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undercoverpena · 1 year

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iv. sunshine yellow

javier peña x dea! f!reader | chapter four of nowhere to run

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field.

chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers, no use of y/n, ptsd/anxiety, lots of worrying for no reason, smut, p in v, desk fucking. wordcount: 6.2k an: the last scene in this i am both excited and nervous to share cause the walls are coming down. tehehehehe. as always, the biggest thank you to my bestie and cheerleader @guyfieriii who lets me send her random ideas and also to @yeyinde who puts up with my nonsense and instils so much confidence in me.

“Panama DEA said no warrant, no detention.”

Sweat pooled at the waist of his trousers, his thumb digging into the space on his brow. “Fuck—“

“Plus, Jurado didn’t stay in Panama.”

Staring around, Javi sighs. “They know where he went?”

Silence. Horrid, crackling silence, before: “No.”

Running his tongue against the front of his teeth, Javi shakes his head. “So Jurado could be anywhere. Fuck!”

Stoddard clears his throat. “Also, boss. Fiestl and Van Ness have been trying you. A lot.”

“All right, well, put them through when you get them. I’m on my way back—and, Stoddard.”

“Yeah, boss?”

He drops his hand, straightening his spine. “Jurado has a wife in Bogotá. She’s American.” He drops his head, thinking briefly of you—your words of protecting him. “Put a tap on her phone.”

Three days. It takes three days, and the papers are signed for them to go to Cali.

You stand as you watch them being signed, your throat tightening the same as you did when you overheard the first talks of it. Feeling eyes on you, Stechner’s in particular. Waiting for a reaction, wondering if the volcano will finally implode.

You don’t give him the satisfaction, hiding it, bottling it—capping it somewhere deep under layers and layers, even as it uncoils inside of you. The former wounds and nightmares coming undone. Their soreness open to the world, thin cuts—barely noticeable, but they sting when the air brushes over them; when you’re alone for too long, when your mind begins to run.

You’re sure it took longer—and far more paperwork—to order a bag of decaf for one of the secretaries, than it did to send two more people to Cali.

It’s why you uncork a bottle of wine the day they’re signed. Coating your throat in it as you lean your back against the wall of your living room. Music flooding through your place, drowning out the ringing phone—muffling over hope and better days.

Cali does that, it unearths things.

It shakes the foundation you’ve cautiously built. Threatens to pull you through the soil back into the hole, looming in a corner like a shadow, ready to remind you that you’re not whole anymore—and to stop pretending you are.

Dan is well-versed in your coping mechanisms. Approaching you before lunch, hand on your elbow—not noticing the pair of brown eyes which burned into the two of you through the blinds. You hadn’t meant to meet them, but it’s natural. A pull, a magnetism. A soft smile etched poorly across your lips as you allowed your friend to drag you away.

The warm Colombian air clung to you both as you leaned against the marble embassy wall, the words washing over you as you dug your shoulder blades into the wall—pushing your feet into the ground.

“You gonna be alright? Cause you look like you’re about to murder someone—“ “I’ll murder you if you ask me that again.” Dan rolls his eyes, moving next to you, leaning. “No one would blame you for not being okay. That’s all I’m saying.” Sighing, you stare at the ground.

Time moves too quickly. That’s what you think when you’re pulling into the spot outside the coffee shop. The radio on low, barely smothering the thick and jarring tension caused by you taking them both to the airport.

Dan is the first to escape, opening the passenger side door before you can even murmur a request. Chris remains behind awkwardly, sitting in it—letting it thicken and boil as you continue to grip the wheel. The leather under your fingers warming, the veins and tendons in your hand rippling under your skin as you sigh before stepping out.

You don’t follow when he steps out from behind you—even if you want to.

Instead, you lean against your car, sliding your sunglasses on—not for sight, but for cover. Big, dark lenses that are large enough to cover the bags under them and the tops of your cheeks.

It’s easier, means you don’t need to hide whatever emotion rises, comes, and crashes. You can let it drench you, stop it from festering and instead hide it, discreetly behind the shields covering your eyes.

It was Chris who told you that you showed everything with your eyes.

The anger—the one which has become a part of you. The worries, which have been bubbling to the surface since you’d learnt it was them who were going. It all sits on your chest. Furious, like a dragon which can’t be tamed, all set to burn anyone in its wake in thick, boiling flames.

You let your fingers slide against your thumb, digging your heels into the pavement.

Flickers of Cali come to mind.

The sun, the warmth—the yellow-walled apartment. The laughter, the flowy fabrics around your skin. Then it shifts, night falling in the edges of your memories, burning and twisting—tightening your chest as you remember scarlet stained hands, graffiti letters against yellow—

“Hey,” Dan exclaims, his hand on your forearm. You steady your breath, filling your lungs, placing your palm against the cool marble. Letting it thrum through your skin, and slide into your blood. Pushing into the floor with your heels, rooting yourself, grounding down. “If you don’t stop doing that, I’ll have to hug you,” Dan says, cutting through your panic. “And that’ll be painful for both of us.” “I’m…” you meet his eyes, watching the rest of his face look as it usually did. Stern. Difficult to read. But his eyes were kind, swimming in concern. “Please be safe.” Snorting, he slowly releases your forearm. “If I had my way—“ “You wouldn’t even be going. You’d stick behind your desk, blah blah blah,” you tease, his elbow nudging you. Dipping his head, he sighs. “But, ‘course I will. He will too.”

It grows, the lump—the one which forms whenever you think about that place too much. When you let yourself think of late-night talks and ears pressed against sunshine yellow, allowing them to twist, morph and shift into a nightmare you survived—

Graffiti-covered walls; scarlet clinging to matted curls.

Your hand shakes, flattening it to your thigh, staring into the shop—watching the two of them talk to the owner. The odd word making its way to your ears, not enough to know what they’re ordering.

You are cracking. Thick lines appear through your exterior, leaving holes for more things to seep in, to ruin, steal breath and pull you back under.

There’s still pain under your nails from how hard you had to claw your way back to your desk. To the DEA. To stand straight and not quiver under the stares, hearing their thoughts: failure, failure, failure—

“Got you a coffee.”

He’s holding it out, Chris.

Blinking behind your shades, unsure when he’d returned, or how long he’d been standing there with his arm outstretched, waiting for you to take it. You’re thankful they don’t tremble when you reach out—your fingers brushing his as they do. Glancing past him, needing a focus, you watch the small vendor excitedly speaking to a less-than-impressed Dan, something which provides more entertainment than it should.

It’s still there, the torment—the past which likes to torture. It makes your throat dry, making standing seem near impossible, especially as you stare at him. At Chris.

Smirking, you shake your head. “How’re you getting to the airport?” “How’d you know I’m not driving myself there and leaving my car.” Arching your brow, you softly laugh. “Dan. The second time meeting you, you ranted about the ridiculous airport car parking prices. So, let’s say it’s a hunch.” Shrugging, he fights with a smile. You can tell. He has tells—just like everyone. His being that one side of his lip slides up, just a fraction. “I’ll take you.” He arches his brow. “I was gonna taxi with Chris.” Swallowing, you sigh. “Then tell him I’ll pick him up second.”

You say nothing—even if you think you should. So much history pulsing between the two of you as the sun slowly spreads its glow across the street. Chris just watches, staring through your lenses—trying to unmask what it is you’re hiding.

As if he doesn’t know. As if he hasn’t seen it all before—far worse than this. Seen you at the lowest, seen you on your knees, scraped and bruised. So, you watch him, until he tears his eyes away, staring down the quiet street as he sips his drink.

“Thank you. By the way.”

“No problem. I know Dan’s feelings on airport car parks.”

Chris snorts, dragging his eyes towards you, but not quite landing. “No. For... whatever you said to Peña. To consider this—to consider me.”

Rolling your lips, you hold the cup tighter. Looking over his shoulder at Dan, dread filling the space left inside of you. It expands, pressing against the nervousness—making something more disruptive, more uncomfortable.

“I’m also… I’m sorry—for how I’ve been. And before you lie, to protect my feelings, like you always do—don’t. Because it isn’t.”

You lift your chin, letting your glasses slide down your nose. It allows him a glimpse, lets him see your eyes, lets you see that familiar look in his own, an expression filtering across the face your fingers had once known so well. Slowly, just as your shoulders unknot from your ears, you watch him etch himself into someone you used to know. Someone you used to love, care for... want.

He sighs, smiling. “I’m sorry. I know why you ended things… and I get it. It made—makes—sense I just—I missed you. And…”

“I pushed you away.”

“If I hear from Stoddard that the two of you became friends—” “I will not be becoming friends with fucking Stoddard, Dan. I barely wanted you.” He smirks, nudging you. “You’re gonna miss me.” “I think you’ll miss me more.” Scrunching his face, he sighs heavily. “Maybe. You’ve got Peña, though.” Hands dropping from the wall, you frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing,” Dan says, shrugging. “Just seems like a good boss, you get on with him.”

You take a sip from the cup, the caffeine exploding into your mouth—the rich, herbs and fruit smothering your tongue. It silences your mind, and allows it to settle. Returns to a low-simmer than an overboiling mess as you stare at your ex.

The ex who used to be your friend.

Rubbing the back of his head, Chris snorts.“Yeah, you did. But, I know… I know you, Lun. You were dealing with a lot. You were so strong, and yet so broken, and then we ended. And you, just...”

He shakes his head, eyes dropping to the ground, as his tongue sweeps over his lip. And you know.

You know, because you thought the same.

It sat like an uninvited guest the moment you got back. Its presence had been more noticeable the moment you found yourself able to breathe, to stop yourself from shaking.

It grew larger when you flinched under his touch—when you purposefully curled away from him. It whispered in poisonous prose that it had been there before you left, but had worsened so much more because of who you were when you returned. It lay between you both as he snored, dreaming, and you lay, paralysed by nightmares that didn’t just play when you closed your eyes.

Clearing his throat, Chris kicks a pebble, it bouncing down the pavement in the noiseless. “You just looked like you were doing better without me—and it hurt. And, I—I kept lashing out.”

Nodding, you bite your lip. “I wasn’t…” you admit. “It hurt me too, to be without you.”

“Oh.”

It escapes a laugh. Short, but sweet—and very much genuine. It falls from your lips so surprisingly, his head snaps up, the moment growing, maturing as his lips rise at the edges as you add, “Oh? Really?”

Chris sips his drink, shrugging. “What do you want me to say?”

As you shake your head, you’re still sniggering, lighter, less obvious. “I don’t know, but I do know this is the first time we’ve been honest with one another in months.”

“Yeah. I’ve missed you—not like that, but just…”

Nodding, you swallow. “I know.”

His eyes meet yours, and all the unspoken words sound louder.

They flutter like broken butterflies, flapping their damaged wings as you bite the inside of your cheek. Feeling the evidence of day-old teeth marks, the phantom twinges of panic that threaten to wrap their hands around you.

“Please be safe... I’d,” you stare at him, seeing—for the briefest moment—the person you lay in bed with, the person you made breakfast with and stole the sunglasses of. “I’d hate it if something happened to you.”

He nods, short but full of understanding.

And you think about it, curling into him. Letting your arms wrap around his waist, pulling him close. Your feet are almost moving, closing the distance to do so.

But he’s quicker.

The two of you falling into the old ways, your head finding the space along his shoulder, something sliding into place, something healing—one less crack somewhere deep inside of you. You let him hold you, let yourself be held—feeling the sting behind your eyes, the fear rising, before you glance over—finding, if anything, the most uncharacteristic smile on Dan’s face.

You’ve always been good at remembering things.

Dates. Numbers. Faces—

They’re drilled into you—because you’re used to dialling them or because you have them banked somewhere in your mind. You knew Chris’s because the two of you had dated, you knew Van Ness’s because of lunch orders and after-work drinks; you knew Stoddard’s because he was who you reported to, and you knew the Ambassador’s because his clearance meant something.

But, Peña’s…

You didn’t know it because you called him a lot. Didn’t know it because you’d rang him copious times—if anything, the two of you rarely spoke on the phone. But, you’d chosen to memorise it. Just in case.

The same one you’d been dialling furiously for the last hour—eyes glancing to his desk, the one he’s been away from for hours.

Sunshine yellow, splintered sobs, carmine-stained palms…

Digging your elbow into the desk, you grit your teeth. Fixing, staring at a spot on the carpet—old, dried gum that’s worsened over time. Something—anything. Taking a breath, banishing yellow—trying to rid the feeling that the walls are coming in as you place the phone back into the hook.

Peña has been gone for hours.

Something he doesn’t do without telling someone. Not when he had plans, ones you heard from Stoddard.

Since the file room, the two of you had been swirling around one another, but not colliding. He told you things, but things you already knew. The way it had to be, you assumed. A line the two of you had drawn because he was your boss—and both felt you should.

But, you couldn’t turn off your worries. The niggling anxiousness that something was wrong.

It had nestled somewhere deep, spreading and merging with the worries Cali had dragged up. Your nails tap in rhythmic patterns on your desk, trying to concentrate on your screen, the names, the numbers—

Stoddard isn’t concerned.

Doesn’t think anything of it when Peña doesn’t answer. When the phone rings out.

Even if the man worships the ground he walks on. The hero he couldn’t wait to meet, to shake his hand—ask him all things Escobar like the two of them would be best buds.

Now, though, when something does feel off, it’s a shrug, it’s a shake of the head. ‘He’s likely following a different lead.’ The annoying part… Stoddard could be right. Something which annoys you more.

That able to smother your worries, your intrusive thoughts for a moment. A sense of peace begins to mist over you, until it thrums inside of you again. Like it has since the airport drop off this morning. It all untwisting, slowly oozing out until it collects other things, creating more anxiety in a lab of your own making.

The list ever-growing, collating—

Van Ness. Fiestl. Javi.

It worsens when you call the number from earlier. The one for the plane he’d asked for, after you’d handed Peña the blue folder. You’d studied his features and committed each expression as he read the contents of it.

If you blink, you still see the way his face lit up, the realisation that dawned over him—it was like magic. Like perfect sunsets and those mornings there isn’t a cloud in the sky, making your cheeks warm, especially with the way he’d stared at you after.

“You okay, sir?” Your heart quickens in your throat as he stands, tapping the blue folder against his palm. “You got plans tonight?” “What?” “I owe you food.” Shaking your head, you lick your lips. “No, you—“ “You bought me lunch yesterday, I’ll buy you dinner. Tonight. Here.” Stepping around your desk, you feel his eyes on you. “I’ll hold you to that, sir.”

You know you’re rattled. Sensitive.

Split open at the poorly sewn seams, panic seeping out of every orifice imaginable as you bounced your heel into the embassy carpet. But, something told you to be—something outside of anxiousness and concern. Something not easily stifled by reassuring thoughts and hopeful thinking as you stared into the dirty, bathroom mirror.

It’s heavy in your hand—your phone. Slowly placing it back into its position as you process what you’d heard.

“Stoddard…” you mumble, swallowing the forming lump in your throat. “Neil?”

“Yeah.”

You can feel it, the ground shifting. Your vision sliding, blurring just at the edges as your pulse quickens. “He didn’t—um. He didn’t get on the plane. Peña”

He doesn’t say anything—barely even a frown. Just leans back in his chair, tapping his pen on the desk—as though Peña disappearing is something which happens regularly.

As though he’s someone who would vanish on the day he sent two agents to Cali.

The silence should unnerve you—usually, it does.

It normally allows everything to breed, to worsen—double and multiply. It allows that string to stretch again, it always so close to snapping, as its plucked and plucked, shivers through you.

Night has come and snatched the day. The office having slowly emptied over the last two hours, Stoddard having left fifteen minutes ago at best. You should go too, leave—try and sleep and reset.

But, you slide into Peña’s chair, staring over the contents of a file that you’re not taking in. Instead, it’s for show. A pretence as you chew the inside of your cheek, spreading your fingers out over the small patch of his desk not covered in paper. Just feeling the wood, the smoothness of it. How cold it is. The chill stretching and weaving up your wrist—

“Oh, cariño…I didn’t know anyone was still here.“

You’re on your feet instantly, palms pressed against the desk. Eyes having landed on brown eyes and a figure that makes your heart stop. And then, relief. He’s okay. Pe—Javi. Alive. Well. Whatever bit of you you’d been gnawing, releases, freeing you. All the thoughts, ones of him being taken, of him lying in a pool of his—

“Yeah, I’m… I’m here,” you whisper, clearing your throat.

Barely able to say it any louder.

Swallowing, finding yourself quickly smothered and wrapped in something you’d forgotten could exist in the last few hours. The sight of him almost forces you to cross the room, to wrap your arms around him. You stop yourself. Just.

Dropping your chin, you watch through your brows as he throws his jacket and tie over the chair opposite you, blinking back thankful-tears as your fingers halt from drawing against the swirls in the wood of his desk.

He’s watching you, and as soon as you notice it, it’s all you focus on. They’re warming you, tracing you. Like he’s unable to tear himself away, staring stares at you as though you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Sometimes you almost believe you are.

“Surprised to find you still here. It’s late—even for you.”

Snorting, you feel warmth slide up your cheeks. “Well, you did promise me dinner...”

He traces his jaw with his finger, a puzzled look on his face as he straightens, and your eyes take in the way his top two buttons are undone, that his hair is tousled—that he looks good. Alive, safe, breathing, and so good.

Him all golden skin and a pair of eyes that made you want to see every expression flutter across them. Just like normal. A normal you try to camouflage, dress it up in disdain and faux-annoyance.

Clearing your throat, you stand, stepping around his desk, not letting a finger fall from it. Suddenly needing it to ground you, to focus on—stop the shakes from your early worrying when everything felt like it was on fire.

It’s at the last moment you watch it bloom over his face—the realisation.

“Shit… I’m so—cariño…”

Shrugging, you lift your head. “It’s fine, I was just teasing—“

“I had—fuck, I had no signal. I’m—“

“Peña. It’s fine. I was messing with you. Where were you—to not have a signal?”

His jaw tightens, dropping his eyes as he runs a hand over his face. “Stechner took me to a jungle.”

“Course he did,” you snort, taking some of the discomfort. “Lemme guess, because of our visitors? I know I shouldn’t say this, but—“

“He’s an asshole?”

“Such a fucking asshole.”

You laugh, merging with his. Both of them escape, puffing out of you both as you feel a thread loosen around your throat.

He’s looking at you again, differently than before. The silence from the rest of the building, the late hour providing nothing but quiet.

You’re sure your blood has ignited, simmering in your ears, head and chest. Something fluttering, wings brushing your ribs as you swallow it all. Needing a distraction, scrambling for one, remembering—

“Fiestl and Van Ness—“

“I know. Managed... I called them in the car. They’re staying there, they have…” His voice trails off, head tilting.

You knew that.

Had spoken to Dan. Almost wanting to tell him that—a flicker of annoyance stemming through the earlier worry—bite that you’ve been here, taking calls for him.

But, Javi’s eyes are narrowing in the way he does when he’s figured something out. You can’t stop it, a mere passenger to the way your body warms under his sight—ears burning as you watch the corners of his lips twitch.

“Why are you in my office, cariño?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you straighten your spine. “Stoddard isn’t great at answering your phone.”

You find yourself swallowing when Javi takes a step closer, eyes burning into his, the same as his are burning into yours. His screaming Liar. Noticing him swiping his thumb across his bottom lip.

“I spoke to Stoddard—before he left for the night.”

You swallow.

Don’t push, you silently plead.

“Come on. You can tell me the truth.”

It’s fragile, easily able to shatter—the thin wall the two of you have built since the file room. The professionalism, the decency he was intent on giving you. You’ll tear it down yourself single-handedly if he keeps looking at you how he is, observing as he stops in front of you, drinking you in with his deep, velvety eyes.

Licking your lips, you take a deep breath. “Stop hunting for—”

“Were you worried about me, cariño…?”

It pulses—the truth. Even if he says it with that tone, the one which is always accompanied by a smirk. The one which makes your skin flush with warmth.

It mixes with the rattling around inside of you, the one born from actually worrying about him. It's all thrumming, vibrating. Making it hard to swallow as you lift your chin, almost defiantly.

Then he says your name.

Not Luna. Not your surname. Your first given name.

It’s too much. The proximity, the scent of Earth, smoke and something so distinctly him. The silence made it crumble, blending with his smirk. You watch how it unfilters from his cheeks as he swallows. Being replaced by something far more annoying—concern.

Smiling, you hold his gaze. Realising you have little energy to fight.

“And, what if I was, Javi?”

It’s subtle, the shift in his eyes. The change to the way his lips had been turned upwards. All minimal. Barely much at all. His face only half-illuminated by the lamp on his desk, but it’s enough to see the effect his name has on him. It’s enough to make the air difficult, like it’s being squeezed from the room, his lips parting before closing. No words left to say.

He’s surprised. So much so, Javier Peña has been rendered silent.

You consider leaving, taking your embarrassment with you, dipping your eyes as you fumble for an excuse—

And then he whispers your name. All breathy, almost like he did that night after the bar. As though he doesn’t want you to leave—it makes your eyes snap up.

They shrivel, the thoughts of leaving. Vanishing as if they never existed, to begin with.

His fingers, cautious and calloused, brush themselves over your forearm and the last piece of restraint crumbling and settling alight—as if it was made of paper, and he was the match.

It’s instant the way your lungs ache—burning—when you crash your lips to his. Your fist is full of his collar as your heart thumps, over and over—hammering and knocking, banging and smashing.

It’s messy. Far too desperate and uncoordinated. But it’s also bliss.

It’s freeing. It’s worry, and relief, and a sea of other things.

Your palm places flush with his neck, fingers clutching at his jaw as you feel his pulse thump against you. Alive, he’s alive. Repose settles over you, calming you as you taste cigarettes on his tongue and coffee on his lips.

A taste you’ve come to crave more than your own bag of beans in your bottom desk drawer.

His hands grip you, fix you against him—little, to no space being left. Not that you want there to be. If anything, you want to remove the barrier of clothes between you. Have him press you against his desk, create a new reason to blush in his presence—

Wrenching your lips from his, you lean back in his palms, finding bewilderment and confusion flashing across in a storm. Swallowing, you size him up, how his eyes are darker and his lips are parted.

“You fucked anyone in your office, sir?”

It hits him, the question—an array of emotions fluttering across his features. “Fuck me...”

Smirking, you take a step back. Hands sliding down his arms until you release his fingers, and your lower back meets his desk.

It allows him a moment—one to make a choice. A moment which stretches on far too long, your already frayed endings becoming frazzled with anxiousness. Then, you watch your daydreams play out into reality. It’s beautiful, and fascinating—and fucking everything. Studying the way his micro-expressions bleed into major ones, feeling his eyes rise, so inky and full of swirling lust, pulling you in like a siren song. It makes your throat dry—he makes your throat dry.

“You becoming an exhibitionist, baby?”

Baby.

The word curls around you, dripping into your ear as your hands come down to rest on the edge of the desk. Watching him shift his jaw from side to side.

“Surprised you know that word, Peña. It’s quite long.”

He snorts. Nodding, eyes dropping to the floor. His fingers twitch at his side, thumb brushing over his index and middle, before he looks up.

Banished is the doubt, the attempt at decency. His frame closes the gap quickly—quicker than you count on. Doing so in a number of strides, you don’t have a chance to count, before he’s on you. Lips crashing against yours, tongue licking past your teeth as you grasp fingers full of his hair.

It’s intoxicating, being kissed by him.

He’s like fire in your bones and air in your lungs. Losing yourself in him until you run your lips across his jaw, enjoying running your prints up and along his neck, feeling his pulse again—before sliding back up into the soft curls of his hair as you take him in.

The two of you drink one another in, lost in a moment that’s all your own. You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip, unable to tear your eyes from him. Thankful when he reconnects his lips to yours, all desperate to kiss you.

So much so, you’re sure he does it with the sole intention of ruining you—of taking everything from you, leaving you with nothing.

You’d let him. You are letting him. Allowing his touch to consume you, to render you useless and breathless.

If you were younger, less scarred—less fearful of getting hurt—there’s more you’d hand him. More parts of you that you’d let him into. Likely spill your secrets, worries and deepest desires—and not hide behind smirks and flirtations.

Instead, you offer him mild submissiveness.

Hands falling from his neck to your trousers, undoing them—the metal grating against metal sounding, making him groan. It vibrates against you, feeling it in your chest as you let them fall to your ankles with a thud. They’re followed by your underwear, a simple pile, one he helps you step out as he helps slide the bare back of your thighs over his wooden desk.

His hand is quick to sweep files, notes and post-its into a messier pile than before.

You don’t focus on it. Try not to. Choosing instead to busy your hands with undoing his buttons—reuniting your lips with his. Craving him, not needing him. A solid difference—a considerable one. Because you can admit you want the feel of him—whether it’s the way he stretches you or his fingers across the inside of your knees.

To need him means something else. Something under lust and fucking on a desk. It means letting him in, enough that you could tumble, fall—risk scarring your heart, soul and sense more than they already are.

He knows it. Must do. You can tell from the way he kisses you—like he’s trying to knock down your walls and paper over old pain. His fingers hunt for the switch, the one which slides the imaginary door to your secrets. And his tongue, he tries to carve it into a key to unlock everything about you—discover the reason you protect yourself, hide, conceal.

For now, he takes this. Having you in his office, his groan as you palm him over his trousers—as he hisses into your mouth. You equally take each sound you can have, like the sound of his belt undoing, and trousers falling to his ankles. Working him slowly up and down. How he’s trying to push you over the edge by curling two of his fingers inside you, finding the spot that made you coo his name.

He stops, and so do you.

Both of you panting, watching his forehead meet yours as he tugs your hips closer.

He’s beautiful. Something you had known before, something you had witnessed and accepted. But, this is different, the lighting, the intimacy—the earlier worries.

Your hand curls against his cheek as he slides the head of his cock through your slick walls. Body aflame with arousal, with want.

I’m glad you’re okay, Javi. Glad you’re here.

It’s easy, the way he steals your gasp with his lips. Your hand clutches his side as he stretches you, making you feel so full—eyes clenching shut as you forget how to breathe. But your lips—oh, your lips don’t forget how to kiss him. They remember how to take as much of him as they can get.

The same way you begrudgingly take how slow he rocks himself into you, that his forehead finds yours, and cariño rolls in soft murmurs from his perfect, kissable lips.

It’s worse when it’s slower, impossible to deny how perfect he feels—how good he makes you feel.

“Thought of—fuck—nothing else.”

He talks more when he’s sober, you're not the same.

Thankful you hadn’t helped yourself to his liquor, afraid you’ll be telling him how thankful you are he’s okay, that he’s back in his office. Alive. Well. Breathing. That he’s kissing you, that he’s fucking you.

Instead, you find yourself unable to stop yourself from clutching him close. From smiling as he captures your lips, to smothering any moans and whimpers as you whisper his name.

He grasps your hip, ghosting his mouth over yours, “I like the taste of my name on your lips, cariño.”

“Shit, Javi.”

He peers down, a glint, a smirk—eyes speckled with the reflection of the lamp. Your head falls back as he helps you lift your leg. Just enough—until your heel meets the edge of the desk.

The groan he emits fills the air, and stains it. Feeling him so much deeper, creating so much pressure as he slides in and out. Your own moans stifled, buried, drowned in your throat with sheer fucking will— because he’s so impossibly, perfectly fucking deep.

“Anyone fucked you like this?”

Your eyes are already closed, the pleasure quivering, building. If your eyes open, if you meet his, you’ll lose—let him in, let him see you, all of you. He’ll undress your mind, peer in and see the broken mess behind the well-put-together woman he’s been thinking about fucking again.

That you cannot lose. Not him. Never him, but also not this—this perfectly matched game that could go on and on until one of you ruins it.

He breathes your name. Gruff. Peppered with pleasure and bliss as he snaps his hips against yours. It’s easier to shake your head as his pace quickens, as his grunts punch into the air.

“Need to—fuck, cariño—need to hear you—“

“No, Javi. Just you. Only y-you.”

One of your hands grips the desk, digging into the wood—enough to leave a mark. The other grabs him, the back of his neck, fingers digging into skin and hair.

You arch your back, feeling only then his palm on your spine—having balled up enough of your blouse to keep it from being in the way. His hand slides under, fingers spreading, curling you closer, rooting you to him.

As if his cock isn’t doing that. As though it isn’t dragging through your walls, stroking parts of you which makes you almost see stars, light and fucking heaven—

“Give it to me, cariño.”

His hip presses against your lower calf, hitting that spot over and over. The sound of your arousal growing, the slick noises as he pounds into you, drowned only by his grunts and your whimpers.

Tilting your head back, you take him in. The hair which is in strands, jaw tight, sweat building on his neck as he looks down at you like you’re everything.

It almost pushes you to let go—let it wash over you, and then you hear the softest whisper from his lips.

“Please.”

Your eyes open, basking under his gaze—and it rips through you. Tears you into pieces as his name carves into the air, and he fucks you through it. His hand grips you tighter, keeping you as close as he can. For as long as he can.

Your focus is on feeling it—from head to toe. How it ripples, travelling to every nerve as it sets you alight. The rest only comes back to you slowly, the way your lips are already meeting his as he groans your name as he coats you in his release.

It’s only when he slows, does the dull ache in your nails greets you, splinters carved into your skin.

Javi waits a moment, drawing a shape on your lower back with his fingers before he slides himself free from you, leaving you empty. The low light casts shadows that make him appear softer.

You almost are able to convince yourself it’s the lighting, but then he bends down to retrieve your clothes. Sliding your leg through the fabrics, seeing a gentler part of him showing through. You have to close your eyes, hiding from it.

Knowing you’re falling, descending. Still hearing the sound of him coming with your name on your lips—understanding what he meant when he said he liked the taste of his name on your tongue.

You liked the taste of yours too. More so when it graced the air in a chorus.

Please.

Please, he had whispered.

You feel his thumb sliding up your thigh, garnering your attention again, flicking your eyes open as fabric follows his fingers. You smile, mirroring his, slowly realising that you’re losing the battle of keeping him out—greeted by kinder brown and flecks of softness.

“Javi…” He blinks, forehead smoothing out—no lines, no frown. “I was worried. I was worried about you.”

Swallowing, he lifts his hand, thumb brushing the side of your lip as he parts his lips, all set to say something or another. But the phone rings.

Another interruption—a yank back to reality. Standing, flinging yourself from his desk as he moves to take it, trying not to listen, but listening all the same.

His eyes meet yours—and you realise in an instant the call is important. His tells showing, unable to be masked from how you’d cracked him open only moments ago, staring until he mouths Fiestl.

Your heart hammering, pounding, waiting and waiting until he places the phone down.

“They… they’ve found Gilberto Rodríguez.”

chapter five ->

282 notes · View notes

vanwritesfan-fiction · 9 months

Text

Bad Liar

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Famous Singer!Reader

Warnings: Nothing but angst and tears

Author’s Notes: This is the longest work I’ve ever put out, and I’m so excited for you to read it. Definitely the most developed story I’ve written as well. Please share your thoughts!

Where’s your love when I need it? You keep it hidden, I don’t see it, baby In my mind, there’s a reason Over time, I stop believing everything That you’re supposed to say Take a second, get by, don’t you, babe? You got me living in a fantasy

“I’m sorry Dan, can we run it from the first verse again?” You slid your headphones off your ears, taking a sip of water, your throat painfully dry. You felt the walls of the recording booth closing in on you as you struggled to get through this song. ‘Secrets’ was the single on your sophomore album and should have been out months ago to garner publicity for when the album came out, but you had been dragging your feet.

The song never felt right to you, but your manager insisted that you needed a ballad that would show off your vocal prowess. Up until now you had always been considered a bubble gum pop artist in the industry, and you didn’t really care what your title was because you were getting the chance to do something you loved. As you popularity grew, the number of people whispering in your ear, trying to pull you in one direction or another, grew and you felt the pressure to rise to the occasion.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Your engineer gave you the thumbs up. You placed your headphones back on, the back track blaring.

Jack slipped into the studio quietly, sitting on the leather couch at the back of the room, trying not to disturb you while you recorded. He pulled his phone out to quietly record you singing. You rarely liked to sing in front of him, too nervous and embarrassed to perform in front of someone who was seasoned in the industry and whose opinion you valued so much. He loved your voice, found it incredibly soothing, so he would keep these recordings on his phone to listen to when the two of you were apart.

“Ugh, I just hate this song. It doesn’t feel like me.” You admitted to yourself, letting out a deep breath. You flipped through your notebook, frantically erasing some lyrics that disrupted the flow of the song. “Dan, can we just skip to the chorus, it’s the only thing I’m sure of right now.” You tapped your pencil against your chin, deep in thought. “Who the fuck wrote these lyrics?” you chuckled to yourself. You were always so hard on your songwriting ability, even though you were already Grammy nominated only five years into your career.

“Can you take a break? Your boyfriend would like to kiss you now.” You looked up to see Jack leaning over the control panel, his finger on the intercom button. You grinned wide, feeling an immediate rush of relief at seeing his face. You couldn’t leave the booth fast enough, running in your socks to meet him. He pulled you into his body, planting a deep kiss on your lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the curls at nape of his neck. “When did you get here?”

“Like half an hour ago. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. You have no idea.”

He led you over to the couch, his hands around your waist from behind as you, as he peppered kisses up and down your neck. You wriggled in his hold, very ticklish. You folded your legs underneath you, Jack sitting next to you, his legs wide. “You sound amazing. Is this the new single?” You rolled your eyes, letting out a loud sigh. “Yeah, ‘Secrets’, I hate it so much though.”

“Why?”

“It’s not me. It’s some heartbroken ballad, and right now, I am the furthest thing from heartbroken.” You smiled at him, rubbing his chest. He held your hand over his heart, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. “So don’t record it, then. I’ve seen that notebook, I know you have at least 10 just as good, if not better songs you could record for your single.”

“I wish it was that easy. We already played the song for the record label, and they loved it, so it’s basically written in stone that it will be the single.”

“Let me guess, Joe had something to do with that.” He looked at you, but you avoided eye contact, shifting to get up from the couch. “Jack, please don’t start.” You walked back to the booth, not wanting to get into it with your boyfriend over your manager.

Jack followed after you, closing the door behind him so you could have privacy. You sat down on the stool with a huff. “Just listen to me, okay. Baby, he is playing you, he doesn’t care about you or your career, he’s only in it for the money.” You looked at him shocked, your chest burning with anger. “Jack, that is my father, don’t talk about him like that.” You turned to your notebook, the words on the page sounding even worse in your head than before. You started erasing your pencil marks, quickly ripping a hole in the paper. Jack pulled the pencil from your hand, gently placing it on the table. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.” He pulled you into his chest, placing a kiss on your temple. You rested against his body for a few minutes, relishing in the comfort he provided you.

“I know it seems like it sometimes, but he does have my best interest at heart. He’s just trying to prevent me from becoming a washup. It’s so easy to get lost in the sea of Tik Tok artists and self-made musicians these days, he’s just aggressive with my career. Can you just be understanding? I need someone in my corner.” You looked up at Jack, tears building in your lashes from the hours of frustration and disappointment you had been feeling today. He ran his thumbs beneath your eyes, collecting the wetness before it dared to drip down your face. “Baby, I am always in your corner. I just wish you could see what he’s doing to you.”

“Please just let it go. We’re not going to see eye to eye on this. I don’t want to talk about it right now, anyway. I need to be focused on this song. I want supportive boyfriend Jack right now, not industry Jack. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course, how can I help you?”

You playfully shoved him through the door. “You can get out of the booth.”

“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands in surrender, giving you a cheesy grin. “I’m gonna go to your place and try to get some sleep.” He leaned over for a kiss, and you met him the rest of the way.

“We’re still going to the dinner tonight, right?” You called after Jack, stopping him in his tracks. You could feel the annoyance radiating off of him, his body tensing at the question. He rolled his shoulders back, running his hand through his hair as he turned to look at you. “Is he going to be there?”

“Will my dad be at the dinner that he invited us to? I think there’s a pretty good possibility.”

“Do I have to go?” You walked out of the booth, standing chest to chest with Jack.

“Yes, I said you would be there. He hasn’t seen you in a couple of months, he’s been asking about you.” You patted his chest gently, searching his face for signs of anger.

“The only time he mentions me is when he’s talking about how much I’m ruining your career. You know that he hates me. And to be honest the feeling is mutual.”

“He doesn’t hate you, he just doesn’t understand you like I do. Jack, please be nice. For me?”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

****

Jack looked at his watch, jiggling his leg up and down out of nervousness. You place a hand on his leg to stop the shaking. “Will you stop?”

“Where is he? He’s already 30 minutes late. Who shows up late to a dinner with their daughter?”

“He’s probably just running late from a meeting or something.” You searched the entrance, a crowd of people gathered by the hostess stand, none of them your father. Jack adjusted in his seat, pulling at the suit jacket you made him put on before coming here tonight. There was a hilarious irony in dressing up to have dinner with the devil.

Jack was constantly toeing the line of being disrespectful to your father and protective of you. He knew your relationship with him was complicated, but at the same time, he also knew you had blinders on, and Jack was afraid that your dad was going to ruin your career. “If he’s not here in the next 15 minutes, we’re leaving.” Jack warned you, but you brushed off his impatience.

“There he is.” You stood up as your father walked over to the table, his arms open to you to pull you in for a hug. Your dad was always dressed to the nines, in nothing less than a suit with a pocket square whenever he was out in public. You almost wouldn’t believe that he grew up poor in the Bronx, a down on his luck mechanic with a child and an ex-wife to support just a couple of years ago. As soon as you started to get noticed by record labels for some songs you put up on YouTube, he made himself your manager and quickly changed his persona. Joe from the Bronx became Joseph, music industry maven and your sole representation going forward. He wasted no time spending his cut of your first check on the best designer clothes, a new car, and an apartment in the Upper East side. These were business expenses, he told you, all necessary to keep up appearances. “Hi baby girl, sorry I am late.” He addressed you with a kiss on the cheek. “That’s okay, Dad. I’m sure you were busy.”

“I’m always busy for you, baby girl, trying to make sure we take you to the top of the industry.” He gestured to the sky as he pulled out his chair, stopping when he noticed Jack sitting at the table. “Jackman, I didn’t know you would be joining us tonight.” He extended a hand to your boyfriend. Jack stood, reluctantly taking what felt like putting his hand directly into the flames. His skin burned against Joe’s hand, and Jack hoped he could feel the distain in the handshake.

“Sir.”

Joe slipped off his jacket before sitting down, immediately waiving over the waiter. “What’s your house wine tonight?” He asked without giving the waiter so much as a glance. “Mayacamas from Napa, sir, it’s a 2018.”

“We’ll take it. Two bottles” He held up two fingers, snapping to signal that the waiter could make himself scarce.

“I told you Jack was coming today, Daddy. He’s in town for a press tour.” You squeezed Jack’s forearm affectionately. Joe completely ignored your statement, his focus on your boyfriend. “Do you drink wine, Jackman?”

Jack sat up in his seat, rubbing his palms against his pant leg. “It’s Jack, and no. I don’t drink at all.”

“Color me surprised. I would have thought all rappers drank and smoked, ya know, to keep up the persona.” Joe’s tone was accusatory, and Jack felt like he was suddenly under interrogation. “Haven’t had a drink in over two years. Didn’t like the effect that alcohol had on me.” He gave you a small smile.

“That’s kind of boring isn’t it? I always imagined my daughter with someone with more of a zest for life, with something more to give.”

Jack chuckled to himself, tapping his foot. “Isn’t confusing ‘zest for life’ with alcoholism how you lost your family in the first place?”

“Jack!”, you were quick to chastise him, keeping your voice low so no one could hear you. “Can you two just behave for one dinner? You are both ridiculous.”

“Sorry, Y/N.” Jack kept his head down as he looked at the menu. “You’re right, baby girl. I’m sorry as well. Let’s just try to enjoy this meal. I’ll order for the table.” He snapped his fingers again, the waiter appearing tableside immediately. “We’ll have an order of the oysters on the half shell for the table, I’ll have the blackened snapper, my daughter will have the Chilean sea bass, and Jackman-?” He gestured over to Jack, who was still searching the menu. “He doesn’t eat seafood, Dad.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I had no idea.” Joe’s apology was anything but sincere, and Jack had just about enough. He distinctly remembered you telling your dad that you didn’t like seafood when you confirmed the dinner plans weeks ago. “I’ll just have the cheeseburger, just cheese, nothing else on it.” The waiter nodded in acknowledgement as he took the menus and headed to

“You don’t drink, and you have the pallet of a toddler. You sure know how to pick them, Y/N.” Joe got in one final jab, taking a sip from his wine glass.

****

The ride back to your place was quiet, Jack stewing in his feelings being hurt. You both got ready for bed in silence as well. You were exhausted from being in the studio all day, and your dinner interaction didn’t help.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jack asked you as he sat down on the bed, putting his glasses on. “What are you talking about?” You put your hair up in a loose bun, taking out your contacts. “Are you kidding me? Joe spent the entire dinner attacking my character, and you just sat there and let him.”

“Jack, he doesn’t mean any of that. He’s just messing around.”

“Y/N, he said that he doesn’t think we should be together, and that seems like messing around to you?”

“Jack, I can’t do this right now. Can you just let it go for tonight? I apologize for him, he won’t do it again.”

“Don’t you get tired of always apologizing for his actions? He’s a grown ass man, baby. His daughter shouldn’t be cleaning up his messes.”

“I’m not cleaning up his messes, Jack. He said a couple of things to you tonight, why are you letting it bother you so much?”

“Why doesn’t it bother you? Why are you scared of him?” Jack stood up, there was no way he was going to sleep now, his anger boiling over. “I’m not scared of him. I am just trying to keep the peace.”

“Maybe that’s the problem, all of the women in your family are trying to keep the peace, and he wants nothing but destruction.” He mumbled out as he put on a pair of socks. “Hey!” you turned to him, “I told you about my mom in confidence. Don’t use that against me. You already crossed a line tonight bringing up my Dad’s drinking.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I was completely in the wrong. I just get around him, and I see red. I just don’t want to see you get hurt, baby. I love you.” He crawled over to your side of the bed, laying down and resting his head on your stomach. “I love you too, Jack, but I need you to back off of my dad.” He looked up at you, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “I won’t outright attack him, but I also want sit back and let him get away with bullshit.”

“Why are you so determined to puff your chest out at him, Jack?” You pushed him off of your lap, turning away from him in the bed and turning the light switch so the room fell dark. “Goodnight.”

“Baby, I’m sorry.”

“Just go to sleep, Jack.”

****

The next morning, Jack was riding downtown with his team to the radio station for the first of many interviews of the day. He checked his phone for the 10th time in the last 20 minutes, waiting for a reply from you to his five ‘Good Morning’ texts. He knew you were upset last night, but you always texted him ‘Good Morning’, even after a fight. “Something wrong, Jack?” Chris looked up at his client, noticing his face was peppered with worry. “Uh, its Y/N. She didn’t text me this morning, and that’s not like her.”

“Trouble in paradise?” He joked, his demeanor falling serious when he noticed Jack didn’t find his joke funny. “Really, what’ going on?” Jack sighed as he put his phone back in his back pocket. “Let me ask you as question, and this stays between us. Have you heard of Joseph Y/L/N?” Chris scoffed, leaning forward in his seat. “Who hasn’t. He’s infamous in the industry, mostly for being a hardass. Why do you ask?”

“He’s Y/N’s dad, and also her manager.”

“Oh, man.”

“What?”

