bit into your bottom lip. "Maybe after our date, but only if you're a good boy." Eddie's eyes widened at your flirtatious gesture, and he hoped to God you meant it.

"Don't tease me with a good time sweetheart cuz I'll hold you to it."

He smirked and your stomach knotted as he licked his lips.

You dip your chin towards your shoulder and cover your smile with your hand. "Don't get shy on me now baby, I wanna see that pretty smile." He cooed.

When the word Baby left his lips you knew you were in trouble. He looked so pretty even through the screen, prettier than you remembered. The sparkle in his warm eyes, and the crinkles when he smiled made your heart beat a little faster. You talked for hours about everything and anything. From your favorite childhood movies to Game of Thrones, which he mentioned was an amazing show. Your favorite foods which brought you to cook dinner while the phone sat in the corner. His curious eyes watching you carefully cut into various vegetables and beef, all the ingredients needed to make the caldo as you explained to him. Eddie's lips parted as you brought a spoonful of soup to your mouth, gently puckering your lips to blow at the steam that swirled from the hot liquid. He didn't know if his mouth watered at the delicious meal you made or the image of your lashes fluttering closed as your glistening lips wrapped around his–

"Mmmmm, so good." You hummed, interrupting his dirty thoughts.

"Yeah? That actually looks tasty, can't wait to try some." He hinted. Hoping to be a taste tester for any and all cuisine made by your skilled hands.

"Did your Mom show you how to cook?" He asked.

Time stood still. Your eyes focused on nothing as your mind went back to all the times you leaned over your moms shoulder eyeballing spices, and dancing to Vicente Fernandez as she swayed her hips belting out gritos that sounded like a cat dying. You and your brother's coughing fits paired with faux asphyxiation whenever she'd roast chili peppers on the stove. The thoughtful way she'd buy extra hominy for the menudo during holidays because she knew it was your favorite part.

"Peach?"

You blink back to the present as you wipe at a stray tear that escaped your lash line. "Um, yeah. She taught me how to cook." You utter, not trusting the wobble in your voice.

"That's really sweet of her, passing down those family traditions. I don't know how to cook much but I do love to eat." He says, rubbing his hand over his tummy. Eddie carries the conversation effortlessly, not one moment of silence between you. You learn that he's incredibly charming, laughs at almost everything, therefore making you laugh. He's fond of squishmellows and has to stop to look at every one he sees and do a squish test. He's not once brought up anything involving music or the usual, which celebrities are rude and is so and so really that obnoxious or is it an act, something that you're incredibly grateful for.

You're curled up on the couch, phone propped by the throw blanket bunched up over your tummy. Eddie is sprawled out on his bed, chucking pretzels in the air and catching them in his mouth. "That's five in a row." You yawn, eyes heavy with sleep.

"I should let you get some sleep sweetheart, It's late." He coos.

"Can you stay on the line with me? Please?"

"Of course I can Baby."

The sleepiness in your voice gives him a glimpse of what it would be like to sleep next to you. When you finally fall under the spell of the midnight sky, where the only light is bouncing off the glow from your phone, Eddie thinks you're just as beautiful sleeping as you are awake. He falls asleep staring at your cute nose and plush lips, wishing he was there to kiss you goodnight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"We're Corroded Coffin, Thank You and enjoy the rest of your night."

Eddie jumped off stage, buzzing with adrenaline and booze as he walks straight to two girls who had flashed him during their set. He walks between them, one arm over their shoulders as he orders enough drinks from the bar to regret it in the morning. Their hands roam the expanse of his body, fingers twirled around his tousled curly hair as they whisper and giggle in his ear. You arrive at the same bar, Max had invited you to see her friend's band play, not for work she mentioned, just to hang out and have fun. It also happens that Sebastian's friends are also on the roster tonight, which is why he walks in beside you, palm at the small of your back leading you to the bar for drinks. While Sebastian orders the drinks you leave his side in search of a restroom. The bartender motions backstage behind these two doors.

You stumble into a room that was rarely occupied. Deep grunts barely audible through the loud blaring music. The bartender at the front mentioned that it was behind these doors so you pushed through and you gasp, body frigid as the scene before you.

"Oh fuck, just like that sweetheart."

Eddie has a strawberry blonde on her knees between his thighs, hard cock shoved half way down her throat, a topless bleach blonde at his side licking into his mouth while his fingers pump into her dripping sex. "Get the fuck out." He seethes, not once looking towards the door.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You spoke as you quickly turned away to scurry out of the room. Eddie's head snapped towards your paniced voice quick enough to see half of your face, and his stomach dropped. "Wait, Wait! it's not… fuck!" Eddie's voice strained as he pushes the girl off his cock. Shoving his dick back in his jeans to chase after you. You were able to make it back to the bar, leaving the restroom for a later time.

Eddie frantically searched for you in the crowded room, cursing himself in the process. He hadn't even take you out on a date yet and he was already fucking up. Afraid you had run out of the bar, he grabbed the nearest stool, stood on it and scanned the room till he found your beautiful face smiling with a group of your friends. He weaves through the crowd desperate to get to you, his rough hand reaching for your elbow. He leans in close to your ear so his words are not mistaken. "Can I please talk to you?" You crane your neck over your shoulder to meet Eddie's pleading eyes. A fake smile on display as you agree.