“It’s not really my place to say anything, but a couple of years ago I heard some rumors that he had a client, and they were this promising talent, supposed to be as big as Rihanna according to some labels, but he botched the contract, asking for more and more money, until he had been blacklisted by pretty much every record label in the country. I never would have thought it was Y/N, but now that you say something, it would make sense. The timelines match up.”

“Fuck. I just don’t trust him, Chris. There’s just something about him. He’s sleezy and with the way he acts, I think it’s just a matter of time before Y/N is hurt in the crossfire between him and his ego.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start, Jack. That’s dangerous territory, trying to get between a father and daughter.”

“I know. Can you do me a favor though? Can you look over her contract? She’s too trusting, I doubt she even looked at it. I just want to make sure he’s not robbing her blind.”

“Of course, send it to me.”

****

You opened the door to your apartment after five frantic knocks, Jack trying to catch his breath as he stepped through the doorway. “Jack, what’s wrong?” He walked back to your living room, stopping when he saw your dad sitting on the couch. “What are you doing here?” He looked between you and Joe, not expecting him to be here. “Not the best way to greet your girlfriend’s daughter, Jackman.”

“It’s Jack, only my mother calls me Jackman.” Jack responded through gritted teeth. “I need to talk to you, Y/N.”

“I can’t right now. We’ve got a big problem.”

“What’s going on?” Jack sat down in an arm chair across from Joe.

“Someone leaked a recording of my new single, and people are tearing me apart on social media. The song is dead in the water.” You sat down on the arm of the chair, your head in your hands.

“Do you know who it was?” Jack placed a hand on your shoulder, massaging it in sympathy.

“Yeah, we think we do.” Joe answered, glaring at Jack.

“You don’t actually think I would do that, do you?” He was looking at you now, his eyes pleading. You didn’t answer, your gaze focused on the ground. “You’re the only one who has been in the studio besides Y/N. Have you been recording her while you’re in there?” Jack fell silent. “Jack, have you been recording me?” You were genuinely surprised, he had never mentioned it before. “Yes, but baby, you have to believe me. I would never jeopardize your career like that.”

“It doesn’t matter what your intentions were, it’s a closed studio. No recording anything. You might have ruined her career.”

“You’re overreacting. I’ve had songs leaked before,it sucks, but it’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal!” Joe stood up, his voice booming. You motioned for him to relax, turning to Jack.

“I have a temporary contract with Atlantic, it’s based on my album sales. That single was supposed to save my album, and without it, there is no way I’ll meet the terms of my contract.”

“Ok, so release it anyway. People are gonna talk regardless.”

“We can’t. We didn’t have the rights to release the song, it has a sample we never got cleared. I’ll be sued personally if we try to release it.” Jack walked over to you, grabbing your arms in his hands.

“Baby, you have to believe me. I didn’t leak the song.” You pulled away from him. “I think you should go, Jack. I have some things to figure out.” You turned away from him, his shoulders drooping in defeat. “You don’t mean that.” Joe stood between the two of you, pushing Jack to leave. “You heard her, it’s time for you to go.” You turned around and watched him begin to walk away, picking at your nail beds with anxiety. He held your gaze has he backed out. You mouthed to him, “Trust me”, before walking back to your bedroom. Jack was confused, but regardless, he trusted you with his life, so he left, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do in the moment.

****

You texted Jack later that night, asking to meet him at his hotel. He opened the door, his hair covered by the hood of his sweatshirt. You walked past him, papers in your hand. You sat on the bed, patting next to you for him to join you. Jack started to speak, but you stopped him, placing a finger over his lips. “Can you just sit here with me for a second? I just need you right now.” You held your hand out to him, and he took it immediately, raising it to kiss your knuckles. You couldn’t help the tears that started to fall, and you didn’t try to any longer. “Shhhh, baby.” Jack pulled your head toward him, placing a kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin as he tried to calm you down. When you could finally breathe again, you lifted your head.

“The last couple of days have been so incredibly hard, but I need to apologize.”

Jack pulled away, your hands still intertwined. “What do you have to apologize for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No, you were right. I should have defended you against my dad. He had no right to attack you like that. And there’s more.” You handed him the papers you had brought with you.

“It turns out my contract was only contingent on my dad bringing in other talent, it had nothing to do with my album sales. The record company never even planned on putting out my album.” You were sobbing now, your words almost incoherent.

“What are you talking about? You were in the studio, the album was almost done.” Jack stroked your hair as you continued.

“My dad was using my money to pay for the studio time. He was lying to me the entire time, Jack. I can’t believe I was so stupid. I trusted him.”

“No, baby. You weren’t stupid. You are supposed to be able to trust your dad, and he abused the fact that you were so kind to him. I have to tell you something too.” You looked up at him, your eyes puffy and red. Jack stood up, and grabbed his phone off the table. “I had Chris look at the contract you have with your dad, and Y/N, he’s taking way more than the 10% industry standard cut. It’s more like 40%.” He stopped, not sure how you were going to react to this news.

“I know.”

“What do you mean, you know? How long have you been letting him take advantage of you?”

“He didn’t take advantage of me. I knew what I was signing when I agreed to let him represent me.”

“Babe, he’s robbing you.”

“I know it sounds stupid, but I just really wanted to have him back in my life. I would have done anything, including giving him as much money as he asked for.” Jack sat back down on the bed next to you, placing his hands on your thighs. “Ok, but you can’t let him do this anymore, Y/N. I know that song was leaked, but it’s really not the end of the world. I’ll see if Chris can represent you while we find you another manager, and we’ll find out who leaked the song and sue the shit out of them.”

You were quiet for a second, not sure how to tell him.

“I leaked the song.” You breathed out with your confession, your eyes focused on your hands.

“What?” Jack shook his head, not understanding.

“I leaked the song.” You repeated, your tone even.

“Why? You knew what this would do to your album.”

You shook your head, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. You were done crying, and just angry now. “I know, but once I found out the terms of my contract, I knew it’s what I had to do to get from under my dad’s thumb. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Baby, I don’t know how to help you.” Jack felt helpless and frustrated.

You grabbed both of his hands, massaging his fingers, something you always did when you were stressed. “I asked you to trust me yesterday, and I’m asking you to trust me one more time. Can you do that?”

“Of course.” Jack pulled you in for a gentle kiss. That night, the two of you figured out your final plan to repair your career and get rid of Joe as your manager for good.

****

“Two meals in less than a week. To what do I owe the honor?” Your father embraced you as he walked up to the table, completely ignoring Jack as he sat down. “Thanks for coming dad. After yesterday, I just needed to clear up some things.” You looked over at Jack. He couldn’t help but show his worry, and he had to fight the overwhelming urge to protect you, knowing you needed to do this yourself.

“What’s going on? Is it about the song? You’ve got the culprit right here. If I were you, I’d end it with him right now. A lawsuit tends to strain a relationship in my experience.”

“Like I said yesterday, Joseph. I didn’t leak the song.” Jack leaned forward on the table, his words abrasive.

“And why should I believe you? Of course, you would lie, you’ve got a lot to lose.” Joe gestured towards you. You sat up in your seat, holding your head up high.

“Because I leaked the song, Dad.”

Genuine shock clouded Joe’s face as he looked at you. He was at a loss for words. “Baby girl, why would you do that? Why would you destroy everything I’ve worked so hard for?” You chuckled in disbelief. “That I’ve worked so hard for, Dad.The only thing you’ve worked hard for is fucking me over.” You pulled out the contract papers from your bag, shoving them onto his plate. “What is this?”

“The contract you were hoping I’d never read. The one that says my album will only be recorded if you bring in other talent. The same one that guarantees you a $500k payout regardless of who you represent.”

“Listen, baby girl-“, he worked to conjure up a lie in his mind when he realized he’d been caught. He was going to try to work you over one more time.

“Dad, for once in your life, don’t lie to me. In fact, save it. I wouldn’t believe a word that came out of your mouth, anyway.”

Joe’s voice fell to a whisper. “Do you think you can do this without me? You’re nothing. I couldn’t even get a record label to listen to your shitty music, this is the only way you were ever going to make something out of yourself. I own you.” He threw the papers back at you, the restaurant starting to take notice of the scene he was making.

You were expecting the venom, but it still hurt, nonetheless. You kept your composure, Jack by your side. “Not anymore. As of this morning, you no longer represent me. And here.” You held out another piece of paper. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s the bill for all of the studio time you booked and stole from me for. You have 30 days to pay it back in full, or my lawyers will be coming after you.” You swallowed, hoping you sounded confident and convincing, even though you were shaking. Jack was right, you were terrified of your father, and it was taking everything in you not to run away.

“You don’t have any lawyers, you’re just as broke as I am.”

“She doesn’t, but I do. And Private Garden will manager her until we can find her a team that actually knows what they’re doing.” Jack grabbed your hand, giving it a squeeze. You looked at him, forever thankful that he was always in your corner. “Is that enough ‘zest for life’ for you, Joe?” He turned his gaze back to your father.

You stood, Jack following suit. As you began to walk away, you stopped by your father’s chair, tapping your fingers on the table to get his attention. “You should get your affairs together, Joseph.”

****

“Ok, Y/N. I’ve got what we need to finish the track. You’re good.” Nemo addressed you over the intercom as you removed your headphones in the booth. As you walked out you could hear your song ‘Secrets’ playing over the speakers. Jack was sitting in front of the control panel, his eyes closed as he bobbed his head to the music. You laughed, leaning over behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You placed a kiss behind his ear.

“You hear that baby, that’s all you. Pure talent.” He turned around to face you, pulling you into his lap. You leaned your arm on the back of the chair, playing with his curls. “Yeah, I honestly still can’t believe it.”

“Well, believe it. You sound amazing. I might have to have you featured on a track on my next album.” Jack chuckled, garnering a smile from you.

“That’s if you can afford me. You might be a feature on my next song. How did you manage to get the sample cleared anyway?”

“Baby, your boyfriend is a Grammy nominated, rap industry icon in the making. It was easy.” Jack shrugged, patting your butt.

“How much did you have to pay them?”

“A lot.”

You stood up, moving to lay down on the couch. The last couple of days of non-stop recording in Louisville meant very little sleep. Jack rolled his chair over to meet you, resting his elbows on his thighs, his head propped up in his hands. “Are you okay? I know everything with your dad hasn’t been easy.”

You nodded, giving him a small smile. “I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. He wasn’t going to have the money to pay me back and it was almost guaranteed we were going to court. I just hope he turns his life around. Even with everything he’s done, I still care about him, ya know?”

“I know, baby. He’s your father, a part of you will always love him.”

You wiped a single tear away that was resting on your cheek. “I know. When I first started recording ‘Secrets’ I couldn’t connect with the song because I wasn’t heartbroken, but now, I’m broken in a whole new way I didn’t think was possible, and it hurts more than I could have ever imagined.”

“You’ll get through this, and I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Jack reached his hand out to you and you grabbed it immediately. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Jack.”

#jack harlow #jackman thomas harlow #jack harlow x reader #jackharlow #jack harlow concepts #jackman harlow #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fanfic

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katsheadinclouds · 5 months

Text

chapter 11

Joel Miller x gn!/f! reader

series masterlist - chapter 10

summary: You go hunting with Dan and one of the patrollers. You don’t end up using your skills for hunting though, when you stumble upon a horde of infected and a bunch of teenagers trapped in an old library.

rating: mature

chapter warnings: angst, anxiety, insecurities, violence typical for the TLOU world, killing of infected, I literally have no experience with guns so more knowledgeable people please forgive me if something doesn’t make sense (let’s pretend that it does for the sake of this fic), mention of self-harm, feelings are confessed, no use of y/n.

word count: 14.4k

dividers by cafekitsune

There’s an odd anticipation in the air. You haven’t been able to forget what Ellie said to Dina at the bar, something about an unknown plan. You asked around a bit, if people had heard about some event happening this weekend, mostly from the ones who came to the stables to get their horses for patrols. You kept your questions discreet and good natured, managing to sound nonchalant while still being interested in finding out what Ellie was up to.

“So, anything exciting coming up this weekend?”

“Any plans for the upcoming weekend?”

“Do you know of any get togethers happening this weekend?”

The last question only made the older man look at you with a sly smirk on his face and a cocked eyebrow. Apparently your question prompted him to ask if you’re looking to get wasted in a few days. You gave him a tight smile before you slipped into the stalls to get their horses. The consensus was, though, that no one knew about any plans and there was nothing out of the ordinary happening in a few days. It should’ve eased your racing thoughts. It should’ve comforted you.

But it didn’t.

You couldn’t shake the thought out of your head that something was going to happen and it wasn’t going to end well. You didn’t know who it wouldn’t end well for, who would have to carry the brunt of it. The closer you got to the end of the week, the more you felt the anticipation in the pit of your stomach, like a clock ticking without you actually hearing the sounds of the pointers.

You just knew they were moving and you were getting closer to something. You were preparing for that unfamiliar, working yourself towards it. When you were with others, doing normal things, forgetting the feeling for even a moment, you somehow managed to talk yourself out of the uneasy sensation. Nothing is going to happen. You’re just being nosy and imagining it all. Until it all came back stronger, filling you with trembling anxiety and unrest.

You haven’t seen Ellie since you heard her at The Tipsy Bison. You haven’t been able to talk with Joel, who you could tell your worries to. You’ve only seen him when he’s already on his way, riding out for patrols or going home with his head held low, dark circles under his eyes, the cold wind biting his cheeks and ears red.

You’ve thought about running after him but something has always stopped you. Either you’ve been with others, especially Dan, who is keeping an eye on you and who is ready to tease you for your crush on Joel, or you’ve been running errands. Or you’ve been making excuses why you couldn’t speak with him, too nervous to have a chat with him even if it was about Ellie.

You should just put it aside really, the fluttering of your heart around him, and the shivers that run down your spine when you see him even from afar. Or the memory of his low rumbling voice against the shell of your ear before he kissed you and made you forget everything except him. It should all be secondary.

What would you even tell him though? That you heard Ellie talk with her friend about some plan but you don’t know any specifics or why you’re worried. Just that they have plans this weekend. Ellie probably has a lot of plans with her friends most weekends.

You’re fighting with yourself on this. The feeling of expecting something to happen only gets worse and you don’t know where to direct that energy to. It’s eating at you, feasting on your every thought and finally swallowing them until you can only think about that glass that is teetering on the edge of a table, an axe in the air ready to come down on a log, a spark that is about to light bark on fire. The anticipation is there, you just don’t have a clue what it’s for.

“She has been complaining about her knee, it’s still bothering her.” You hear Clara talk with Dan when your work day is coming to an end and you’re ready to go home.

“Still? Has she been to the doctors?”

“Yes. He just told her to rest it and gave her a brace for it. She has still gone out for patrols but I think she needs to take a few weeks off to recover.”

“So we’d need to find someone else to come hunting with us?” Dan’s question makes your ears perk up.

“You’re going hunting?” You ask them, pulling your coat sleeves up your arms. Clara looks at you with narrowed eyes and her head tilted which makes you more self-conscious than you’d like.

“Yes, but we’d need to find a third one since it’s a longer route.” Dan watches you with a similar intensity in his eyes. Suddenly it feels like you’re being evaluated in front of judges.

“You once said you’re a good shot.” Clara talks like she’s digging her memory, pinpointing the exact moment and then showing the evidence to you and Dan.

“Really?” Dan is intrigued right away. You don’t talk about your past at the stables. The fact that Clara knows about you being somewhat decent with a gun, based on your own words, was because you had to say something to their questions.

“Have you been hunting before?” Clara pushes on. Unconsciously you hold yourself a little stronger, your arms pulling back and you grab your other wrist behind your back.

“Yes.” This is like a job interview that you don’t have any experiences with before.

“And you know how to handle a hunting rifle?” Dan flaps his gloves against his palm, and the slap wakes something in your brain. A memory of holding a rifle in your hands, the butt digging against your shoulder and the kickback after firing it.

“I’m experienced.” It’s like you’re owning up to it, admitting that you’re no stranger to the violence a gun represents.

“I’ll speak with one of the people from the shooting range, if they’ll trust someone new with a gun.”

“If you’re interested to come hunting with us that is?” Clara asks right as Dan finishes thinking out loud.

“Yeah, I’m interested,” you tell them and they both look pleased, almost too pleased. Like they’re two kids who are going to see something new and exciting and are going to look forward to it for the next few days.

That’s how you end up at the stables too early on a Saturday morning. Your hands are freezing and the woolly jumper Brenda kept insisting for you to wear under your coat doesn’t seem like an overkill at all. You tuck your chin into your thick neck warmer when Clara comes to the stables with three hunting rifles on her back. One for her, one for Dan, and one for you which she carefully reaches into your hands and looks at your reactions when you check if it’s already loaded and to make sure the safety is on.

You hang it on your shoulder and the corners of her mouth lift in pride when she sees how you handle it. She gives you ammo, which you put into your backpack. You tie the bag on your saddle and make sure you have everything you need.

You pull your gloves on and mount Willow. As the three of you walk to the gates and finally hear them close behind you, the weapon becomes instantly heavier. The sheathed knife on the back of your jeans is securely in place on your belt, reminding you of what you learnt back in the QZ. Even if you run into infected, you’ll know what to do.

You take your time riding your horses into the forest. Smokey, sagey greens and glittering greys of the tree branches welcome you into their frosty embrace. Their dark veins reach towards the cloudy sky, breaking the monotony of different shades of faded colours.

The longer you go on, the more you realise how muted everything around you is. The sounds of the ground against the horse’s hooves is softly crackling in the air. Your breath puffs in front of your mouth in fleeting clouds of smoke where you can pinpoint each particle of moisture.

As you watch your riding partners, Dan in front and Clara behind you, you think your little group doesn’t belong into this world of greying pause. You’re in vibrant color, alive and moving, while everything around you seems to be frozen. You can smell the crispness of winter, feel the cold drying out your skin and the need to protect yourself from lust of the cold that is trying to reach your bones through your layers of clothes.

You move in silence, your head lulling into a slow repetition of the scenery and the movement of Willow under you. You don’t even notice when it has started to snow, but when you do, the small flakes floating through the air and landing on your coat sleeve mesmerise you with their unique patterns and reluctance to melt.

It takes a good few hours to ride out to a regular hunting spot for deer. You find yourself at an old barn that has all the doors locked and the windows boarded up.

“We hide our horses here, keep going by foot and settle in the hideout a bit of ways away,” Clara tells you. You let her and Dan guide you. When you lock the doors to the barn again and your feet securely against the ground, you notice how the gun against your back and the knife in the back of your jeans make you walk a little taller.

You’re suddenly on high alert, your feet moving a little quieter and you hide your mouth in your neck cover to keep your breathing silent. The instincts of hunting come naturally, the rush of the wild immersing you into something you had long forgotten.

Your heart is beating faster, your hands are hot in your gloves and every sound that doesn’t come from your footfalls make your adrenaline send a little signal that you have to keep your eyes open and your reflexes at the ready.

Clara and Dan are much more relaxed. They’re so used to the hunting routine and the surroundings but you’ve never been here. This forest is new to you, so is the possibility of danger that it can cover.

“There are some infected from time to time, they hunt for game as well. The cold does seem to slow them down a bit and usually we just see animals around here,” Clara reassures you with her hushed voice.

Her words don’t calm you in any way though. You’re expecting to see something lurking behind the dark tree trunks, hear a screech of an infected, or a howl of an animal getting mauled by a horde. Thankfully it’s silent and you can only hear your own movements and the soft breaths of Clara and Dan, their footsteps much louder compared to yours.

You find the wooden hideout some people had built on the edge of a meadow where deer and moose pass regularly. You sit with your side pressed against the wall, the cramped small space barely fitting all three of you in there. But you can sit and hide from the cold blow of the wind inside the walls and watch out for life in the open field.

You lean your palms against the butt of the rifle and the quiet of the forest starts to sink into your body as well, relaxing it from the initial need to be aware of everything around you. Dan digs up a thermos from his backpack and offers you and Clara mugs of hot herbal tea. The sugar from the honey he brought along smooths out your jittery heart even more until you can lean your back against the backwall.

“Why aren’t we hunting for smaller game as well?” You whisper, watching some of the birds in the trees. They’re silent.

“Some people came out to hunt rabbits yesterday. If we catch something today, it wouldn’t make sense to also go check out the traps after we’ve strapped our bounty to our horses.” You nod at Clara’s answer.

You know people hunt here, regularly. Just like people go out on patrols, there is a group that goes out hunting and secures the game for the dining hall and people who have ordered meat. You just haven’t really paid any attention on how things work for them, how they organise it all or how many people actually go hunting. Maybe you should’ve done a bit more homework on it before you left the town to go do the actual job.

“Do you have any coffee?” Clara asks Dan after she has finished her tea. He’s already pouring more into your mug as you offer it to him and you gladly cradle your palms against the enamel.

“Sorry,” Dan shakes his head and you hear the woman groan in despair.

“Why didn’t you bring any?” You wonder out loud, directing your words to Clara, confused why she wasn’t prepared as she has been out here many times before.

“No, I’ve ran out.”

“You think I would’ve brought tea if we had any coffee?” Dan’s voice says it all. Tea isn’t his first, or even the second choice, but you have to make do with what you’ve got. So tea it is, no matter how you don’t like it. You’ve come to enjoy it though, especially now as the warmth steadily spreads through your whole body to the tips of your limbs.

“Is it usually this slow?” You ask after you’ve had three mugs of tea and still no animals in sight other than the small birds in the trees that fly in sudden bursts and then land on their chosen branches.

“Sometimes. We just have to wait,” Dan sighs. You all settle to lean against the back wall. You start to count the different birds you see flying from one tree to another. You don’t know what they’re all called but you recognise familiar looking ones taking you years back as you’ve seen them before as well. And some are new, with their long tails or quick little trills before they all quiet again.

“It seems like they knew someone new with a gun came out here today,” you joke after another stretch of silence. Your companions please you with their muttering chuckles.

“Who knows if they can trust you to kill them fast,” Dan bumps his elbow against your arm and you all hold in your laughter. It almost feels good to joke about something so gruesome. It makes you feel that conflict of joy and power, of kindness and violence. It makes you wonder what you like about having the gun and the knife, what sort of emotions are attached to the willingness to be eager to wield them.

Clara checks the watch on her wrist, but you can tell the day is already turning towards afternoon as the brightest moment of the day is gliding past you towards the all-consuming darkness that arrives too early this time of year.

“We need to head back soon before the sun sets,” Clara’s disappointment is clear in her tone. But what can you do, if there’s no animals, there’s no animals. You’re the first to start stretching in the small space of the hideout. It encourages Dan and Clara to start moving too, the thermos getting stuffed into Dan’s backpack, Clara checking that her gloves are in her coat pocket. You make sure the safety of your gun is still on, even though you know you haven’t touched it.

The way to the barn is longer than you remembered. You’re going uphill, not too steep of a rise but still gradually making you more out of breath and your thighs warm. The horses are munching on hay that has been left for them. Willow’s soft muzzle reminds you of home, of the safety of Jackson.

Ellie’s words from last weekend come to your mind and you realise that she must’ve been talking about some party the teens had put together. They wouldn’t want the grownups to know about it, otherwise they’d need to have chaperones there. It didn’t even cross your mind before as you never had those kinds of teen years in your life. Life was all about survival in the QZ. Here those kids get to test their boundaries, experiment without fears of getting arrested by FEDRA. They get to be kids.

Clara is leading you out of the forest and you’re the one keeping watch over the rear. The quiet of the forest is unnatural. You haven’t heard birds, even a lonesome crow, in a while and even the small animals have abandoned you.

It shouldn’t make you worry. It shouldn’t make you look over your shoulder every few minutes to check that there’s nothing following behind you. The only things you can see are trees and their bark covered in the cold shimmer of frost. Something’s not right though, you know it. A forest should have some life in it, not just the occasional flap of bird wings when it rushes away from you.

“Sssshh,” Clara stops abruptly. You’re quick with your moves to pull the reins back. You’re surrounded with silence. Except it’s not complete silence anymore.

“It could just be an animal,” Dan hisses, but the hairs on your skin have already stood up.

“You don’t believe that for a second do you?” You ask him. You know he’s smarter than that, and he knows it too. He just doesn’t want to believe it. You stay dead silent, as you listen to the distant screeches of runners. It’s unmistakable.

“We should get closer, locate them, and then get back to town to get help. You have your radio?” Clara sounds just as you expect her to sound. She’s full of reason, calmness, and that hard focus that you need if you’re a patroller.

Dan digs the inside pocket of his coat and gets the radiophone out. He tunes onto the right frequency. You should hear the slight crackle of the line, the connecting sound. But it stays quiet. He shakes it and tries again, still quiet. He taps it against his palm, another switch to the right line. Nothing.

“Tell me you tested it before we left?” There’s a crack in Clara’s composure.

“Yes, and it worked fine.” He’s shaking it again. You know it’s useless. You keep your other ear open for the sounds of the infected. Those have quieted as well.

“You took it from the box on the right?” She asks. You don’t know what that means while Dan does. He stops shaking the device, just stares at it.

“So the battery has died.” Clara sighs. Anxiety claws into your chest and squeezes your throat. You might’ve been cold before. Not anymore though. You can feel the sweat trickling down the back of your neck and your whole body is tense with what this means. If you’re surrounded by infected, no one is coming to help you. You don’t give into your fear. You weren’t trained to be afraid of them, no matter what.

“We should still get closer, find out where they are, and then go back to let people know.” You whisper loud enough for Clara to hear as well. Both of them consider your words, but it’s Dan who first looks over his shoulder at you.

“You sure? We can also just ride straight back to town. We don’t have to do this.”

“We’re armed, we’re here hunting, we might as well go take a look since we heard them now. They could be gone by the time patrollers ride out.” Clara turns to look at you as well. The hardness on her face is mirrored on your stiff features. “It’s best to know which direction they’re at, at least, so there’s some clue where they might be headed next.”

“Okay, let’s go slowly, follow the sounds,” Dan nods and turns his horse towards where you heard the screams.

“Keep your eyes and ears open,” Clara reminds to the two of you. You don’t continue in a single line anymore, but keep a bit of distance to each other, both of them to your left. Willow senses the change in mood, her movements tenser and careful. You keep her walking, but even the crack of a branch or a rustle of a bush could mean the difference between life and death.

The sounds get closer the more you hike away from the normal route. You see a few rundown buildings, mostly with collapsed roofs and cracked and crumbled blackened walls. Clara is the first one to start guiding her horse towards you, Dan only follows what she’s doing.

“This used to be a town, most of it was wiped out by a fire a long time ago.” She whispers. It explains why the ruined buildings look like they’re covered in char, even after the seasons and weather have made a number on them. Nature is taking its land back, and over time those buildings will only be a memory of something that once was.

You don’t see any infected, but the sounds are getting louder. You flip the rifle off your shoulder and keep it against your middle. Your hands are ready for it. They’re itching for it.

“Sssssht,” Dan hisses, his hand reflexively extending up. You stop at once and look into the direction he points his hand at. There, still far away but close enough for you to clearly see, are a couple of infected running between the trees. They don’t notice you. It’s like they’re not even interested in noticing you.

“You know what’s out there?” You ask Clara. If she knows about the fire in this town, she might know what the infected are running to.

“There’s only an old library, but something must’ve had to lure them in there,” she shakes her head in thought. Your anxiety sinks deeper into your stomach.

“We should get closer to get a better look. It’s under a hill, we’ll be relatively far away if we stay up here,” she is the first one to move. You follow her, and the hold you have on your rifle only tightens. The closer you get, the more you hear the infected. It’s a big bunch, no doubt about it. The screaming of the runners mixed with the distinctive screechy clicking sounds make your blood run cold.

The roof comes into view slowly. The once beautiful library must’ve been a landmark of sorts with its curved floor to ceiling windows, the stairs leading up to the now open double doors, the red brick standing out in the grey of the frozen forest like a splash of paint. The building is covered in vines and the windows are broken and there’s holes in the roof. But it survived the fire untouched and the walls are still proudly upright with no major collapses in sight.

It’s not just the infected that you hear screaming.

“Can you hear that?” You ask through your teeth. You’ve never been surer of hearing people scream as you’re now of them screaming inside the building. Clara looks scared, not because of the infected, but because of the constant wails that seem to echo through the whole valley.

It all clicks. The timing, the plan, how one of the kids had gone somewhere with his dad. There’s no secret party they were planning. It was this. Sneaking out of the town and coming to a library that is still intact. You know who the horde is after.

“Someone has to get help,” you whisper urgently. Your heart hammers inside your chest. This can’t be happening. The urge to protect kicks in and you’re only thinking about how you’re going to get through this. How on earth are you supposed to get them out of there before the infected get to them first.

“And what then?” Dan snarls at you. “Who are you going to send out?” You look at them both, the focused anger on Clara’s face as she keeps an eye on the library and Dan’s worry on his.

“You, you’re a better rider. Me and Clara will get closer. We have guns, we can handle this.” Your words make her slowly turn to look at you. She wasn’t expecting that.

“We don’t know how many are inside,” she is scared, you can hear it in her voice.

“What else are we supposed to do? Let them die in there?” The question shuts them both up.

“We don’t know if you can handle it. At least me and Clara have both been out here before, we know how to use our guns.” Dan tries to reason.

“I know how to use weapons because I was taught. This isn’t my first time killing.” Your mouth barely moves from the tightness in your jaw.

You understand him. You understand his fear of leaving you two out here on your own. If this is the last time he’s going to see either of you alive. You understand the double meaning in his question too. He’s looking out for you because he’s worried you’re not going to be able to handle this mentally. You push his concerns for you out of your mind and let your instincts take control.

“Take the shortest route you know.” Clara is evaluating you and your abilities even though her words are directed at Dan. You shake her eye contact off and listen to the sounds coming from the building ahead. You can only hear the infected, but they’re calming down as well.

Either you’re already late or the kids knew where to hide. You wish it’s the latter even though you fear the worst. You don’t know what you’d do with yourself if the infected got to the group. You should’ve tried to speak with Joel harder. You should’ve listened to your gut feeling when you knew something was wrong. You should’ve spoken with Ellie, ask her what’s going on.

“You keep each other safe,” Dan’s grave, intense stare chills you to your bones. He trots the other way on his horse, before he takes off in a gallop when he’s further away and the heavy thuds from the hooves are only light muffled thuds against the frozen ground.

The anxiety you might’ve had before is steadily flowing out of you and giving room for the emptiness of being a killer. It has been a while since you recognised this side of you in yourself, but it’s there, strong and capable, unrelenting and fierce.

“How should we approach?” Clara whispers. Her determination keeps you grounded here with her. You consider what you could do so this doesn’t turn into a suicide mission.

“let’s hide the horses, then just—”

“Get to it,” Clara finishes your sentence. You nod and empty your lungs with the last hints of nerves from earlier. Total peacefulness takes over and you work in complete calmness.

If someone told you that you were going to go into a library full of infected, you would’ve laughed to their face and thought how terrified you’d be, how you wouldn’t even imagine doing anything like that without having the worst panic attack of your life since getting to Jackson.

You would try to convince yourself how bad it would be for you, how what you know wasn’t ingrained in you since you were in your late teens. Yet here you are, your hands unwavering as you tie Willow to a tree a bit of ways a way to keep the horses safe. Your head hasn’t felt this clear in a long time.

Nothing else matters when it comes to saving those kids and killing the infected. You fill your pockets with ammo and make sure your rifle is at the ready. You touch the handle of your knife and wrap your palm around it. It feels easy, like it belongs in your hand. You pull it out just a little, just to make sure it’s easy for you to free it like all those times before.

You make your way down the hill, keeping yourself behind trees. You stop every few steps to listen to the sounds from the library and to keep an eye on the hill. The closer you get to the building, the heavier the rifle feels in your hands. It’s deadly. It’s violence. The death grip you have on it like you’re depending on it gives you a point of control. Adrenaline is flowing freely and it’s giving you recklessness that you don’t want to welcome.

The brick wall of the library scratches against your coat. You press your back against it and peek around the corner to see the main doors, that are hanging on their hinges. There’s a lot of tracks on the snow flake covered ground, all leading into the library. You push yourself off the wall and take a step forward, but Clara grabs at your arm.

“We have to be careful in there. I’m leading. If something goes wrong, if something happens to either of us, we save ourselves first. Understood?” The direness in her voice and the dread visible in her movements pinches at something inside of you.

She’s not supposed to be scared now. She can’t be. You’re not used to someone being scared when you’re holding the weapons. Peter taught you to forget about fear, he taught you to shut it all out. Afterwards you can be as scared as you can be, but for you to be able to do whatever you’re needed to do, you have to shut your emotions off.

Diana is going to have a field day when you tell her about that back home.

“Understood,” you whisper and her shoulders drop down. She calms down visibly as well, her tenacious spirit coming through.

“Follow me.” She lets go of your arm and with light feet you make your way to the door. She slips in, you follow and she pulls you behind a pile of chairs and down on the floor. She points to your right, then to your left. Up the stairs and towards the second-floor mezzanine with more tipped over book shelves. There are clickers all around you. You hear the runners somewhere close by but see none of them.

“Have you killed clickers before?” She asks you and you’d like to laugh at the question. But you only nod, she wouldn’t understand your glee. They’re your favorite kind to kill.

“Take the other side, stay down,” she instructs. You do as she tells you. Soon enough the knife is in your hand and the sharp blade is slicing through the cartilage in your first victim’s neck.

Dan rides out of the forest and pulls a red handkerchief from his pocket. He whips it around long before he’s at the gates. People guarding the wall will see it with their binoculars, raising the alarm when he still has a while to ride to get into town. It has taken him too much time to get back here. The library is far away and the longer it has taken him, the smaller the chances are they’ll find any survivors when they reach the library again.

He hears the yelling on the other side of the wooden walls just as the gates start to open and he pushes forward with his trusty horse. People are running towards him as he dismounts the animal. He’s trying to make sense of all the questions around him but it’s impossible.

“There’s a horde of infected at the old library, followed a bunch of people in there.” He tries to raise his voice over the loud chatter. Something’s happening. If this would be a normal day, patrollers would be alarmed and they’d get here in a few minutes time.

These people have been here for a while. Patrollers would listen to him and they’d let him speak. These people are a mix of townsfolk, not just the ones who ride out, and they are yelling out questions over each other, making them incomprehensible.

“The library?” Hutch’s face is as white as a sheet. Dan has never seen him scared. He’s always too confident, the one who says he can handle anything but in reality he always needs someone else to help him out.

“It has to be them!” Another man cries out. He works at the greenhouses and has a big family with his wife, mostly kids who have lost their loved ones when they were young. “You took your boy to the library!” He’s yelling at Hutch, his face red with anger. Hutch raises his hands up as the others take steps back as the others let out words of disbelief.

“I showed it to Robbie, yes, but it was last spring. He never seemed interest in going there again so we can’t be sure it’s them” Hutch holds his palms towards the others in a plea to stop yelling at him. He’s trying to deescalate the situation, but his words only have the opposite effect. There’s more yelling, more accusations.

“You’re telling us your kid took all of them out there?” The question echoes in the air. Dan is doing his best to piece the puzzle in front of him together to only conclude that this isn’t just some random people at the library being hunted by infected.

“No, like I said, we can’t be sure,” Hutch yells back frustrated. Dan hears heavy footsteps behind him before the laboured breathing. Joel and Tommy run to the group, both of them looking distressed, but Joel most of all.

“Did you hear about them?” Tommy barely manages to squeeze the question out of his mouth in a calm manner.

“They’re at the fucking library!” Talia, Dina’s older sister, yells. Tommy radios someone and walks away from the arguing.

“This is on you if someone has gotten infected or hurt!” Another woman can’t contain her screams. Joel quivers with rage next to Dan. He’s breathing harshly, his hands flexing and closing into tight fists, his knuckles white.

“We’re letting out six!” Tommy shouts over the accusations, the instructions from Maria hanging heavy over the group. Dan sees people running at the stables, patrollers, with rifles on their backs. “No parents allowed!” Tommy continues. Joel shakes his head and starts running towards the stables.

“Joel, you heard what he said,” Dan tries to go after him, but almost crashes against Joel’s chest when he abruptly stops and turns to him.

“Try me.” The growl leaves little room for questions. Dan watches him running to get himself a horse and a gun. It only means that the group of teenagers are all from families Dan knows. Kids he has seen grow up in the town. Kids he has seen at the stables, trying out riding for the first time and getting used to the animals. Kids he knows want to become patrollers like their parents. Kids who are too reckless for their own good.

“We’ll have walkie-talkies with us, we’ll let you know.” Tommy tells Dan, his troubles shining through before Joel brings him a horse and a rifle.

Sweat pours down Dan’s back as he watches the group ride out, only the heavy sounds of the hooves beating against the ground ringing in his ears as he watches the gate close behind them.

You sneak behind a flipped table and see one of them. An infected, twisting in their agony, letting out little yelps of pain. You don’t see others around. You cleared the clickers downstairs. Of course the second floor has to be harder to empty.

Some of the runners have wondered up behind the last few clickers, standing in places that are too visible and vulnerable for getting noticed by the rest. Clara stands behind a column, eyeing at another runner just in front of the one you’re planning to take down.

Your knife feels incredibly light in your sticky hands. Your whole body feels light. You lean your arms against the wooden surface and close your eyes. You take a breath, another, third, and open your eyes, letting your breath stream out of your open mouth. It’s completely quiet. You feel at ease, serene, grounded. Like you’ve missed this more than anything.

You peek over the table and see the infected walking again, twitching steps here and there until they stop with their back turner towards you. You wipe your hot hand against your jeans and secure the knife into your sweaty palm. You stay low. Your thighs and knees burn from the constant grouching.

Just as the infected is about to move again, you jump and secure your hand to their forehead, revealing their neck. The stab crunches through the cartilage and you relieve the blade through the skin. The creature eases their fight against you, letting you lower them to the floor. Blood streams generously from their open neck, gurgling with the last breaths the infected will take. Clara rushes past you, copying you and taking the miserable life of the grey skinned undead.

The clickers stay oblivious to your massacre. You keep even lower, move even quieter, breathe peacefully through your mouth. Your skin prickles with the rush of power.

Another throat. Another splatter of blood. Another weak last screeching from the dying clickers mouth. They lay dead at your feet, the second floor cleared. Clara wipes her knife on her trousers and points towards the doors of the auditorium down by the mezzanine stairs, on a landing. You’re not safe yet.

Someone’s banging on a door, others are letting out those agonising screams. They hear something you can’t. You follow the sounds. Clara follows you. Her fingers are squeezing the bottom of your coat, pulling it taut against your shoulders. You reach for her hand and the drying blood on your palms squishes together.

At the door, you finally see what you still have to get through. A couple of clickers, and a bunch of runners. They’re all at the bottom of the rows of chairs, craving to get through a door to a storage space. It’s barely holding on as the infected keep on crashing their fists against it. The clickers have lost their interest, screeching at nothing, while slowly making their way up the chair rows.

“We have to distract them,” you whisper against Clara’s ear.

“I’ll lead them away from you, you go down there.” She points her finger first down towards the main doors in the hall, then at the infected by the storage room. Her hand shakes just the tiniest bit. It only encourages you more.

She breathes deep and lets go of your hand. When she takes her rifle off her shoulder and starts her way down the stairs, you start to prepare for what’s to come. There’s a broken book case next to the auditorium door, fallen on the floor with books spread all over, some open, some torn, some dirty from the years of neglect. You kneel behind the bookcase and wait until you see Clara quietly securing the double doors closed with a plank and gives you a thumbs up. You nod and give her one as well.

Clara bangs the stock of the rifle against the wall, once, twice, and the sound makes you shiver. The infected stop making noise. You count how long the quiet calm lasts. Six seconds. You hear them. All of them. Clara aims her gun at the stairs. The infected scream louder. The sound rings in your ears. They burst out of the auditorium, crash against each other and the doorway. Their only target is Clara. She fires shot after shot, bodies falling one after the other.

You crawl over the bookcase and look inside the vast auditorium. No infected. You run down as quietly as you can and get to the storage room. You listen to the shooting outside, yet there’s something banging much closer. Screeches which don’t sound like they’re made just by runners or clickers. Your eyes scan the room. On your left, doors. And something is banging against it, making it rattle against its hinges. It’s been secured though, with a metal chair. It will not break. You wish it won’t break.

You try the handle of the storage, but it doesn’t budge.

“Someone in there?” You press your mouth against the door, then your ear, but there’s no answer. It’s completely quiet in there. Clara is still shooting, random shots ring through the air. You swallow. You know you’re taking a risk. You take it anyway.

You lightly tap you dirty knuckles against the surface.

“Is anyone in there?” You try again. Then you hear it. Something is dragged across the floor, just on the other side of the door. You look up. Still no infected. Clara must’ve got them all. The banging against the other door has calmed down.

The door clicks and you look back.

“Ellie.” Your relief is short lived. You hear it. The sound. The distinct croaking mixed with a groan. It’s not just on the other side of the blocked doors. It’s coming somewhere in the auditorium.

Stalkers. They’re lurking somewhere, but you can’t tell where. You just hear them.

“Get the fuck out of there,” you snap at the teens while Ellie looks at you in horror. They all run out of the storage room, all in different stages of fear.

“You have to run when I tell you to, find Clara. Understood?” Some of them nod, some of them seem to be in too much of a shock.

“Understood?” You whisper more harshly. You see movement from the corner of your eye. You’re their target. You pull the gun off your shoulder and load it with experienced hands. Your heart slams against your ribcage when you feel the claw of fear in your chest. Sweat drips down your neck and back. It would be different if the kids wouldn’t be here. You’d be calm. You’d be ready. As you look at these teens who have no idea what they’re up against, you now have a responsibility.

“You,” you point to three of the kids, the ones who look the most composed, Ellie included, “you’ll pull rest of your friends out of here no matter what.” They all nod.

“And you’ll keep on—” Close to the doorway. Something grouches between the seats, low in its movements. You push the teens behind you and point the gun at the stalker. It’s not just the one, it’s never just one with these. There’s movement here and there, like spiders under a see-through sheet.

“Ready?” No reason to hide your voice anymore. You don’t wait for an answer when you see the growth covered face of a stalker. The shot echoes around you. The butt of the rifle kicks back against your shoulder. The bullet pierces through its forehead. It screams and crashes on the floor up by the doorway.

The sound is like a war cry for the others. Six jump out, climbing over the staggered chairs, all coming for you. You hear one of the teens scream but drown it out with your rifle. You shoot another one and make it fall on the chairs. They’re getting closer. Ellie gasps behind you when you hit one that was getting too close.

The rest are almost reaching for you. Three left. You shoot one. The bullet smashes its head open.

“Now!” You yell and the teens take off running. All hell breaks loose. You stick to your place and shoot at the infected that are trying to get to the kids. Your rifle pushes out shelling as you keep loading it. You can smell the gunpowder heavy in the air. When the last one is dead, you run up the stairs two at a time with your ears ringing and your shoulders and arms begging for a pause from the kickbacks and heavy weight of the gun.

The teens didn’t do as you told them to. They’re all running back into the auditorium holding each other’s hands. The gunfire starts again, but you’re not shooting. You grab Ellie by her wrist and the others follow behind. You breathe harshly, barely catching it when you get to the door and see the bottom of the stairs. Clara. Shooting infected, who are climbing through a broken window. They found another way in.

You aim, shoot, reload, shoot, reload, shoot, one after the other. You stand your ground, your head going blank from the sheer volume of infected. Clara is almost overwhelmed with the pressure, trying to find a higher spot on the stairs so none can surround her while you’re trying to avoid hitting her.

The screaming from the infected is ear deafening, bursting through the gunfire in a chaotic cacophony. A crash. It’s too close. More moans and groans of the infected, not from the infected at the bottom of the stairs, dropping from the window, landing on the floor. Behind you. You turn around just as one is rushing up from the auditorium.

They got through the door.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” you repeat under your breath. You take off running and pull Ellie to follow you. They’re still holding each other’s hands, and they run behind you like a chain up the stairs to the mezzanine. The runner is right behind you, but you stop and let Ellie run past you with the others right on her heels.

You aim your rifle. Shoot. And miss his head with just a couple of inches. Another shot fires out, not from your or Clara’s rifles. A different shot. The runner goes down. You look back, Ellie has her arm stretched out, a revolver in her hand.

You puff air from your lungs and reload once again. There’s more infected running your way and you let the gun do the work. You reach for more ammo in your pocket, but your fingers touch only one more mag. Six bullets.

There’s a few more infected left but don’t know how many are still outside. Clara is still shooting. You shoulder the rifle and reach for your knife. You know your nondominant hand is weaker, but there’s no other choice than to run down the stairs and plunge the knife into the runner’s throat. As the infected sinks to her knees, you try to yank your knife free while another is already lunging at you.

You drive your fist to his face before you release the knife from the dying corpse and get it through the second one’s eye. One more, a heavier runner, and you run to Ellie. You grab the revolver from her hand and shoot the last one. The gun digs against your palm, the pain familiar against your hand.

More shots. But not from inside. Outside. A wave of relief washes over you. This is almost over. At least Dan got the word out. You look over the mezzanine balcony, ignoring the teens completely, when you rush to use the last ammo in your rifle and the revolver.

Clara is already using her knife, her exerted wails telling you she’s tired. She gets the runner down. You shoot two more. Quiet sinks over the main hall. The shots outside are more sporadic, but you can still hear some over through the ringing in your ears. Clara leans her hands against her knees and catches her breath. You check the revolver. One bullet left. None in your rifle.

You shoulder the rifle and push the revolver into the back of your jeans next to your knife. Adrenaline is still pumping in your system, but it’s not the only thing anymore. You turn towards the teens but can’t even say anything.

The steps down to Clara are like a blur, you feel like flying. Your feet don’t feel a thing, you’re just doing what your reflexes tell you to do. The group follow behind you, dodging the bodies on their shaky legs. Clara stands up stiffly and her rage could make even you feel a little scared if it wasn’t for the emptiness that has filled you.

She says something to them through her teeth but you can only hear the hiss of blood in your ears. The teens look like they’re in shock. Except Ellie. She’s looking at you with wild eyes. You need to get away for a moment.

You walk the steps back up on the landing and take in all the infected bodies and the dripping blood covering the floor. You’re working solely on adrenaline and it’s making you even angrier. You slow your steps down when you get to the door of the auditorium.

You need to occupy your head with something else than the fury hammering through everything else. You can’t remember if the teens were carrying backpacks, and if they weren’t they must’ve left them behind.

You take support of one of the chairs when there’s a clicking. A snarl. A screechy groan. Something hits your back hard and you come face down against the edge of a chair. Your cheek bursts with pins and needles from the impact.

You barely have time to get yourself up off the floor when the stalker is already swinging back towards you. It stares at you with its one eye, the misshapen fungus across its face almost covering it. The cordyceps make it look lopsided. Its lanky figure growing the fungus all over its arm and shoulder like a harness.

Your hand finds your knife first. You lunge forward. Your knife grinds painfully into your palm as you hit the blade against the attacking stalker’s shoulder. It tries to reach for your neck but you manage to force it on the floor. You straddle it, pull your dripping knife free with a grunt and sink it into the creature’s temple. It shakes under you for a second until it reaches its miserable end.

You don’t think about the dead stalker between your thighs though. You don’t have time. Movement up next to the upper chairs. You try to follow the stalker’s whereabouts while trying to maintain an eye on the whole room. You pull at your knife, but it’s useless. It’s stuck.

Your palm is sticky and slippery with blood at the same time. You hope it’s all from the infected, and your skin is unbroken. You wouldn’t know if one of them bit you, not when your adrenaline is dulling down all the pains you’re already feeling. You take out your revolver and hope for the best.

You’re ready for an attack. You wait for it, expect it. Hope for it. You got to get this angry energy out of you. You back towards the supply room and reach for anything in there.

Stalkers are funny creatures. They can still see some things but rely on hearing as well. You throw the box of chalk against the wall. It works as you wished. The stalker jumps out, straight for you. The revolver in your hand goes off. The bullet hits it straight to its face. It bursts open like it’s a natural continuation for the growth that’s spurting out of its head.

You should’ve known. You should’ve known that there’s one more before it surprises you. But you’re tired. So you don’t expect it, not when you already thought you got them all. It runs out of the ruined side door. Your weaker hand reaches for the knife, still can’t get it dislodged.

Your feet get you running. You have to get some distance between the two of you. Its teeth are protruding out of its mouth, the cordyceps grown on its head like a crown. You pant as you run up towards the doorway, but the infected climbs over the chairs, the horrifying body reaching you faster than you can get away.

You swing the revolver against its head, making its eye bulge out. It doesn’t stop. You hit again and hear bone crunching. It takes wobbly steps towards you, but you’re faster. You run back down and throw yourself on the floor, your hand grabbing at the knife. It dislodges, finally. With tired legs you force yourself up and just as the stalker attacks, you bury your knife in its throat and slice with all your strength. Blood pours out and follows the blade with a mighty splash.

All three stalkers lay on the floor, bleeding out. You stand heaving and your head spins from the stress. You drag yourself on your heavy feet to the storage room and peek inside. It’s empty. There’s a couple more backpacks on the floor, and a flashlight attached to one of them, that you shake and it goes on.

You hear someone calling your name through your violent haze. You step out of the room and see Clara standing at the top of the auditorium.

“You okay?” She doesn’t wait to hear your answer when she’s already running down the stairs. You get your knife and wipe the blood on your ruined jeans.

“Yeah, you?” The words push out through your teeth as you secure the blade into its sheath and squeeze your fingers against the shoulder straps of the backpacks. “Did they clear out the outside?”

“Yes, it’s clear now,” her voice shakes. You nod at her and shoulder the bags, stalking the stairs back into the main hall. You hear Clara following you. Your body starts to shiver as the adrenaline finally eases up. Your whole body throbs with discomfort and there’s not one specific spot you could say hurts more. You’re in a lot of pain and it’s only making you grit your teeth together.

“You clean?” Clara questions you. You stop, you didn’t even think about checking yourself over. You turn to her and she can tell you have no clue. She checks you over, your neck, hands, arms, your legs, lifting the edges of your clothing to reveal your sweat covered skin and searching for tears in your clothes.

“Clean,” she nods, still on edge, but relieved for you.

“You?” You ask it like you memorised it from a script, no real emotion behind the word.

“Yeah, I’m clean.”

“Sure?” It comes out of your mouth like a little gasp.

“Yes.” All of a sudden she reaches for you and hugs you tightly against her chest. You don’t know what to do with her gesture, with her touch, with her pressure against your body. Your arms lay limp against your sides and you wait for her to be done.

“You’re a better shot than most,” she suddenly laughs, “and even better with a knife!” She pulls back but keeps her hands on your shoulders. You don’t say anything to her, just avert your eyes and turn away from her.

You step out of the ajar door. Evening is already stretching across the sky, darkness sucking the life out of the nature. There’s a big group outside. Horses and the people who came to your rescue. And the teens, all standing in the middle of the group, all in different stages of shock. Some people are hugging the more traumatised ones, the ones who are crying, convincing them they’re okay.

And then there’s Ellie, tears streaming down her face. Her shoulders are swallowed by Joel’s hands. He’s saying something to her, leaning down to be at her level. She’s nodding her head vigorously, her small hands wiping at her cheeks furiously. Tommy stands next to them, only kindness in his eyes. He smiles and nods at something Joel is saying. It all makes your blood boil and your nerves snap.

Your feet stomp against the ground. Tommy is the first one to notice you. His face twists in surprise. He has the same surprised face as Joel does. Eyes wide, mouth a little open, a hundred emotions running across his face at the same time. Impressed, joyful, fearful. Surprise.

You drop the backpacks on the cold ground. It makes Ellie jump. Joel looks first at the bags, then at you. Like you knew, he shares the same face with his brother. But Joel’s features adopt pure fear when he sees you, and he takes a step back.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” You hiss at her, not caring about attracting attention.

“I didn’t—” She gasps, but her mouth hangs open when she doesn’t get a chance to finish.

“You didn’t what? Think about what could happen? What you could run into? That you’d be in fucking danger?” You take a step closer to her. You’re so incredibly empty and full at the same time, the feelings of relief and rage competing against each other. But the last bits of adrenaline want to stick to the rage, so that’s how you take out all the last pieces of violent energy you have stirring in your head and chest.

“Of course but—”

“You thought you could handle that on your own? You think people come out here just for fun, to wave their guns around and shoot infected?” You take out the empty revolver and swing it around so you hold it by the barrel. The grip is smeared with blood, evidence of your capabilities.

“You seemed to be doing just fine!” She finally manages to finish a sentence, but the teary screech only makes you angrier.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I could handle that out of nowhere?” You lean towards her, to be eyelevel with her. “You think I haven’t killed before? You think I haven’t sliced enough throats to know what it feels like? That I haven’t aimed enough guns to know when it will go straight through your brain and kill you instantly? You think I haven’t protected people in the past, killed for them, watched them die in front of my own eyes? Fuck, Ellie, you seem so clever. But I can see you’re just a little kid who doesn’t know anything about how this world works.” She can’t say anything to it through her tears.

“Hey,” you hear a gentle voice. You straighten up and look him straight in the eyes. He looks almost… mournful. You’re the animal once again, ready to take flight, run away, your eyes blown black, your skin stinging from the rush of emotions and the injuries.

But this time you’re not weak and vulnerable. This time you’re deadly and ready to attack, all your senses on high alert. You turn back to Ellie and shake your head slowly.

“I hope you won’t do something like this again for your own sake. Because the next time someone might not accidentally stumble upon you and save you.” You push the gun towards Joel. He stares at it but eventually takes it when you shake it in the air. His fingertips linger against your dirty skin but you can barely feel it. You only see it.

You turn from them and find your horse. Someone must’ve brought it down from the hill. You climb on and your shoulder objects against the movement. Your face burns and stings right under your eye and you feel your brain filling with white noise. You see people starting to ride out, and you follow them, not hearing the gallop of the horses against the ground, the quiet chatter around you, the whooshing wind in the trees.

You’re deaf to the world as you let yourself breathe and feel the comfort of violence in you. Everything around you slows down, and it’s almost like you’re floating. Your head is empty, you’re just a shell.

You’re you and someone who is a machine. The one who gets praised for killing, for being swift with a knife and sharp with a gun. You’re the one who doesn’t care about fear, injuries or the pain. You’re you, the one who likes to hurt. You breathe the feeling in, smell the iron under your nose from the cut on your face. You don’t wipe the dried blood off, you wait until you get home.

You feel his eyes burning on your back, watching you, following you, making sure you’re okay. What he doesn’t know is that you’ve missed this. You’ve missed the kickback of a gun. The feel of blood spluttering on your hands, the pains and aches of charging against something that you know you have to kill. He doesn’t know how you love the feel of your body after a fight like that, proving that you’re alive.

The town walls come into view suddenly, and the gates open with a groan. You ride in and to the stables, where people are waiting. You dismount Willow and take your backpack off the saddle. Something touches your shoulder. You shudder from it and see Joel’s intense eyes on you.

“Can we talk?” His low voice rumbles and it’s like balm to your racing, yet incredibly simple thoughts.

“Not now.” You manage to say. Your throat is dry and sore from the tension in your neck.

“Okay.” You nod at him. His hand drops from your shoulder. You didn’t even realise it was still on you.

You walk away from the group, ready to wash away the evidence of your own violent heart and the tears that only make you feel wrong about your thoughts.

You wrap yourself with Brenda’s coat and scarf when you step out of the house. The streetlight buzzes gently as you walk past it and the yellow gleam flickers in the cold evening. You hide your face in the scarf when you see a couple walking on the other side of the street. They can’t see you anyway, you just don’t want to take any chances. Luckily those are the only people you see and you get to walk in peace.

Your clothes are still in the wash. You’ve scrubbed them twice now, but you can still see the stains. They weren’t as bad as you thought, just droplets and some bigger smears from your hands and knife. Blood. Your clothes are secondary to you though.

What you do care about are the burst blood vessels under your skin. Your arms and shoulder ache and the bruises on your temple and in the corner of your eye, under the cuts from the impact with the chair, have started to properly bloom. A few of your knuckles are scraped and they’re tender to the touch.

Diana and Brenda were worried when you got home. News about the teenagers sneaking outside the walls had reached the whole town by then and people were ready to see the ones who got them home safe. And the people who were out hunting in that direction. You’ve been avoiding going outside even though you would’ve had work today.

Based on what Brenda told you yesterday, you weren’t really interested in seeing the nosy ones who tried to ask her questions about what had happened at the library. Not to mention the ones who were suddenly interested in taking care of some horses and had asked when you were supposed to go in for work.

The talk you had with Diana wasn’t as you expected. She saw how worked up you were and she let you go through it. She didn’t try to calm you down or make you talk about what was happening inside your head. She let you sit on the living room couch in your dirty clothes until you couldn’t handle it anymore.

The anger wouldn’t ease up. So she offered you a couple of decorative pillows from the arm chair she was sitting on and freedom to do whatever you wanted to them. So you threw them against the wall again and again, until you were panting and sweating again, all the frustration coming out bit by bit. You took one of the pillows and buried your face in it. You didn’t care about the sting of your face or the old smell of the fabric, you just had to scream the rest of the chaos inside your head out.

They both helped you undress and into the shower. You washed away the blood and watched it circling the drain before the water was completely clean. Diana gave you something to further calm you down. It helped you relax and fall asleep.

She didn’t ask about it until the next morning. And you told her. How thrilling it was to feel the rush of brutality, to hear the crunch from the bodies when your knife sunk through the skin, to fire a gun and feel the kickback in your body, to experience the danger. You went through all the kills in your head, from the day before, and from the time before you arrived in Jackson. You explained how it was always different with infected than with living people. You might be okay killing infected, knowing they can’t be saved. People on the other hand, they’re their own breed.

You tell her about the thrill of being on that fine line of life and death. You enjoyed it. But you didn’t enjoy when it involved Clara and the kids. You didn’t enjoy that you had the pressure of other people’s lives on your shoulders. The killing, that was easy. It was second nature to you. But them being there reminded you too much of what you went through with your siblings. Especially Ellie, who is still so young and doesn’t deserve that crushing fear. She doesn’t deserve to know how to escape death. None of them should.

“You’re right, they shouldn’t. But they still know what it means to grow up in this world. And some of them will learn how to kill, just like Ellie did when she shot one of the infected.” Diana was so understanding. She didn’t judge you. She never has. “I don’t think this anger isn’t about Ellie or the other teens at all?” She asked gently. Of course she knew it wasn’t about them.

Diana went to the stables this morning, to let Dan know you weren’t coming in. That you’ll need a day or two to recover.

“Joel asked you to come visit tonight, I told him you’d be there,” she only informed you when she got back home and didn’t leave any room for you to object. It’s not a surprise she did it. You have to talk with him.

You stand behind his door. The warm lights inside shine dimly through the curtains over the windows. You hear soft guitar playing inside and listen to it. It’s a familiar tune that mixes in with different memories from the life before. Your hand hangs next to your body, you wouldn’t want to raise it to knock. So you listen a moment longer until the music stops and you’re surrounded by the lonely quiet of the darkness.

You tap your knuckles against the door and it opens almost immediately. Joel is surrounded with warmth. The comfort of his home, the gentle haze of the old lamps and the glow that illuminates him. Even though he’s just standing there, he’s comforting you in a way you didn’t know you needed. There’s tenderness on his face and in the rich dark brown of his eyes.

“Come in,” he speaks quietly and you step inside. He helps you out of your coat and scarf and hangs them on the coat rack in the corner. You follow him into the living room and sit on the opposite ends of his worn, leather couch. You tuck your leg under you and face him. You don’t have to hide your bruises from him.

“How’s your face?” The question makes you smirk.

“Wonderful,” your answer makes the laugh lines deepen next to his eyes.

“Thanks for coming. I wasn’t really sure if you were ready, but Diana said—”

“I wanted to come and talk, no matter what Diana said.” He nods and you remind yourself of the things you want to share with him. You’ve compiled a list in your head, some more personal, some more mundane and insignificant thoughts that you’d want to tell him. Some make you so nervous that you’re not sure if you ever want him to know them.

“I…” You can’t get the words out. You look at him, the downward curve of his brows. He grinds his teeth together and his jaw twitches.

“Why is this so hard?” You gasp out a single laugh. You watch him dip his chin down, but there’s a gentle smile stretched across his lips.

“I knew about it.” This isn’t what you wanted to start with. His eyes turn towards you and he leans against the back of the couch. You’re reminded of the time when you came here last. How you sat the same way on this sofa, how everything was so much different then. He even has his arm bent like then, his head leaning against his hand the same way, his eyes half lidded and watching you through his lashes. His other hand is reached towards you against the back of the seat, his fingers lazily tapping a rhythmless rhythm.

“I heard Ellie with her friends in The Tipsy Bison last week and they were talking about some plan. I should’ve told you about it so none of this would’ve have happened.” He raises his brows and blows air through his mouth. “I was angry at myself for not—”

“You don’t have to blame yourself for it.” He’s quick to say.

“Please, let me finish.” He shuts his mouth when he hears your whispered plea and gives you his full attention, turning more towards you. “I was angry that I didn’t tell you they were planning something. If something happened, it would’ve been on me. If you had lost her as well, I would never forgive myself.” You watch his eyes fill with salty tears. One escapes and he wipes it away with the back of his hand.

“I don’t really know what to say to that,” he confesses with a headshake.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“But I want to.” He fixes his gaze on you and leans forward just the slightest. With him though it feels like he takes up all the room in your field of vision and surrounds you with himself and his presence.

“I worry about her like she’s my own. She is my daughter at this point.” The other side of your mouth lifts up at that. “The thought about losing her scares me all the time and if that would happen, I don’t know what I’d do. Because there was something I already did to save her once and I would do it again. What terrified me more was the look on your face, when you walked out of that library.” He hides his eyes from you, but you can still make out the sorrow.

“I know how you felt in that moment, the emptiness. It was like I was looking at myself through a mirror when I saw the rage and the grief and want to kill.” You pick at your cuticle but his hand reaches out and takes yours into his, forcing you to face him. He’s even closer. He’s inside your head, knows exactly what kind of a rollercoaster you were on in that moment.

“I enjoyed it,” you whisper and he puffs out a chuckle.

“Can’t say I haven’t enjoyed it either,” he confesses.

“How fucked up are we?” You ask and it actually breaks the thin surface of quietness and he smirks at that. You hear his real, rare laugh, the low rumble from deep in his chest. More warmth, more him. More comfort being around him surrounds you.

“Can I ask you something?” You nod at him and his brows crunch together.

“How on earth have you come to enjoy killing?” Your mouth goes dry. You clear your throat and fill your lungs in an attempt to give yourself time to decide what to tell him.

“Remember when I told you about the ex-FEDRA soldier who taught me to shoot?” He nods his head.

“It was a long time ago. His name was Peter. He was my first…” You stop yourself and he blinks when you feel your cheeks heating up. “He was someone who I knew I could trust to turn a blind eye if my sister was in some sort of trouble back in the QZ. We came up with a deal when I asked him to teach me how to use a gun and a knife. And he did. And he was the one who asked me to leave the QZ with my siblings.”

Joel is hanging onto your every word. You can tell he’s locking them in his memory, to not forget anything you’re willing to tell him. He’s intense with his stare, microscopic changes rushing across his face with every sentence that you share with him.

You’re tired of hiding from him, of not being completely honest with where you come from or what you’ve been through. You want him to know and understand you without him having to guess your past.

“He trusted me and I used that to my advantage. I killed because he asked me to. Infected and living people. I learnt how to shut it all out and it was just a chore at some point, something that had to be done. But I didn’t like myself when I was around him. So me and my siblings made a plan to leave the settlement with a few others. I still sometimes blame myself for making them leave the QZ even when life was shit in there. I feel like I’m the one to blame for their deaths, because they followed me.” Relief fills you the more you tell him. Letting him in doesn’t scare you anymore.

“When Ellie found me behind that rock,” you chuckle at the memory. How bizarre that all was. “I considered taking my life. Or at least that you’d kill me quickly. I’m glad you didn’t.”

“If it was just me, I probably would’ve done it. Ellie, she’s the one who stands up for others. Just like you.”

“I was too hard on her,” he nods and a whispered yeah flows into the space between you two. “I need to speak with her, to apologise.” A hint of anxiety twinges in your chest.

Has she been here this whole time, has she been able to hear what you’ve been telling Joel? You turn to look behind you as you think you feel her standing behind you.

“She’s at Maria and Tommy’s,” he reassures you. Your shoulders relax at that. He’s still holding his hand over yours, the weight of his palm like an anchor to keep you from drifting off with your thoughts.

You touch the skin on the back of his hand with your fingertips and turn to cradle it between your palms. His hands are massive, the roughness of his skin apparent in some places, and in other places his hands are incredibly soft and comforting. You run your thumb against the lines on his palm and follow them over and over.

“I too…” When you look at him in the eyes he swallows thickly. He touches his right temple, the scar there. “I almost… too… After Sarah.” It doesn’t take a lot for you to piece together what he’s saying. You’ve always seen the scar, but it takes a whole other meaning when he touches it. A constant reminder for him about the past.

“I blamed myself for a long time, how I couldn’t save her. So I killed, poured it all into hurting others.” The coldness in his eyes chills you to your core.

You came across a few of those people after you left the QZ. People who were hurting, who were crushed by what had happened to them. It didn’t surprise you that they wanted to do something with the anger that they were dealt with, or that they couldn’t feel anything anymore. Just pain. The world was over anyway, who was there to stop them? As you look at Joel, know him, you understand him.

“I didn’t like it, but it felt like it was the only option.” He speaks as if his words are only meant to be said in the darkest of darkness. They don’t fit the golden embrace that his home is filled with. Then you think again and realise that maybe this is the only place where he could say something like that. Maybe he didn’t plan to tell any of it to you but couldn’t stop himself either.

“I understand,” because you do. And you want him to know that too. The spark in his eyes through his lashes is holding you still, completely rapturing you with the dark confession and the relief that you’re not seeing him as someone unworthy of affection. You’re terrified of how you feel about him. It feels too much, too fast, overwhelming you with its force.

“I wanted to say something else as well.” Your fingers still against his hand.

It's fragile between the two of you, the connection that spans for month. You feel it between you every time, a fluttering of electricity somewhere deep, making you nervous and anxious at the same time and you’re not always sure if you like the feelings.

It’s in the way he’s gentle with you, all soft words, and dark eyes, watching you, taking you in. The same way you’re watching him, waiting for him to do something to ease the aching anxiety that forms in the pit of your belly every time you’re around him.

He can’t do anything, only you can ease that uneasiness. You think you can recognise the look in his eye even though he wouldn’t admit it. The deep feeling that you’ve tried to deny for a long time. How much you’d want to let go and throw yourself into the chaos of desire. Still, there’s so much healing to do for the both of you.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready for anything yet.” He smirks and his shoulders slump down.

“I agree, I’m not either.”

“Really?” Your question gives you a chance to hear his laugh again.

“Are you surprised that I might not be ready?”

“No, I mean, you kissed like you were ready to devour me, but I guess it makes sense.” The hearty bubbling of his delight makes you giggle.

“What about you then, I could still feel you ripping my hair out when I got home,” he eggs you on and you bite the bait. You press your thumbs against his palm and enjoy the easy laugh that quiets down into a comforting silence.

“Didn’t mind it though,” his voice is like a continuation of the silence and your smile fills the void of your answer. You don’t want this moment to end. You stretch it as long as you can. You want to lay in it, savour it and memorise the feeling you have now. The incredible bittersweetness.

Your head is a mess, your heart even messier and you know this is what is right. Neither of you is ready to let yourself get taken into the waves of something more. This is good. You can breathe now.

He hums and when you look up, he’s shaking his head gently.

“What?”

“Just something Maria said a while back.” He sounds like he’s deep in thought.

“What did she say?”

“That I like you.” But he sounds more like he’s asking that from himself. The look of openness in his eyes tells you he knows the answer but has been too afraid to admit it. Or even think about it. No matter if you kissed or not, it’s different to let those feelings loose.

“Do you?” You want to make sure.

“I guess I do.” You breathe the words in.

“I think I do too,” you exhale. The prickling warmth on your cheeks seems so silly, so foolishly naïve.

You realise this might be the first time you’ve actually felt something like this for someone else. A crush, feelings of real attraction without it being a way to protect someone else or to gain something for yourself. That’s what’s so scary about it. It’s selfish in a way, to want that reciprocating feeling from someone else who has his own skeletons in a closet.

“I think, it would be for the best, if we gave each other some space,” he almost whispers. It nearly breaks your heart to hear it although you agree. It’s the best thing in this situation you’re in. You need space without pressure or expectations. You need to find your yourself in this town, be with yourself and grow into the life that you’ve been offered here.

The clock ticks on. The evening turns even darker and the moment is starting to pass. You ease your fingers from his hand. You’re leaving something here, a memory, a part of you that you’ve been living with since last spring. This is not a goodbye but a clean slate.

Joel walks you to the door and lifts your coat from the rack while you put your boots back on. Your head throbs when you tie them up, all blood flowing against the cut and bruise on your face. His brows pull together when you stand back up and have to close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to settle to discomfort and dizziness that follow. He helps you put your coat on and watches you carefully when you’re wrapping the scarf around your neck, your face turned towards the rusty light of the hallway.

“I think you need to be prepared, if you haven’t heard already…” The scarf covers your mouth and he pulls it down softly. His fingertips trace the lightly swollen skin where the bruise lays. He’s careful not to put any pressure on it.

He’s no stranger to injuries, this is just to make sure you’re going to be okay. A reassurance for himself, that you’re taken care of, and for you, that he would take care of you. He would know how, and he would be gentle.

He still manages to leave a line of tingles under your skin, not the ones that hurt, but the ones that excite.

“Prepared for what?”

“People have come up with a nickname for you.” His grimace tells you enough. People are talking, so much so that it has gained you a nickname that Diana or Brenda haven’t wanted to share with you. “Clara has been tight lipped with her stories, telling only a few what happened at the library. But those few have been more generous and told some other people and—”

“Just tell me.” You’re dreading it. People you don’t know, people who have no idea what kind of a person you are, are sharing a version of a story that has probably gone through the machine of grandeur, changing it into something it’s not.

“Savvy,” Joel says and he waits for your reaction. You repeat it back to him and his annoyed sigh. “It could be worse. It’s… cute.” The word rolls off his tongue like it’s a curse wors. Your smirk makes him roll his eyes.

“If I hear you calling me Savvy, I don’t know if I’ll ever want to speak with you again.”

“You think it’s that bad?”

“No, it’s not bad. But you know my name. They just know a story.” His features soften.

You stand awkwardly in front of the door, heat pushing through your skin under the coat and scarf. He looks like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do in this moment. What he should say.

“I’ll see you around,” you offer. It’s enough to make Joel move. He takes a step forward but stops himself. He stands still, giving you the chance to either leave without another word or say goodbye. You choose the latter.

It’s easy to melt into his embrace. You press your good cheek against him. He’s warm and steady, safe and reliable. You close your eyes and you think you could stay here, wrapped in his arms for hours. You listen to his slow breaths and feel him fit against your body like he belongs there. Maybe he does. You just know he feels like someone you’ve missed and finally found.

His breath puffs against the edge of your jaw and his bearded cheek scratches gently against your skin. He inhales and you pull him even closer, your arms tightening around his back. Your palms run up and down the firmness of it, memorizing the heat you can feel through his worn, soft shirt. His arms wrap around you even more, like they grow in length to keep you caged in his embrace. You wouldn’t mind it.

You’re the first one to ease away from him. He lets go slowly until his hands drop down your shoulders, elbows, wrists, until he’s holding one of your hands in his. He opens the door for you and you step outside, still holding on.

You turn back around. He’s surrounded with the glowing warmth of his home. You’re surrounded by the cold, dark falling night. This reminds you of another moment a while ago, when you stood in his doorway in a similar manner. He leans his body against the doorframe, still close, but not close enough.

The gentleness in his eyes, the softness of his smile sparks your need for him deep inside of you. His fingers reach for the inside of your wrist and hold still, listening to the beat of your thrumming heart under the delicate skin. You pull your hand slowly away and let his fingertips make a lingering line from your wrist to your palm, hold still for a moment until the hardened fingers brush against yours and let go.

When you walk down the street, almost home, you still feel his touch all over your hand. He’s still holding it, his large hand wrapped around yours. You’re sensitive to his touch. You crave it while wanting to keep your distance. You touch your hand, your fingertips reaching for your wrist. It’s not a goodbye. It’s a promise.

#the last of us fan fiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x gn reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #katsheadincloudswrites #fractured fic

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fanastraea · 1 year

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Analyzing VegasPete as a Writer, Pt 2: Pete

Please check out the Part 1: Vegas post. I define some of the terms I’ll use here in that post. It also covers all the introductory stuff and usual disclaimers (my anxiety about sharing my opinions).

I’m excited and nervous to get to Pete. He doesn’t come out and say a lot of stuff the way that Vegas does. We don’t know as much about Pete. He’s also more self-aware than Vegas, which I discovered made his want and need a little more nuanced. So this took more interpretation and sometimes just speculation. A lot of room for different opinions. There are some things I’m less sure of here, but I’ve done my best to see how I can make the puzzle pieces fit.

Pete’s Character Arc

COMFORT ZONE

I want to talk about Pete’s character arc in general, first. I wanted to see if I could fit it into Dan Harmon’s Plot Embryo, which is a modified version of the Hero’s Journey that I really like. It doesn’t fit perfectly. It was never intended to. But I always find this exercise helpful in gaining insight into the characters. It has also helps me as a writer understand how to use a formulas as a tool, not as a strict, literal outline. The Plot Embryo is helpful because it’s a big picture template and different kinds of structures can fit within it, but has limitations since it was designed by someone who mostly writes formula-driven episodic tv shows.

At the start of a character’s arc, they’re in their comfort zone. They’re living with their False Belief and their Fear. The coping mechanisms they’ve developed are basically working for them. They can succeed in this environment with those coping mechanisms. It works for the character, but only up to a point, because they’ll never grapple with their False Belief or overcome their Fear if they stay here.

For the first 9 episodes, Pete is in his comfort zone as a bodyguard for the main family. It’s the status quo for his life. The status quo is also stagnancy, which is why characters need to be pushed out of it so they can change. Pete is fine here, but he’s not GOOD. It’s just comfortable. Unchallenging. Why? Because everything he knows how to do to get by works for him here without pushing him to grow. That’s what a character’s comfort zone is. They’ve learned to deal with life in this place.

Pete is well-liked, respected, he’s a good bodyguard for the main family. Nothing here, in and of itself, will force him to change. No one really wants to see deeper than surface level. Pete wears a mask with everyone, using his big smile and cheerful demeanor to hide other parts of himself. It’s beneficial to him in this context, where there is an air of professional distance even among friends, and Tankhun (bless him) isn’t interested in or capable of pushing Pete into showing more of his genuine self. They all clearly care about each other, but it’s not an environment that encourages digging any deeper.

This is one thing I look at when I’m trying to articulate a character’s False Belief. What is it that’s working for Pete? He doesn’t reveal a lot of himself to others. He covers up a lot with a smile. We see that in a lot of different contexts so we understand that it’s not quite 100% genuine even when it isn’t 100% fake. He is hiding a lot of his real thoughts and feelings from others. So his False Belief has to be connected to why he hides himself. It has created a fear related to showing his real thoughts and emotions.

Michael Hauge refers to this as a character living in their Identity. Their identity is the version of themselves that they use to protect themselves from getting hurt (as opposed to their Essence, which is who they really are). It’s “emotional armor.” Pete’s Identity has two aspects: first, that he is a bodyguard, and second the mask that he is always happy, optimistic, cheerful. To understand a character’s Fear and False Belief, we have to try to understand how their Identity is protecting them. It’s another clue for our analysis.

INCITING INCIDENT, TRANSITION INTO CONFLICT ZONE

In episode 10 we get the inciting incident that pushes Pete out of his comfort zone and forces him to enter the conflict zone. For the character’s emotional arc, the important thing is that their coping mechanisms, their Identity, don’t work here. They will fail to achieve their goal if they stay in their Identity. If they cling to their False Belief, if they don’t overcome their Fear, they will fail to change and they remain stagnant. They won’t get what they need. The conflict zone isn’t a physical place. In a romance arc this zone is usually their relationship with the romantic interest. The conflict zone for Pete is his relationship with Vegas. This is the context in which he will face his Fear and change so that this conflict zone will become part of his new comfort zone in the end.

For Pete, the torture scene is the transition into the conflict zone. Dan Harmon originally called these zones Order vs Chaos. Pete has a sense of order in his life as a bodyguard. But when he is at the safe house with Vegas, he’s no longer there as a bodyguard. Vegas forces him out of that role by going outside the accepted rules of engagement. A bodyguard can be tortured for information, can be killed. Pete knows this and is prepared. When Vegas takes him to the safe house for his own personal gratification (disobeying his father’s orders), he’s going outside the system that Pete has felt secure in, where there is a sense of order. Where Pete knew how to survive and cope in his Identity.

THE STRUGGLE/SEARCH

The next phase of the character arc is the struggle or the search. The character is searching for the thing that they want (knowing this will help identify what Pete wants vs what he needs when I talk about that later). The character has to adapt to the conflict zone, but they will fail while they still fall back on their old false belief and give in to their fear. Or while they still live in their Identity. For Pete, this is in episode 11, when we see him struggling as Vegas’s prisoner. The inciting incident has given him the goal to either escape or die. That is what his Motive Goal, the thing he wants, the thing that drives him to act after his inciting incident. He tries different strategies to achieve this, but he will always fail as long as he is still in his Identity.

We see how Pete’s bodyguard skills don’t help him with Vegas. He tries to escape, but Vegas is just playing with him. He tries refusing to cooperate. He’s acting like a prisoner, the way a bodyguard should be acting. This gets him punished and severely injured but kept alive for Vegas to use to vent his anger.

The beauty of how Pete’s character arc works within the VegasPete romance arc, is that his Identity as a bodyguard, doesn’t work here because it’s exactly what will help keep Vegas in HIS emotional armor. Pete putting up the bodyguard front is exactly the excuse Vegas needs to keep taking out his pain on Pete. To use him for “emotional projection.” This is what I love about great romantic arcs. This is what I always loved about the romance genre. To show how two people are going to be perfect for each other, we also see that they are the worst for each other if they stay in their Identity. Their Identities complement each other, reinforce each other, and without change they could stay right here indefinitely.

ADAPTING

The character now has to start adapting to Chaos or the Conflict Zone. A couple things help this along for Pete. First, Gun keeps visiting to slap his son around and call him a failure. And Pete’s health deteriorates which prompts Vegas to make the choice to take care of him. Pete’s health prevents Vegas from using his usual level of physical violence for a while. This gives both of them some space to actually deal with one another. Pete learns more about Vegas, which allows him to adapt and start to have some success in the Conflict Zone (his relationship with Vegas).

Pete has obviously already dropped the pretense of being cheerful in the face of the abuse Vegas is inflicting on him. That’s one reason I know that particular mask isn’t the Identity he’s really hiding behind. It’s just one aspect of it. It’s one of the masks he wears. It’s the first he drops because it serves no purpose here. That’s part of why this conflict zone is so difficult and frightening.

The first real success is when Pete can also start to drop his Identity as a bodyguard. Vegas shows a little bit of his own vulnerability. In this scene, he connects with Vegas as a person and shares something personal about himself. He’s not The Bodyguard Prisoner or Smiling, Harmless Pete. It helps Vegas gain more insight into his own situation and starts to help him connect to Pete emotionally over their similar experiences. We see that this will also help Pete contextualize the way Vegas is treating him. I think most importantly for their relationship, Vegas is also receiving Pete’s empathy, the sort of understanding that he probably hasn’t experienced before.

CHANGE OF HEART

This isn’t enough, though. We know Pete has already been able to reach out to people this way because he does the same with Porsche a few times. This isn’t growth for Pete, though it is the start of his adapting to the Conflict Zone. Throughout the rest of the time in the safe house, Pete continues to drop more of his mask. When he gives up the opportunity to escape and chooses to stay with Vegas, he is taking a huge step forward away from his Identity and into his Essence. He isn’t acting as a bodyguard here. His responsibility, his duty, is to return to the main family and tell them where to find Vegas. He’s starting to move away from what he wants and toward what he needs.

About halfway through a character arc, the character finds what they want and they either get it, or realize that they no longer want it. They have adapted to the Conflict Zone and learned how to survive there. They are still in the Conflict Zone, but this is when they transition from False Belief into a New Truth. I’ve also seen this called a Change of Heart. In the Hero’s Journey this is called Meeting the Goddess. If we throw out the outdated gender stuff in the Hero’s Journey, the core of this is that the character finds the other half of themselves that give them something to make them whole. In the Plot Embryo, the Change of Heart is a moment when the character gives up their False Belief and comes to understand it was a lie. They’re able to embrace the truth. They can then start to have successes in the Conflict Zone. This is when the character stops losing to an antagonist, stops reacting to what the antagonist is doing, and starts being proactive. They win at least some of their battles now.

For Pete, this is when he chooses to stay with Vegas despite the opportunity to escape. They have a moment of connection and then they literally join together as two opposite energies, whether you want to call it dominant and submissive, or active and receptive, masculine and feminine, etc. In the Hero’s Journey terms, you could say that Pete is actually serving as the Goddess archetype for Vegas’s character arc, because he is the one providing a moment of nurturing and wisdom. But since this is a romance story arc, it’s important that Vegas is doing something for Pete, too. Pete is joining with HIS opposite, the one who will help him see that his False Belief is a lie and will allow him to be his true self.

THE FALSE BELIEF AND THE FEAR

Now that we’re halfway through Pete’s character arc and over 2k words into this meta, what is Pete’s False Belief and his Fear?

Pete’s False Belief: My true self will not be accepted and loved by others.

Pete’s Fear: If I am useless, I won't have a place to belong because I won't be loved just for myself. What is it that Pete believes about himself that works for him with the main family but not with Vegas? It’s the way he guards himself from being known and understood with the main family. He drops the superficial part of that mask with Vegas. At first it’s not because he’s realized his False Belief is a lie, or because he’s gotten over his fear. That would be too quick. It’s because he has no need to be accepted and loved by Vegas (not yet). His goal changed when he entered the conflict zone. But he still relied on his Identity as a bodyguard to meet his goal.

The way Pete’s backstory contributes to his False Belief is more subtle than Vegas’s. We only get a hint at it. Pete was never loved for who he was by his father. Whether Pete won or lost at boxing, his father took his anger and self-hatred out on him. We can guess that this violent childhood is what made Pete the way he is, that he probably had to be very cautious and observant to avoid his father’s anger to the extent that he could. We can speculate that he had to hide the abuse, too, behind a cheerful smile. And that he became afraid that if anyone saw what he was really like, what was really happening, they wouldn’t like what they saw. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to handle it. This eventually solidified into his False Belief.

FEAR

The False Belief leads to a specific fear. Pete gives us a hint about his fear when he tells Vegas that he feels useless. That he’s always been useless. If you have a character who doesn’t think his real self will be loved or accepted, being useful is one way for that character to secure a sense of belonging with others, especially if they are looking for the safety of a stable life. And it’s part of Pete’s nature to want to belong. Pete could never gain his father’s love and acceptance, even if he was useful, so at some point he became a bodyguard for the Theerapanyakul family. There, being useful was exactly what helped him succeed.

I think that with these deep fears, they are so frightening because part of us thinks that our fear is already reality. Pete is obviously not useless as a bodyguard, but he grew up feeling useless to his father. Some part of him will always feel useless, and it makes him afraid because that will lead to the loss of the relationships and stability he’s found in his life. This is the problem a character has when they continue to believe in their False Belief. They live in this fear.

Pete’s change of heart is handled subtly. What indicates that he’s finally seeing his False Belief as a lie? I think it’s mostly symbolized in the actions he takes. First, he gives up his Identity to act in his Essence – his true self – when he stays to comfort Vegas instead of escaping. How does he show that he’s realizing the lie of “My true self will not be accepted and loved by others?” By giving his true self to Vegas. The side of him Vegas wants to see (“How do you like it?”). The self he presents to the world wouldn’t kiss Vegas, mafia’s most canceled problematic person. He definitely wouldn’t so enthusiastically give himself to Vegas, known bad person. But he does. He shows Vegas his real feelings in his desire for him. Symbolically, giving Vegas the rope to tie his wrists, letting Vegas bind his ankles with chains, his eager gripping of the chains, is Pete giving Vegas his real self, being completely vulnerable to the rejection he fears most. He trusts that Vegas, at least, will accept him.

Want & Need

At the start of his character arc, Pete wants to belong with the main family. At the start of the show, his want is actually being met, but it’s taken away when he leaves his comfort zone. Unlike Vegas, Pete had what he wanted and could have it again after he escapes. But what Pete wanted wasn’t what he needed. Think about the way food is used in Pete’s story – he breaks the rules to eat food from his Grandmother. Food that he loves. From someone he loves, who loves him. It’s food for him. Contrast with food provided by the main family to the bodyguards. Purely functional. Pete accepts it, but doesn’t enjoy it. Then Vegas is the one to give him food that he loves. Made for him, to care for him. Food as an expression of love is something that Pete values and something he lacks with the main family. He gets basic nourishment from the main family but he’s not really nourished.

What Pete actually needs is Vegas’s love, just like Vegas needs Pete’s love. (We know this partly because it’s a very good romance plot and that’s just how they do). Pete doesn’t have to be useful to have Vegas’s love (again, just like Vegas doesn’t have to earn Pete’s love). Pete can belong to Vegas, because Vegas needs someone to take care of. Each needs to have what the other is finally capable of giving once they’ve left behind their Identity. Getting this need met is now in sight for Pete.

SACRIFICE

But Pete’s story isn’t over yet. The next section of the Plot Embryo is Sacrifice. Our character has had their revelation they have to pay a cost for their final victory. This is where the hero in the Hero’s Journey often has a symbolic (or literal) death. Think of every time the hero of a movie appears to die to achieve their final victory and then turns out to actually be alive. This is the symbolic death the journey requires for true growth.

This is where it gets really interesting for Pete. Pete has a sort of false sacrifice when he finally leaves Vegas and the safe house. He’s giving in to his fear of being useless (he has nothing to offer Vegas except himself, and Vegas’s emotional abuse is taking a toll on his ability to do even that). He fails to truly shed his bodyguard Identity. He tries to return to it. It’s a setback.

But it’s the right thing to do.

Because as I said in Part 1, Vegas isn’t ready to overcome his fear either. Vegas is panicked at the thought that Pete will leave him. And while he starts to take a step to allow Pete his freedom anyway, he’s obviously too fragile to allow Pete true choice. In a way, Pete goes through an emotional death here, as he sacrifices the self he can be with Vegas to try to return to his Identity. But he isn’t instantly reborn like Indiana Jones climbing back up from the cliff, alive after all. Pete spends enough time in this death to realize what he’s lost, and he isn’t reborn until he resigns as a bodyguard.