You follow Eddie outside, stepping into the cold night air. A shiver runs through your body as you stand under the glow of a lamp post. Eddie trails his eyes over the curves of your body. His eyes walk up your smooth bare legs, that he wishes he could touch. The black short shorts accentuate the curve of your hips and plush ass. His lips sting with the urge to kiss the curve of your waist, as his gaze ghosts over your exposed midriff. Eddie swallows as he now realizes your top is see through and your breasts sit perky in your black bra. You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling too naked under his stare. His eyes finally meet yours and he's left speechless at the sight of you. The girls he was with don't even compare to your beauty, yet he agreed to indulge them 1 day before your date was supposed to happen.

"I'm sorry you –. They're not –." A sigh left his lips as his palm roughly dragged across his face.

"They're just a hook-up, nothing serious. I'm so fucken sorry."

"It's ok." You shrug, arms crossed over your midsection for warmth. He takes notice of your shivers and places his leather jacket over your shoulders.

"It's ok?" He repeats your words, brows pinches in confusion. Every girl that Eddie knew would be screaming at him with angry mascara streaks running down their hot cheeks, livid in jealousy. Some would claw and scratch at him begging why they weren't good enough, hitting him and calling him every ugly name in the book. But not you.

You stood tall, seemingly unbothered by what you had seen. Eddie stepped forward expecting you to step back. You stay planted, cautious eyes set on his guilty ones. He would prefer retaliation because the words you would speak would pain him more than a few scratches.

"You're not my boyfriend Eddie, and you're a Rockstar; they're all the same."

You look down at Eddie's hands. His fingers are twitching with the undeniable urge to touch you. The sound of the bar doors open and a tall figure steps out.

"There you are Kitten, I've been looking for you."

Eddie's Jaw clenches at the pet name, and he shakes his head in disbelief. How could he be green with jealousy if not even 20 minutes ago his cock was down another girl's throat.

Sebastian laces his fingers with yours and brings your hand up to his lips for a gentle peck to the back of your hand. You smile at his tenderness, and brush your shoulder against his chest. Eddie rolls his eyes, shooting daggers at his competition. He notices the need in Sebastian's stare, he glimmers with fondness and longing to be something more.

"Who the fuck is she?!" A screeching voice could be heard in the distance, and Eddie tightly closed his eyes, wishing the ground would swallow him up. This was not happening. He was fucking it all up before it even started. Cursing under his breath at the cards that were being played for him. A glance over Eddie's shoulder and you see Strawberry girl storming towards you.

Before she can reach you Eddie stands between you, hands gripping her arms, blocking her from attacking you. Sebastian pulls you behind him and it makes Eddie's stomach churn. It should be him shielding you from this groupie but instead it's his fault shes speaking to you. You try shoving Sebastian away attempting to confront the girl but his tall frame is immovable.

"Stop, just stop Chrissy." Eddie winces at the name. Surely a slip of the tongue. A loud crack is heard, as Strawberry girl's hand meets the side of Eddie's cheek. "It's kristie asshole!!" She yells, storming back into the bar, wobbly legs threatening to fold under her. Eddie's relieved to get rid of her and as he looks back to search for you he comes face to face with Sebastian's hard glare.

"Stay away from her." He orders, as he shoves Eddie's jacket to his chest.

Sebastian jogs back catching up to you, placing his hand on the small of your back guiding you to his car. You wrap your arm around his waist and Sebastian pulls you in a side hug.

Eddie watches at a distance as you both enter the car, Sebastian is seen waving his arms and hands around seemingly in a heated discussion. Eddies about to walk over to you when he sees Sebastian grip the back of your neck as he brings your lips to his in a deep kiss. Eddie has no right to be upset but seeing this man touch you and kiss you has him seeing red. Eddie knew he fucked up but he was determined to make it up to you. Just as Eddie turns his back away, you push at Sebastians chest and when his lips try to chase yours you turn away giving him your cheek instead.

Eddie finds himself back at the bar, drowning in whiskey and coke wondering if you'll find yourself in Sebastians bed. The thought alone churns his stomach, but he has no one to blame but himself. After his 4th drink, liquid courage raced through his veins and therefore the beginning of his drunk text messages.

Eddie: You never tolf me if Sebastan was your boyfriend

Eddie: he actz lik e your boyffiend

Eddie: is he youre fuckimg boyfriend!!

Eddie was right, you did end up in Sebastians bed that night. His warm body curled up behind you, anxious hands caressing and kneading your thighs, fingers gripped your hips pulling you close to rub against his clothed erection. He kissed your bare shoulder, gently moving your hair to the side to place wet kisses along your neck, inhaling the scent of your shampoo that lingered in your hair. The bright glow of your phone stopped him from going further. Skinny fingers punched in your password as your soft breathes deepend, indicating you were now fully asleep. Sebastian looked over the messages Eddie sent you and sadness consumed him. He didn't understand why you couldnt reciprocate his adoration for you. To him you were it, his end goal and the woman of his dreams. He never once looked at other girls, despite having groupies throw themselves at him. He never looked for other relationships even though you clearly made yourself available to other men, sure you two weren't official but he still stayed loyal to you. He told you many times that he would never let you go, he'd wait for you for as long as it took. He types out a message and sends it to Eddie hoping it would steer him away from you.

You: He's not my boyfriend yet, but we do fuck.

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