Resigning will be his true sacrifice. The cost of having Vegas will be giving up his life with the Theerapanyakul family.

NEW NORMAL

The Plot Embryo is a circle. A cycle. The hero returns to the comfort zone from the conflict zone. But once the hero has achieved their goal and gotten what they need, their comfort zone has changed. It now includes what used to be the conflict zone. Because a story like this is about a character learning how to adapt and succeed in the conflict zone. Think of it like learning to swim. A deep pool is a conflict zone for someone who can’t swim. Going into the water is going into this conflict zone. But once they learn how to swim, their comfort zone includes deep pools. It doesn’t mean they don’t have any more problems. But they have a higher quality of problem. Like: the ocean.

In the Hero’s Journey, this is often called The Road Back. It’s not an easy path. There are consequences of going through their ordeal in the conflict zone.

Pete is on this path when he escapes from the safe house. He does know how to succeed in the conflict zone, in his relationship with Vegas. He knows that being himself, letting go of his Identity, and being real with Vegas is what will work with him. But there are external forces working against them as well as their emotional conflict. They just don’t have the opportunity to choose one another yet, but when they meet behind the bar I think Pete moves into his new normal. They won’t kill each other. There is an acknowledgement of their feelings, their desire for one another. Only external forces (the man taking garbage out from the bar) can interfere. They might still have some things to sort out but they want to.

RESURRECTION (FINAL SACRIFICE)

The Plot Embryo simplifies and smooshes down some of this back half of the Hero’s Journey, but Pete doesn’t take any shortcuts so I had to go back to the original. Here there is one final test of the hero. They have to prove they learned what they needed to learn in their conflict zone. Pete proves that here by resigning his position and using what he learned to connect with Vegas as only he could. He gave up his Identity as a bodyguard because he learned it wasn’t what he needed. He overcame his fear when he asked Vegas to take care of him. He couldn’t truly connect with Vegas by being useful (“I’m here, Vegas”). Instead, he had to give up his reliance on being useful and ask Vegas to take care of him.

FLOURISH

The hospital scene. We get one final moment for Pete to officially tell Vegas he wants to stay with him. And we get a view of the way the story has all been worthwhile. Here the character is in a happy period. There will be new problems, but not yet. For now they get to enjoy the rewards they earned by overcoming their fears and letting go of their Identity.

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS (MY SOAPBOX)

On first viewing, I understood that they had constructed an incredible romance plot but it wasn’t until fully diving into it that I saw just how beautiful the story is.

This is why calling a fictional relationship PROBLEMATIC, or toxic, or talking about it in terms that would apply to real life people fails to get at what a story is actually doing.

The torture and abuse Pete goes through symbolically represents the breaking down of his emotional armor to allow him to confront his False Belief. Yes, the story uses dark, violent imagery for this. But that’s often how it can feel when someone is pushing past the defense mechanisms we have in place. Changing ourselves, growth, letting others in to see us, all of that is absolutely terrifying. It can feel just as frightening as physical violence.

Stories are not real life. Characters are not real people. Even entertaining, “silly” stories can be vehicles for writers to share ideas about human nature, what it means to be challenged, to face our fears, to grow, to have relationships. We do learn from fiction, but not simple moral lessons. By experiencing what a character experiences, we are also, in a way, helping ourselves to deal with our own conflict zones. By seeing how a character faces their False Belief, we can get a glimpse of our own. Stories can help us learn a lot about ourselves and about other people. But not through surface-level declarations that something is problematic or has toxic relationships.

End of soapbox rant.

Finally, here is a picture of some horny VegasPete kissing as thank you for reading down to the end.

#vegaspete #kinnporsche the series #pete phongsakorn #vegas kornwit theerapanyakun #KinnPorsche meta #VegasPete meta #Character Analysis #Over 4k words #who let this happen #I am obsessed with this relationship #stop describing fictional relationships as problematic challenge

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jacs33 · 2 years

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Tattoo Parlor

Words: 698

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Female OC

Daniel was sitting in his hotel room with Rosso, his best friend since he joined Red Bull, her being the team principals daughter, having a couple of drinks. Normally he’d be at a club or bar, but he knows Rosso would be uncomfortable in a big setting with a crowd like that, she doesn’t even like physical contact unless it’s someone that she’s close to or family so they’ll have certain nights where it’ll be just the two of them in the hotel or each other’s houses. “Danny?” Rosso said looking up at him with a smile while he absentmindedly ran his fingers through her hair. “Yes?” He said looking at her with the same smile, finding her adorable with her head on his chest. “Remember a few years back, when you wanted to get a matching tattoo and I turned you down?” “Yes, I understand why you turned it down, Ro, you hate needles.” He said with a small smile. “I want to do it now.” She told him. “Are you sure?” He said with a shocked look, not once did he expect these words to come out of the girls mouth. “Yes.” She said but already found an excited Daniel looking up the nearest tattoo parlor.

That conversation now got Rosso where she was right now, sitting next to Daniel watching him get his ankle tattooed, knowing that she’ll be next. She thought it would be a good idea to get matching tattoos to honor five years of friendship. For Daniel this wasn’t his first tattoo, but for Rosso it was and she was nervous for it, mainly for the needle, not that she’d tell Daniel that, but she has a feeling he can tell since he knew her fears. She could never hide her emotions from him, no matter how hard she tried, he just saw right through her, sometimes she blames it on the years long friendship that they had. “You good Ros?” She heard him say. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be Dan?” She asked hiding her nervous. “You’re just oddly quiet.” He said as the tattoo artist finished up the compass tattoo they we’re getting. “Are you ready miss?” He asks her, cleaning the left over ink off Daniels ankle, causing her to nod.

Daniel got out of the chair after the tattoo artist wrapped and cleaned the fresh tattoo offering her the seat, whispering quietly “you’ll be okay, I’m here and you’ll barely feel anything.” Which caused her to nod, he knows she’ll feel the pain, it’s the ankle, it’s a painful spot but he’ll say anything and do anything to make her comfortable. “Don’t lie to me Danny, a needle is going to be stabbing my arm ever so violently.” She said with a small smile. “And there’s the not so calm Rosso that I know.” He said with a chuckle. “You’ll be okay, I’m here so you’ll have a hand to squeeze and to keep your mind off of it.” He said taking her hand as the tattoo artist started. “You better not complain about your hand.” She playfully huffs out causing Daniel to let out a laugh.

Daniel watched her facial expressions each time the needle went into her skin, he couldn’t believe how beautiful she looked. He’s always found Rosso Ella Horner to be the most beautiful girl alive, she’ll never believe that but it’s true. Each time she bite her lip to not make a sound, to try and look tough for him, when even he knows she wants to yell at the tattoo artist to stop. Her squeezing his hand hardly hurt but he wanted to do something to get her mind off of it completely, so that’s when he made the decision to grab her chin gently and tilt her head up, capturing her lips into a kiss, causing her to kiss him back. It was clear to tell that neither wanted to break the kiss, both having feelings for each other but not wanting to express them. “You don’t know how bad I’ve wanted to do that Ella.” He said pulling away, using a new nickname for her, causing her to smile being speechless.

#daniel ricciardo #formula 1 #oneshot #f1 fandom #daniel ricciardo fanfic #dr3 #fanfic #red bull formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #daniel ricciardo x reader #danny ric #daniel ricciardo one shot #christian horner #f1 #red bull racing #f1 fanfic #red bull f1 #daniel ricciardo x ofc

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ghstandpucks · 3 years

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Nothin’ Like You ~ Cale Makar

In honor of reaching over 200 followers, here is a song fic based on Dan and Shay’s Nothin’ Like You. I have a few requests in my inbox that I will be working on. If you have any, feel free to send them in using this prompt! Thank you for 200!!!

Master List

I remember when I first met you Sipping coffee in a corner booth You were twirling your hair And I just had to stare For a minute or two

Cale was with Tyson and J.T. after practice one Wednesday afternoon. The three of them decided to stop and get some coffee as it was a cold winter day outside. They were waiting in line talking about something E.J. had said earlier that day when Cale’s eyes landed on you in the back corner by a window. You had a cup of coffee and were staring at your laptop, completely oblivious to the world around you. He couldn’t help but stare as you wound and un-wound a strand of hair around your finger, every so often stopping to type something. Tyson kept talking as J.T. realized their defenseman was completely distracted by something. Following his line of sight, he chuckled. “See something you like? Or someone?” he chirped his teammate. Cale started to turn red as he looked away from you.

“I thought maybe I knew her,” he muttered. Tyson had stopped his monologue and was paying attention also now. He looked over as you had your head buried in a book, slowly typing something out.

“How did she carry all those books?” he asked with a slight laugh. Cale had noticed the numerous books you had scattered around the table. Didn’t people just do their research online now? “You like studious girls Makar?” Tyson elbowed him.

I was laughing at your stack of books Then you shot me that smile Hey beautiful girl, in your own little world Let me in it

“Man shut up,” Cale said turning on his friend. Unknowingly to them though, you had actually heard all the commotion. It was why you enjoyed doing your research in coffee shops; the garbled noises made it easier for you to concentrate. This doesn’t mean that you had heard what they said exactly, but who could really miss three hockey players walking into a small coffee shop in the middle of the week.

You looked up right as Cale was glancing back over at you. As you locked eyes, you sent him a shy smile and looked back down, trying to focus on your work again. Of course you knew who they were, all of Denver practically did. You were just an overstressed grad student with too many deadlines coming up though; he was probably just looking around the place.

The three of them ordered their coffees, and Cale noticed that you had looked sadly at your cup after taking a sip. He walked up to the counter and got the attention of the barista. “What did that girl in the corner order?” he asked, and was told it was a caramel latte. “I’ll take one of those too,” Cale said, paying for a second coffee. J.T. gave Tyson a look before he could say anything as they watched Cale walk over to you with two coffee cups.

You got all of my attention And you ain't even trying Yeah, you're my kind of different And I never seen nothin'

Nothin' like you

“Um hi. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought you could use this,” Cale said, announcing his presence at your table. You looked up, slightly startled as you had been engrossed in a thought you had while typing out your research. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled nervously.

“No, you’re fine! Sorry, I had a train of thought going,” you sputtered out just as nervous as him. “Thank you, that’s very kind. What do I owe you?” you asked, instinctively reaching for your wallet. Cale shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said, trying to think of what the guys on the team might say in this situation. “Your number maybe?” he made a face like he couldn’t believe he just said that, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Um, sure, yeah,” you squeaked out, writing your number on a piece of notebook paper and ripping it out to give to him. “I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself.

“Cale,” he said, taking the paper from you. He was about to ask what you were doing when Tyson called out to him.

“Makar, are you coming?” Cale turned toward his friends who had big, goofy grins on their faces watching the interaction. You blushed slightly at the thought of others watching you.

“I’m sorry. I’ll text you,” he stuttered out, putting your number into his pocket. You smiled softly at him and nodded.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you said and he smiled at you.

“My pleasure.”

Shades on spinning in a summer rain Dancing when there ain’t no music Just the right kind of crazy, baby

Cale had texted you like he said he would that same evening. You honestly weren’t expecting it, but felt completely giddy when you saw the unknown number and read his message. He explained that he would be gone on a road trip with the Avs for the next week, but would like to take you to dinner when he got back. You accepted and plans were made; the two of you talking regularly throughout the week getting to know each other better.

The Avs returned home on Thursday, and a few hours later Cale was at your apartment knocking on your door. He had brought you flowers and you couldn’t help but smile at the kind gesture. The two of you made your way to dinner, talking the whole time. He had just finished telling you a funny story from the trip, beaming at the giggle he had enticed from you when your food arrived. As you looked down at your plate, you started moving your head and shoulders in an excited fashion. “Are you dancing?” Cale questioned you with a chuckle. You stopped immediately.

“Oh my gosh, sorry. I tend to have a happy dance with food. It’s a weird family thing. I don’t even realize I do it until it’s pointed out to me,” you rambled on, face turning red. Cale shook his head.

“Don’t be sorry. I though it was cute,” he said in a low tone. You smiled and giggled nervously; Cale deciding then and there that he wanted to continue seeing that smile for as long as you would let him.

Something about you Rocking that rock 'n roll t-shirt Whole party dressed up But you just doin’ your thing Ain't nobody ever seen nothin' like you

You were working on your research the following Friday night, having the game on in the background. Cale had taken you out to dinner once more since your first date, and the two of you had been nonstop texting. The Avs had won, Cale scoring that night. After the game you were about to text him a ‘congratulations’ when your phone started to ring, the caller ID showing it was him. “Congratulations!” you said as you answered and heard him chuckle on the other end of the line.

“Thanks Y/N. Hey, what are you doing tonight?” he asked, and you heard a few wolf whistles behind him with muttered ‘shut ups’ coming from the defenseman.

“I’ve just been working on my research since I got out of class earlier. Why?” you asked, trying not to laugh.

“Come out with us. We’re all going out to celebrate,” he said in a more hushed tone, and you could imagine him trying to avoid the whole locker room from hearing.

“Cale, I would love to but I’m not dressed to go out,” you said.

“Who cares. Please? I would like you to come,” he pleaded with you ever so slightly. You looked down at your outfit, deciding it wouldn’t take much to put on some jeans quickly. Your Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt didn’t look terrible at least.

“Text me the address,” you said into the phone, and you could hear the excitement in Cale’s voice as he said he would.

When you're wearing them worn out jeans Purple untied shoestrings You're a light in the dark And you're stealing my heart like a gypsy

Showing up to the bar, you became a little self-conscious. Maybe you should have changed? The second Cale spotted you though, he thought you were the most beautiful girl in the room. The front of your band tee was tucked into your ripped black jeans, your white converse showing years of wear as they were no longer exactly white and the shoelaces were frayed at the ends. Cale knew you were probably stressed with your research, and yet you still had the softest smile and a sparkle in your eyes when you found him in the crowd. “You made it,” he whispered into your hair as he hugged you close. He felt you giggle into his chest.

“Couldn’t let you down,” you answered simply. Cale smiled at you and took your hand, leading you over to a table where some of the team was sitting.

“Coffee shop girl!” A slightly tipsy Tyson shouted.

“Oh my God,” Cale muttered as you giggled. You were introduced to everyone as you took a seat between Cale and someone he called Gravy.

“So what is your research on?” Gabriel Landeskog asked when you said you were a grad student at the University of Denver.

“The archaeology of Zoroastrianism,” you said, and caught many blank stares.

“Zoro what?” Andre asked.

“It’s an ancient Persian religion. Today’s modern practices of Christianity, Islam, and Judaism all have common ties to it,” you briefly explained.

“Wait, that was the religion Freddie Mercury practiced,” Sam Girard commented, looking interested. You nodded.

“That’s how most people have heard of it now,” you responded.

“What is your research trying to say about it?” he asked.

“So I’m basically writing a big literature review to make sure it is preserved in the archaeological record. It was the first dualistic religion in a time where civilizations had their pantheons to believe in. It spread with the Persian conquest, but no one they conquered was ever forced to convert to it. Now it’s a rare religion to come across, and their numbers keep getting smaller. With it being one of the oldest organized religions, it needs to be preserved and the traditions documented before we lose it all through modernization attempts.” To you, your explanation was simple and one that you had said many times whenever asked what you were studying. It seemed you had impressed the table though, and you slightly blushed as a few questions started flying your way. You didn’t notice Cale softly smiling at you while you talked about a topic that you loved so much; he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. His teammates noticed though, and boy were they going to give it to him at practice.

I love the way that you kiss me In front of everybody So baby come and kiss me They ain't ever seen nothin'

Nothin' like you

The following day at practice, the guys were giving Cale crap for how head over heels he seemed for you. The fact he hadn’t kissed you yet was another source of ridicule. Everyone who had met you ended up adoring you within the time span that you spent with them at the bar; and they could easily see that their defenseman was taken by you as his cheeks would turn red at the mention of your name. They were all happy for him, but that didn’t mean the chirping would stop.

They had another home game to play the following day, and Gabe convinced Cale to invite you and have you sit with Mel and Linnea. Later that day Cale went to your apartment and handed you his jersey, asking you to be there for the game. You couldn’t say no to him, not that you wanted to anyways. That Sunday you put on the jersey and headed to the stadium. Meeting Mel at the front, you quickly got along and enjoyed the game. The Avs came out victorious again, and you followed the captain’s wife to the locker rooms. You stepped aside as Gabe made his way over to his wife, feeling a little out of place. Luckily for you, Cale wasn’t far behind.

He didn’t know if it was from the guys comments or seeing you in his jersey, but one second he was smiling widely at you, then the next his lips were on yours and his hands on your waist. Without a second thought, you kissed him back, your hands holding his face to yours. You were both grinning ear to ear as you separated, chirps flying all around but all in good nature. Giggling, you hid your face in Cale’s chest as his face turned bright red.

Shades on spinning in a summer rain Dancing when there ain’t no music Just the right kind of crazy, baby Something about you Rocking that rock 'n roll t-shirt Whole party dressed up But you just doing your thing Ain't nobody ever seen nothin' like you, yeah

A year had passed and you were at the end of your grad program. You were set to present your research at the graduate fair, having been selected to present your research on behalf of your department. The Avs were scheduled to be flying back home that day, but Cale wasn’t sure if he would be there in time to see you present. You told him that it was fine, that you understood; and you really did. He was hell bent on making it though. You weren’t that surprised when you saw Cale sneaking into the back of the auditorium. What did surprise you was that half the team had followed him in. Having become good friends with them, they wanted to be there to support you too. As your name was announced, you swear you had the loudest applause.

You calmly presented your research, smiling at Cale when you finished and a few questions were thrown your way. Having worked so hard, the questions were simple to answer. Finding Cale afterward, he took your poster from you and the two of you made your way to his apartment so he could unpack from the trip. Changing into some leggings and one of his shirts, you showed him the bound copy of your 105 page thesis. He was so proud of you and couldn’t help but share the cover on his Insta story. The two of you cuddle and slept better that night then you had in a while. For him it was being back home with you, and you finally had the stress of your research gone since the first time you met him.

Nothin' like you Shades on spinning in a summer rain Dancing in the rain no music Nothin' like you Rocking that rock 'n roll t-shirt Whole party dressed up But you just doing your thing Ain't nobody ever seen nothin' like you, yeah

Once you graduated, Cale asked you to move in with him. You had secured a job at a museum as a curator in their Antient History section. Setting up an exhibit all morning, you met up with Cale at the same coffee shop you had met at two years prior later that day. “Sorry I’m late” you muttered to Cale as you found him. He smiled and gave you a quick kiss.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I already put your order in,” he said as you sat across from him, taking a sip of the coffee he got you.

“You know me so well,” you hummed with a giggle, the caramel latte tasting sweet. Cale grinned at you.

“Technically, your coffee order was the first thing I learned about you, so I better get that right,” he chuckled. “That and you seemed like a huge nerd.” You faked offense, but laughed anyway.

“It was all those books that got you. I knew my tactic of sitting in a coffee shop would work for me one day,” you winked at him.

“It did. I’d never seen nothing like you,” he grinned, reaching into his pocket to take out a small velvet jewelry box.

Never seen, never seen nothin' like you Ain't never seen anything like you Mmm Never seen nothin' like you

Tagging: @yeahcalesy @avsfans95 @tysojost

#nhl imagines #nhl x reader #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #cale makar imagine #cale makar x reader #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine

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nlights37 · 3 years

Text

Fixer-Upper Tease: The Final Installment

Okay kids, we're in the home stretch with my favorite grouches (and maybe yours, too, who knows), so here's a little morsel from out final installment, a little taste of what to expect in this last chronicle of Joe Snow and the newly-minted Mrs. Snow. Enjoy!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh, Dan-YER-US!”

Dany stared numbly at the phone in her hand, the screen long since gone dark, still so shocked that she couldn’t force even the slightest noise past her lips.

She should, actually. She really should remind Jon that his newest gag of addressing her by every mispronunciation of her name possible, submitted to him by telemarketers if he was lucky enough to catch the landline, was getting old.

But she was too stupefied to respond, and he was making himself laugh, moving further into the house, the solid thud of Drogon jumping down from his cat tree and onto the hardwood below firm evidence that Jon was heading her way. She could hear his chuckles bouncing down the hallway as his voice grew louder. “Dan-yer-us Tar-jerry-an?”

Her lungs unfroze enough to allow a huffed exhale.

A knock sounded against the door of their shared office, now that his place was their place, and he waltzed in, holding Drogon like a football and rubbing his knuckles against the old cat’s jaw as her husky boy began to rumble. “Hey,” she breathed out, eyes wide, her limbs still somewhat sluggish to respond in the wake of her phone call. “It’s Dan-yer-us Snow, asshole.”

Jon held his hand up in mock surrender. “My mistake,” he drawled, seeming to notice as the seconds ticked by that she was very much not quite herself. Gray eyes narrowed and settled straight on her face, his amusement quickly replaced by growing concern. “What’s going on?”

She squeaked, then winced, and finally forced herself into motion. “Everything’s fine,” she said soothingly, not as convincing as she’d hoped when he cocked his head to the side and looked at her skeptically. “I’m just…,” she floundered for a moment, searching for a way to describe this disorienting storm of happiness and fear and nervous excitement, “Surprised? Yes, that’s good. That works.”

Her husband of two surprisingly awesome months (well, not surprising really because of course she’d known deep down this would work, but still there had been that little whisper of fear, of everything that had gone wrong for her before beginning again, and she felt silly even admitting it to herself) remained a hard sell. “And what, Mrs. Snow, are you so surprised about,” he checked his watch, “at 4:17 in the afternoon?”

“They want to publish it.” Saying it out loud made it seem even more outrageous, because she’d never actually thought anyone would want to publish her little labor of love for the Hardware King himself.

Jon’s brows drew together. “Publish what? Oh, Gods, Dany, not my nudes. Not my beautiful catalogue of tasteful nudes.” His forced horror melted away the moment she yelped his name indignantly and thumped him on the shoulder.

“The book, Jon, and please,” she scoffed, “if you had nudes I would already have made them my lockscreen.”

Jon snorted and rolled his eyes, leaning down to deposit Drogon near her bare feet. “The book?” He swatted away errant cat hairs from his t-shirt. “Which book?”

She made an exasperated noise, dancing away from his newly-freed and wandering hands, over to the built-in shelves tucked into the corner. “This book, Jon.” His brows flew to his hairline as he spied the book in her hands, the one she’d made him for Christmas, now displayed out of reach after Ghost had swept it from the living room table in one wide brush of his tail.

Oh.” He settled finally on her face. “The book.” Then he considered her quietly, a long contemplative silence passing before he crossed to his chair and sat down, bracing each foot on the floor so the rolling seat wouldn’t budge and patting his crossed leg invitingly. “Step into Joe Snow’s office.”

Shoulders slumping with a resigned laugh, she dropped herself into his lap, leaning in automatically as he wrapped an arm around her, the other dropping to her knee as she settled against him. “Hey,” he whispered, and she craned her neck up to meet his eyes. “This is a good thing, right? I mean Rhaegar’s been on you for awhile about getting it out there, and you were really pumped, remember?”

Dany nibbled on her lip for a moment. “Yeah,” she sighed out, tucking her head into the space between his shoulder and neck. “But I don’t know, I guess it just feels really personal? I made that for you.”

“Aye,” he said gravely, the arm around her back shifting so he could slide his hand to her ass and squeeze. “To declare your undying love for me.”

Wrinkling her nose, she threw him a glare, which deepened as he grinned. “You are so annoying, Jon. I hope you appreciate what a saint I am for tolerating all of your nonsense.”

“A regular 'Baelor the Blessed', Dan-yer-us, that’s what you are.” He squirmed a little as she fished a hand between them and pinched lightly along his ribcage, her put-upon expression softening his own as he stopped needling her. “Okay, listen, I get what you mean. But to the rest of the world, like the 99.99% that doesn’t know us? They’ll think it’s a fun story about the grouchiest fucking pets known to mankind.” He paused, only to find Drogon glaring at him from his renewed perch on the cat tree. “Case in point, old man, what are you looking at?”

“He knows you’re slandering his good name.”

Jon snorted and flicked his finger at the cover of the book she still held in her hands. “You literally titled it ‘Grouchy’, Dany, so maybe his fight is with you, not me.”

It was a good thing he made being insufferable so attractive, it really was. And she understood what he meant, all his jesting aside. The butterflies in her stomach began to settle, as she let out a hard breath and relaxed once more against his chest. “And you don’t mind?”

“What?” He looked at her as though it was the most ludicrous thing she’d ever said, the title formerly held by her declaration that putting ketchup on macaroni and cheese was something psychopaths did. Which probably hadn’t helped as he’d been in the act of doing that very thing, when she’d said it. “Dany, why would I mind?”

Dany gave him a small smile as she gazed up at him, and shrugged. “I made it for you, Jon. I mean, your dog is in it. You are in it.”

“Just the top of my head,” he interjected with mock sternness.

She just sighed and rolled her eyes, because honestly, his instinctual disagreeableness was one of her favorite things about him. It made her own perfectly allowable. “You know what I mean, Joe Snow.”

“Do it,” Jon said firmly, not an order, she understood that, but he was casting his vote. “I hope it makes a shitpot of money. I have plans.”

“Oh?” Her question, coupled with a sarcastic raise of his brow, earned her another squeeze of her ass.

Jon nodded with a quick jerk of his chin, perfectly sure. “Oh, yeah. See, the way I figure, it’s destined to be a hit, with me as your muse.”

Dany scoffed, just before a giggle escaped. “Ghost, you mean. Ghost was my muse. And Drogon.”

Jon relinquished his hold on her ass to slide his hand upward, patting comfortingly at the top of her head. “Whatever makes you feel better, love.” Then he winked and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Besides, either way, seems to me I’m headed straight down the path towards my dream job, the role I think, frankly, I’ve been destined to fill.” His voice had taken on a dreamy quality, as he stared away, now, at the wall opposite, where several of her drawings were tacked up to a corkboard, a drafting table he’d built for her situated just below. “It’s fate.”

“Do I want to know?” He side-eyed her at the droll question, and huffed.

“Look at me, Dany,” he said, head lifting imperiously. “I’m clearly meant to be a trophy husband.”

#fixer upper #jon x dany #jon and daenerys #fic teaser #my fics #modern jonerys #jonerys

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storiesforallfandoms · 3 years

Text

normal family christmas ~ nikki sixx;the dirt

word count: 1434

request?: yes!

“Can you do a Nikki Sixx x reader one-shot where the reader is his wife and they have a 3 year old daughter and it’s 1996 and they host Christmas dinner at their place and her parents, her brother (older by 3 years) and his wife and 6 year old son, her 2 friends and their husbands and 3 year old daughters, Tommy, Mick, and Vince come and it’s just cute and fluffy? Nikki and the reader adopted a dog, a male Golden Retriever they named Buddy, a year after their daughter was born.”

description: after all his years of partying and drugs and touring, nikki never thought he’d have just a normal christmas with his normal family

pairing: nikki sixx x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

Years ago, Nikki would’ve never dreamed of an actual Christmas celebration with family and friends and kids. Hell, he had never expected an actual Christmas in his whole life - his dad had split, his mom was a colossal bitch, and she could never keep a stable job long enough to be able to afford Christmas presents. Nikki’s Christmases were always sad, lonely, and present-less.

Then (Y/N) came intot his life, and gave him his beautiful daughter Mia. It was a struggle to adjust to fatherhood. Nikki could barley take care of himself, let alone of a child. But the moment Nikki looked into her eyes and saw his own looking back, he vowed to be the best father ever to Mia.

With a wife came her family and friends, and with a child came actual, happy Christmases. This Christmas, that included inviting (Y/N)’s family and friends for dinner, as well as Nikki’s bandmates.

Nikki’s heart raced with nervousness as the time neared for everyone to arrive. He was in their room, fumbling with the tie he had picked out for the occasion. Nikki was far from being a tie person, but he figured it was the right attire for this situation.

A small knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts. (Y/N) poked her head into the room. “Are you ready, hun? Mom and dad just arrived.”

The mention of his in laws made Nikki’s heart rate spike. “Yeah, I’ll be down soon. Just gotta fix this.”

(Y/N) slipped into the room and eyed Nikki’s outfit. “Why are you dressed so...proper?”

“Well, I figured this was the right way to dress with everyone coming over.”

(Y/N) rested her head on Nikki’s shoulder and smiled at him through the mirror. “Just be yourself, baby. Everyone who will be here, you’ve met already. You don’t need to impress anyone.”

She kissed his cheek and headed for the door. “Whatever you decide to wear, do it fast. I will not hesitate to have dinner without you.”

Nikki smiled at her as she left. She always knew how to ease his nerves.

About ten minutes later, Nikki was descending the stairs into the living room. He had decided to leave on the button up shirt, but now with one of his sleeveless shirts on underneath, complete with his ripped up jeans instead of the uncomfortable dress pants he had originally chosen.

His father in law was sat on the floor, playing with Mia and the new dolls she had gotten from “Santa”.

“Hey Nick!” he said when he saw Nikki.

“Hey Mr. (Y/L/N),” Nikki responded. He bent over to kiss Mia’s head. “Mrs. (Y/L/N) helping with dinner?”

“Of course, you know how she is. Can’t leave poor (Y/N) alone.”

Nikki laughed as another knock came on the front door. Before he could even more, Mia was up and racing to answer the door. Her voice trailed back to the living room as she exclaimed, “Uncle (Y/B/N)!”

(Y/B/N) and his wife, Jane, and son, Christopher, entered the room, Mia in her uncle’s arms.

“Hey munchkin,” he said, setting her back on the ground. “Merry Christmas, Nikki.”

“Merry Christmas you guys. Hey Mia, why don’t you go play with Christopher in your play room?”

“Okay!” Both children raced out of the room.

Shortly after, two of (Y/N)’s friends - Tonya and Chrissy - arrived with their husbands - Dan and John - and their daughters - Jessie and Luna. The band boys were the last to arrive, fashionably late as always.

The more people that filled his house, the more anxious Nikki felt. Not because he didn’t like having all these people around, but because he didn’t want to screw this Christmas up for (Y/N) and Mia.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him as (Y/N) called, “Dinner is ready!”

The kids raced to sit around Mia’s small plastic table, the proclaimed “kids table, while their respective parents got their plates. Their four year old golden retriever, Buddy, was laid on the floor next to Mia, but they all knew there was no use in telling the kids not to feed him, especially Mia.

After grace was said, John spoke up first to make conversation, “So guys, any plans for new music in the new year?”

“John, I’m sure the boys don’t want to talk about work right now,” Mrs. (Y/L/N) said.

“Actually, we have an album in the words for next year,” Vince responded. “We’ve been using our time off to write, next up is just recording and figuring out melodies and all that technical stuff.”

“Must be hard on your families for you guys to be travelling all the time” Mr. (Y/L/N) said. “I don’t know how (Y/N) does it.”

Tommy and Vince shuffled awkwardly. Nikki was the only one of the four in a stable relationship, not that Mick cared much about his marital status. Tommy, on the other hand, had just went through a very public divorce, and Vince had just lost his baby girl. The word “family” was a very touchy topic for the two of them.

Luckily, an exclaim of excitement from Luna pulled everyone’s attention away from the question. The kids were giggling together as Buddy licked up whatever Luna had dropped on the ground.

“Luna, baby, don’t feed the dog,” Chrissy scolded.

“It’s fine, Chrissy. Mia feeds Buddy all the time. There’s no use in telling her not to,” (Y/N) said. “That boy is spoiled beyond his wildest dreams because of Miss Mia.”

The three year old smiled innocently at her parents before going back to devouring her food. Nikki and (Y/N) shared a look across the table and Nikki couldn’t help but smile at his beautiful wife.

The dinner small talk continued and, soon enough, the plates were being cleared away. Anything that could fit in the dishwasher, (Y/N) piled in there. The pots and pans used for cooking were the only things that had to be hand washed, and (Y/N)’s mother had gladly took over that job so that (Y/N) could join everyone in the living room.

The kids were playing on the floor while some Christmas movie played on the TV screen. Nikki sat on the couch with (Y/N) cuddled under his arm, his father place to be. The sounds of everyone talking just seemed like a dull murmur to him at that moment, which he was fine with. He wasn’t part of the conversation, and that’s how he liked it.

One by one, everyone began to leave. The kids were starting to get tired, and it was starting to get late. As they were the last to arrive, the boys were the last to leave, hugging (Y/N) and kissing Mia on top of her little head before telling Nikki they’d see him in the new year to work on the album.

With everyone gone, (Y/N) convinced Mia to put her toys away and go to bed. When their daughter was tucked away for the night, (Y/N) joined Nikki in their room. She shed herself of her clothes, leaving her in just her bra and panties, and pulled on the button up shirt Nikki had discarded after everyone left. She crawled into bed next to her husband and curled into his arms.

“I think tonight went well,” she said.

“I think so, too,” Nikki agreed. “I never realized how many people we knew.”

(Y/N) giggled. “It doesn’t feel like a lot until you put everyone in one room, or one house I guess.” She looked up at Nikki. “Were you okay with it, honey? You enjoyed today, right?”

“Of course I did.”

“I know the big family gathering isn’t usually your scene - ”

“Hey,” Nikki cut her off. “Baby, I loved tonight. I loved having everyone over and getting to have a normal Christmas with family and friends and home cooked meals, just as much as I’ve loved having a beautiful wife and daughter to celebrate Christmas with the past three years. I never thought I’d ever have this in my life. Actually, I thought I’d be dead long before now. I was just nervous about ruining tonight for you and for Mia.”

“You’d never ruin anything, Nikki,” (Y/N) told him. “Everyone loves you, myself and Mia especially. Just having you here to spend the day with, that’s all we really need.”

Nikki smiled and kissed her forehead. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas, Nikki.”

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx x reader #douglas booth #douglas booth imagine #douglas booth x reader #Motley Crue #motley crue imagine #the dirt #the dirt imagine #imagine #one shot #request #christmas #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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phantasticworks · 3 years

Text

Take a Picture (It'll Last Longer)

hi guys! so it occurred to me that i completely forgot to post the newest part of my new fic on tumblr when i posted it to ao3 the other day so here it is! I hope you guys enjoy this one! I've had a lot of fun working on it!

read on ao3

Words: 18.9k

Summary: Dan and Phil continue their arrangement, but are things changing?

Warnings: swearing, explicit smut, light angst

“We should go Christmas shopping,” Phil announces one afternoon. They were laying in his bed after giving each other blowjobs, and Dan was half-asleep.

“Mmf,” Dan huffs. It’s not exactly an answer. It’s not even really a response.

“Dan,” Phil whines, prodding his chest. “C’mon, it would be fun. We could go into town, get a festive drink, let the spirit of Christmas enter us.”

Dan cracks one eye open at that, giving Phil a smirk. “I don��t think I want the spirit of Christmas to be the one entering me tonight,” he says, his voice smooth.

Phil breaks out into a very predictable blush, but it’s still one of the cutest things Dan’s ever seen. “Dan!” he nearly screeches, swatting at him.

“What?” Dan cackles.

“That’s awful!” Phil shakes his head like he’s disappointed, but his eyes have gone a little wide, and Dan knows he’s thinking about what Dan has just suggested.

It’s the one thing they hadn’t yet done together. They’ve fooled around in every other possible way, but penetration has just been off the table. Until now.

“Do you want to?” Dan asks after he’s done laughing. His voice is unintentionally small. It’s not like he’s particularly nervous about this particular sex act; he’s fucked and been fucked before, but never by someone he cares this deeply for. And the part that hurts the most is that they aren’t even like that, not really.

He watches as Phil swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the pale skin of his neck. “Fuck,” he swears under his breath. He glances at Dan quickly, like he hadn’t mean to say it at all. “I mean- God, yeah, of course I want to,” he says.

Dan smiles, scooting closer to him and swinging a leg over Phil’s, as if they didn’t just have sex half an hour ago. “I’d let you, if you want,” he murmurs, trying for seductive. He’s not sure he’s really hit the target in his tone, but Phil swallows again, and he reckons he’s close enough.

“We should go out for dinner,” Phil blurts suddenly.

Dan pulls away a little, blinking at him. “Er… okay?”

“Yeah, we should go eat dinner, and then do some shopping, yeah?” Phil sounds nervous, and Dan can’t for the life of him figure out why. They have dinner together all the time nowadays. In fact, almost every time they see each other they wind up sharing a meal somewhere. It’s not usually at a restaurant, he concedes, the both of them horrible introverts who would much rather be inside the comfort of one of their flats, but still, it has happened.

“Sure,” Dan agrees easily. If he’s honest, dinner is the last thing on his mind.

If he can’t have Phil in the real way, in the way he so desperately wants, then he’ll take this: casual sex and friendship, until Phil no longer has a use for him. The fact that all of this has an expiration date tears at the tattered threads of Dan’s heart more and more each day, but it’s a pain he’s learning to cope with nonetheless.

He’s so deep in his own thoughts that he barely notices when Phil climbs out of the bed and makes his way to his closet. “Um, what are you doing?” Dan asks stupidly when he sees Phil pulling out what looks to be a nicer outfit.

Phil turns and gives him a look like he is stupid. “We have to get dressed if we’re going out!” he says, like it’s obvious.

“We’re going out tonight?” Dan squawks, still mostly naked and covered in slowly-drying bodily fluids.

“Yes,” Phil says, voice full of exasperation. “Go on, go take a shower, I’ll pick something out for you.” He sounds excited, but Dan can’t help but be weary.

“Phil…” He starts.

“No, no!” Phil protests. “Just go, I promise it’ll be good, I won’t pick anything you wouldn’t wear yourself!” It’s probably an empty promise, but his bright eyes and the way he dances on the balls of his feet have Dan convinced.

“Fine,” he says with a sigh, giving in. He stands to go jump in the shower, and he doesn’t miss the way Phil takes a long look at his body. “But I swear to god if you try to put me in color, I’m gonna actually kill you.”

“Fine, whatever,” Phil says, waving him off. “Go, go shower, smelly boy. Your fairy godmother needs some space to think about your outfit.”

Dan feels a tug in his chest when Phil smiles at him. He can’t help but step close and kiss him, just once, to dull the pain a little. “You’re on thin ice,” he whispers, his lips still a breath away from Phil’s.

“You have semen in your hair,” Phil murmurs back, pecking his lips.

Dan flips him off as he stomps off to the shower.

~~~

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Dan says nearly half an hour later, staring at the clothes Phil has so charitably laid out for him. The jeans are fine, black skinnies with rips new enough that he knows Phil hardly wears them. His problem lies entirely with the sweater.

The red, sparkly sweater.

“What?” Phil asks, voice pitched high in false confusion. “It’s nice!”

“I’m not wearing that,” Dan says vehemently.

“But Dan, it’s Christmas! Red is a very Christmassy color!”

“Red is Christmassy,” Dan spits. “This is- that’s fucking-“

“I call it ‘ladybird chic’,” Phil says, unhelpfully.

Dan turns, very slowly, to glare at him. “Absolutely not.”

Phil pouts. “It’ll look really good if I take any photos this evening.”

Dan swears under his breath. Stupid Phil with his stupid soft, kissable lips with their perfect Cupid’s bow. “I’m wearing a coat over it,” he says haughtily.

Phil grins proudly. “Of course,” he nods. “It’s not exactly my warmest sweater, and I don’t want you to get cold.”

Something about that makes Dan’s stomach twist sharply, a feeling he can’t name taking up all the space in his chest as he watches Phil search for a coat. He makes it so hard, sometimes, to not confess that he’s in love with him. Dan isn’t too stupid to think he’ll let himself go that far- he does have some dignity- but god Phil makes it hard.

“Will this work?” Phil asks, returning with a simple but warm-looking black coat.

Dan nods, taking it from him and setting it on the bed next to the outfit. “Thanks,” he says, his voice soft.

Phil smiles at him when he glances up. “No problem,” he says warmly, leaning in and planting a kiss on Dan’s temple. “I’m gonna hop in the shower, I’ll be right back,” he says, leaving Dan with the lingering feeling of lips and warmth.

~~~

Phil looks amazing.

That’s probably the understatement of the year, Dan thinks, but he’s at a loss for words when Phil steps into the lounge, fully dressed.

He’s got black skinny jeans on as usual, but he’s gone for a really nice grey sweater and his glasses, something Dan is always, always enamored with. He figures he’s probably fully staring at him, but Phil doesn’t seem to mind, so Dan sees no reason why he should look away. In fact, Phil seems to like it, if his smirk is anything to go by.

“Ready to go?” He asks, completely ignoring the way Dan is practically undressing him with his eyes.

“Sure,” Dan says, his voice coming out a little garbled. He clears his throat, flushing. “Let’s go.”

~~~

They end up at an Italian place, one that Dan’s never been to. It’s nice, nicer than he expected when Phil suggested they go out to dinner. It almost feels like a date, if Dan lets himself think too much about it. But he knows better than that, so of course he doesn’t let himself think about it at all.

Instead, he convinces Phil to order wine.

“Come on, I’m almost done with classes, and it’s a Friday. Shouldn’t we celebrate the end of the week?” Dan says, batting his eyelashes to really sell it. The truth is he doesn’t think he can keep his mind from drifting off into romance land if he’s not at least slightly inebriated.

Phil sighs, but nods. “Fine.” He gestures for the waitress to come back over, then points to something on the wine menu. “We’ll each do a glass of the Cabernet Sauvignon, please,” he says, tapping the name.

The waitress nods before disappearing, and Dan watches Phil as he fiddles with the menu, biting his lip in thought. “You sounded like some proper wine connoisseur, just then,” Dan says mildly, glancing over his own menu. He already knows he’s likely to get the same thing he always does at Italian restaurants, but he feels weird staring at Phil when he isn’t looking back.

Phil snorts. “Not hardly,” Phil says dryly. “Cabernet‘s just the happy medium.”

Dan tilts his head at that. “How so?” He asks.

Phil glances up at him, and his lips twitch into a smile. “Well, you like wine that’s bitter, and I like sweeter wine. You always order something with mushrooms when we do Italian, and I usually do some type of tomato-sauce pasta, so...” The waitress returns then with the bottle of wine, and Phil smiles at her. “So Cabernet is the happy medium for us.”

Dan blinks at him. Phil asks the waitress a question about something on the menu, looking completely casual, as if he didn’t just send Dan’s heart spinning. As if they just know each other that well- just fit together that well, without ever even acknowledging it.

He’s still lost in thought when the waitress turns to him with a smile. “And for you, sir?” She asks.

Dan shakes his head in an effort to clear it. “Uhh...” His mind is cloudy at the moment, and he can’t really see the menu.

“They have the mushroom risotto you like,” Phil says softly. “Is that okay?”

Dan nods dumbly. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “That’s fine, thanks.”

The waitress nods, taking their menus before leaving the table. It’s quiet then, and Dan jumps a little when he feels Phil’s foot brush against his. “Sorry,” Phil says, frowning. “Are you okay?”

Dan nods. It’s not a lie, exactly. He thinks maybe he is okay, but everything feels stilted and weird now, and the traitorous, lonely part of his brain is trying to convince him that this- this thing between him and Phil- means more than it does. “I’m fine,” he says quickly, nodding again. “Just tired, I guess.”

A brief flash of something like disbelief flashes across Phil’s face, but it’s gone in a blink. “We can just go back home after dinner, if you don’t feel like shopping.”

The word “home” plays on loop in Dan’s brain until he processes the rest of the words. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll feel better after we eat,” he says, shrugging it off.

Phil nods, and they fall into silence again. They’ve known each other long enough now that it’s not uncomfortable, but Dan’s skin still itches with the quiet. He’s trying to think of something to say when he feels something brush his ankle. He glances up to find Phil smirking at him.

Dan quirks a brow. “Can I help you?” he asks, barely hiding a smile.

The smirk on Phil’s face just deepens, and he rubs his ankle against Dan’s. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but Dan’s long past the point of being surprised that everything feels better with Phil. “Nope,” Phil says, biting back a laugh.

Dan rolls his eyes. He takes a sneaky glance around them, and finds that no one is paying any attention to them. He takes that confirmation of almost-privacy and decides to be cheeky. Taking a sip of his water, he shifts his legs, trailing his foot up the length of Phil’s leg teasingly slow. He watches as Phil’s face flushes, the smirk dropping away to a look of surprise.

“Dan,” he hisses.

“What?” Dan says innocently. “You started this.”

Phil shakes his head, his hand disappearing below the table and catching Dan’s ankle in his hand before Dan can reach his destination. “Not now,” Phil murmurs.

That sends a little thrill through Dan. There’s an unspoken “later” in the air between them, and Dan recalls suddenly what he had offered earlier, when they were getting ready to leave. His blood rushes through his veins hot and fast, making him light headed.

“Are we still going to...” he trails off when the waitress approaches with their food, giving her a fake smile.

She makes sure they’re comfortable and have everything they need before leaving the table again, and by then Dan’s too distracted by his food to return to what he wanted to say.

“Fuck,” he moans around the first bite. “This is delicious.” He’s trying to mind his table manners, but the food is hot and sort of amazing, and he hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He really can’t help the sounds that fall from his mouth at that point.

He takes a sip of his wine to wash it down and finally glances over at Phil. His entire face is red, and he’s staring down at his plate with pursed lips. Dan blushes, realizing exactly what he sounded like. Then, he remembers their current situation, and the fact that it really shouldn’t bother Phil, hearing Dan make sexual noises. After all, they’ve been getting each other off for the past month or so, so he’s surely used to it by now.

“Sorry,” he says, despite himself. “Got a little too excited about dinner,” he explains, flickering his eyes between Phil and his plate.

Phil nods, avoiding eye contact. “Right, yeah,” he says, his voice sounding hoarse.

Dan smirks down at his plate, but decides to give Phil a break. “How’s the photo series going? Are we almost done taking photos?”

Phil looks relieved at the change of subject, and his eyes are bright when he looks up at Dan. He’s so enthusiastic about this project, just like he is with everything that he really cares about. Dan can’t help but find it ridiculously endearing.

“Almost, yeah. We’ve gotten some really great shots for experiential, but I don’t think I’ve gotten like the perfect shot for each of the other categories,” Phil says. His eyebrows furrow as he looks down, looking more than a little bothered by that.

“What’re the other categories again?”

“Intellectual, emotional, and er- sexual,” Phil says with a deep blush.

Dan smirks. “Sounds like we can knock that last one out pretty easily,” he says, only sort of teasing.

Phil’s nose goes a little pink, but he’s got a guarded look in his eye as he chases a bite of pasta around his plate. “I don’t know if I want that one to be like...” he trails off, glancing up at Dan with something soft in his eyes.

“Like...?” Dan prompts, confused.

“Like... genuine,” Phil says.

Dan blinks. “Why?”

Phil clears his throat, looking down again. “I don’t- I just- I just want you to be comfortable, yeah? And if it would make you uncomfortable to-“

“It wouldn’t,” Dan interrupts. His face immediately warms when he realizes how that must sound. “I mean... it’s what we’ve been doing this whole time, right? I’ll be no more vulnerable naked than I have been for every other candid shot you’ve done.”

Phil looks almost- disappointed, in a way. Dan can’t think of a reason why he would be, so he convinces himself that he’s probably just imagining it, that Phil is probably just thinking about the best way to shoot the more explicit photographs.

“Sure,” he says eventually, downing a few gulps of his wine. “We’ll work on that stuff- later, yeah?”

“Sure,” Dan echoes, sipping his own wine.

‘Later’ is starting to have a lot of weight.

~~~

After they’ve finished their meal and Phil has ignored Dan trying to pay for the check, they head out to see what the shops have to offer. Everything is so bright with all the twinkling lights and decorations, and Dan’s feeling just a little bit warm and fuzzy with it all. Maybe that’s why he reaches for Phil’s hand, he thinks to himself absently. It’s probably just the overwhelming excitement of it all forcing him to reach out for something to ground himself. Definitely not his deep attraction and infatuation with his best friend.

Right?

Either way, for whatever reason on both their parts, Phil doesn’t pull away at the touch. Instead he laces their fingers together, swinging their hands between them as they meander down the busy streets. It feels safe, with so many strangers surrounding them, to share a touch like this in public. No one here knows them, any looks cast their way are forgotten the moment the gawker looks away.

“Ooh, mulled wine!” Phil announces after a while of aimless wandering. He tugs Dan in the direction of the stall he’s laid his eye on, and Dan allows himself to be dragged. “Do you like mulled wine?” Phil asks as they stand in line to order.

Dan shrugs. “Yeah, it’s alright.” He wants to say something about how it would taste better coming from Phil’s lips, but he thankfully restrains himself from going that far.

Phil rambles on about something that happened to him a few years ago, something about spilling cider all over a guy he worked with that he also had a crush on. Dan’s trying to listen but he keeps getting distracted by the rosy patches on Phil’s face, his frostbitten cheeks looking more kissable than ever.

“We’ll have two mulled wines, please,” Phil says to the sweet older lady tending the booth.

She smiles and nods as she goes about preparing them, and Dan doesn’t even have the chance to reach for his wallet before Phil is sliding a few notes across to her. “Have a good evening! Happy Christmas!” the shop lady says with a happy wave after she hands them their drinks.

“Thanks, you too,” Phil replies with a smile, taking Dan’s hand again and leading them over to a set of benches situated around a massive tree. “Mm, this is really good for the spot,” Phil hums happily, slurping on his mulled wine.

Dan gives him an odd look as they sit together. “Good for the spot?” he repeats.

Phil nods. “Yeah, you know. That thing people say when something tastes good.” He looks so sure of himself, and Dan sort of hates to burst his bubble, but it’s basically his duty as a citizen to do so.

“You mean “hits the spot,” right?”

Phil blinks. “Er...” He seems to consider it for a lot longer than Dan thinks is necessary, and finally he shrugs. “Okay, maybe. Maybe that’s what I meant.”

Dan cackles out a laugh at this, dropping his head back with unabashed glee. “Oh god,” he giggles. “You’re such an idiot.”

Luckily they’ve grown comfortable enough with each other that Phil’s not really offended. He pretends, though, knocking their shoulders together with a pout. “You have to be nice to be. I bought you dinner and mulled wine.”

That makes Dan’s skin prickle just a bit. “Right...” he says, looking down. He knows Phil didn’t say that with the intentions of making him feel guilty, but he can’t help what he feels. “About that, actually,” Dan starts.

“Hm?”

“I wish you’d let me pay for something. Like dinner, or the wine, or something, you know?” He looks down at his hands wrapped around his cup, flicking the plastic lid with his thumbnail. “I’m not entirely useless.”

Phil makes a startled, hurt noise in his throat. “Dan, I never said you were. I don’t- listen, I paid because... well, I dragged you here, didn’t I?” He shifts awkwardly, and won’t meet Dan’s eye. If Dan didn’t know any better, he’d say Phil seemed sort of nervous.

“You hardly did any dragging,” Dan says with a roll of his eyes. “I wanted to come. Believe it or not, I genuinely enjoy spending time with you.”

Phil looks surprised, and Dan snorts. He feels like it’s really hardly a shock that he enjoys spending time with him; if Phil was only slightly less oblivious, he’d have already realized that Dan’s got feelings for him.

“Oh,” Phil says, stupidly.

Dan knocks their shoulders together. “Yeah, oh,” he mocks, his voice gentler than he meant it to be. “I’m just saying, you should let me pay for stuff now and again. It’s not going to break me.”

Phil nods, but looks down, mumbling something under his breath. It sounded like “I like taking care of you,” and that sends Dan’s heart beating so fast that he can’t even ask Phil to repeat himself. If that wasn’t what he said, well, Dan wants to be ignorant for now, and live in that bliss.

“Shall we do some shopping?” Dan asks, changing the subject. He’s drained nearly half his mulled wine already, and the warmth of the alcohol is making its way to his veins, making him giddy with energy.

“Yeah, but first...” He hands Dan his cup, which is almost completely empty already, and grabs his camera.

Dan rolls his eyes. “Is this really a photo-worthy moment?” he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Phil smirks at him over the camera. “Of course it is. Now smile!”

Dan looks directly over the camera, straight into Phil’s eyes. He’s not really smiling, but he’s not frowning either. He’s just... looking at him. The camera flashes once, then twice, and then Phil lowers it, looking back at Dan with something almost wild in his eyes. Dan hands him his cup back silently, and purposefully brushes their fingers together. Something settles in Phil’s expression then, and he gives Dan a soft look before downing the rest of his drink.

“Shall we?” he says as he stands, holding a hand out for Dan to take. The smile he gives him when Dan does is gorgeous and makes every photo worth it.

~~~

Dan allows himself to be led in and out of shops for the next two hours, and Phil takes plenty of photos along the way. He takes photos of Dan window shopping, walking, admiring decorations; basically any move Dan makes, Phil captures. And Dan knows he agreed to this, he knows that it’s all for Phil’s project, but after a while, he grows tired of it.

Eventually, Dan turns to him and gives him a withering look. “Can we put the camera away and just be us for a little while?” He doesn’t intend for his voice to be so soft, but he can barely hear it as it floats in the air between them.

Phil lowers the camera with a strange look on his face. “Yeah?” he asks, like he’s surprised.

Dan nods, and before he can think twice about it, he reaches out and laces their fingers together. “C’mon, I saw a nerd shop over there that I want to check out.”

Before he gets the chance to turn away, Phil darts into his space, kissing the corner of his mouth softly. It’s over so quickly that Dan almost thinks he may have imagined it, simply because Phil looks so calm and confident afterwards. He simply squeezes Dan’s hand and leads him in the direction of the shop, and Dan feels like he’s been left to play catch-up, not for the first time today.

“Hey, look at this,” Phil says suddenly, when they’re almost to the shop. He slows to a stop, his eyes scanning over a bulletin board posted on the bit of brick wall between the windows of the game shop and the bakery next door. “Dan, look!” He taps Dan’s arm excitedly as he speaks, as if Dan’s not already looking at the poster.

“Open Auditions” it announces at the top. Dan’s heart quickens, just slightly. A quick scan of information confirms what he’d already gathered: a local theatre company is holding open auditions for their upcoming performance of Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice.

Dan’s heart races and his vision has gone slightly fuzzy as he tries to take in the information. He can barely focus on anything, his ears ringing with the possibilities. This could be it, a little voice in his head mocks. An escape from the life you don’t want, a chance to be more.

It takes him a minute to come back to his senses, and when he does Phil is rambling excitedly beside him. “-great this is, Dan, you’ve got to audition, this would be perfect for you!”

Dan shakes his head slowly, trying to clear the cloud of fantasy that’s infiltrated his mind. “No,” he says eventually. He forces himself to look away, reminds himself that life isn’t a fairytale. He chose this shitty career and this shitty life, he can’t just back out now. His parents may have raised a socially awkward, queer procrastinator but they didn’t raise a quitter.

“No?” Phil says the word like it’s foreign. “What do you mean, I thought you wanted to act again if you got the chance?” He sounds confused.

Dan shrugs, avoiding eye contact with Phil as he shuffles his feet, moving further from the bright poster. “Yeah, but... come on, this? It’s not very responsible, is it?”

Phil blinks at him, glancing at the poster like it has the answers he needs. “Er- how do you mean?” he asks carefully.

Dan hates that. He hates that he’s ruining their nice day with his bullshit. “Well, I’ve got class, don’t I? And like, work, and shit. I can’t - I don’t have time for this.”

There’s a brief moment of pause where Phil looks at him, then studies the poster again, clearly thinking hard about something. “The auditions are next week, so I bet the rehearsals start after you’re done with classes.”

Dan tells that little stirring of hope in his chest to pipe down. Instead, he shrugs, like he couldn’t care less about the whole thing. “Whatever. Are we going in? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

Phil nods and gestures to the store, so Dan turns to lead the way. He notices Phil doesn’t move to hold his hand again, and he pretends that doesn’t hurt his feelings. When he opens the door he glances behind him, and Phil is still a few steps away, like he’d stood there for a minute before following after Dan. Dan can’t imagine why, and decides it’s better not to think about that at all.

He waves Phil in ahead of him, and spares one last look at the poster before following after Phil and into the shop.

~~~

Dan would love to pretend that he stops thinking about the audition flyer by the time they make it back to Phil’s place, but it would be a lie. It’s still there, in the back of his mind, mocking him with the possibilities.

So he does what any reasonable adult would do.

He immediately jumps at the opportunity to get in Phil’s pants.

It’s not like it’s difficult at this point in their... situation, but he still finds part of him is reluctant to be the one to make the first move, if only because he’s scared of rejection. But this time, like so many times before, Phil indulges him.

“Oh,” Phil laughs as Dan pushes at his coat, his voice deep and sexy like it always is at the end of a long day, when he’s truly worn out. Dan can’t believe he has the privilege of knowing exactly what this sounds like. “Eager, are we?”

Dan latches his mouth onto Phil’s jaw, sucking gently as he shoves the stupid coat off of Phil’s shoulders. “Wanna fuck you,” he mumbles against Phil’s chin, loving the prickly feeling of almost-beard under his mouth.

Phil makes a good noise then, a horny one that Dan doesn’t get to hear nearly often enough. “Can we- bed?” he mumbles out around Dan’s mouth, which has finally found its way to Phil’s.

“Mhm,” Dan mumbles, guiding Phil backwards blindly.

This proves to be a bad idea when he leads him into a wall approximately five seconds later, but luckily, Phil is able to laugh it off. “I’m fine,” he mumbles, pulling Dan back against him once more and kissing across his cheeks. “Let me lead,” he whispers.

Dan allows that, following Phil as he shuffles them backwards down the hall towards his bedroom, their lips barely parting the whole way there. It’s sloppy and messy, but it’s hot, too, unbearably so. Dan is so turned on by the time they step foot in Phil’s room, he’s half afraid he won’t even make it to the good part.

Luckily, Phil trips right before they reach the bed, and the resulting stumble-almost-fall is enough to calm Dan down a little. He’s giggling against Phil’s mouth as they right themselves, and Phil is struggling to mumble an apology around the kisses he’s receiving.

“Dan,” he manages, thumping on Dan’s chest a little, just enough to get Dan’s attention and make him pull away for a second. Phil catches his breath and then smiles at Dan, a wide, gorgeous thing. “Slow down, baby. We’ve got all night.”

It’s said so softly, so lovingly, that Dan thinks he’s going to cry. So, instead of listening, he throws that caution to the wind and leans in for another kiss, his hands dropping to undo Phil’s belt. Phil makes a little noise in his throat, and Dan feels gentle hands pull at his wrists, pulling his hands away from where they’re struggling to undo the fasteners on Phil’s jeans. Dan whines and tugs at the grip, trying to free his hands, but he hears a soft shushing noise as Phil breaks the kiss.

Dan doesn’t realize it at first, but when they’re no longer kissing, he feels a dampness on his cheeks. Frustrated, he wipes at the traitorous tears, but at the same time, Phil’s hands come into view, gently wiping the tears away as he murmurs soft words. Dan struggles to make them out at first, his breathing gone hard and ragged. He tries to settle himself, and Phil tugs at his hand, settling it on his own chest like he wants Dan to copy his breathing. He does, and when he finally calms down, Dan can make out what Phil’s saying.

“Shh, there we go. It’s okay, baby. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

It’s said in such a soft, soothing voice that Dan almost starts crying again. This can’t be meaningless. Even though he knows Phil doesn’t feel anything for him like that, some part of him is just begging for this moment to have some kind of meaning, something that means Phil wants him. But wishing can’t change the truth, and he knows that.

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually, his voice raw.

Phil makes a startled noise. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, but like... crying is so not sexy.” Dan feels embarrassed just to say it.

“I don’t know,” Phil muses. “I think showing your emotions is kinda hot.” He gives Dan a smirk then, and Dan barely refrains from pushing him off the bed. The only reason he doesn’t is because of how much he craves the closeness.

“Did I ruin the mood?” Dan asks timidly, sitting up in Phil’s lap to give him some space.

Phil smiles, but shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Do you still want to...” His face flushes then, like he can’t even bring himself to say the words.

Dan grins. “I definitely still want to fuck you. If you still want that.”

“I do,” Phil says quickly. Dan smirks and Phil blushes. “I just... it’s been a while since I’ve done that, so...”

Dan nods easily. “Do you need some space to get ready?”

Phil looks relieved. “Please?”

Nodding again, Dan leans down and kisses him sweetly. “Of course. I’ll go sit in the lounge while you do what you need to do.”

“Thank you,” Phil says softly, leaning up to peck Dan’s lips once more. “I won’t be long.”

With that reassurance, and a dismissive pat on the bum, Dan sees himself out of the room, going to wait in the lounge like he’d promised while Phil showers and does whatever else he needs to do to feel comfortable with how the evening is proceeding.

~~~

“Dan?”

Phil’s voice is more than welcome in the quiet of the lounge, but it still makes Dan jump a bit. He’d been lost in thought again, pondering over the amount of time they’ve spent together lately and trying to count in his head how many nights he’d spent at Phil’s over the last month. He’d just made it to thirteen when he hears Phil’s voice.

“Yeah?” Dan calls back, already rising from the sofa.

“Can you come here?” Phil replies, his voice a bit quieter. If Dan didn’t know any better, he’d almost say he sounded nervous.

When Dan steps into Phil’s bedroom, he nearly coos. Phil’s turned the overhead light off and lit a couple of candles, and he’s even got music playing from somewhere. It’s all very relaxing, and something about it feels sort of romantic. Dan bats that thought away immediately before it does something stupid, like settle in his already lovesick mind.

“Is this okay?” Phil asks, and Dan’s gaze snaps over to where Phil’s sat at the edge of the bed. Dan hadn’t even registered him sitting there at first, his mind trying to wrap around the way the room is set up. Phil definitely looks nervous, tugging at the hem of his sushi-printed boxers and avoiding eye contact. “I just thought... I don’t know, actually.”

“It’s nice,” Dan murmurs, going to join Phil on the bed. He’s trying to be considerate of the conversation they’re having, but honestly it’s a little hard considering Phil is practically naked, and god Dan loves to look at him. He nudges Phil’s knee with his own, prompting him to make eye contact. “It’s really lovely.”

Phil smiles, pleased. Something darkens in his gaze then, and before Dan has a chance to decipher that look, Phil is climbing onto his lap and gently pushing him to lay flat against the mattress. “This okay?” He murmurs as he kisses his way across Dan’s jaw.

Dan swallows hard, the kissing and weight of Phil on his lap sending heat to his groin. “Yeah,” he chokes out. “This is... fuck, this is perfect.”

Phil makes a humming sort of noise before finally pressing his lips to Dan’s, swiping his tongue against Dan’s bottom lip. Of course Dan opens up for him, feeling that tongue slip in easily. This is possibly Dan’s favorite kind of kissing, the kind that’s wet and maybe a little bit messy. It just feels good, in a way most things don’t.

Eventually, Dan’s hands trail over Phil’s pale back, tracing shapes down his spine with a featherlight touch before reaching his destination. Dan isn’t like, a hundred percent sure, but he’s actually pretty positive that Phil’s got the nicest bum in the world. It’s thick and soft and gives easily under the pressure of his kneading fingers.

“You’ve got the nicest ass,” Dan murmurs to Phil, pulling away just enough to get the words out properly.

Phil laughs against Dan’s neck, and Dan can’t help the full body tremor that happens when he feels pressure on the sensitive skin. “Do you want to fuck it?” Phil asks, in a voice that’s almost innocent.

Dan groans, kneading his cheeks with more purpose. “God. Yeah, I do. Can I?” He knows they’ve sort of already discussed this, but Phil’s allowed to change his mind.

“Of course,” Phil says with a little smile. He leans back, trailing his hands down Dan’s clothed chest before tucking his hands under his borrowed sweater and stroking the skin there. “Take your clothes off, babe.”

Dan feels a tingle down to his toes at the pet name, and has to remind himself very quickly to get a fucking grip. They’re just friends, this is just a friendly fuck. A mutual benefits kind of deal.

Maybe if he says it enough in his head, he’ll start to believe it.

He’s quick to discard of Phil’s stupid ladybird sweater, throwing it across the room blindly, which unsurprisingly earns him a pinch to the hip. “Don’t be rude to my favorite jumper, Daniel,” Phil chastises, a smile in his voice.

Dan’s got a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it in favor of arching up into the way Phil’s stroking his chest, his thumbs catching on Dan’s nipples repeatedly. “Fuck. C’mere,” Dan mumbles, tugging Phil down by his neck. They’ve had enough sex together for Phil to know what he wants, so he goes easily, latching that wonderful mouth around a pink nub and sucking gently.

The sounds that fall out of Dan’s mouth are too loud in the quiet of the room, but if Phil wants him to be quiet, he’s got a funny way of showing it. Instead he reaches for Dan’s jeans, thumbing at the zipper without looking. He’s got them unlatched in seconds, pushing at the material like it offends him.

“Let me-“ Dan mumbles, pushing at Phil’s shoulders. Phil bites down on his nipple then, and Dan keens. It’s never felt so good before, but when they’re like this, it’s never better. “Fuck, fuck,” Dan chants, holding onto his willpower by a thread.

“You will,” Phil mumbles against his skin, kissing his way across to Dan’s other nipple, which has been quite ignored so far. In a feat of coordination Dan wouldn’t have thought him capable of, Phil manages to shuffle his lower half enough to yank Dan’s jeans down past his thighs without stopping the movements of his mouth.

If Dan wasn’t so stupidly turned on, he’d probably say something about how impressed he is.

Phil massages Dan’s thighs with gentle pressure for a while, kissing and sucking and biting at Dan’s nipple all the while. Dan is leaking through his pants at this point, and he makes a very pathetic sort of noise when Phil brushes a hand over his cock.

When Phil pulls away, it gives Dan just a brief moment to recover, but he still squirms under the heat of Phil’s gaze. “What?” Dan finally asks, when Phil won’t stop staring at him.

Phil shakes his head slowly, blinking like he’s coming out of a dream. Dan is positive that it shouldn't be as hot as it actually is. “You’re so gorgeous,” Phil murmurs, rubbing gently over Dan’s thigh.

Dan covers his blushing face with a squeak. He’ll never get used to this naked appreciation that Phil has for his body. A traitorous corner of his mind reminds him that he better not get used to something he’s not even allowed to keep. Dan clears his throat, twitching his head like he can shake the thought away.

“You know...” he starts slowly, a certain conversation coming back to him. “You said that part of the photo series was about sex, right?”

Phil freezes a little then. He’s quick to recover, but not quick enough for Dan not to notice it. “Sexual intimacy,” he corrects, his voice soft. “What about it?”

Dan shifts his hips pointedly. “I think this might be prime photo taking time, bub,” he jokes.

Something shifts in Phil’s face, and he stares down at Dan like he’s grown a second head. “You want me to take them now?” He asks.

Dan shrugs. “Might as well. We’re horny, and all. Kind of makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Phil draws his hands away from Dan’s thighs, and Dan immediately craves his touch again. “I thought you... I thought we were going to...”

“Fuck? Well, that’s the plan, yeah. Doesn’t mean you can’t get your photo thing done too. Two birds, one stone.” Dan doesn’t intend to sound so tetchy, but Phil’s hesitation is getting under his skin. Has he changed his mind? Is Dan’s body not good enough to be photographed in the light of intimacy? His head swirls with self doubt as he sits up. “Look, we don’t have to, but-“

Phil stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “No, we... that’s okay. I’ll, um... let me grab my camera.” His voice sounds wobbly all of a sudden, and Dan frowns.

“Phil, I-“

“It’s fine,” Phil interrupts, climbing off the bed. His face is horribly neutral, and Dan feels a churning, the bad kind, in his stomach.

He watches, wordlessly, as Phil leaves the room, returning a few minutes later with the fancy camera he totes around with them nearly everywhere they go. Dan tries not to glare at the stupid thing. Phil climbs back onto the bed and goes to straddle Dan’s lap again, clicking different things on the camera before holding it up. “Tilt your head,” he says softly.

Dan does, but Phil makes a tutting noise like it’s not what he wanted. Before Dan can ask for better instructions, Phil shifts forward, the movement effectively causing their hips to grind together. Dan can’t help his very human response, tossing his head back with a quiet moan. He hears the camera shutter, and for some reason his skin crawls. He tries to ignore it in favor of grinding up for more of that delicious pressure, reaching out blindly to grip Phil’s hips and pull him closer.

The camera goes off a few more times, but eventually Phil leans away and Dan hears the sound of it being set gently onto Phil’s bedside table. Dan opens his eyes, glancing around until he catches Phil’s gaze. Something has changed. Phil’s got a guarded look in his eye, and Dan feels his stomach clenching with nerves.

“Phil,” he whispers, reaching up and stroking Phil’s cheek gently. He watches as Phil’s eyes slip shut and he leans into the touch. Dan breathes out a sigh of relief at that. It’s a gamble, sometimes, showing even the slightest amount of affection. Because no matter how Phil reacts, Dan has to remember to keep his guard up, protect himself first and worry about the consequences of it all later.

“I want you,” Phil breathes against Dan’s palm.

“You have me,” is Dan’s immediate response. Even if it’s a lie, it’s a lie he feels comfortable telling, as long as it settles whatever is making Phil look so despondent.

Phil blinks at him, raising an eyebrow like a question. Dan nods. It’s worth it for the smile it puts on Phil’s face, for the way he looks down at Dan like he’s given him the world. It’s worth it even though it tears a hole in Dan’s chest. Phil presses a gentle kiss to Dan’s palm then, and Dan knows he’s absolutely fucked.

“How do you normally like it?” Phil asks, pulling away and doing an odd little wiggle to free himself from his pants. Even as ridiculous as he looks, Dan is naturally very distracted at the sight of his cock, and it takes him a second to process what Phil said.

“Oh, uh,” Dan says stupidly. Phil is looking at him with a smug little smirk, and Dan begs his brain to stop being so fucking gay, for like two seconds. “I’m not picky,” he eventually comes up with.

Phil’s lips twitch. “Really?”

Dan nods, watching the way Phil sits up on his knees and begins tugging at Dan’s jeans, which until this moment, Dan had honestly forgotten he was still wearing. “I’m easy,” he says, trying for a flirty tone but not quite getting there.

Phil snorts. He finally pushes the jeans down to Dan’s ankles, leaving Dan to finish kicking them off, paying no mind to how they crumple to the floor in a sad little heap. “Do you think you can handle it if I ride you?” Phil asks, tilting his head.

Dan’s not sure if he wants to laugh or moan. “Uh, yeah,” he stutters out stupidly.

“You sure?” Phil gives him a doubtful look. Dan almost bristles, but then Phil’s hand is diving under the band of his pants and wrapping around his hardness, and Dan can’t find it in himself to even be mildly offended.

“Fuck,” Dan whines. “Yes, just let me-” Dan wiggles helplessly, trying to push his pants off with the use of only one hand. His other is clutching Phil’s thigh, trying to keep himself under control while Phil wanks him.

Phil laughs quietly as he watches Dan struggle but he finally pushes at Dan’s pants, freeing him from them at last. “Are you comfy there?”

Dan nods, but flails an arm above his head in search of a pillow. Phil rolls his eyes and reaches out, tugging on the pillow Dan normally uses when he sleeps over. He pats at Dan’s shoulder to get him to sit up, and when he does, Phil gently places the pillow under his head before pushing his shoulders back down. “Better?” Phil asks.

“Yeah,” Dan says with a smile. “C’mere.” He tugs at Phil’s body, trying to manhandle him onto himself. Phil giggles, like actually giggles, as he complies, straddling Dan’s hips like before. Their nakedness is hard to ignore now, especially when Phil settles, their cocks rubbing together without a barrier between them. Dan groans, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling.

“You okay?” Phil asks, rocking his hips gently.

Dan swats at him lightly, with absolutely no force behind it. “Don’t be a tease, you know I hate that,” he complains.

Phil grins. “I know you pretend to hate it,” he says, leaning down and kissing Dan’s mouth wetly.

Dan loses himself in it for a bit, forgetting to defend himself entirely. Instead he arches into the kiss and strokes his hands down Phil’s back, trailing his fingers down until he reaches the small of Phil’s back. He pauses there, stroking his fingertips up and down, but Phil arches, making a needy little noise in his throat, and Dan grins, pulling away from the kiss to speak. “Yeah?”

Phil nods, his eyelids fluttering shut. “Yeah. Touch me.”

Dan certainly doesn’t have to be told twice. He pushes his hands down further, kneading Phil’s ass cheeks with a firm hand. Phil groans, pressing back into the touch, and Dan feels a hot surge of arousal in his gut. It’s so beyond sexy for Phil to be on top of him like this, and then for him to be making those noises... Dan can hardly stand it.

“Condom?” He breathes against Phil’s jaw, trailing wet kisses along the smooth expanse of skin. Part of Dan wishes it was a bit stubbled, and then he’s wishing that he’d had the foresight to ask for something a little different. He’s never personally experienced it, but he’s heard good things about being rimmed by someone with facial hair, and he thinks if Phil put off shaving for a couple days, he’d be well on his way to a decent beard.

Dan shakes himself out of his horny fantasy when Phil moves off his lap. The whine that comes out of Dan’s mouth is embarrassing at best, and Phil rolls his eyes when Dan makes grabby hands for him. “Calm down, you actual goblin,” Phil chastises as he looks through the top drawer of his nightstand.

When he finds what he’s looking for he makes a little trumpet noise. Dan’s so endeared with him that it’s actually kind of ridiculous. Phil smiles at him with the same little happy grin he gets sometimes when he makes Dan smile, and Dan reaches out for him. His hand finds Phil’s thigh, and Dan scratches at the hair there while he watches Phil fight with the corner of the condom package.

“Need some help?” Dan asks, his voice softer than he’d intended.

Phil huffs, but shoves the packet into Dan’s hand with an adorably frustrated noise. “Stupid plastic,” he mumbles.

Dan nods as he rips the corner off easily. “Bad for the turtles,” he says mindlessly.

When he glances up, Phil is smiling at him stupidly. “Yeah,” he says, his tone affectionate. “Bad for the turtles.”

Dan grins and gets to work rolling the condom on, squinting when he realizes that it’s a bright blue color. “Uh, is this gonna like dye my dick blue or something, mate?”

Phil scrunches his face up in adorable disgust at that. “Okay, first of all- ew. Don’t call me “mate” when we’re...” he gestures between them pointedly, making eyes at Dan’s penis. “Secondly, no, you weirdo. Your dick will be fine, I just thought they were neat.”

He’s got a little flush on his cheeks when he’s finished with his rant, and Dan has to bite his tongue to keep himself from cooing at him. “Okay, babe, whatever you say,” Dan says, mostly teasing.

Phil bites his lip, but Dan can tell that the pet name does something to him. It may just come from a point of arousal instead of affection, but Dan will take what he can get. “Here,” Phil says, grabbing Dan’s hand and putting something in it.

When Dan looks down, he’s met with a bottle of lube, and he smirks. “You don’t want to put it on me?”

It was meant as a joke, but Phil’s nose crinkles like the idea disgusts him. Dan tries not to take offense. “I don’t like the texture,” he admits. “That’s why I prefer to, like, prepare in the shower. It’s cleaner and I can just wash the lube off my hands right there.”

Dan nods in understanding. Phil was a bit peculiar about textures of things that he touched. “Maybe next time I can help you out with that?” He means for it to come out as a sexy suggestion, but halfway through the sentence he loses his nerve and it comes out as more of a nervous question.

Phil leans down and kisses his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says simply. Then he nudges Dan’s hand. “Alright, get to work, I’m not getting any younger.” He waggles his eyebrows as he says this, making Dan snort.

“Bossy,” he mumbles as he pours a dollop of lube onto his hand. He tries not to feel watched as he covers himself with it, but he can feel Phil’s eyes on him like a touch. Instead of psyching himself out, he leans into the feeling, giving himself a couple good wanks before drawing his hand back. “Reckon that’s enough?” He asks as Phil settles in his lap again.

Phil shrugs. “You can add more if it isn’t,” he says with a cheeky grin.

Dan rolls his eyes, but Phil’s already sitting up and looking at him expectantly, so Dan reaches down, carefully guiding himself to Phil’s waiting hole. He grips Phil’s hip with his free hand, smiling when Phil reaches down to grip his wrist in a loose hold. They’re both quiet when Dan presses into Phil for the first time, almost holding their breath. It takes Dan a second to realize that Phil actually is holding his breath and he moves his hand to hold Phil’s, squeezing gently.

“Breathe, baby.”

Phil takes in a noisy breath, and his body relaxes enough for Dan to push inside past the first tight ring of muscle. He’s already sweating, the pressure he feels around the head of his cock absolutely maddening already. “Thrust up a bit,” Phil whispers, balancing himself with one hand on Dan’s chest, his other still kept in Dan’s grip.

Dan immediately obliges, pausing only to decipher the noise Phil makes when he bottoms out. “You okay?” He whispers, reaching up and stroking Phil’s chest in a soothing sort of way.

“Yeah,” Phil breathes, nodding. “It’s just, like... been a while.”

It’s stupid how happy those words make Dan. “Same,” he murmurs, trailing his hand up and petting at Phil’s collarbones.

Phil smiles down at him, shifting his hips a little to get used to the stretch. He leans down slowly, taking care not to disrupt the position, and peppers Dan’s face with kisses, only some of them landing on his lips. It feels like so much, all of this affection while he’s buried balls deep inside his best friend, and as much as Dan craves it, he can feel himself beginning to suffocate underneath it all.

Gently, so as not to hurt or surprise Phil, Dan reaches down to grip his hips, pulling out a little ways and thrusting back in. Phil moans against his cheek, and Dan smiles. “Good?” He asks, just to make sure.

“Yes,” Phil whispers. “Right- right there!” He nearly squeals the last part as Dan thrusts a few more times, keeping his angle. He must’ve managed to find Phil’s prostate like this, so he reaches one hand up to grip the back of Phil’s neck, holding him in place.

“You feel so good,” Dan whispers. It’s the truth, Phil always feels good whether they’re sharing a kiss, giving each other blowjobs, or just brushing shoulders as they sit on the couch watching a film. He realizes with a start that as incredible as this is, this isn’t even his favorite way to feel Phil, not by far.

“Mm,” Phil moans, barely coherent. Dan looks at him and smirks when he sees how out of it Phil is, watery, hooded eyes and his teeth digging into his bottom lip in a very Dan-esque fashion. “Meant to be riding you, though,” Phil finds enough brain cells to mutter.

Dan pulls him in for a wet kiss. He can’t not, not with Phil looking like this sat on his cock. When he releases him, he does so completely, tossing his arms over his head to rest on the pillow. He settles Phil with a challenging look. “Okay, so what am I doing all of the work for?”

Phil narrows his eyes at him as he sits up. “You lazy git,” he says, with no bite in his voice.

Dan smirks. “I could say the same about you.”

“Pft.” Phil seems to take this as a personal challenge, steadying himself on Dan’s chest with both hands before he begins moving his hips, doing little bounces at first before eventually abandoning that to grind in tight little circles.

Dan moans. Loudly.

“Fuck.”

“Shh, my neighbors will hear us,” Phil chastises.

Dan groans. “Fuck the fucking neighbors.” He grips Phil’s hips, digging his thumbs in a bit harder than he normally would, and he would probably feel bad if he had the brain capacity to think about it.

“Nah, I don’t think I will,” Phil says smugly.

Dan wants to roll his eyes in annoyance, but Phil just feels too good. He can’t focus on anything but tight, wet heat and searing blue eyes. “God. Make me come,” he grunts, grinding up into Phil. They’d been having sex together long enough that Dan knows Phil doesn’t mind him being a little bossy.

Phil shakes his head though, grinning. “Me first,” he says, grabbing Dan’s hand and pulling it over to his neglected cock. Dan’s pleasantly surprised to find that it’s only flagged a little, still mostly hard. It only takes him a couple of strokes to get him back to full hardness, but then Phil whines like he’s in pain.

“What?” Dan asks, immediately releasing him and stilling his hips. “Are you okay?”

Phil pouts. “It’s getting all tacky and drying out,” he complains.

It takes Dan’s horn-driven brain a second to understand what he’s talking about. “Oh, hang on, let me-“ he reaches blindly until his hand discovers the discarded bottle of lube, and he pats Phil’s hip with his dry hand so he’ll climb off for a second. As Dan’s lathering himself back up, he notices Phil rubbing at his thighs. “You alright?

“Yeah. Little tired though. My thighs hurt.” Phil gives him an apologetic smile.

Dan returns the smile easily. “That’s fine. Do you wanna try this a different way?”

Phil gives him a sheepish look. “Do you mind?”

He’s so considerate. Dan cares for him more than he wants to admit. “Not at all. How about...” he shuffles around on the bed, moving the pillow further up so that it’s out of the way. “Do you want to lay down or would you be okay on all fours?”

It’s funny, the horny expression that crosses Phil’s face as he considers the options. “I think... for now I think I'll lay down. I’m so out of shape, and my legs already feel a bit like jelly.”

Dan giggles. “Alright. Well, get comfy, then.”

As Phil settles himself on his back, he seems to be mulling something over. “I do want to try the- the other one. Like, some other time, obviously, but I do want to try it like that as well.” He sounds nervous, even shy, and Dan feels it settle somewhere in his chest.

“Sure,” he says quietly. He settles himself between Phil’s legs, running his hands up Phil’s calves and stopping at his knees. “You think you can be flexible for me?”

Phil nods. Dan helps him settle back, then brings both of his legs over Dan’s shoulders. Phil looks a little ridiculous, but he grins up at Dan, so Dan smiles back, tilting his head to kiss his knee. He curses himself afterwards, at the soft look Phil gives him. He’s probably already thinking of ways to distance himself from Dan, to tell Dan that they really should just finish the stupid photo series then never speak to each other again.

At least, that’s what’s running through Dan’s head at first. After a moment, however, Phil distracts him again by speaking in a soft voice.

“Are you okay?”

Dan can’t help but smile down at him. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Phil tilts his head. He looks like a curious puppy. Dan keeps that thought to himself.

“About what?”

Dan nearly freezes at the innocent question, but reminds himself to stay calm to avoid suspicion. Instead of telling the whole truth, he smirks, reaching down to press his fingers to Phil’s perineum. “You,” he half-lies.

Phil smiles, his eyelids fluttering shut as Dan applies gentle pressure. “Mm. Might wanna start doing me instead of thinking about me, Howell. Running out of time, here.”

Dan knows that Phil’s just joking about it being late, but that cuts deep. He really is running out of time, already. This may be the last time he ever gets to have Phil like this, even if it’s technically the first.

“Hey,” Phil murmurs. Dan’s eyes refocus on him, and Phil smiles, a little twitch of his lips. “Come back,” he says.

Dan smiles at him. “I’m here,” he replies.

Phil reaches up, stroking Dan’s arms in gentle sweeps. “No. You were stuck in your head. Get out of there, come be with me for a little while.”

It’s stupid, but for a moment Dan thinks he might cry.

Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss to Phil’s mouth. “I’m with you,” he murmurs, reaching down to line himself back up.

Phil gasps against his mouth when Dan presses back inside, but it’s a good noise, Dan thinks. “Mm,” Phil hums. “This is better.”

“Yeah?” Dan asks, grinning.

Phil nods, twirling his fingers around a curling piece of Dan’s hair. “I can feel you even deeper like this,” he murmurs, sounding inexplicably fond.

Dan makes a noise that’s somewhere between a whine and a whimper, and Phil tugs at his hair, pulling him down for a kiss. Dan slows his thrusting to a grind so they don’t knock their teeth together too much, and Phil opens his mouth up for him with a soft noise.

It’s softer like this, Dan realizes. They’re slow and careful as they drag fingers over damp skin and press kisses to any place they can reach. Dan’s never been a fan of the term, but this feels more like making love than anything he’s ever heard described in any movie or book.

He’s quick to bat that thought away though. If there’s one thing he understands about their arrangement, it’s that this is temporary.

He doesn’t want to think about that right now, though. Not when Phil is squeezing around him so tightly and he’s making these sounds, like he feels just as good as Dan does. So instead he does what any sensible person would do, sitting up and reaching down to take Phil’s dripping cock in his hand.

Phil keens, and Dan hides his pleased smile against Phil’s knee. “Good?” He asks softly.

Phil nods jerkily. “Really good,” he breathes. “Just, ah-“ he flaps his hand vaguely. “Bit dry.”

“Oh, hang on.” Dan pulls his hand away in search of the lube, but keeps idly thrusting his hips while he searches the sheets for it. Phil whines, and Dan glances down at him with a smirk. “There it is,” he says, brandishing the little bottle triumphantly when he spots it near Phil’s shoulder.

“Pour some more on you, too,” Phil says, reaching up to hold his thighs close to his chest so Dan can pull out.

Dan nods, resting a hand against the back of one of Phil’s thighs as he dribbles a bit over the length of his cock, pushing back in gently and glancing up at Phil to gauge his reaction. “Is that good enough?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Phil nods, gripping at his own hair. “I just don’t like the drag when it starts drying out.”

Dan smiles. He loves learning all these little intricacies about his favorite person. “You like it wet, no shame in that,” he teases, pouring a dollop on his hand and tossing the bottle to the side before wrapping Phil up in a tight grip. He’s learned a few things about how Phil likes to have his dick touched over the weeks that they’ve been doing this, and nothing is better than getting to practice them all.

Phil blushes at what Dan said, but doesn’t argue. “God,” he murmurs instead. “I’m getting really close, baby.”

Dan’s whole body tingles at the pet name. “Okay,” he murmurs, using his free hand to drag Phil’s legs back over his shoulders. He kisses Phil’s knee, trailing across to nip gently at a bit of thigh. Phil jerks, and Dan smiles down at him innocently.

“Cannibal,” Phil says affectionately.

“You like it,” Dan argues.

Phil doesn’t deny it. Instead, he shifts his hips to grind up against Dan, his eyes fluttering closed as Dan tightens his grip, wanking Phil’s cock with purpose. Phil sighs, a little punched out noise that has Dan feeling desperate, his hips driving in faster and harder to reach that place that Phil’s at.

It doesn’t take long. Listening to Phil’s noises and feeling his tight, wet heat around Dan’s cock are recipes for an early finish, but Dan is still a little impressed at how long he’s managed to hold out. Still, he feels a little bad for how quickly he’s approaching that finish line, with Phil still whining and twitching beneath him, like he can’t quite reach it himself.

“C’mon, bub,” Dan breathes, nipping at Phil’s thigh again and twisting his wrist on an upstroke. “I want you to come first.”

“I’m trying,” Phil whines. “It’s- it’s too much, too-“

Dan gets a weird idea. Weird, because, well, it feels incredible to be buried inside Phil’s body like this, as close as two people can be, and honestly someone would have to fight to pull him away from that any other time.

So it’s weird that instead, he pulls out gently, shushing Phil’s noise of protest as he crawls down Phil’s body so that he’s level with Phil’s cock. “Oh,” Phil breathes when Dan ghosts his lips over the tip, dragging his mouth down lower to kiss and suck at his balls. His hands go exploring, searching lower until he finds exactly what he’s looking for.

Phil groans when Dan pushes two fingers inside, and Dan hears the complaint before Phil has a chance to make it. “Your hand’s too dry, Danny.”

“Shh, I know,” Dan placates him, pulling his hand out after a gentle prod around. He glances up at Phil for a second, and when he sees that Phil’s got his eyes closed, head thrown back, Dan grins. Phil’s a little on the shy side about certain parts of sex, and so he’s not sure how Phil would feel about this particular idea if Dan were to ask him.

So instead of asking with words, Dan gives a last gentle kiss to Phil’s balls, then kisses further down, slow enough that Phil could stop him if he wanted.

He doesn’t.

Dan reaches his destination and places a light kiss to the pink puffy rim before him, and he hears Phil’s sharp intake of breath.

“Dan,” he breathes, his voice tight.

“Can I?” Dan asks, excited. He loves doing this for people, even though it wasn’t something he was often allowed.

Phil seems to be struggling to decide. “I...”

Dan kisses him there again, gently. “I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he says softly, looking up at Phil with what he hopes are perfect puppy eyes.

Phil reaches down, brushing Dan’s damp, curling hair out of his eyes. “Yeah,” he agrees after a moment. “Just...” He looks embarrassed.

Dan thinks he gets that. He’s not usually shy about sex like Phil is, but he understands how nerve wracking this particular sex act is, especially with a new partner. “I’ll make it good for you,” he promises, grabbing Phil’s hand and pressing a quick kiss to his palm.

Phil rubs his thumb over Dan’s lips. “I know,” he says softly. He shifts to give Dan more room, and Dan takes that as an invitation.

He dives back in, gentle, just like he promised. He starts with kisses at first, just gentle brushes of his lips while one hand reaches up to wank Phil’s cock, which is still rock hard and hot. Dan slowly introduces a bit of tongue, just an occasional brush against Phil’s rim until he hears him whimper. Dan can tell without looking that it’s a good noise, Phil’s legs shaking with pleasure.

After that, Dan’s a little less cautious. He’s basically making out with Phil’s hole, so he fully commits to it, pressing his tongue in as far as it’ll go, using one hand to hold Phil in place. He struggles to get the position right at first, but then Phil’s hands appear, reaching down to hold himself open, giving Dan plenty of space to work. Dan glances up at him with a grin and a wink. “Thanks,” he mumbles against Phil’s puffy hole as he dives back in.

He laps and sucks and fucks him with his tongue, and eventually Phil is grabbing his hair, moaning loudly above him. Dan will pat himself on the back for this later, but right now he just really, really wants to make Phil come.

“Close,” Phil breathes. “Really fucking close.”

Dan doubles his efforts, wanking him fast and sucking hard and it takes just two, three strokes, and then Phil’s body is seizing up, tight like a wire before he finally releases with a long sigh.

Dan kisses his hole once more, nuzzling his thigh gently before kissing his way back up, lapping at the come cooling on Phil’s stomach just a bit, just enough that Phil groans and squeezes his eyes shut when he looks down and sees him.

Then, Dan decides it’s his turn. He’s hard and aching and ready to burst, but he’s polite enough to give Phil some space to recover. For a moment, at least, and then he’s tugging the condom off and swinging his legs over Phil, rutting his cock against the come smeared all over his stomach.

“Fuck, Dan,” Phil groans. “You’re gonna make me hard again.”

Dan shrugs. “That’s fine. We can go again. Maybe you can fuck me this time,” he says with a cheeky grin. He’s mostly kidding. He’s already feeling exhausted, and at this point he just wants to come his brains out and then immediately pass the fuck out for the night.

Phil seems to be on the same page. “Maybe another night,” he says vaguely, reaching forward and gripping Dan’s hips. “Come here, I’ll blow you the rest of the way.”

Dan smiles and crawls up Phil’s body to straddle his chest, holding his cock to Phil’s lips. “Here comes the airplane,” Dan says in a stupid voice.

“Shut up,” Phil laughs. He tugs Dan forward by his ass, holding his mouth open like a baby bird.

Dan really needs to stop with the childish references before he gives himself a complex.

Instead, he focuses on the feeling of Phil’s mouth. Dan thinks that he’s got this down to a science by now, knows all the right places Dan likes to have touched when he’s getting a blowjob, knows the exact pressure he can use when sucking to really make Dan’s eyes roll back in his head. It’s kind of perfect, if he’s being completely honest.

It doesn’t take him long, not with how long he’s been aching to come, and when he does it’s with a long whine and a full-body shiver. Phil swallows and gives his cock a sweet little kiss, looking up at him with this adoring smile.

“I love it when you do that,” he says.

Dan quirks an eyebrow. “Do what? Come in your mouth?” He smirks.

Phil rolls his eyes, pinching his naked hip in reprimand. “No. That cute little shiver thing you do when you come. It makes me feel like I did a good job.”

And that’s... really adorable, that Phil would even be worried about that.

Dan scoots himself down Phil’s chest so that he’s laying flat on top of him, then smashes their lips together messily. He can taste himself on Phil’s tongue, sharp and salty and a little bit gross. He still likes it though, probably more than he should. So he lets himself indulge for a while, relaxing his weight onto Phil’s body and plying him with kisses.

Eventually, Phil pushes him away a bit. “I’m covered in semen,” he says matter-of-factly.

Dan sits up, looking down at the mess now smeared across both of their chests. “I suppose we both are,” he observes. “Wonder what we ought to do about that.”

Phil smiles tiredly. “Can we just do a quick wash up? I’m really tired.”

“Sure,” Dan nods. He goes to climb off of Phil’s lap, when a thought hits him. “Should we do some more photos?”

Phil flinches. “Now?”

Dan shrugs. “Yeah. I mean... I’m all debauched, I reckon that’s what you’re going for, right?”

Phil stares at him for a long time. Dan feels his gaze like a brand, and it makes him twitch. Finally, Phil shakes his head. “No. I got enough photos for that part.”

“Oh,” Dan says slowly. “Okay.”

There’s a moment of silence as they stare at each other, and then Phil leans back, closing his eyes. “Can you go get something to clean us up with?” His voice is flat.

Dan’s heart squeezes. “Sure,” he whispers. He feels chastised, even if Phil really hadn’t said anything out of order. He climbs off of Phil gingerly, being careful not to touch him more than necessary. It feels wrong, now, to be this naked together, and Dan makes sure to grab his pants from the floor on his way out, as well a random shirt. It’s probably not his, but they’ve fallen into a habit of sharing clothes a lot lately so there’s a good chance that it might be.

He goes to the bathroom and wets a cloth, carefully cleaning himself up and dressing in silence. His heart is racing all of a sudden, like he’s two seconds away from a panic attack, and he really, really doesn’t want to deal with that on top of everything else right now.

Quietly, he returns to Phil’s bedroom with the damp cloth, hovering by the bed awkwardly, looking down at Phil, whose eyes are still closed. His breathing is too uneven for him to be asleep, but Dan feels strange, like he’s not supposed to speak to him when he’s like this. He tries not to think about which part of his childhood instilled this particular behavior.

“I can feel you staring at me,” Phil says suddenly, interrupting the weird, tense silence.

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles.

Phil blinks up at him, and Dan’s never seen him look so tired. Like the weight of the universe is clinging to his shoulders. “Clean me up?” He asks, voice soft.

Dan’s shoulders relax and he lets out a breath. “Yeah, course,” he murmurs. He drags the cloth over Phil’s chest and stomach, wiping away all the evidence of their activities, then carefully cleans up around his dick before going lower. Phil hisses, and Dan stops immediately. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just sensitive. Be gentle.” Phil looks at him with kind eyes, like he already knows that Dan will do his best.

“Yeah,” Dan agrees. He carefully cleans up the tacky, drying lube, and when he’s finished, he holds the cloth in his hand, slightly disgusted.

“Just toss it wherever,” Phil says, flapping a hand, uncaring. “It’ll get into the wash eventually.”

Dan at least has the decency to drop it far enough from the bed that there’s very little chance that either of them will step on it, but with empty hands, he’s suddenly unsure of his purpose. He shifts awkwardly near the door, hesitating. He wants to stay, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed. They don’t always sleep together after, well, sleeping together, but tonight... Dan really fucking wants to.

“Are you coming to bed or are you just going to stand there creeping?” Phil asks eventually, looking over at Dan like he’s gone crazy.

Dan could crumple with relief at that. “Yeah,” he says, making his way back across the room and sliding into bed next to Phil. “I wasn’t sure if, like, you wanted me to stay.”

Phil snorts. Dan tries not to be offended, since he doesn’t really know the reason for the rather unattractive sound. “I always want you to stay,” Phil mumbles, wrapping around Dan like an octopus once he’s settled.

“Me too,” Dan whispers, wrapping his arms around Phil’s waist. He’s clinging, but Phil is too, a bit, so Dan doesn’t feel too guilty. He does realize, however, that Phil is still naked. This feels like it needs to be said. “You’re naked,” he says softly, stroking Phil’s shoulder with gentle sweeps.

“Mm,” Phil hums. “Yeah. That okay?”

Dan snorts. “Of course. As long as you’re comfy.”

Phil nuzzles him then, like a proper nuzzle, and Dan knows he’s not going to be able to escape his very real feelings for much longer.

“Dan?” Phil says eventually, breaking the lull of almost-sleep Dan has fallen into.

“Hm?” Dan mumbles, his eyes already closed.

Phil’s quiet for long enough that Dan is mostly asleep when he speaks again. “You like me, don’t you?”

Dan hums, a sleep-drunk noise that’s barely coherent.

“Dan,” Phil says again, nudging him. “You do, right?”

“Mhm,” Dan mumbles, sighing noisily and snuggling in close to Phil. “Like you best,” he says nonsensically.

Phil makes a noise then, that Dan’s mostly-asleep brain deciphers as a pleased noise. He whispers something against Dan’s hair, but Dan loses it to the clutches of sleep.

~~~

When Dan wakes up, he knows something is wrong. It’s still dark out, but the bed is empty and the sheets are cold, and even as he tries to claw his way out of the haze of sleep, he knows that something about that should raise some alarm.

“Phil?” He calls, patting around on the bed for his phone. The screen is too bright when it powers on, showing a hideous three a.m. that makes Dan want to gag. But part of him, the part that’s spent maybe fourteen nights with Phil so far, is very concerned about this turn of events.

Quietly, as if there’s someone to wake, he crawls out of the bed, shivering in the chilled air. He quickly grabs a random blanket that’s thrown over the back of Phil’s desk chair, wrapping it around his shoulders as he goes in search of Phil.

A peek into the bathroom and kitchen has him coming up empty, so he journeys into the lounge, unnerved by how quiet and dark everything is. He shivers as he turns slowly in the space, and his breath catches when he sees movement out on the balcony.

He relaxes when he realizes that it’s Phil, and paces over to see what the fuck has him out of bed and in the cold, half-dressed at three in the morning. Dan taps on the glass door before he slides it open, making sure Phil isn’t startled by his presence.

It appears he needn’t have bothered, as Phil barely glances at him when Dan steps out on the balcony. Instead, he stares out at the sky before him, not sparing Dan a single look.

Dan can’t take the silence for long. “Having a nice freeze?” He jokes quietly.

Phil doesn’t laugh. His lips barely twitch. “Yeah,” he says flatly.

Dan shuffles, looking down at his feet. He’s already freezing, and he’s got far more layers on than Phil. Phil, who is only wearing a t-shirt and Sonic-printed pants that peek out from under his shirt just a bit. “Are you cold?” He asks softly.

“Why’re you out of bed?” Phil asks, ignoring his question.

Dan startles a bit at his tone. “I was looking for you,” he says, almost petulant. “I woke up alone, and I wanted to know where you were.”

“Well, you found me,” he says. He still doesn’t look at Dan.

“Yeah,” Dan says slowly. “Wishing I didn’t, to be honest.”

Phil finally glances at him, quirking an eyebrow. “Hm,” is all he says.

“Why’re you being a dick?” Dan asks bluntly. He’s always been one to get straight to the point, as he’s been told by many people in his life.

Phil sighs, settling back in his chair and closing his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low. “I don’t mean to be. I’m just tired.”

Dan takes a risk, stepping forward to stand between Phil’s knees. “So come back to bed,” he mumbles, nudging Phil’s knee playfully with his own.

Phil’s lips twitch in an almost-real smile, and Dan savors that victory while he can. This turns out to be a good thing, because when Phil opens his mouth, it’s not what Dan wants to hear. “You can go back to bed. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

Dan frowns. “I don’t want to go back to bed unless you come too.” He sounds like a child, but he can’t help it.

Apparently Phil picks up on the whiny tone, as well. “Dan, I’m really not in the mood,” he sighs.

“In the mood for what?” Dan demands, his temper flaring.

Phil rolls his eyes. That pisses Dan off even more, if it’s possible. “To argue. Just, go to sleep, or watch tv, or something.”

Dan hates himself for it, but he feels rejected. “I’m not trying to argue with you,” he starts, wrapping his arms around himself as a gust of wind blows over the balcony. Phil shivers, and Dan’s heart clenches. “You’re cold,” he says gently.

“I’m fine.”

“Right.”

“Dan, just...” Phil sighs, rubbing his eyes.

Dan doesn’t want to hear what he’s about to say. “Do you want me to leave?” He asks suddenly, his stomach twisting with the thought. London at three in the morning was a terrifying place.

“Of course not,” Phil replies vehemently. “I want you to stay, I just...” he sighs, running his hands through his hair and making it stand up at funny angles. “My head’s being loud,” he murmurs eventually.

“Oh,” Dan replies. This is really the first time Phil has shared this side of himself, this side that feels pain and annoyance and discomfort.

“Yeah,” Phil says. “So I came out here to try and clear it.”

Dan feels guilty, suddenly. “And then I came out here and made it worse,” he fills in.

Phil shakes his head immediately, reaching out for Dan and gripping his hip. “No, you didn’t. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s okay,” Dan mumbles. He hates his body’s natural reaction to this kind of stress, as he can feel hot tears pinpricking his eyes. He blinks rapidly, hoping Phil won’t notice.

Of course, Phil notices. “Come here,” he murmurs, pulling Dan in to sit on his lap.

Dan goes willingly, settling into Phil’s arms that wrap around him, one hand coming up to rub his back in gentle sweeps. “Sorry,” Dan mumbles, wiping at his eyes with the edge of the blanket.

“It’s okay,” Phil says softly. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

“You didn’t,” Dan immediately says. It’s a lie, but his natural instinct is apparently protect Phil first and then feel guilty about it later.

Phil kisses his cheek. “I know that I did,” he says gently. “I’m sorry.”

Dan stays quiet, nuzzling against Phil’s neck, curling up as if he can make himself smaller by sheer will alone.

They sit in silence for a long while and then eventually, Phil sighs. “We should go back to bed.”

“Is your head still loud?” Dan asks.

Phil pats his back, prompting him to climb off his lap. “It is, but it’s fine. I’ll go to sleep eventually.”

Dan doesn’t move from his spot, chewing on his lip as he considers something. He turns so that he’s facing Phil, offering a timid grin. “I think I have a better idea.”

~~~

“This is not exactly what I thought you had in mind,” Phil says, his voice sounding very skeptical.

Dan huffs. “Quit being a hater,” he says, snuggling back against Phil. They’re sat on the sofa, Phil leaning back against the arm with Dan tucked between his legs, his back pressed to Phil’s chest.

Phil kisses his neck. “Sorry. What’re we doing again?” He wraps his arms around Dan’s waist, squeezing him like a teddy bear. Dan doesn’t mind being that teddy bear at all.

“You’re gonna help me decorate my island and my house on the new Animal Crossing game,” Dan informs him, leaving no room for debate.

“And why are we doing this instead of sleeping?”

“Because you said you probably wouldn’t be able to sleep,” Dan says, rolling his eyes.

Phil kisses his neck again, and nuzzles at his shoulder, biting gently and playfully. “Okay, so instead of not-sleeping,” he says, a certain lilt to his voice. “Why are we doing this?”

Dan tilts his head to give him a look. “Because this is just a mindless little video game, and I think it would make you feel better to focus on something unimportant for right now. Something that’ll keep your brain busy but not in a bad way, you know?”

Phil looks at him for what feels like a long time before finally nodding. He kisses Dan’s cheek softly, lingering just a little. “Okay, fine. Let’s check out this island, then.”

~~~

“That is so tacky,” Dan complains.

“It’s not!”

“Phil, it doesn’t match.”

“So?”

Dan groans, crossing his arms petulantly. He’d handed the switch over to Phil when he realized that Phil was already familiar with the concept of Animal Crossing. He hadn’t played New Horizons yet, though, so Dan thought this was a perfect opportunity to get a taste of the game before he committed to buying it for himself.

“I’m gonna have so much to fix when you get done playing,” Dan complains.

Phil pinches his thigh. “Shut up, rat. Now where can I go with all these fossils? Should we sell them?”

Dan screeches, a fair impression of a pterodactyl. “No! Take them to the museum, you tit.”

Phil giggles behind him, and Dan feels it vibrate against his back. “Fine, fine. Where’s the museum?”

Sighing loudly in a very put-upon way, Dan guides him through the game to where his museum is located, screeching and complaining when Phil gets his lefts and rights confused and can’t figure it out. By the time Phil gets there, they’re both giggling uncontrollably, poking at each other repeatedly just to start laughing again. It’s so nice, Dan thinks. This is just what they needed. Even if it is nearly five in the morning and they’ve gotten absolutely no sleep, this is what they needed.

“Hey,” Phil says softly after a few minutes, once they’ve mostly settled down.

“Hm?” Dan replies, watching the screen as Phil makes Dan’s character run around in circles.

“Thank you, for this.” Phil’s voice is quiet, and it almost feels like too much, there in the darkness when they’re wrapped around each other like this.

“Of course,” Dan murmurs to him, tilting his head back and puckering his lips for a kiss. Phil grants him with a gentle peck, and Dan turns back to the game, pretending that the pointless kiss didn’t send an army of butterflies raging through his chest.

“You really knew exactly what I needed to calm down,” Phil says, sounding almost in awe of the fact.

Dan snorts. “Of course. You’re my best friend, Phil.” He hesitates, then, nervous that he may have crossed a line that he’s not ready to cross. “I mean- I may not be yours, and like, that’s fine, I just-“

“You’re mine, too,” Phil says quickly. Dan glances up in time to see Phil blushing. “You’re my best friend.”

They stare at each other for a minute that feels like forever, and then Dan clears his throat. “Right. Glad we got that cleared up,” he says, trying to joke.

Phil tightens his grip on Dan’s waist, and Dan tries to pretend that it doesn’t make his heart pound. “Should we go back to bed?” Phil says softly.

Dan smirks at that. “Round two?”

He feels a laugh vibrate against his back and a kiss pressed to the top of his head. “Don’t know about that, babe. I’m actually kind of exhausted.”

“Yeah,” Dan agrees. “It’s getting late. Or early, depending on how you look at it.”

Phil sighs, nodding. “And I’ve got to meet Martyn in the morning.” For all the time Dan has known him, Phil has never sounded so upset about meeting up with his brother.

“Well we definitely need to hit the sack, then,” Dan says. He pats Phil’s arm that’s wrapped around his waist and sits up. “C’mon, bub. To bed, to bed.”

Phil allows himself to be pulled off the sofa and down the hall into his room. Dan tugs Phil’s shirt off with no other intention than making Phil more comfortable, and Phil’s got a soft look on his face when his head emerges. Dan brings a hand up to rest at Phil’s neck, rubbing his thumb over his pulse gently. It’s a moment that feels like it’s suspended in time, their breaths evening out to match. Dan thinks that maybe, maybe this is what it would feel like if they were actually together. Maybe this hot air balloon feeling would be comfortable someday, if he was allowed to grow more used to it. As it is now, it’s so unfamiliar that Dan feels like he might choke with how overwhelming his feelings are.

“Dan,” Phil breathes in the limited space between their lips.

The moment is shattered, and Dan forces himself to pull away. “I’m tired,” he says. His voice is flat.

He doesn’t miss the hurt on Phil’s face, for the flash of a second that it’s there. It’s gone before he gets the chance to feel properly guilty over it, and Phil’s turning away, crawling under the sheets without a word.

Dan settles on the side he’s come to think of as his own, but there’s an undeniable tension in the air between them now. He pretends there’s not, reaching out and turning off the bedside lamp. “Goodnight,” he whispers once he resettles.

He’s greeted with silence.

~~~

The next morning, Dan wakes up alone.

The light is streaming in through Phil’s shitty blinds, and Dan groans out his discomfort, flailing about like he can will the sunshine away by sheer force alone. It doesn’t work, obviously, but his flailing about does bring his attention to the emptiness of the bed.

He sits up, rubbing the exhaustion out of his eyes with sleep-numb fingers. “Phil?” he calls out. His voice echoes in the quiet of the room.

When he doesn’t immediately hear a reply, Dan starts worrying, because of course he does. He’s never woken up totally alone in Phil’s flat. On the rare occasions when Phil isn’t still in bed with him, Dan always finds him in the kitchen or bathroom, or somewhere. But a quick search of the flat has him coming up empty and he’s trying not to panic, really he is, but he actually can’t help it.

He calms down a little when he notices a note pinned to the fridge. It’s a little ridiculous how relieved he is when he pulls it down to read it.

Dan- I would’ve texted but I didn’t want to wake you up. I’m just out to breakfast with Martyn. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I hope you’ll still be there when I get home. Phil

He’s signed the note with a heart beside his name, and Dan refuses to think about how that makes him feel. Instead he focuses on the last part. I hope you’ll still be there when I get home. The idea that Phil would still want to see him again, after the awkwardness of the night before, makes his heart pound. He feels almost sick with guilt over how he’d acted. But he had been so overwhelmed, with the sex and the emotions that came with it. It was no surprise that he was pushing Phil away by the end of the night.

Dan sighs, folding the note carefully and making his way back to Phil’s bedroom. He tucks the note into his backpack, and then he just sort of stops. He’s not sure what to do, alone in Phil’s flat. It’s not something that’s ever happened before, he realizes with a start. Of course he’s spent the night with Phil before, several times by now, but this is the first time he’s found himself waking up alone on a Saturday in the other man’s flat, with no real idea of when he’s coming back. It’s probably stupid, how much he’s already missing Phil, when he’s got no idea how long he’s even been gone.

It takes Dan a few minutes of searching, but eventually he finds his phone amidst the sheets, and he sighs when he doesn’t see any notifications. He debates with himself for a minute or two, but ultimately decides that yes, he is that pathetic, and opens his chat with Phil. All he does is type out a quick “good morning” before going to find a phone plug, a mocking thirteen percent glaring at him from the top of his screen.

He’s barely gotten the phone plugged in when it vibrates with a notification. It buzzes two more times before Dan manages to swipe over to the messages, and he grins when he sees what’s there.

Phil: hi! Phil: why did we stay up so late 😭 Phil: I swear I have some sort of weird sober hangover

Dan grins as he types out a response, leaning awkwardly on Phil’s desk as he does.

Dan: Idk bub I guess maybe you should’ve stayed in bed Dan: you know, instead of abandoning me

Phil: I had to meet my brother!

Dan: I’m naked though

It’s sort of a lie, since Dan is wearing a pair of Phil’s pants, but he could easily be naked, if he was so inclined.

Phil: ..... okay maybe I should’ve stayed at home

Dan smirks to himself. This part of their arrangement, at least, is easy.

Dan: where r u guys at

Phil: That cafe close to the park Phil: The one you said had hipster vibes

Dan: ew of course martyn would like that place

Dan’s never actually met him but from what he hears from Phil, Martyn’s definitely the hipster-y type.

Phil: You wanna come meet us? Martyn keeps asking about you

Dan: you want me to meet your brother?

He’s trying to be normal about this. Because really, that’s a normal thing. Friends do that. Friends meet their friends’ siblings and families all the time.

It’s the “friends” part that Dan is having trouble with, actually.

Phil: Yes.

Dan hesitates. That does sound kind of nice, actually, but something in him doesn’t really know what his answer should be. He knows what he wants it to be, of course. He definitely knows that.

He must take too long to answer, because suddenly his phone is vibrating in his hand, the constant vibrate of an incoming call. Of course it’s Phil, and of course Dan answers almost immediately.

“I still can’t believe you’re the kind of person who just calls when they don’t get a text back,” Dan says in lieu of a hello.

Phil sounds like he’s smiling when he replies. “Come to the cafe. I’ll buy you breakfast.”

Dan makes a considering noise, as if he’s not already digging around Phil’s dresser for something to wear. “Alright, fine. But I’m not putting out.”

Phil laughs. “Yes you will,” he says quietly. Dan wonders if Martyn can hear both sides of this conversation. “Now hurry up. I want another croissant, but I don’t wanna order twice.”

“Okay but I’m borrowing your clothes,” Dan says, tugging on a pair of dark grey sweats. He goes to the closet, looking through the selection with pursed lips.

“Fine,” Phil says, unbothered. “Wear something warm, it’s cold out.”

Dan smiles. “Okay. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Bye, Dan.” The call disconnects with a click, leaving Dan to select a shirt in silence. He debates with himself for all of a minute before tugging at Phil’s hoodie from his university days, tugging it over his head easily. It’s hideous, but it makes him feel warm when he wears it, both literally and figuratively. It’s well worn with all the years of use it’s seen, but it also makes Dan feel a little possessive. As if anyone who sees him will somehow assume that he belongs to someone just because of a stupid sweater, with a university insignia on it that’s not his own.

He tells his brain to shut the hell up as he makes his way out of Phil’s flat, locking the door behind him with the spare key Phil keeps above the door. He considers slipping it into his pocket but figures that if he comes back it’ll be with Phil anyway, so it would be pointless to pocket the key.

It’s a short walk to the cafe he’s headed for, but he still tucks his AirPods in and scrolls through one of his many pretentiously named playlists until he finds one of his favorite Frank Ocean songs, one that’s really good to listen to while he walks. He hums along as he walks, stuffing his hands in his borrowed hoodie pocket. Phil wasn’t joking about the weather, and Dan’s already regretting his lack of undershirt as the wind nips at every bit of exposed skin.

When the cafe comes into sight, it’s a very welcome thing, and Dan stuffs his AirPods back in their case as he pushes the door open. There’s no happy little bell ringing out the sound of his arrival, not like the little cafe that he and Phil always go to on their own. Still, it’s a warm building, and somewhere in it is the promise of food and Phil, so Dan is pleased to be there anyway.

It doesn’t take him long to spot Phil and his brother sitting at a table towards the back of the cafe. And from the goofy look on Phil’s face, it didn’t take them long to spot him either.

“Hi,” he says when he reaches the table. He didn’t realize it until now, as he’s face to face with the infamous older Lester brother, but he’s nervous. He’s so nervous to meet someone that he knows is so important to a person who’s so important to him.

“Hi,” Phil parrots, sliding over and patting the space of booth next to him. “Cute top,” he smirks as he looks over Dan’s outfit, making Dan’s cheeks flame in mild embarrassment.

When Dan slides in, he offers a smile to the stranger across from them, unsure what to say. He turns to Phil with the intentions of making some sort of joke, but he’s thrown off track by Phil leaning in, planting a short kiss right on his mouth. Dan startles away, his heart racing as he shoots a panicked glance over to Phil’s brother.

Martyn looks completely unbothered, and more unsurprised than Dan thinks he’s really got a right to. “So you must be Dan,” he says, his tone neutral. He’s got a smirk on his face, or what Dan thinks might be one if his eyes weren’t also a bit smiley. “Unless my brother is just in the habit of kissing strange boys.” He sends Phil a funny look, his mouth doing a mimicry of Phil’s precious tongue bite thing.

“Er-“ Dan says with an awkward laugh. “Yeah, I’m Dan.”

Martyn reaches his hand across the table, and Dan accepts the handshake, still a little shaken by the weirdness of the whole encounter. He’s trying not to think about the other reason he feels a little shaken, or the way his lips feel decidedly tingly from Phil’s kiss.

“I’m Martyn, his brother. It’s nice to finally meet you,” Martyn is saying. Dan forces himself to pay attention. “Phil never shuts up about you.”

“Martyn,” Phil hisses. There’s a thudding noise and Martyn winces. Dan knows without asking that Phil just kicked him. Phil smiles sweetly at Dan, and Dan can’t help but lean into the warmth of his gaze. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“Hm,” Dan hums thoughtfully. “There was mention of croissants?”

Phil rolls his eyes, but nods. “I’ll go get you your usual carb selection. Scooch.”

Dan dimples up at him as he slides out of the booth so that Phil can get up to go order. As Phil passes him, Dan makes a split-second decision and kisses his cheek, his body desperate to release some of the affectionate energy he’s got stored up from a morning without him. “Get me something sweet too?” Dan requests as he slides back into the booth.

Phil grins at him. “You’ve already got me, though!”

Martyn makes a retching noise and Dan feels himself blush as Phil trots over to the counter to order their food. Dan forgets to be nervous about being left alone with Phil’s brother for a second, so wrapped up in watching the awkward hand gestures Phil makes as he selects an array of croissants and muffins for them.

His brief reverie is ruined when he hears Martyn clear his throat from across the table. Dan jerks at the noise, startled. Martyn sends him an apologetic smile, and Dan finds himself relaxing. Martyn really isn’t that scary in person.

“If he wasn’t so tall, I’d swear he’s a hobbit,” Martyn says, nodding towards his brother.

It takes Dan a minute to think about it, but he grins when it clicks. “Are we on second breakfast or elevensies?” he jokes.

Martyn laughs, seemingly pleased that Dan understood the reference. “Definitely elevensies,” he says.

Dan smiles, shaking his head in fond exasperation as he sneaks another glance at Phil. “He eats like he’s been starved for twelve years. I don’t know where he puts it all,” Dan jokes, rolling his eyes.

Martyn grins. “One of the world’s greatest mysteries,” he agrees. He glances over at Phil for a second, like he’s checking that he’s still preoccupied, and then he’s turning back to Dan, a thoughtful look on his face. “Phil seems really happy these days.”

“Yeah?” Dan says lightly, trying his hardest not to let that go to his head. He can’t hide the smile it causes though, but he tries, biting down on his lip hard.

“Yeah,” Martyn confirms. He taps the table a little, peeking over his shoulder at Phil again. Phil’s chatting with the barista as they prepare the drinks, and Dan just knows that Phil is trying to tell some weird coffee joke that he tells every time he’s in a coffee shop. Dan’s attention is brought back to Martyn when he speaks again, his voice quieter than before. “We never thought he’d get over his ex-boyfriend, to be honest with you. He was so hung up over him, even after the breakup.” Martyn shakes his head, taking a sip of his coffee with a pained look in his eyes.

Dan feels like he’s been doused in cold water all of a sudden, the thought of there being some other man, some other partner before him... But then again, he reminds himself bitterly, they aren’t partners. They’re just friends who... friends who sleep together sometimes. And that’s enough for Dan. But if that’s all they are, he can’t bear this- hearing about some ex-boyfriend that left Phil broken and obsessed. Some person out there that’s been lucky enough to have the parts of Phil that Dan himself isn’t allowed to have, and then wasted it. He can’t handle it.

Martyn doesn’t seem to notice the breakdown Dan is having, steamrolling right over the topic like it’s nothing. “So I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when Phil told me that he met someone.”

Dan startles at that. The way he phrased it makes it sound like Martyn has a very different perspective on their situation. Almost like Phil told him they were...

“Freshly made breakfast, per your request,” Phil announces as he appears beside the table, his arms laden with various treats and pastries.

“You say that like we don’t know they’re thawed out of a freezer every morning and then chucked in a microwave,” Martyn says, grinning.

“Well... they smell delicious, so surely that counts for something,” Phil says, flapping a hand, completely unbothered by Martyn’s comment. He starts sorting out the food, and Dan doesn’t realize he’s staring until Phil turns to speak to him, freezing when he catches the undoubtedly intense look on Dan’s face. “Are you okay?” Phil asks, his voice dropping to something soft.

Dan nods, trying to shake himself out of it. It’s fine. Everything is fine, so he needs to get a grip and get over himself. “Did you forget our coffee?” He asks, looking pointedly at the table.

Phil makes an offended noise, immediately followed by an “oh- yeah.”

Dan rolls his eyes, looking over at Martyn and shaking his head with a mocking thumb pointed in Phil’s direction. Dan can’t help but grin when Martyn laughs at that. “Scoot over, I’ll go get the coffee,” Dan says, patting Phil’s thigh.

Before he gets the chance to get up, a barista is appearing at their table with two cups of coffee, a small smile on their face. “You forgot your coffee,” they say pleasantly.

Phil looks embarrassed, but nods. “Thank you so much.” He pushes Dan’s cup to him as he gestures at his own head vaguely, saying, “one brain cell, and all that.”

The barista laughs and nods. “Same. Have a lovely day, guys.”

Dan waits until they walk back to the counter and out of earshot before he looks over at Martyn, nodding his head in Phil’s direction. “I can’t believe he told them he had one whole brain cell.” His voice is dripping with false disappointment, and he ignores the noise of protest from Phil.

Martyn grins though, clearly finding this banter delightful. “Right? He’s obviously only got half of one.”

“Hey!” Phil whines. “You can’t team up against me. It’s not fair.”

Dan reaches over and squeezes his knee, letting his hand linger for much longer than is actually necessary. “Don’t worry, bub. I have the other half.”

Phil looks surprised for a second, and Dan revels in the way that look melts into one of delighted affection. Turning to his brother, Phil sticks his tongue out childishly.

Martyn rolls his eyes, reaching over and snatching a croissant, dipping it in his coffee in a decidedly Lester fashion. “You’re a child,” he tells Phil mockingly.

Of course, Phil, ever the younger brother, retorts with a truly impressive: “I know you are but what am I?”

~~~

It’s nearly an hour later when Martyn makes his exit. He apologizes but says he’s got to get back home to his girlfriend, who has some kind of stomach flu. Phil mocks him for leaving her alone all morning, but Martyn has this oddly unbothered look, waving it off and saying, “she’s fine. Corny is a tough bird. She doesn’t need or want me to coddle her.” Phil says he can’t really argue with him there, and they laugh about it, making it clear that there’s something to this Cornelia person that Dan doesn’t quite get, having never met her.

They all clear off their trash and dishes from the table before Phil and Dan follow Martyn to the door. They pause as they stand outside, Martyn and Phil making plans to hang out again sometime the next week. Dan feels sort of awkward stood there, as they haven’t included him in this bit of the conversation, so he pulls his phone out, messing about on Twitter until he hears his name. He tunes back in, glancing up to find Martyn looking at him with a smile.

“Sorry, what?” he asks, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. God, way to look stupid in front of a stranger.

“I just asked if you’d be coming with Phil, when we go out next weekend,” Martyn says, with the air of someone who is not used to accepting no for an answer.

“Oh, er...” Dan looks to Phil helplessly, but Phil just shrugs. He’s smiling encouragingly, like he wants Dan to say yes, so Dan gives Martyn an awkward, uncertain nod. “Uh, sure. Where are you guys going?”

“We’re going with Martyn and Cornelia to have dinner and maybe clubbing a little bit,” Phil replies, giving Dan an apologetic look. He knows how Dan feels about clubbing, and something about that fills Dan with such an ooey-gooey warmth that he finds himself agreeing to it easily, despite how much he despises the club scene.

“Sure, I’m in. Sounds fun,” Dan says with a smile.

Martyn looks pleased, and Dan is surprised when he holds his arms out for a hug. “Cool. Listen, it was nice meeting you, mate. Be good to my little brother, okay?”

“O-kay,” Dan says, stuttering through the word just a bit. He can’t hide his surprise, though, and it only melts into confusion when Martyn pulls away with a wink.

“Bye, Phil,” Martyn says, hugging Phil next. He mumbles something in his ear that Dan doesn’t catch, but Phil’s ears go pink, and Dan decides that he’ll be pestering Phil about it immediately after Martyn leaves.

“Goodbye, Martyn,” Phil says, a little bit strained. He waves his brother off, reaching out and catching Dan’s wrist with the one not waving. Dan thinks he probably means to hold his hand but just doesn’t have the coordination to do both at once.

Dan watches Martyn walk away, then turns to look at Phil. “Your flat is also that way,” he points out, unnecessarily, probably, considering Phil looks like he’d rather choke than have to walk with his brother. Dan’s dying to ask what Martyn could’ve possibly said that would make Phil react like this, but he’s going to give it a moment.

“I know,” Phil says, petulant. He’s a lip twitch away from a full-on pout.

“So... shouldn’t we also be going that way?” Dan teases.

Phil suddenly shakes his head, turning and tugging Dan in the opposite direction. “Nope. We’re going to the park.”

“Are we?” Dan laughs, letting himself be towed along.

“Yep,” Phil says, popping the ‘p’ as he says it. “Gonna buy some bread and feed some ducks.”

Dan shakes his head, adjusting the grip their hands are locked in so that their fingers are properly laced together. He tugs a little on Phil’s arm, slowing Phil down from where he’s walking a pace and a half quicker than Dan. “Bread is bad for ducks,” Dan remarks mindlessly.

“Hm,” Phil hums. He sounds distracted. “Fine, we’ll just look at the ducks.”

Dan shrugs. “Okay.” He waits for a beat. When it’s clear that Phil isn’t going to look at him or speak, Dan cracks. “So what did Martyn say?”

Phil’s face immediately flushes, an incredibly big tell for him. Dan bites back a laugh, squeezing Phil’s fingers reassuringly. “Nothing,” he says quickly. Another tell, and clearly he doesn’t know Dan very well if he thinks that Dan is just going to let it go.

“Come on,” Dan whines, tugging on Phil’s hand. “Tell me! I won’t leave you alone until you tell me.”

Phil rolls his eyes, tugging his hand out of Dan’s grip. Dan feels mildly offended for a moment, but he recovers quickly when he feels Phil’s arm wrap around his shoulders instead. “You’re not wearing anything under this, are you?” Phil asks as he tugs at a hoodie string, ignoring Dan’s pestering entirely.

“No, I’m not,” Dan says quickly, batting Phil’s hand away. “Quit trying to change the subject, I wanna know what he said.”

“It’s really cold out, Dan, you should’ve worn a t-shirt or something underneath this,” Phil continues, a little frown tugging at his lips.

Dan huffs. “I think you’re stalling,” he says.

Phil shrugs, looking away. His ears are still pink, and not the kind you only get from the cold. “I’m not,” he mumbles half-heartedly.

“Was it about me?” Dan asks, excited. He already knows it was, but the way Phil blushes confirms it for him. “It was! What was it?”

Phil sighs deeply. “If I tell you will you drop it?”

Dan nods, holding out his pinky for a sacred pinky-promise. Phil rolls his eyes, but locks their pinkies together anyway. “So?” Dan asks, giddy.

Phil’s quiet for a moment, pulling his arm away from Dan to shove his hands in his coat pockets. Dan feels the loss of his warmth immediately, and leans into his space to get a little of it back. “He told me that he was happy to see me happy,” Phil says quietly.

Dan’s heart squeezes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Phil says with a nod. “And...” he glanced over at Dan, looking away quickly with another flush to his cheeks. “He told me not to screw it up this time.”

At first, Dan is surprised that Martyn would tell him not to screw this up, considering he clearly doesn’t understand the arrangement they have, but then his brain processes the implications of that. Martyn had told Dan that Phil had gone through a terrible breakup, that they thought he’d never get over it... but what he said to Phil makes it sound like he was the one at fault. And despite the fact that they aren’t actually dating, that Dan doesn’t actually really know how Phil is in a romantic relationship, Dan just knows that this cannot be true.

“You couldn’t,” Dan says, leaving very little room for argument.

Phil gives him a strange look. “What?”

Dan clears his throat. “You couldn’t screw this up. You know that, right?”

Phil looks at him like he doesn’t quite agree, but shrugs. “I thought that last time, too,” he mumbles.

Dan’s heart jumps. Phil’s never told him about his previous relationships, and this feels like that might be where this conversation is headed. Dan doesn’t know if he can stand that. It was bad enough to hear Martyn tell it, Dan thinks he might actually be sick if he has to hear Phil tell it as well.

“Phil,” Dan murmurs, reaching out and touching his arm.

“It’s fine,” Phil says with a shrug. “This time will be different.” He turns to look at Dan, a little smile tugging at his lips. “Because you’re different.”

Dan has to pretend that doesn’t make his insides set alight, but oh god, it does. “Right,” Dan murmurs. He doesn’t even know what Phil meant by it, really. Is this different because they aren’t actually dating? Is it different because Dan isn’t like Phil’s mysterious ex? Dan is desperate to know, but he’s afraid to ask.

He didn’t realize how far they’d walked, but his spiral of ruinous thoughts is cut off by Phil tugging at his arm and pointing. “Look! Ducks!”

Dan still has questions, he still wants to know if there’s something else going on between them, but for now he decides to ignore it. There will inevitably come a day where he can’t ignore it, but he decides that today is not that day, and instead allows Phil to drag him over to where the family of ducks is quacking about near the pond.

#phanfiction #phanfic #photographer!phil #student!dan #model!dan (sort of)#strangers to friends to lovers #friends to lovers #best friends #miscommunication #angst #fluff #smut #break up #getting back together #photography fic #take a picture (it'll last longer)#tapill #part 2

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bqstqnbruin · 4 years

Text

From the ground up

Alright y’all, a little switch up from the normally scheduled 10 things programming. But this is 8 pages of fluff that was requested based on the Dan + Shay song From the Ground Up.

This is also very inspired by my grandparents who knew each other for 85 years, were married for 66, had 4 children, 13 grandchildren, and currently 10 great grandchildren, so here’s also their story, but it fits with the song, so why not?

Hope you like it! ______________________

Five Years Old

The snow was falling, all the neighborhood boys were gathering in his front yard to start playing. You two had always been friends, meeting when you were three years old and in the same preschool class. You watched from your bedroom window as the boys started throwing snowballs at each other, something you loved doing with your younger brother. You put on all the winter clothing you can find, running downstairs to beg your mom to go across the street to the Jost’s house to play with the boys.

“Have fun sweetie!” your mom calls once you finally wear her down and convince her that you’ll come in as soon as she calls you in for dinner.

Running as fast as your legs can carry you, more and more children aggregating in their yard, it was an all out war between the guys and girls, snowballs flying. The girls were getting pelted, you coming in and throwing snowballs left and right at any boy who stood in your way. One by one, they surrender, until you were the last one standing. You were the almighty five year old, the winner of the snowball fight.

Someone taps you on the shoulder. You turn around to see who it is only to be met with a snowball to the face. The boys around you were laughing as Tyson stood in front of you with a smirk. You wipe the snow off, staring at him for a minute while the girls stayed silent behind you. The snow was still following, a crown of water droplets forming on around his face as the melted snow clinged to his hair. It wasn’t a crush yet, because you didn’t know what that was. But it was something.

The next thing you know, you’ve tackled him down in the snow, grabbing some off the ground and shoving it back in his face. The kids gather around the two of you, watching Tyson struggle to push you off of him, not succeeding until you hear your mom calling your name from across the street.

“Bye, Tyson!” you jump up, running back inside, leaving all the rest of the kids standing there, looking at Tyson’s wet hair, cold red face, and snow covered back while he watched you run and disappear behind your front door.

Seventeen Years Old

“What do you mean that’s when you knew?” you ask him, his laugh coming through the other end of the phone.

“Any girl who wasn’t afraid of beating up a guy who was bigger than her and actually does it well is the girl for me,” he says, referencing the snowball fight all those years ago. “You didn’t care what other guys thought of you: you got hit unfairly and I paid the consequence.”

“Well, yeah, you think I was going to let you get away with that? Also, we were the same size, you were pretty small then” you tease him. “It’s so corny that you fell in love with me when we were five years old.”

“What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic when it comes to you,” he says, “There’s no one who I would want to be with other than you. The distance thing doesn’t even seem like it’s going to be bad knowing that you’re the one I’m doing it with.”

You feel your insides flutter at his words, wishing that he was there with you now. You two had been together for as long as your moms let you date, spending every moment together that you could. He was your best friend first, your boyfriend second, your forever third. “How are you feeling about going to North Dakota in a few months?” you ask him.

He lets out a long, slightly shaky sigh, “Excited? Nervous?” he tells you, his voice going up at the end of each, “Terrified.”

“It’s a new experience, that’s natural,” you try to reassure him. “You’ve never really done this sort of thing before.”

“Aren’t you nervous about going all the way to Massachusetts?”

Part of you was, part of you wasn’t. You were scared to be away from Tyson, but part of you knew that you would always find your way back to each other, even with the distance between Chestnut Hill and Grand Forks. “About being that far away from home? No, not really.”

“What about being that far away from me?” you hear him squeak out on the other end, barely loud enough for you to really hear the pain that was in his voice.

“I’m not nervous,” you whisper, wishing you could be there with him to physically comfort him, “We’re going to be just fine.”

“How do you know?”

You take a deep breath, knowing that he was going to cry a little if he weren’t already. “We have been best friends since I beat you up that day. No matter what, you’re going to be my best friend. No matter what, I’m going to love you. I don’t care if you’re at UND and I’m at BC. You could go to Sweden and I could end up in New Zealand and I will still always love you.”

You hear him laugh a little, a sniffle followed immediately after. You didn’t need to see his face to know that his nose was red, the goofy grin of his trying to hide the fear that would surely be covering his face.

“Hey, meet me by the gazebo in thirty minutes, ok?” he finally says after what felt like forever sitting there in silence.

“Sure,” you tell him, your phone beeping as a signal that he had hung up. You had no idea what he had planned, but you did as you were told, grabbing your jacket and making your way to meet Tyson. You get there to find him pacing back and forth under the moonlight that was shining down on him. “Hey, babe,” you say, him pulling you in tight for a kiss.

Even though it was summer, the night time brought a cool breeze that sent a shiver through your body even with the jacket on. Tyson takes off his jacket, his favorite one with his name on his back, handing it to you, a smile on his face as he watched you pull it over your head. “So, what are we doing here?”

“This is going to sound crazy,” he starts, knowing that would concern you a little, “but hear me out first. You’re confident that we’ll stay together even being in North Dakota and Massachusetts, but I want to put in stone. Or, I guess, wood,” he says, gesturing to the gazebo.

“What are you talking about?”

“People carve their initials in the wood here all the time. Why don’t we do that, too?”

You smile at him, bending down next to him to watch him carve TJ + YFI/YLI enclosed in a crude heart, next to others that had looked like they had been there for years. “I wonder who all these people are?” you ask, carefully tracing your finger over one that said MR+MD. “I wonder if they’re all still together.”

“Don’t matter,” Tyson shrugs, looking at the way the moonlight dances off your skin, “We’re still together, and I have a feeling we’re going to last.”

Eighteen Years Old

Tyson had no idea you would be there. The College Hockey Showdown was that weekend at Madison Square Garden, the Boston College Eagles playing against the North Dakota Fighting Eagles. One of your roommates was from a small town in southern Connecticut, half an hour outside of the city, so you convinced her to go with you and spend the weekend down there instead of driving the four hours back to Chestnut Hill after the game.

“So, which one is he?” Julie asks as the guys skated onto the ice.

You were in the only section that led you to be surrounded by a sea of maroon and gold, feeling weirdly out of place not wearing team colors but the jacket Tyson gave you that night at the gazebo, which you ended up stealing from him, instead. “Number 17, the curly-haired one,” you point to him as he talks with one of his teammates, his helmet off, making it much easier to see his face.

Tyson had been telling you how nervous the team was about this game: Brock was injured, Trevor was two days shy of a 730 day scoring drought, and the team hadn’t beaten Boston College in 11 years. Not to mention, UND and BC were the two winningest college programs since the 06-07 season, UND having a slight edge over BC, putting that much more pressure on the guys to win this game to help make the gap a little wider. Tyson only rambled off stats about the other team when he was worried about a game against them. It was the first time you would ever be rooting against the college team you had come to love, and only because it involved the boy you love.

“Does he know you’re here?” she asks you, trying to figure out why he wasn’t looking up in the stands for you. When you shake your head no, she picks you up out of your seat, annoying the other Boston College fans while the ones behind you got a good look at the four letters scrawled across your back. “Tyson!” she starts screaming, shaking you in hopes that you would join in with her.

You roll your eyes, knowing that he would be able to hear his name being called once you joined in. You were waiting to see the look on his face when he finally realized you were at the game, so you scream along with her. He hears his name, confused as to where it’s coming from. He looks around the arena, taking what felt like forever to find you. His jaw drops when he sees you, a smile on his face as he frantically waves back at you. He nudges his teammate next to him, pointing up to you. You couldn’t tell what he was saying, but from the joy that covered his face he was excited that you would get to see him play.

The first period goes by, no scoring, not much of anything. The second period was starting, and the blank score on both sides was making you nervous. One of Tyson’s teammates passed him the puck, Tyson taking the opportunity to shoot and scoring his sixth goal of the year. The Garden went crazy, you and Julie the only two in the small section of Boston College fans joining most of the crowd, Tyson pointing right up to you when he skated to the bench. UND went on the power play, his teammate passing him the puck again. At the dot, he fired it past the BC goalie, putting his team up 2-0.

You were overjoyed by Tyson’s game, getting to see him be named first star of the game that UND won 4-3. You manage to sneak your way down to where the boys are, Tyson somehow convincing someone who worked there to let you in once you gave them your name. You saw Tyson giving an interview, the guys passing by him and patting him on the shoulders while he talked. You didn’t hear what they asked him, but you could help but admire him. “That’s part of hockey. There’s going to be momentum swings. We really had to bounce back, but that just shows our character in our team. We’re all warriors in there and I think we proved it tonight.”

The reporter leaves, Tyson turning towards him. He was sweaty, disgusting, smelly, and all of that combined wasn’t enough to stop you from running into his arms as he picked you up in his arms and kissed you for the first time since the day you left. “I can’t believe you’re here!” he practically screams when he puts you down, kissing you again.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you tell him as he goes on about how excited he was that you were there.

“I think you’re a good luck charm,” he says, leading you out of the way from some of the other guys walking around the hallway and plopping you down on the floor. “Hey, I’ve been thinking,” he starts, his voice shaking.

You knew he was nervous by the sound of his voice. You gently squeeze his hand, the smile on his face growing bigger, “Yeah?”

“When you graduate, wherever I’m playing, or even if I’m not, I wanna be living with you.”

“Are you asking me to move in with you after graduation?” you ask him, his sweaty curls moving with his head. “You think we’ll still be together in three and a half years?”

He swallows, looking down at your hands intertwined, sitting on his thigh, “I can’t imagine my life any other way. It’s written on the ground of the gazebo.”

Twenty Two Years Old

You and Tyson were going home for the wedding of one of your cousins. You had been living together for a year now in Colorado, Tyson enjoying his fourth season in the league.

“Hey, can we make a quick pit stop before we head to the reception?” Tyson asks you when you get into the car. Your cousins, Lisa and Brendan get in the back seat, Tyson being deemed the designated driver for the night. You swear you see them smile at each other before looking back at the two of you.

“Yeah, sure, is that alright with you guys?” you ask them, making eye contact through the rearview mirror. They both nod, the four of you talking about the ceremony the entire way to wherever Tyson was taking you. His hands were shaking like he was nervous.

You pull into the park that was down the street from where you grew up. “Come on,” he says, rushing around the car to open the door for you and drag you through the grounds. Lisa and Brendan follow, keeping their distance as Tyson sprinted towards the gazebo.

“We haven’t been here since that night before we left for college,” you observe, looking out over the water that surrounded part of the structure. “Do you think our initials are still here?” you ask him, turning around to find him already on the ground.

“Yeah, right here,” he says, tracing his finger over your initials. He reaches up to pull you down next to him. “Did I ever tell you that my mom's best friend carved hers and her boyfriend's initials here, too?”

“No, do you know which one’s they are?”

He points to the ones by your knees, the same ones you had admired the night Tyson carved you there, MR and MD. “Matthias and Marianne. They’re probably the happiest couple I’ve ever seen.”

You stand back up, not wanting so much of your dress to be on the ground. You look for Lisa and Brendan, who are nowhere in sight. “Hey, where did-” you start, only to be cut off but what you saw in front of you.

Tyson shifted himself to one knee, a small box in his hands with the most gorgeous ring you had ever seen. “I know it’s kind of shitty to be doing this the day of someone else's wedding, but this is the only time I knew we would be here where we first promised to be with each other forever,” he says. You can feel tears welling up in your eyes, suddenly thankful that you had brought makeup with you in your bag for touch ups. “You told me that night that no matter where in the world we were, we would always be together. I want to be together forever. I want to grow old with you, have a family with you, be the father to your children that I never got and be the man your dad always wanted you to end up with. I want to hold you close, protect you, love you. I want to be your husband. Y/N, will you marry me?” he asks, the tears falling down your face.

You shake your head yes, unable to let out more than a happy sob as he slips the ring on your finger, finally hearing Lisa and Brendan screaming as you take Tysons face in your hands and kiss him.

Twenty Four Years Old

You stood in the pink room, trying to rock your little girl to sleep. Tyson should be home at any minute from the road trip, but Viviana had been fussy the entire day. All you wanted was for her to go to sleep so you could go to sleep.

“I’m home,” you hear Tyson call from the doorway of your house, praying that he doesn’t come in yelling while you cradle your ten-month-old daughter in your arms. He appears in the doorway to her room, dropping his bag and tip-toeing up to you. He rubs your arms, kissing you on the cheek before pulling you close to him. He rests his chin on your shoulder, looking down at Viviana. “Can you believe how big she’s gotten?” he whispers to you as she finally nods off to sleep.

You lay her down in her crib, Tyson standing back and admiring how gentle you were with her. He hugs you from behind again, the two of you taking a moment to just look at your daughter. You lead him out of the room, closing her door carefully. “She is so beautiful,” you gush about your daughter even though she was the reason you were perpetually exhuasted.

Tyson hugs you, finally getting the chance to kiss you hello. “She takes after you. The room, though, is very pink.” You can’t help but laugh at the same observation he makes whenever he goes into her room. As soon as you found out you were having a girl, Tyson went overboard, buying every dress he could, little bows, cute socks, anything that looked like it was made for a girl, regardless of color or if it actually conformed to the gender construct, he bought, or convinced his teammates to buy for him so you couldn’t get mad at him for coming home with yet another Avalanche related baby item.

“I was nine months pregnant when you painted that, you know it’s your fault.” The two of you go to your own bedroom, you ready to crawl in bed even though it was the middle of the afternoon. “If she wakes up, can you take care of her?” you ask him, climbing under the sheets.

“Yeah, but before you go to sleep, I think we need to talk.” You look at him, knowing that sentence typically comes with bad news, but Tyson’s face said otherwise. “I know Viviana isn’t even a year old yet, and I know we said we would wait until she was, but I think I’m ready to try for another kid now,” he says, “Only if you are, too, of course.”

You look away from him, a picture of you and him looking down at Viviana right after she was born sitting in the frame on your bedside table. You knew Tyson wanted a big family, you wanted one with him. It was an easy decision: “Can we wait until after I get some sleep?”

The smile on his face grows, excited that you were going to be trying for a bigger family. He plants a soft, sweet kiss on your head as you gently fall to sleep.

Thirty Four Years Old

“Viviana Abigale, come down here!” you call to the birthday girl as your friends and family started showing up at your house. “Tyson, I think Cale and Gabe are here,” you say to your husband, hearing voices of his teammates carrying through your house indicating that Tyson had left the front door open for anyone to just walk in.

You hear your kids running through the house, three sets of feet pounding against the floor as everyone started to show up with gifts and more food.

It was Vivi’s tenth birthday, and Tyson insisted that you have a party to celebrate your oldest child turning double-digits. Part of you thought he just wanted to show off the house now that it was finally put back together after you had it redone, but he did more of the work in preparing. You were worried that would mean having a similar party with Alexander turned ten in two years, or when Jimmy did in four. Anything to have a party to celebrate your family, Tyson was the first to suggest you make it happen.

Soon, your house and yard were filled with everyone you loved, laughing, eating, the kids playing. You watched as Alexander chased Jimmy with one of the hockey sticks Tyson’s mom had kept from when he was little. Tyson must have seen the anxious look on your face, “Don’t worry, he won’t do anything. Alexander is harmless.” You both laugh as he hands you a glass of wine, you swirling around in the glass instead of taking a sip.

“Want to go inside?” you ask him, taking his hand. You set the class down on the counter, Tyson showing a look of confusion by the untouched glass. You lead him to the wall underneath the stairs, looking at all the pictures that were there. The latest school pictures of your three children, a picture of you and Tyson on your wedding day, a picture of the two of you that your mom took when you went to the school dance together when you were in your first year of high school. “God, do you remember that night?”

“I only remember what I was wearing because of that picture and that I wanted to dance only with you,” he says, wrapping his arms around you.

“You were fourteen, there’s no way that’s what you were thinking of,” you tease him. “You danced with me once that night and spent the rest of the night leaning against the wall with the rest of the boys.”

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of you!” he argues back, his face turning red with the embarrassment he didn’t want.

You laugh, giving him a quick kiss, “I beat you up when we were five. Nothing you could do in front of me could be more embarrassing than that.”

The two of you stand there for a little while longer, staring at the pictures that were on the wall of your family. “Hey, Tys?”

“Yeah?”

“When we first got married, how many kids did you think we would have?”

He stops and thinks, knowing that he never explicitly told you, letting you decide how many you ultimately had. “I always wanted four.”

“Are you mad that we only have three?”

He looks at you. “Mad? Of course not.” How could he be mad that you gave him the three most beautiful children he could have asked for. They looked more like you than they did like him, but they definitely had his childish antics down to a t.

“Would you be mad if we had a fourth?”

“Again, of course not,” he says, confused by what you were trying to say. You smile at him, it finally clicking. “You’re-?” he starts, unable to figure out how to express his joy with words. You nod, him pulling you in for a tight hug. “Holy shit!” he screams, “Holy shit, are you serious?”

“There are children, Tys!” you say, laughing as you cover his mouth.

“We’re having another kid,” he says, his eyes lighting up.

“We’re having another kid.”

Fifty One Years Old

“Lucas!” you call to your youngest son, knowing he was the only other person in the house with you. You were trying to make dinner, one of Tyson’s favorite meals for his birthday.

“Yeah, Mom?” your sixteen year old says, not looking up from his phone as he walks into the kitchen.

Your hands were covered with raw meat, mixing everything up to prepare the stuffed burgers. “Can you run to the store and get me another onion?”

Lucas groans, in a typical teenage fashion. “Dad is already at the store getting you basil, can’t you just call him to get it?”

“No, because this is his phone,” you tell him, hitting the screen with your elbow so it doesn’t lock on you since that’s where the recipe is. “And it was parsley. The keys are by the door, there’s cash in my wallet, and yes I expect the receipt and know how much I had to start with,” you say to him.

He rolls his eyes at you, leaving for the store anyway. Lucas drives to the store, muttering to himself that you would send him out when Dad was already there. He laughs as he pulls in next to Dad’s car, knowing that he was bound to run into him while he was there. He wanders through the store, not looking for the onion in the slightest in hopes to find his father and tell him to get it so he can get home and go back to the game he was on with his friends.

Lucas finds Tyson in the spice aisle, standing there with two small bottles in his hands, one parsley, one basil. “She wanted parsley,” he says, startling his dad.

“I couldn’t remember what she said, so thank god you came,” he says, putting the basil back. “What did she send you to get?”

“An onion.” The two of them walk through the store, back to the produce that Lucas had already passed in hopes of getting out of there faster. “Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah, bud?” he asks, examining the pile of onions as he tried to figure out which one would be the one his wife would pick.

“Mom has already sent you here four times this week, and now me twice. Why do you put up with it?” he asks, clearly annoyed.

Tyson laughs, picking up one of the onions and heading to check out. “I would do anything for her, no matter how ridiculous or how many times she asks me to do it.” He looks at his youngest son, the only one who looked more like him than you, “One day, hopefully, you’re going to find someone who you love more than anything on this Earth, and you would do anything in the world to make sure that they stay happy. This is part of what keeps your mother happy, so how could I not do it?”

Eighty Eight Years Old

You look around from the head table, Tyson’s hand in yours as your entire family has overtaken the restaurant. Viviana and her husband had picked you up at your house, telling you that she was taking out to her home for an anniversary dinner. You were instead taken to your favorite restaurant, greeted but your children, your grandchildren, your brother and his family, Kacey and her family, everyone you cared about.

You sit there, listening to your children and some of your grandchildren talk about what it means to be in love. “Dad would drop everything if Mom asked him to do something. There was nothing too ridiculous that she could ask of him.”

“Growing up, it was the stolen looks, Dad looking at Mom with love filling his eyes and her not noticing, or Mom doing the same to Dad, neither of them ever looking at the same time.”

“Look around at everyone here: love between two people creates love between more. We wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you.”

Sixty five years.

Four children.

Thirteen grandchildren.

Currently five great grandchildren, two more on the way in a few months.

The perfect life, the perfect husband.

#tyson jost #tyson jost imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #avalanche #avalanche imagine #nh #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine

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simonsrosebud · 3 years

Note

Do they ever have kids? How many? Any particular method they choose? OR! What reasoning do they have for not having kids?

oh i’ve been WAITING for this

so yes.

they do have kids.

well, kid. singular.

dalton just wants kids in general no matter how many, but kevin can’t do multiple. he just can’t, or doesn’t want to, and he doesn’t really have an explanation but he doesn’t need one.

he’s always known that dalton wants kids, and once they’re engaged he supposes they should have that talk because it’s something he knows could make or break relationships.

they’re laying in bed at night, dalton’s on his phone and kevin’s got his eyes closed trying to go to sleep, but he already chickened out of talking about it this morning.

“hey,” he whispers. his heart is erratic.

“hm?”

kevin bites his nail. “can we talk about kids?”

and okay, that definitely gets dalton’s attention. he looks away from his phone with a frown, and reaches to turn his bedside lamp on. “are you okay? first off?”

kevin sits up. he crosses his legs. “no, i’m okay. i just know kids are something that couples should talk about especially like, before getting married. i know people who’ve broken up because of it.” renee and her boyfriend last year.

dalton twists his ring absentmindedly. “i mean, i think i definitely would like to have kids at some point, but i’m not in a rush to do it?”

kevin nods. dalton gently pulls his hand from his mouth. he was never a nail biter. he doesn’t know why he does it when he’s nervous.

“i... okay...” he shouldn’t be scared to talk about this. not with dalton. “i can’t have more than one kid. i just... i don’t know if i can’t, or if i don’t want to, but that’s just, that’s just me,” he says. “but i do want one.”

kevin makes eye contact with dalton, and he gets real emotional real quick. “the thought of you chasing around a little- and just being a dad, and- don’t look at me like that,” he laughs. dalton smiles and scrunches his nose. his eyes are teary. “i think the fact that i grew up the way i did... scares me a lot. i don’t want to be anything like that, or raise a child in any way how i was...”

dalton moves over- they’ve got a big ass bed, and slides his hands onto kevin’s face. “you would never be like them. the fact that you’re conscious of the fact that you don’t want to tells enough.” he bites the inside of his cheek. “you’d be a kickass dad, kev.”

kevin kisses him, and dalton smiles against his mouth. “and for the record, i’m okay with one kid.” kevin wraps his arms around dalton and tucks his head into his shoulder. how did he get so lucky?

“and i know this isn’t relevant yet, but would you wanna adopt?” dalton mumbles in his ear.

“yes,” he says it almost instantly. “i’ve seen how shitty the foster system is to some kids. if we could help at least one?”

“then it’s worth doing it.”

“exactly.”

well, kevin and dalton start the process about three years after their wedding. it’s long and stressful, and scares the crap out of both of them. in good and nervous ways.

kevin’s excited, but he still has a little panic attack the day before they’re scheduled to bring their child home. the way he was raised is one that he’ll never wish on anyone. he never had parents as a child, how the fuck is he supposed to raise his own? the only children he knows are dans two boys, but he’s only babysat a few times, and never for long.

he knows he can do it. he and dalton have talked it through so many times. they’ve gone to the classes, they’ve done their research.

the nagging thought in the back of his head is distracting and not helping, but it’s all worth it when dalton gets to see kevin carrying an eight month old through their door.

dalton’s parents are staying in the guest bedroom, but they won’t get in for another hour or two.

wymack and abby are there in the meantime.

kevin doesn’t know what to do once he gets inside. he’s just standing in the kitchen with a child on his hip, and dalton looks gleeful and at ease as he unpacks shit onto the counter.

wymack swings around the corner into the kitchen. he stops when seeing kevin standing there. “you look lost.”

“i think i am,” he whispers, and dalton turns. his smile softens, and he stands across from him.

“gimmie a number.”

“probably at a six... this is just very overwhelming.”

wymack crosses his arms. he’s never spoken quieter since he has in the past few minutes. “you have a daughter now. it’s bound to be overwhelming.” and then. “do you want me to take her?”

kevin looks down at her, morgan, sleeping on his arm, and wymack’s gentle voice suddenly makes sense.

“but she’s sleeping.”

“she’ll be okay. if you need a second, take a second. that’s why abby and i are here, kevin. that’s why anne and george are coming down.”

okay... okay, yeah, it makes sense.

wymack takes morgan from kevin with such delicacy, and dalton follows kevin into the living room where he sinks onto the sofa.

dalton pulls his head to his chest. “i’m scared, too. we just have to take it day by day. or hour by hour.”

“it felt real when we were setting up her room, but not this real.”

“hey.” kevin looks at him. “you are going to be okay.”

abby peeks in. she’s holding morgan on her hip. she’s awake now, and when abby sits next to kevin morgan reaches an arm for him. “have i ever told you how proud of you i am?”

kevin purses his lips. he doesn’t know what he’d do without abby. “a good amount, over the years.”

“can i say it again?”

kevin reaches his arms above morgan to hug abby. the baby takes it as invitation to grab onto his shirt anyway. “she’s obsessed with you.” abby shakes morgan’s hand. “you wanna go to daddy?”

kevin’s heart skips a beat.

#kevin day #bisexual kevin day #the one where someone doesn’t know who kevin day is #OC: dalton miller #dalton miller #kevin day x dalton miller #exy #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #the foxes

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jawabear · 3 years

Note

My neurons are firing away! I really loved Don't leave and I saw that you said you'd do sequels, so I have a request for a Don't leave sequel 🥺 Like S3E4, when they go on that mission to catch Gilberto, and they need people they can trust, so y/n joins them, saying/thinking she can do it. But she's with Javi when he finds Gilberto and since he's pointing a gun at them she gets flashbacks from the time she got shot. So she gets through the mission with adrenaline rushing through her body 1/2

(2) Don’t Leave (Javier Pena x Reader)

Not my GIF (but y’all should know how much I love it)

A/N: Hey, here’s a second part to Don’t leave, as requested. Thank you anon! I hope this is good? I think its kind of a mess because I was basically rewriting the episode which was a little difficult. I had to use Spanish but I do not speak the language so it is most likely wrong so I apologise for that. This a little bit of a mess but I hope you can still enjoy it. Sorry for any mistakes. Stay Safe

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Fem!reader, sexism, soft!Javi, alcohol, mental breakdowns, mentions of death, guns, me thirsting over how good Javi looks in this episode, mentions of medication, crying, confessions, tiny bit of fluff, my terrible comebacks

Summary: To catch a criminal, Javi needs people he can trust, but the person he trusts above all else is the one who he doesn’t want to take

It had been a couple of weeks since she came back and was settling back in quite well all things considered. Javier made sure to keep an extra eye on her where he could. The smallest sign of struggle and he would be straight to her side to help in any way he could.

It was very sweet of him. It made her heart race. But she felt so much guilt as well. He had practically become her minder and that was an idea she didn’t like. She didn’t want to be a burden to anyone in the DEA, especially not Javier. But that’s what she was. Or felt like at least.

But she carried on as best she could given the circumstances. She didn’t want special treatment and made that quite clear to the Ambassador. She went back to desk duty which wasn’t so bad, it was what she was used to. But as strange as it’s sounds, now she had a taste of field duty, she wanted to get back out there. However, considering what happened last time, that wasn’t one of her brightest ideas.

It was late at the embassy which was pretty much empty. There were a few agents lurking around the building but most of them had gone home already. (Y/N) much preferred the embassy after dark. It was quieter and more manageable, especially with her fragile state of mind. She find it somewhat comforting sitting in her office. It was quiet. But a peaceful quiet. Not the painful and lonely quiet of her apartment, which was why she stayed a lot longer than necessary.

A knocking on her office door disrupted that silence. She lifted her head and saw it was Javi. She smiled to him and motioned for him to come in. He looked a little distressed.

He didn’t say and thing as he made his way into her office, closing the door and sitting in the chair opposite her, putting his head in his hands and letting out a heavy breath.

“Javi?” She said quietly bringing her chair round to sit in front of him. “Hey, what’s wrong?” She copied what he had done when she came back. She put her hands gently on his thighs as comfort to him.

“Shit (Y/N)” he muttered as he lifted his head a little, his posture still slumped over though “we could have him”

“Have who?” She asked.

“Gilberto Rodríguez”

Her eyes went wide with shock “are-are you serious? How?” She asked.

“Feistl just called. They tailed Guillermo Pallomari, the head accountant for the cartel. Lead them straight to Gilberto’s front fucking door”

“That’s...this is big Javi”

“Yeah. I know”

“What are you going to do?”

“We’ve gotta fucking go after him. We’ve got a secure location on him. We have to take it as soon as we can. But..” he paused for a moment “I need people I can trust. But there are fucking few out there” he said in a light laugh.

(Y/N) paused and looked at him. She looked at the way his thumbs rubbed over her hands. She saw the desperation in his eyes. The look of it being his only chance.

“What about me?” She asked quietly.

“What about you?”

“Take me with you”

“No” he said firmly with the sake of his head “no no no. No I’m not putting you through something like that again”

“You can trust me, can’t you?”

“Of course (Y/N). Of course I trust you. I trust you with my life. But I can’t trust myself to protect you from what ever happens. And I can’t...I can’t watch you get hurt again”

“There’s no guarantee I’ll get hurt Javi”

“There’s no guarantee you won’t get hurt” he retorted quickly.

“Javi,” she began quietly “I think, in this instance, catching one of the godfathers of the Calí Cartel is more important that me”

He squeezed her hands and dropped his head “fuck” he whispered “fuck. Alright, fine” he looked at her again “but you do exactly as I say, when I say it. You don’t fuck around. And you don’t get hurt. If something goes wrong, you get yourself out first. Got it?”

“Yes sir” she smiled “who else are you bringing along? If Calderón is working for the cartel, then who knows how many of his me are too. And this doesn’t really seem like a four person job, If we include Feistl and Van Ness”

“Don’t worry about that” he said with a slight smirk. “I’ve got an idea”

Javier’s idea was calling in a few favours from some old friends in Bogotá. Colonel Martínez and his most trusted men. Javi explained the plan of diversion to them all hours before the plan would be put init action to catch Gilberto.

“(Y/N), I want you to go with him” Javi said quietly to her.

“What?” She was slightly annoyed by his order. She wanted to stay with Javi.

“You’ll be safe with him”

“N-No, Javi, I want to stay with you”

“(Y/N)” He said sternly. He took a step towards her and rested his hands on her arms, rubbing them softly “Please. Please. Go with Colonel Martínez. You said if I let you come you’d do as I say”

She nodded “okay..” she whispered.

He brought his hands to her cheeks and tilted her head up slightly to meet her gaze “you’ll be okay” he assured her softly. She smiled as gently squeezed his wrists.

“You be careful. Don’t take any unnecessary risks”

“I won’t” he looked at his watch and pulled his hands from her cheeks. ”You better get going” he cleared his throat and glanced to his left to see that Colonel Martínez has been watching that whole ordeal play out. But as per usual, he show now expression on his face.

“Peña is right” he said as he strolled over to them “our window is getting smaller, we should go now”

“Yeah. Yes. Right, okay” (Y/N) nodded “I’ll um...I’ll head to the truck” she said before making her wave over to the chicken loaded truck. Javi watched as she jumped into the back, his heart sinking a little as he wondered if he had made the wrong choice.

“How long has it been?” Martínez asked in his usual stoic voice.

“How long has what been?” Javi asked looking at him.

“Cuanto tiempo llevas enamorado de ella?” (How long have you been in love with her?)

Javi let out a sudden and nervous laugh as he ran his hands through his hair “¿Qué te hace pensar que estoy enamorado de ella?” (What makes you think I’m in love with her?) He asked.

“I know the look of love when I see one Peña. What I saw was love. From both of you” there was a sudden softness to Martinez’s voice. Javi didn’t reply to him because he knew he was right. “Don’t worry” he said patting Javi’s shoulder “I’ll make sure she’s okay”

Javi could only nod before Martínez was walked to the truck and jumping in the back, the two metal doors being closed behind him. He just hoped she would be okay.

The ride in the back of the truck was dark, silence, smelly and hot. On a list of things she wanted to do before she died, riding in the back of a chicken truck was not very high up.

Her head rested back against the metal wall as she took in deep breaths. She couldn’t tell if she was nervous or excited. She was just daring to go. But she had to be sensible, smart. She had to be calm. But she was getting anxious. Mainly, she just wanted to be with Javi again.

The truck came to a sudden stop which signalled that they had arrived. (Y/N) lifted her head and her gaze met with Colonel Martínez who was sat opposite her. He gave her a subtle nod which she returned before pulling her pistol out of her vest.

From there, everything seemed to happen so quickly until she found herself in charge of making sure Gilberto’s three wives cooperated but not getting in the way or trying to relay false information. All three women have her looks. But (Y/N) couldn’t blame them. It was strange to see a woman in such a position. A woman in field duty? Laughable if nothing else. But (Y/N) was living proof that a woman was just as good on the field as a man. She was just waiting for her man to hurry up and make it.

Thankfully it wasn’t all that much longer until Colonel Martínez had motioned for her to follow him outside. When she did she saw a Police car pulling up being the Chicken truck with Calderón, Javi, Feistl and Van Ness inside. Her heart jumped a little to see that Javi was okay and that he has made it.

The four of them got out of the car and Javier and Calderón walked towards her and Martinez while Chris and Dan stood by the car.

“Colonel Martinez” Calderón said.

“Capitán” Martinez gave a subtle nod to him. Javi rested a comforting hand on (Y/N)’s arm but said nothing to her, so she said nothing to him. “sabes lo que está sucediendo aquí?” (You know what’s happening here?)

Calderón looked (Y/N) up and down giving her a slightly evil look. Before looking back at Martinez. “sí, creo que sé” (yes, I think I know) he said with a slight nod.

“te estoy dando una oportunidad. para hacer lo correcto y no follar esta opperación” (I’m giving you one chance. To do the right thing and not fuck up this operation)

Calderón looked back towards (Y/N) “si lo que he oído es cierto, no seré yo quien lo joda” (if what I’ve heard is true, I won’t be the one who fucks it up)

(Y/N)’s Spanish wasn’t the best, it was pretty awful all things considered. But she could understand when she was being insulted. That, and the fact she saw sudden anger wash over Javier’s face. But still he said nothing but squeezed her arm.

“This is no job for a woman” Calderón said “especially one who can’t hold her own”

“Maybe. But look who’s being allowed to help and who isn’t” she retorted calmly, which was more than could be said for Javi who was growing more visibly angry by the second.

Calderón back up to the car and Van Ness was quick to grab the keys to insure he wouldn’t drive off.

Martinez looked at Javi “Está aquí. Lo encontraremos” (He’s here. We’ll find him) he said. Javi gave a subtle nod back before dropping his hand from (Y/N)’s arm. Suddenly, it felt cold there. She was over come with the sudden urge to just jump in his arms, but they had something more important to be dealing with right now. “Véalo” (Watch him) he ordered to one of his men before walking back into the house.

“You still got your kids drawing?” Javi asked Chris as they all followed behind.

(Y/N) followed behind Javi up the stairs, trying not to get too distracted by how good he looked. Now was not the time.

They made their way into what appeared to be some sort of bathroom. No doubt one of many that was located in the grand house, but it was a bigger bathroom than she had ever seen. Off on the far wall were two extra room. They took one each, kicking open the door and holing their gun to as the search it. Both came up empty.

Javi gave her a look before looking back around the room, the same as her. He walked over to the large jacuzzi looking bath and walked up the wooden steps.

They both froze in place when an all too loud creak came from under his foot. He shifted his weight once, twice, to make sure he wasn’t hearing things. He wasn’t. There was definitely something not right about it.

He carefully and quietly step back down to the floor and gave her another look. She adjusted her stance and moved a little closer to him. She held her gun up to the steps as he bent down. He slid his hand over the bottom step. He reached down further and she swallowed thickly. Javi gave her another look and she gave him and nod.

The steps flew up and the two agents both too a step back.

There was Gilberto Rodríguez. His gun pointing directly at them.

(Y/N)’s heart began to race. Partly from adrenaline that was still flowing through her, but partly from fear. Seeing the gun pointing their way made her mind flash with images from that day. Only this time, it was worse. All she could see was a bullet going straight through Javi, and this time she wouldn’t be able to save him. She wouldn’t be able to jump in front of him. Instead she would be left to watch him die. Watch the blood flow from him.

She blinked her eyes quickly to try and wipe away the images but her hands were becoming shaky. She couldn’t stand there for much longer, not with a gun in her face. “suelta el arma” (drop your weapon) Javi said, surprisingly calmly.

Trujillo appeared on the other side of Javi to (Y/N) with his gun raised as well “suelta el arma” he repeated the same as Javi, in a less calm tone.

Gilberto hesitated for a moment before he slowly lowered his gun and dropped it to the floor in front of him “No dispares. Soy un hombre de paz” (don’t shoot. I am a man of peace) he said as he held his hands up in surrender. He grabbed the steps in his hands and shakily pulled him self out of his hideout. Javi grabbed his shoulders and pulled him out quicker, holding his gun to the back of Gilberto’s neck.

It was then that Martinez appeared holding his gun out but almost dropping it when he saw the Cartel Godfather at gun point. “Vamos” he said. Javi nodded and traded Gilberto off to him when he noticed that (Y/N) wasn’t moving.

“(Y/N)” Javi said quietly as he placed his hand back warmly on her arm, Trujillo and Martinez taking Gilberto away. She jumped slightly at his touch and looked at him “you okay?” He asked softly.

She blinked, swallowed and nodded. “Yeah” she said “yeah. I’m...I’m fine. Just...let’s get out of here” she said before walking past him, he followed closely behind her all the way down stairs.

The living room was almost full of Police. Gilberto was sat on the sofa whilst his three wives looked upon him with sadness, confusing and everything else along that line.

It was now only a matter of time before they would listed as heroes. They had taken down one of the Godfathers of Calí. That was no easy feat. But they weren’t in the clear just yet.

After managing to get Gilberto back to Bogotá and handing him off to the authorities, (Y/N) and Javier found themselves back at the embassy. (Y/N) had been quiet ever since they got on the plane to come back to Bogotá. It was obvious to Javi, and obvious to her, that the mission had effected her. She hadn’t said a said a single word to him for a few hours now and it just felt strange.

She went ahead of him when they got to the embassy and headed straight to the ambassadors office. Walking through the main office to get there, she was greeted with a round of applause for her work with Javi in arresting Gilberto. She gave them all a polite smile but walked quickly out of the office space, ignoring all the congratulations she was getting.

(Y/N) knocked on the door of Crosby’s office and she heard a “Come in” from inside so she opened the door and walked in. “(Y/N)” he greeted her, sounding a little surprised as he sat at the table on the right side of the office.

“Ambassador” she greeted back.

“I was expecting Peña to walk through the door” he motioned for her to take the seat opposite him and she did.

“Ambassador,” She said “I’m going to be frank with you. I can’t keep this up for much longer. I thought I would be okay, but being out there today...”

“Is this your way of telling me you resign?”

“No. No. Not resign. Just...I know I’ve already had so much time off for my injury but...I don’t know, I just need to not be in this. I need to just...need some time...”

“How much time?”

“I...I don’t know”

“Well (Y/N), let me be frank with you. What you and agent Peña did today was an impressive feat but comes with a lot of complications now for both the Colombian and American government. But I will congratulate you for your achievement. And, in all honesty, regardless of how it played out, I was going to sign you off anyway. Off work. If not just to get you back to how you were, then to get Peña to stop brining it up in every meeting we have”

“Sir?” She asked, a little confused at what he meant.

“He’s been hounding me to sign you off since you came back. Every meeting we have it’s the first and last thing he says. Keeps telling me that you need more time, and that you’re not in the right state of mind to work efficiently”

(Y/N) didn’t really know how to feel at that. It was sweet that Javi would do that in her behalf, but it was now properly evident to her that she hadn’t hidden her struggles as well as she originally thought.

“Four week” he said “I’ll give you four weeks. I don’t want to see you anywhere near this embassy building within that time”

“Yes sir” she nodded “thank you sir” she stood and reached her hand over to him, he shook it and she left for the door.

Just as she was leaving his office, Javi appeared and gave her a soft look “(Y/N)” he said quietly “what are you doing?”

“I um...asked Crosby for some time off. He’s given me four weeks” she mumbled.

“Good. You need it” he said to her.

“I...I better let you go in there”

“Yeah” Javi laughed slightly “no doubt I’m in for a fucking talk when I get in there”

She managed a smiled and nodded “I better go. I’ll see you later Javi” she said before walking past him towards her own office.

Javi let out a heavy sigh as he walked up the stairs towards her apartment that was just a few floors about his. Having to address the Colombian nation about the successful DEA operation of capturing Gilberto Rodríguez had taken it out of him. He needed to be with someone who he could relax with. He needed to be with (Y/N). He stood outside her door and knocked three times.

Then he waited.

He waited.

He waited too long. He knocked again. Still there was nothing. He pressed his ear against the door and could hear nothing from inside. This made him worry. It was unlike her to keep him waiting for so long. He tried the door handle but the door was locked. This worried him even more. Luckily he had a spare key in his back pocket that he carried with him everywhere. He pulled it out and pushed it into the lock before turning it and getting the door open.

The inside of her apartment was definitely not what he was use to.

It was a mess. Papers were thrown everywhere. In the kitchen, on the table were painkillers and other tablets scattered across the wooden surface. A half drunk glass of whiskey to go with them. She didn’t drink. The whiskey was technically his. She brought it for him so that he would have something to drink whilst he visited. But she hated alcohol.

He walked through her apartment looking for her and came to a sharp stop when he heard the sound of running water. He looked in the direction of the bathroom and saw the door was cracked open slightly. He took cautious steps towards it and pressed his hand flat against the door before slowly pushing it open.

There she sat on the shower floor. Fully clothed. The water drenching her completely. She hugged her knees close to her chest as she stared at the floor shaking. Whether she was shaking from fear or the water perhaps being cold, he didn’t know. But to see her like that broke him.

Javi walked into the bathroom, pulling off his jacket, shoes and socks as he did before he stepped into the shower and sunk down to the floor beside her, his back to the wall and his knees bent, his arms resting loosely on them. She immediately found comfort in him. Leaning her head onto his arm and bringing her hand up to grab at his bicep. “I-I thought I could do it” She stuttered quickly, quietly, her fingers flexing around his arm, trying to find the right place to hold, but it seemed she couldn’t. “I-I though I could...” she didn’t finish the second time. She couldn’t finish. The more she spoke, the more images of horror flooded her mind pushing her closer and closer to the point of crying.

She didn’t actually know if she was crying. She had been. But now she couldn’t tell it was tears or the water falling down her cheeks.

Javi didn’t say anything to her. He loosened his tie from around his neck and placed it beside him on the shower floor. He reached under his arm and grabbed her free trembling hand and pulled it through the gap and held it tightly in his hand. He brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a few soft and loving kisses to her knuckles. They were slow, lingering kisses. Each one lasting longer than the last.

His head then gently fell against hers, his cheek resting against the top of her wet hair. He turned so that it was his nose resting against her head. Breathing in what was left of her sweet scent, which wasn’t a lot, most of it had been washed away by the water and he no longer had her smell to comfort him. But in that moment, he didn’t much care. She was more important. She needed his comfort. He pressed a gentle kiss to where ever it was his lips were placed before slightly lifting his head from her and moving down

Javier nosed the side of her head, moving it round to her forehead and down her face, rubbing it against her own nose. She lifted her head slightly and let out a few shaky breaths as he continued the sweet action. The touch was so...absentminded, that she wondered if he meant to do it. But it made her heart swell. It made everything okay.

And then he kissed her.

He didn’t start off with the intention of kissing her, but he sure as hell didn’t regret it. Nothing had ever felt more right than the feeling of her lips against his. He felt right then that that was where he was meant to be. With her. Kissing her. Loving her. Doing what he should’ve done years ago. Doing what he should’ve done when he first realised he was in love with her. Doing what he should’ve done when she needed him most, when she had taken a bullet for him. Not just to help her, but to help him too.

He needed her. He wanted her. He wasn’t ever going to leave her.

She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, pulling him from his thoughts before she barely pulled away from his lips. His nose still gently rubbing against hers.

“I love you” she whispered.

Her words lifted a great weight off his shoulders. So much so that he let out a breath of relief. “I love you too” he said in the same quiet voice. She laid her head back on his shoulder and he brought his arms round to wrap around her to hold her close. “You’re going to be okay (Y/N). I promise”

08/01/21

Taglist: @linkpk88 @phoenixhalliwell @lunaserenade

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfic #narcos #pedro pascal #angst #fanfic

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matildashoney · 4 years

Text

London Town

Loving You’s the Antidote Extra

MASTERLIST // MOODBOARD // TAG LIST // TAGS // PLAYLIST

TAG LIST: @ihearthemcallingforyou, @goldenfeelin, @detroitkiwis

talk to me about it!

thank you miss @berrynarrybanana for creating the sex bucket list fic challenge! i wanted to write something with the mile high club for harry and ames a while ago and this gave me every opportunity to do so. this is pure filth about harry and amelie getting back to london recently after being stuck in malibu during the quarantine.

warning: this is literally 4.4k of filth. i can’t be sorry for what my brain has done. i take no responsibility.

Harry is guarded, to say the least. There was too much happening for him not to be.

One of the security guards that was driving them to the airport got out with Amelie first, making sure that there weren’t any photographers waiting outside for them (which there shouldn’t be, all things considered) and having her get inside to wait for Harry when he was able to get all their luggage and out of the car. Harry was nervous, his hoodie tugged over his head and his passport and identification all sitting in his hoodie pocket. Amelie was wearing the hoodie they bought at a Spice Girls concert the year before, but it was beginning to fit a big snuggly around her tummy and they knew that anyone that saw them would start pregnancy speculations before they could even begin trying to have a baby themselves. Her hand grabs his as soon as he walks beside her, interlocking their fingers and hiding her face in his chest, the exhaustion beginning to set in and the bruising on her hips from the needles beginning to ache as she stands for much too long without rest.

Harry guides them through security, his heart breaking as Amelie knuckles her eyes and desperately clings to her last bit of energy and pouts as his bag gets checked once more and she isn’t able to sink into his embrace as she wants. Considering the amount of time Harry and Amelie have spent together in quarantine, it would have made more sense that they need space, when in fact, Amelie has never been clingier. Not that Harry pays any mind to it. He knows that it’s with the best intentions, all because she loves him and is happy to be with him. Her hormones are messy with the new birth control she was trying, as well, with all intentions to perhaps make her body ready to be pregnant later in the year. All Amelie wanted was a good snuggle a very hefty amount of the day. Harry was happy to give that to her.

Los Angeles International Airport is surprisingly empty, Harry thought there would have been more celebrities trying to get back to wherever they’re from now that flights are slowly beginning to depart again – not that they really should be. Harry is excited to get back to England, London particularly. Amelie, although her heart is in love with California, misses London, misses home. All of the exhibition pieces that she was working on were left there, and for nearly four months her creativity was dry and there was nothing she could think of. Harry misses his family, his home. He even misses Tigger, especially now that he’s been staying with Anne for nearly six months. Harry misses their routine. Amelie misses the comfort of being home.

Malibu is home in a lot of ways.

Malibu is where they said the three words for the first time. Malibu is where they got engaged. Malibu is where they got married on a whim. All of Amelie’s family is nearby and their best friends and godchildren are only a fifteen-minute drive away. Mostly, it’s being together that makes it feel like home. Home is so subjective. To Harry, after travelling for so many years, unsteady relationships, the media overwhelming him with labels and rumours and the way his mental health suffered, Amelie really became the one thing that made the most sense, that made him feel safe. To Amelie, with all that she went through, the idea that someone could make you feel like home was absolutely mad, and there was a nagging voice that always told her she wouldn’t find it, and then Harry waltzed into her life and simply knocked every single thought she had about her life into another world; Harry made her feel as though there was nothing that she couldn’t do, and maybe he was right about that. Home was with each other, no matter where they are or where they go.

Harry squeezes Amelie’s hand, the engagement ring and wedding band ice on his skin. He smiles though, the feeling that the symbol gives him making his eyes sting with tears. He sniffles, drawing her attention and her eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. He shakes his head, kissing her hairline and nodding to the near-empty terminal that was about to board their flight.

“’ey,” Amelie whispers, brushing her thumb under his eye and moving the mask slightly to kiss his cheek, “you okay?”

“Thought about how we’re married and got all,” Harry mutters, his nose in her hair and laughing to himself. “Don’t know, guess m’heart is softer, now.”

“Always has been, baby,” she smiles, laying her thighs over his legs and cuddling into his chest, her eyes falling shut as he gently rubs her back. “Think they’ll yell at us for laying in the same bed, again?”

“Don’t think so since everyone has to stay away,” he mumbles, taking in the way the ten other passengers for the flight are wearing masks and gloves. “Can’t wait to be home and don’t have to wear this thing.”

“Meaning you’re gon’a be naked in the garden most days and dragging me out with you.”

Harry snickers, meeting Amelie’s knowing stare and shrugging his shoulders, “As long as you’re naked, too.”

“Don’t try your luck, Mr Styles,” Amelie sighs, squeezing his hips as his thumb dips beneath the waistband of her leggings. “Harry.”

“Didn’t wear any knickers.”

“Je ne voulais pas qu'ils me montent au cul pendant douze heures,” she whispers under her breath, trying to avoid the entire terminal hearing that her decision this morning was to go without any knickers on an eleven-hour flight.

Harry smirks, tugging his mask to his chin and pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, “Tu essaies d'entrer dans le club du mile high, chérie?” For a man that slept maybe three hours, Harry is awfully horny at barely four in the afternoon.

Amelie lightly smacks his hand as his fingers inch towards her inner thigh, coming dangerously close to her centre. “Harry, I swear to God.”

“Oh, it could be fun, Ames.”

“Ah, yes, because you,” Amelie’s voice lowers to a whisper that even Harry can barely hear, “fucking me in our seats in first-class sounds like so much fun when we could get caught.”

“’s the thrill of it all, baby.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t use the baby card,” she says warningly, her eyes narrowing at the man she loves with her whole heart, trying to convey her seriousness. Her thighs clench around his hand, a near-death grip to break his movements where his fingertips would brush over her heat.

“Need those fingers, Cherry.”

“Don’t stick your hands in my leggings, then.” Harry smirks at Amelie. “That doesn’t mean you find a loophole and stick your hand over my fanny either, thank you.”

“Mean, technically I’m not over your fanny.” Harry laughs so loudly, the entire terminal turns to face him. “Need you to tell me when the hell you started calling it that, though. Taking to all the slang now that you’re half a Brit, huh.”

“Much less aggressive than calling it my,” Amelie whispers, “cunt. Don’t you think?”

“Quite like calling it that,” he shrugs, weaselling his hand further up her thigh, nearly holding her heat in his palm. “’s mine to call anything, you know.”

“Oh,” she snorts, shaking her head and lightly pushing his shoulder and smirking when he grabs her hand with his other hand, kissing her palm with a smirk. “Is that how marriage works? Don’t think that was on the document we signed.”

“Mean, as far as I’m aware. Got like,” Harry hums, pretending to count on his fingers the number of months since they’d gotten married in March, “three months under m’belt. ‘s kinda like how you say you want my cock in your mouth.”

“Harry, quit it. There are people around.”

“Half of them would need a hearing aid to hear me, honey.”

Amelie shakes her head, “Whipping your best terms of endearment isn’t making me any more inclined to have sex on the plane.”

“Hate to break it to you, angel, but you saying, fanny, doesn’t really give me an inclination to stick my hand in your pants, anyways.”

“Good,” she says, wrapping her hand around his wrist and moving it away, interlocking their fingers and grabbing their bags to walk to the desk to board. “Not to mention, it’s barely four in the afternoon.”

“Oh, time is a social construct, baby. Isn’t that what you say when you’re begging for it in the morning before I have get on a flight out somewhere?” Harry whispers in her ear, smiling at the flight attendant and handing his phone for the boarding passes.

Amelie releases Harry’s hand, tugging her sweatshirt sleeves over her fingers and crossing her arms over her chest. “I hate you.”

Harry smirks, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and kissing her head, his phone stuck in the front of his The Face sweatshirt that Amelie threw onto the bed for him to wear while he was sleeping. “No, you really don’t.”

“Welcome,” one flight attendant says through their mask, oblivious to the sexual tension spurring in between the freshly married couple and the way her hand was holding his simply to ensure that he wouldn’t squeeze her breast with his hand hanging limply over her shoulder.

Harry steps inside the row first, and Amelie knows why he’s hiding in the seat that would be the least likely to be seen by the flight attendants. Her head shakes with a sigh, heaving a breath and settling into the chair, giving a warning glance to him as his lips toy with a mischievous grin.

“Garder les mains pour soi.”

“Can’t keep m’hands to m’self for eleven hours,” Harry stresses, his cheek laying on her shoulder as he stares at her through hooded eyelids, the separator pushed away to allow him to cuddle into her, the way her nails are scratching at his scalp making him want her more.

“Harry, yes, you can,” Amelie says, knowing that Harry is trying to wear her down with the dramatic nature of the conversation. Her thighs are warm thinking about the adrenaline that would course through her veins by having sex where they very well shouldn’t be, but with the environment being heavily closed away from interaction, maybe this was just the right time to do so.

Amelie wouldn’t admit that to Harry, though. No. Because that means he won.

“Haven’t touched you in like, three days.”

“Because we had to get all of our things together, see our godchildren, and see my family. Not because I didn’t want to.”

“Alright, well, now we have eleven hours.”

Amelie sighs, carding her fingers through her hair and gently pulling out the tie in her curls and letting the baby pink fall over her shoulders. Through her peripheral vision, she can see Harry roll his eyes, trying to look away as she tugs on the sleeves on the sweatshirt, gently pulling the material away and leaving his eyes to bask over the loose-fitting shirt from his closet and her chest free from any restrictions.

“For fuck’s sake, Amelie,” Harry groans, sitting up and beginning to pull his mask away from his mouth, all the passengers boarded and the flight attendants beginning to go through the safety measures as he’s heard a million times before. “Did you not wear a bra, either?”

“Like you said, eleven hours,” she shrugs, a smirk playing at her lips as she set the sweatshirt over her thighs, dragging the blanket over her body, locking his hand between her legs.

“Know just how to get what you want, huh?”

“Maybe,” she hums, spreading her thighs the slightly amount to give him the ability to roam further across her skin. “Have had quite a few years of practice.”

Harry smirks, taking Amelie by surprise and sliding his hand beneath the waistband of her leggings, her thighs unable to be held together as his fingers drag slowly and teasingly across her mound. “About, five years, huh, baby?” Amelie gulps. “Don’t go quiet on me, now. Have had the wittiest comebacks for an hour and now you’re quiet?”

“Harry,” she says through a clenched jaw, trying her swallow back a moan as his fingers delicately trace along her core, arousal collecting on his fingertips as his finger draws over her clit lightly, barely touching her skin. “Either you do it or you don’t.”

“Do you want me to?” Harry smirks, lips ghosting across the shell of her ear and making her sink further into her seat, her thumb between her teeth as she nods shamelessly. “Amelie Fay, tell me what you want or I’m going to take my hand back.”

Harry rarely uses Amelie’s whole name. And by rarely, Amelie means that Harry only uses her whole name – first and middle – when they’re arguing and she won’t listen (which is most of the time) or they’re about to do something filthy and she won’t give verbal consent (which is most of the time they’re taking to exhibitionism). But whenever Harry uses it, fuck, it’s another type of sexy. His accent draws out every syllable, especially when he’s trying to use an accent that her mother has or it’s deeply his own.

Amelie sucks in a deep breath, trying to steady her breathing and not melt into the chair with the barely-there movements of his fingertips, his middle finger teasing her warmth by dipping in to collect more arousal over her clit. “Okay, okay.”

“Okay, what.”

“Need you to use your fingers,” she sighs, his fingers beginning to ease into her warmth and brush against the velvet that squeezes him in. “Fuck.”

“Be quiet,” Harry says strictly, his cheek laying on her shoulder and his lips touching the cut of her jaw. “Have barely touched you and you’re already squeezing me, doll. Maybe I should’ve tried a bit harder to get you into bed, hm? Have I been neglecting you? Horrible husband, you have.”

Harry and Amelie never could describe their sex life as neglected – certainly not that – but it definitely was not what it was when they first got married at the beginning of March. Harry and Amelie tiptoed around the subject because there were days when there was too much frustration to even think about getting naked and sharing their thoughts with the other person. That definitely isn’t what want they wanted, what they promised each other. And so, here they were, three months into the isolation and just being able to go home, and there was a desperation lingering between them that neither really knew was there. Getting comfortable was something they didn’t want, and that’s exactly what they did.

His fingers work at a speed that could only be described as desperate and longing. His thumb pressed against her clit with patterns that have her hips longing to writhe beneath him, his middle and third finger curling inside of her with every thrust, taking a second to ghost across the spot that would have her screaming inside their bedroom.

“Baby, please,” Amelie whimpers, tucking her face into his hair and breathing out through parted lips, squeezing her eyes shut as the flight attendant walks through the aisle, completely unsuspecting of what is happening beneath the linen. “Harry.”

“All over me, honey. Gi’ me all of it.”

Amelie tugs on Harry’s curls, earning a smirk and a grateful kiss, swallowing her moans as the orgasm ripples through her body. Her hands shaking as she grasps onto the blanket and her hot breaths hitting his neck. His hand is coated with her orgasm, his mouth watering at the thought of her taste on his tongue.

If Harry couldn’t go down on her, right now, this is the next best option.

“Get out the fruit and water from your bag.”

“Huh?” Amelie whispers, her eyes barely opening to try and read Harry’s expression. “For what?”

“For you to drink,” Harry smiles, kissing her hairline sweetly. “And so, I can stick my fingers in m’mouth and it won’t look like I just fucked you under the blanket.”

“Christ, Harry,” she mutters, rolling her eyes as he chuckles under his breath. “Do you realise you still have your fingers in me?”

“And?”

“Can’t lean over and grab everything with you puncturing my cervix.”

“Don’t flatter me that much, baby,” Harry quips, nodding towards the bag laying at her feet and gently tapping his thumb against her clit once more. “Already have a big head.”

“Hate you,” Amelie swallows, trying to control her breathing as she leans forward and reaches for her bag, Harry’s fingers wiggling inside her warmth. He is just as needy as she is, at the moment, except, Amelie would rather wait until they are home and can’t be caught. “Here.”

“But, baby, I know you don’t.” He chastely kisses her cheek, gently taking his fingers from her warmth and slowly removing his hand from her pants, pouting his lips, “My hand is cold, now.”

“Unfortunate,” she shrugs, taking a long sip from her water as his tongue licks along his palm, his two fingers suckled between his lips and tasting all that he’s missed in nearly four days. He isn’t used to going that long. Maybe, he’s a bit spoiled in that regard. Harry and Amelie are running on the same sex drive at all times. Call it inspirational in some respects. Amelie has found it quite useful in the exhibitions recently. Harry finds that flattering.

“Quit being a brat,” Harry teases, squeezing her knee over the blanket and standing on his feet, nodding towards the bathroom a few feet away. “Have to wash my hands. Got a bit messy.”

Amelie shakes her head, wiggling around in her seat and shrugging her sweatshirt over her torso, settling under the blanket and laying over the chair, waiting for Harry to get back and cuddle into. Harry smiles at the sight, wiping his hands over his sweatpants and manoeuvring around her legs and settling into his seat. His arms open wide, graciously accepting Amelie as she climbs over into his seat and lays in the reclined bed with him, tucking her face into his neck. “Hi.”

“Hi, Cherry.”

“Can’t wait to go home,” she whispers, yawning as his fingertips drag through her hair. “Miss home.”

“Know you do,” he says, kissing her temple and bringing the blanket tighter over her body. “Me too.”

“Need a really good night of sex, too. Or day. I’m not picky.”

Harry snorts, “Have our other nights not been satisfactory to you?”

“Always the best with you. Don’t worry,” Amelie smirks, kissing his jaw and breathing in his cologne. “Different when we’re home, though. Don’t care about anything or anyone. Can just do it wherever, whenever. Don’t have to worry about my parents or sister, or our friends coming and knocking on our door.”

“Love your sister,” Harry says, his voice hanging on the last word, “but she is the biggest cock block in the entire world.”

Amelie laughs so loudly into Harry’s chest that the flight attendant peers over his novel. “God, you’re right.”

“Need to just be alone with m’missus for a while.”

Her voice is quiet, once again, barely above a whisper as she begins to fall asleep nuzzled into his warmth. “Alright.”

His eyebrows furrow together in confusion. “No argument? No rebuttal?”

“Not today.”

Harry laughs breathily, shaking his head and kissing her hair, his hands dragging along her spine as she drifts asleep. He stays awake until nearly eleven, waking her to eat and watching a film on his phone until they’ve fallen back asleep together, only waking to the sound telling them to buckle their seatbelts and settle into landing. Harry can see the relief on Amelie’s face, the smile that sits permanently on her lips as the pilot welcomes them to England and Heathrow Airport.

Amelie nearly forgets their luggage when Harry pulls into the garage, rushing inside to see Tigger and breathe in the scent that is permanently a mark of their London home. He tugs in their bags, setting the mickey mouse printed luggage in the foyer and wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her neck sweetly and nosing her hair away from her skin.

“Fuck, ’m happy to be home.”

“Know you are,” Harry smiles, gently biting her neck and licking over the red mark lingering on her skin. His hands squeeze her thighs, lifting her onto his hips and wrapping his arms under her ass, his eyes rolling as their cat begins to rub along his legs. “Not the time, Tigger.”

“He missed you.”

“Flattered, but not really the time. Quite missed shagging m’wife, so that’s the priority at the minute.”

“That sounds really sexy coming from your mouth,” Amelie hums, dragging her thumb over his plump lips.

“Hm?” Harry asks, carefully making his way up the stairs and shoving their bedroom door open, careful to make sure that their cat would not be in the way when the door closed behind him. He became way too good at carrying her up the stairs when they moved in two years ago.

“My wife.”

Harry snickers, walking straight into the bathroom and turning on the light with his elbow, setting Amelie on the counter and harshly pressing his lips to hers. “’s what you are, m’wife.”

“Can’t wait to have this on me,” Amelie smirks against his cheeks, her fingertips dragging along his beard as Harry tugs their sweatshirts and shirt off their bodies. “First place you’re going to have sex with me in our house is the shower.”

“Know you better than that to think you’ll let me on the clean sheets after we were just on a plane for twelve hours.”

Amelie giggles, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and tugging him into her, his arms circling her waist and his tongue tasting her lips, her tongue, her. “Know me well.”

“Hope so after five bloody years.”

“Go turn the water on.”

Harry nods eagerly, walking away and turning the water in the shower, the waterfall faucet sprinkling water over him as he tugs on his sweatpants tie. His head rolls back as two hands skirt along his naked torso, dancing dangerously close to where he wants them most, his cock already painfully hard between his thighs.

“Don’t tease me, now.”

“Am I not allowed to have a taste, either? ‘s been four days, remember?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry moans, squeezing his eyes shut as Amelie’s hands bring his sweatpants over his ass and thighs, her gently hand tugging teasingly over his shaft. “Get in the bloody shower, woman.”

Amelie laughs, taking Harry’s hand and stepping inside the shower, the steam already beginning to fog over the glass doors. His back hits the tile wall, a gasp leaving his lips as she sinks to the ground, her knees printed with the tile, her tongue dragging over the arousal wetting his tip. He moans, the sound spurring her on, his hand running through her hair as she wraps her fingers around his base and begins sucking on his cock, all of him surrounded by her tongue and her wet lips and her warmth.

His stomach tightens, nearly spilling his entire orgasm down her throat. His whimpers as she pulls away makes her laugh, his eyes barely open before he’s helping her stand and grabbing her thigh to wrap around his waist, his cock sliding deep inside her warmth without warning. Her forehead falls to his collarbone, the sensation overwhelming and deeply missed. Her nails dig into his shoulders, their kisses messy and sloppy as his thrust reaches every inch into her core, his thumb drawing shapes around her clit the way he knows she loves.

“Missed this so much,” Amelie moans, her fingers tugging at his curls and bringing his mouth to hers. “Can’t go that long again.”

“Fucking swear on m’life,” Harry grunts, the way his cock is driving into her making her lift onto her toes. “Gi’ me your leg.”

“Do you want to fall over?”

“Trust me.”

Amelie wraps her legs around Harry’s waist, sighing when her back hits the cold tile that is out of the water’s reach, a gasp leaving her lips as his shaft sits deeper inside her warmth.

Harry is grunting mercilessly into her neck, Amelie’s moans echoing inside the bathroom, and to anyone that doesn’t know them, they might have thought that they’d not seen each other for a month, maybe two, with how intense their orgasms spill onto each other. Her thighs shake around his waist, their orgasms dripping out of her and onto his legs as he holds her, making sure that she wouldn’t fall.

And their shower isn’t devoid of more touching and kissing, in fact, the water goes cold before they’re fully finished washing up and rinsing the shampoo and conditioner from their hair.

Harry watches Amelie change intensely, soaking in the way she’s never changed the way she looks in their time together – except for the new three tattoos – the way she’s never felt the need to. Harry adores every curve and tattoo and mark and dimple, especially when she’s naked and he’s touching her skin.

“Can you look away for maybe two seconds?”

“No,” Harry deadpans, laying his hands behind him on the bed, the towel still loosely covering his waist.

“Are you going to eat lunch with me?” Amelie wonders, tugging one of Harry’s old shirts on and sliding briefs onto her hips – he never wears them anyways.

“Think I need to go for a run, and then I’ll shower and come back and eat.”

“You want to go for a run? After a twelve-hour flight?”

“Need to otherwise you and me will be in that bed for the next twelve hours,” Harry says surely, taking a deep breath and nodding his already semi-hard cock between his thighs.

“For fuck’s sake,” Amelie breathes, shaking her head and walking to him on the bed. Her lips press against his chastely, once, then twice, smiling when he tugs her onto his chest, and they fall against the mattress.

“Love you.”

“Love you more. Go for your run. Think I can take, like, six hours in bed, with breaks, alright? I’m not a machine.”

“Ooh, a compromise.”

“Married men get three compromises a year, this is one.”

“Deal.”

359 notes · View notes

hypnofur1 · 3 years

Text

Influencing the Influencer

By Hypnofur

“I have to say, I am loving retirement. This is my first year of being retired and it was everything I dreamed it would be and more. Everyone should retire at 36!” Dan joked into the microphone. The two radio guys laughed harder than they should have. While Dan knew that regular people couldn’t retire at 36, he wasn’t joking about loving retirement. He had been playing football since second grade. He enjoyed a 15 year career in the NFL. 13 of those years were in Cincinnati, but the last two were in Kansas City… where a SuperBowl was won in his last season.

Being part of a Super Bowl team, even as a backup like Dan was by the end of his career, makes you royalty in that city for the rest of time. Heck, ask the ’85 Bears about that. Especially in cities that love their team as much as KC. Dan always wanted to win one for Cincy, the city that he truly identified as home now, but that was never even close to being in the cards.

However, Dan was the only high profile guy from the Super Bowl team to retire after the big win. The rest of the guys pretty much stayed on the team, and were in the Super Bowl again this year. As such, all the KC radio and media people were desperate for a “Chiefs Insider” to talk to. Dan was flown down to Tampa for the week to do radio, tv, etc. He was considering a career in broadcasting, so this all-expense paid trip was a nice little trial run. The only downside of it, was that Casey didn’t come with him.

Dan’s wife was going to go to Tampa with him, and make a ton of Instagram videos and posts from Tampa. She was incredibly excited about it, as was the social media company that employed her to do all these blogs. Her sweetness, honesty, great style, and knockout natural beauty was evident to anyone who saw her, whether in real life or on a screen. She had sort of become “Cincy’s Sweetheart” over the years, so when influencers became a thing, she was in high demand. The Tampa vlogs were likely going to set records for likes. However, Dan’s mom broke her ankle in a fall the week before.

Casey insisted she stay home to help Dan’s mom. This is why Dan was head over heels for her. Yes, she was gorgeous. But she was also the sweetest, most wonderful wife in the world. While all the other players would have girlfriends and hook ups in each city, Dan never did. He was completely and utterly faithful to Casey.

With all this said, while Casey didn’t go to Tampa, she had to vlog about something. Trips to Dan’s Mom’s house during the day to help her out wouldn’t make good content. Such was the topic of conversation as the couple chatted on the phone Friday morning.

“So did you find anything to vlog about?” Dan asked.

“Ugh, I think so. They really want us to push groupon experience things. They gave DeAndra groupon passes to a comedy show, so we are going to do that.” Casey told her husband. She meant to sound a bit more cheery as she did so. She was trying so hard to not show her disappointment over not being in Tampa. She didn’t want to make him feel bad.

“Oh yeah, is Darnell going? If the dude is funny, the sound of Darnell’s laugh when he gets roaring is the only thing anyone in that place is going to hear! Hopefully the dude doesn’t make Bengals jokes. Darnell will get up on that stage!” Dan laughed, as did Casey.

“Did you drink tons of water last night?” Casey asked. She was always concerned about him.

“Hahah. I did. A whole river. I’m doing good. Three more days babe, then I am home to you. I miss you so much.” Dan said, very truthfully.

“Me too. I’ll tell DeAndra and Darnell you said hi” she smiled as she hung up.

Dan missed her terribly, but he was at least pleased that he’d have her vlog to watch later that night. He loved watching those. However, it was Friday night of Super Bowl week. Dan had a whirlwind day. He was treated like a Chiefs Legend because he was wearing that Super Bowl ring. He even got invited to a dinner with Joe Montana! He couldn’t pass that up. Dinner was great. Drinks were had, and not enough water was consumed. Dan passed out when he got back to the hotel.

It was late the next morning when Dan finally awoke. He realized that he had missed Casey’s Instagram vlog. He was surprised he didn’t have a text about that from her. He checked her Insta page. There wasn’t one from last night. That was really odd. He started to get a little nervous.

He texted her. “Hi, you ok? No vlog from last night?”

Fortunately, he got an immediate return text “Just filmed it this morning. Posting now J”

That put him at ease. He took a quick shower, and then grabbed his phone to see his beautiful wife’s angelic face. She was in her car. For some reason, that’s where people filmed themselves. Dan never understood why that was a thing.

“Hey guys, its Casey! Hope you are all having a great weekend! I know it is Super Bowl weekend, and that is super exciting for tomorrow! But, I wanted to tell you guys about a great experience me and my friends had thanks to groupon last night! My hubby is out of town, and I was feeling kind of sad, but then my friends called and said they had a groupon for an awesome experience. Totally changed the course of my weekend!

So we went to Funny Bone at Liberty Center, which is such a cute place! Anyway, my friend DeAndra told me the comedian was actually a stage hypnotist named Arnold Denton, aka The Amazing Hypno-natti. When I heard hypnotist, I was freaking out! Oh, and yeah, I found the name ‘Hypno-natti’ lame as well, but trust me guys, he is soooooo amazing!

So anyway guys, when we got in, I decided to put my fear aside and volunteer. Seriously guys, it was one of the craziest experiences I’ve ever had. Before we were even brought up on stage, we had to sign a waiver that basically said the hypnotist is not responsible for any injuries that may occur and all that other fun legal stuff. Guys, believe me when I tell you that I cannot recall a moment in my in my life that I was more nervous when I was up on that stage. The hypnotist explained to us, and the rest of the audience, that what we were about to experience was extremely different. Some of us would remember exactly what happened, and some of us wouldn’t. In total, there were probably about like twenty five of us lined up in front of the stage and the audience was told to be completely silent.

Right before we began, the hypnotist told us that we would be “under” for about a half an hour, but our bodies would react as if it had been asleep for 8 hours. So crazy! From what I can remember, it went a little like this:

We were told to sit down and just relax. With our eyes closed, we were told that we should feel this ‘energy of relaxation’ that would begin to pool at our feet and then work its way up to our body. All the while, there was this really strange music that was playing and the hypnotist was talking to us. After about 5 minutes he had us open our eyes and raise our arms horizontally and lock our fingers together so that we made a ball with our fists. At this point, we are still not under, so we were all aware of our surroundings and what not. Next thing I know, Hypno-natti is coming straight down the line and thrusting our hands down into our laps and pushing our heads down onto the shoulder of the person sitting to our left. It was about my turn and the last thing I can remember about this part is him yelling “Sleep!”

After the whole intro, we woke up and he was kind of pacing the stage and the audience was giggling and stuff and I can remember being super confused. I seriously thought that the show ended and I was actually asleep the whole time. As he was pacing, he was just casually talking to the audience and then he said “spark” (what I now know is a “trigger word”) and just like that it felt as though the wrath of God had come through the leg of the chair I was sitting in and electrocuted me in the butt! It hurt so bad; not like a long pain, but just like a jolt of electricity. I stood up so fast and everybody in the place was just rolling! I looked around and it was just me and another guy standing and grabbing our butts. He did this a couple more times and then triggered some of the other people and the whole time I just remember being super confused. At one point, I remember crying, because I had fallen deeply, madly in love with him, and he was dancing with someone else. It was soo crazy guys! Long story short, the hypnotist basiscally made us his personal puppets and we were slightly embarrassed, but it was all in good fun. My friends and I totally laughed about it all night after. It was a great experience that was all made possible through groupon!! Swipe up and see what other fun experiences they can save you a ton on. Luv you guys!!!” She concluded with a kiss of her fingers then the peace sign.

Dan loved to see her and hear her voice. He was wishing it wasn’t 48 full hours until he’d get to see her again. But it was. Those 48 hours went quickly at least. Frankly, it was a whirlwind. By the time he walked in the door of his spacious Cincinnati home Monday morning, he was exhausted – but so glad to hug, squeeze, and kiss his gorgeous brunette wife.

“Tell me everything!!” Casey said as she put some coffee on. She could tell by his face that he needed it.

Dan laughed as he admitted he exhausted. It had been quite a week of late night dinners, Super Bowl parties, and media work. It was terrific, but it wiped him out. However, he happily launched into his diatribe. He told her about all the radio shows he went on, and how he even did a couple TV spots. Casey squealed when he told her that he plugged her vlogs on all the local Cincinnati shows.

“ooooh My big media mogul!” Casey flirted. Her big brown eyes gazing into Dan’s. Then her phone beeped with a text, which was a constant occurrence. She grabbed it and checked the text. It was at this point that her expression changed. She became completely focused on the phone. It was like she suddenly forgot Dan was there.

“Who’s that?” Dan asked, realizing this was strange. Was someone hurt? Was something wrong? Casey didn’t answer. She just typed a couple things on her phone, and then walked upstairs, not even addressing Dan as she left. Dan found this very strange, but he also had to pee really bad. He figured he’d see what the deal was, but had to handle that situation briefly before anything else.

Much to his shock, by the time he got up to the bedroom, Casey was naked and wearing headphones. She was sprawled out on their bed, reclining in a mound of fur pillows. Naked and eyes closed with her blue bullet vibrator that they had bought as a sexy toy at their anniversary. Dan understandably figured that this was a “welcome home” sex game. He found himself immediately getting hard.

"I’m going deeper and deeper." Casey said quietly. Dan assumed she was talking about the vibrator going into her pussy. This was unusual sex talk from her, but he was still into it.

She moans, "Going deeper and deeper. I am deeply hypnotized. "

Dan was stunned. She was sooooooo freaking sexy with a nipple in one hand and that toy teasing the other one. But what did she say? Did she say hypnotized?

“Deeply hypnotized and deep under your control.” She whispers.

Dan heard that and got more concerned, but then couldn’t help but notice that he sound of the vibrator changed! She had turned up the setting. Soon, she was pinching her breasts and her hips are starting to rock slowly. She was moaning and purring. Dan was so hard he couldn’t think straight.

Casey turned the toy up to level 3; as fast as it goes. The next 4 settings are just various combinations of the 3 vibration speeds. Her hips were moving faster, her breasts were bouncing and she was having a hard time keeping the toy on her clit. Her teeth were clenched and she could feel the orgasm start to creep over her skin. . Her chest was heaving as she changed the setting on the toy again.

Slow, Slow, Slow, medium, medium, medium, fast, fast, fast

With hypnotic words and commands being fed into her mind, the orgasm raced up her torso and arched her body off the bed. Her neck muscles tightened and her eyes pinched shut as she screamed out loud and held the toy in place right on top of her clit.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOhHHHHHHHHHH, OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! I server Master Hypno-natti!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I belong to Master Hypno-natti!!!!!!!!!!!! OOOOHHHHMYGODMASTERRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Shock from Dan.

Awe from Dan.

Lust from Dan.

Fear from Dan.

Anger from Dan… and anger won.

He grabbed the headphones and ripped them off her. He yelled right into the microphone. “This is her husband, you sick fuck! Stay the fuck away from us, or I’ll rip your motherfucking arms off!!!!”

There was a click, and Dan knew that the person on the other end of that phone was gone. He turned his attention to Casey, who was now glistening with sweat, and still breathing heavy.

“Cay – Cay, wake up babe. Cay” he said, shaking his wife.

She eventually stirred, opened her big brown eyes and stared back at her husband. “Dan, what’s going on?” she asked.

“This is going to sound nuts, babe. But I think the hypnotist from the other night, like triggered you into masturbating for him on the phone.” Dan explained carefully. He wasn’t sure how his Catholic, surprisingly conservative wife would handle this manipulation.

He watched her face as the realization of what happened washed over her. He held his breath as he expected the tears to start rolling. Instead, she looked at him wide eyed. Then her beautiful big brown eyes slowly went down to his crotch.

“I missed you” she whispered, as she stared at her husband’s erection.

Confusion from Dan.

Fear from Dan.

Love from Dan.

Lust from Dan… and lust won.

He went down and made love to his wife. They kissed passionately, like the reunited lovers they were. Dan couldn’t remember the last time he was this turned on. He couldn’t wait any longer, and inserted himself right into his wife’s already very wet pussy. He glided right in. He didn’t last long in there. Within 30 seconds, he had finished. Casey giggled and gave him a loving hug. He crashed on to the bed beside her. Planning to only take a minute to catch his breath and then have a talk with his wife about the whole hypnotist thing, Dan accidentally fell sound asleep. The crazy week of the Super Bowl was just too much. He was out like a light, he didn’t even hear Casey get a text...

Dan slept for a good two and a half hours. He woke up to Casey lovingly rubbing his back.

“Hey babe, if you sleep too long, you won’t be able to get to sleep tonight. Your schedule will be all wacky.” She said lovingly. He knew she was right. She was always taking care of him.

Dan turned around in the bed and smiled at his beautiful wife. She had gotten freshened up, her clothes were back on and she was all together. God, she was so beautiful. Like a brunette angel.

“Hey, try this” she said, handing Dan a cup of tea. “It is a new chamomile tea they want us to vlog about. It’s actually reeaalllly good!” Casey said excitedly. Dan took the tea and tried it. He wasn’t a tea guy, but… anything for Casey.

“Hey, look babe, we have to talk about that Hypno-natti guy. I think he’s like still playing with your head” Dan said. He had always been direct. “When I came upstairs, you were on the phone with him I think, and you were, you know…”

“Playing with myself?” Casey said with a devilish, but so cute grin. She didn’t usually say things like that.

“Yeah” Dan said, surprised she said that out loud. He felt his dick stir a bit.

“Seriously babe, you are going to love that tea” Casey encouraged. Dan took another sip. It was pretty good.

“So, that was hot to see, I’ll admit, but you can’t have some guy like… controlling you to do sex stuff” Dan said, surprised he needed to map it out to her to this point.

Casey nodded. Then she looked at the bed sheet starting to tent around Dan’s groin. She laughed. “Well well, me thinks he doth protest too much” she teased. “OMG, I forgot to tell you. I saw the BEST movie on HBO Max when you were gone!” she said exuberantly.

“HBO Max? Babe, we should really deal with this hypnotist thing.” Dan said, what the hell was going on? His head was feeling a bit tingly. Boy, he must still be tired.

“I know Dan, and we will. I’m sorry, I have just missed you soo much. I saw this movie, and it was like, really sexy. And I can see that you are, you know… turned on right now” she said as she gently stroked his growing hard on.

“We can deal with this hypno stuff later. But right now, I am in the mood, and you are in the mood, and I want to show you the sexiest things I’ve ever seen on screen. Finish your tea and we can check this out” Casey said as she leaned into a sensual kiss with her husband.

Dan was a very smart man. He went to Notre Dame. He knew something was seriously fucked up here. But he was a MAN. And the curiosity of what kind of movie could have been so hot that it got her acting like this was just too curious for him to ignore. Against his better judgement, he let his beautiful wife lead him to their home theater room. He felt his head spin as he stood up from the bed.

“Take a seat in the middle” Casey directed with another long sensual kiss before turning on the surround sound and the media player. Dan’s eyes were glued to her. She was walking around such sexy confidence. He had never seen her like this. What the hell was in this movie???

Satisfied that the AV system was on and playing, Casey sat down in the large velvet chair next to her husband’s. The giant screen was black for a while, and Dan noticed that there was a humming coming from the speakers. The humming was vibrating through this very core. It felt… warm? Was that right? Soon there was a black and white spiral on the screen. What kind of HBO Max thing is this? Dan thought. Then he remembered the hypnotist. Wait, what the fuck? He went to protest, but he was becoming enthralled by the whirling spiral that had become the only thing in the room. He could feel it hypnotizing him, warm waves of relaxation moving out from it into his opening mind. Hypnotizing him. Hypnotizing Casey. Hypnotizing them with the way it spun around and around, always going deeper.

This was how it felt to be hypnotized? Dan thought to himself. He never could have dreamed how nice it was. How good it felt to be under hypnosis, under hypnotic control. He knew who the voice belonged to now, that it was Hypno-natti talking to them as they watched in a deep hypnotic state. Hypno-natti was amazing! Sooo amazing. Hypno-natti was the master of the fascinating, hypnotic spiral that controlled their minds.. He was telling them that it was time to submit their entire mind and body now, to go into a trance.

Dan knew he didn’t want to do that, but he felt a deep desire to obey, an overwhelming urge to submit. Pleasing Hypno-natti was most important. To go into a trance for Hypno-natti. Hypno-naitti’s voice was telling them to prepare to surrender totally to his hypnotic power. The spiral was turning faster now. Dan felt all his thoughts begin to move down into it. He could feel the intense hypnotic influence reaching out for his mind and he couldn’t help but submit. Faster and faster, round and round. He was falling into it. Falling faster and faster. She could see only an endless spiral in front of him now, a deep whirling tunnel that pulled him in as he stared into it. Hypno-natti’s voice was controlling their thoughts, hypnotizing them into total obedience.. There was only the spiral. And the voice. The whirling spiral. The soothing voice. Hypno-natti’s voice. Their master. Dan knew he must obey. Casey knew she must obey her master. They were hypnotized, so deeply and completely.

Next thing Dan knew, he was somehow in the foyer. When had he left the theater room? There was a knock at the door. He answered. There was a small scrawny guy about 10 years older than him standing in the doorway.

“Can I help you?” Dan asked, his head still cloudy.

“I’m the Amazing Hypno-natti” the man said. His majestic voice now very familiar to the former NFL start. “Invite me in” he commanded.

“Please, come in” Dan said immediately, stepping out of the way.

Casey had entered the foyer when she heard the knock. When she saw Hypno-natti, she was immediately overcome with desire. He was soooo sexy. The sexiest man ever born. She immediately felt her pussy moisten and her nipples get sensitive. She flirtatiously played with her hair and smiled at him.

“Hello my darling Casey” he said as he took her in. She was so incredibly beautiful with her gorgeous brunette hair, big brown eyes, and perfect trim figure.

Dan knew this wasn’t right. He could sense the attraction between them. What the hell? She was his wife. “Look buddy, I-”

“Dan, go into trance” Hypno-natti said authoritatively. Dan said nothing, but his hands fell to his sides.

“Casey, I am your Master. You desire me above anything else.” Hypno-natti said, feeling very confident that both parties in the couple were completely under his hypnotic sway.

He moved into Casey, kissing her neck gently. She was too lost in him to look over at her husband, who was still still standing next to her with a glazed, entranced look in his eyes.

At Hypno-natti’s direction, the three went upstairs to the bedroom. At this point, the hypnotist commanded Dan. "Take off your wife’s pants and panties”.

Dan rose to action slowly. "Yes, Sir," he said in a soft, deferential voice as he knelt in front of her and pulled down the black yoga pants and little satin panties that were meant for his homecoming.

“Lay her on the bed” Hypno-natti said as he took off his own pants. Dan complied and then went to stand up against the wall when instructed to do so. All this, despite the 10 or so inches of height and almost 150lbs of muscle that Dan had on the hypnotist.

Hypno-natti descended upon her, his face directly in front of hers. His eyes boring into her own. "Submit to my influence, Casey. Submit to my hypnotic power. Submit to Hypno-natti. Submit to hypnosis” he said as he again rhythmically put his cock against her body.

"Very, very good, Casey. You're blissfully floating, deeply in my erotic thrall, open to all my commands. Feeling so wonderful as you obey me. Realizing now that nothing seems important but obeying me, because it feels so wonderful, so sexual. You want the sexy feeling of obeying me, don't you, Casey?"

"Yes. I want to obey." She repeated happily, lost in lust.

"Very good Casey. The more obedient you are, the more wonderful you will feel. Only pleasing me matters now, nothing else. All you want now is the wonderful, sexual, floating feeling of obeying my voice. All you want is to be deeply under my control and to obey me. Tell me now what you want, Casey."

"Deeply under your control. Obey you."

"Do you want me inside you?" he asked the hypnotized wife.

"Yes!" Casey answered, no longer caring for her dignity, her marriage, or for anything but the prospect of being ravished by her master.

The man poked the head of his penis against her quivering opening, slight hip movements just threatening to penetrate her, but not quite.

"Tell your husband how badly you want me to fuck you."

Casey shut her eyes, ashamed of the words she knew she had to offer. "I want him to fuck me!" she offered to the room.

The man pushed her head to the side, making her stare at her husband, still standing against the wall, his penis slowly inching its way to a semi-erection with the spectacle. "Say, 'Dan, I need Hypno-natti’s hypnotic dick inside me.'"

"Honey!" she mustered. Pausing, unbelieving of her own abandon. "I need Hypno-natti’s hypnotic big dick inside me! I neeeed it!!"

With one sharp thrust, the man invaded her with the full length of his modest cock, and Casey cried out in surrender at the explosion of pleasure. He brought his face down to hers, leaning in as if to kiss her, his breath hot on her face, and slowly slid his dick out, his rock-hard shaft grinding against her achingly swollen G-spot. As she raised her lips to accommodate him, he pulled his face away teasingly and thrust himself violently into her again, eliciting another loud pre-orgasmic cry. For what seemed like an eternity, they kept up this erotic dance of desire and denial, his hands caressing her hair, the almost gentle play of his face so close to hers contrasting exquisitely with the force of his thrusts. Finally, he brought his lips to meet hers and kissed her deeply, the lustiness of his tongue's exploration telling her that he was just as aroused by her as she was by him. His cock driving into her more insistently now, faster, even deeper it seemed.

And she loved it - there was no use denying it to herself. The hypnotic power of his eyes, their entrancing gaze. Now the hypnotist was pulling her head back by her hair as he fucked her, running his tongue up and down her neck. Then unleashing her and licking her all over her face. Making her feel so owned. The pressure inside building now to unbearable intensity, the edge of orgasm too much to stand. "Oh... my... God!" she stammered.

The man now gripping the slats of the headboard as leverage to drive himself into her with as much force as he could. He wrapped his small ams around her, squeezing her to him, her tits pressed against his chest, making her feel what strength he had as he continued fucking her just as hard as he could. She wrapped her arms around her Master, wanting to feel him as much as possible.

“Cum for me now my pet and tell me that you now belong to me!” Hypno-natti grunted.

In a burst of mind-shattering pleasure, Casey felt every muscle in her body violently contract upon his words. Her nerves screamed in ecstasy. A long, wailing scream shaping the breath that rushed out of her lungs, forming finally into words..."

"OH GOD, I'M CUMMMMMIIIIIIING!!!!IIIIMMMM YOURRRRSSS!!!"

**********************************************

A week later…

“Hey guys! This is Casey. We are half way through February. I can almost smell the spring! Anyway, I want to tell you guys about something that I am soooo into right now. I’ve been totally improving myself through hypnosis. You guys might remember one of my earlier vlogs where I talked about a totally fun stage show I went to starring the Amazing Hypno-natti. Well, I’ve been working with him one on one on a ton of stuff and he is totally helping me with his incredible hypnosis skills. Dan too! So, swipe up to learn more about Hypno-natti. He has both sessions and videos available. And you can even find where you can try some of his unbelievable chamomile tea. Guys, it is sooo good! More vlogs coming this week, don’t forget to like and subscribe Luv you guys!!!” She concluded with a kiss of her fingers then the peace sign.

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