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morallyinept · 3 months

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Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 10

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it; harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak; but he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter word count: 8.9k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: Frankie and Jude make new discoveries on the island, and they have their date. Mentions of suicide.

Enjoy! 🖤

Chapter 9

“AH FUCK!” Frankie yells loudly, and Jude turns, startled, in the water with her spear to see Frankie scramble up onto the rocks like a crab scurrying away from a would-be predator.

“What happened?” She calls out to him, bewildered.

“Careful!” He holds his palm up and she stops dead in the water. “I just stepped on a fuckin’ urchin!” He lifts his foot up and black spines are poking out from the heel of his foot.

“Shit,” she wades closer to him, looking into the water in the bay to make sure she doesn’t make contact with any urchins herself. “You okay?”

He’d been scouring the rock pools for anything edible whilst she fished, when he’d yelled out, and now he winces as he starts to pull the needles from his foot.

“Fuckin’ shit!” Frankie grunts through angry lips curled back over his teeth. “Vamos, cabrones!” (Come on you little bastards!)

“Let me do it,” Jude persuades, and he pushes his foot out to her and rests back on his elbows; his head thrown back and groaning with pain.

She tries not to let her eyes wander over the leanness of his bronzed body as he stretches back, clad only in shorts and his cap. But her eyes betray her anyway and take in the wet sheen over his skin from the waist down.

Clearing her throat, Jude pulls a couple of spines out that she can grip with her fingers, but there’s a few that are embedded too deeply into his skin that she can’t pinch a solid grip onto.

“I need the tweezers to get these out; you think you can make it back with me?”

“Yeah.” He puffs through gritted teeth.

“Lean on me for support; don’t walk on your heel, they’ll get embedded further into your skin and we’ll never get them out.” She advises.

Frankie nods as he slips off the rock, puts his arm around her shoulder and she leads him back to the shack slowly. His weight against her is heavy, but nothing she can’t manage, walking with him slowly as he hops beside her practically.

She smiles to herself at his unfortunate plight, despite the pain he’s in, she can’t help but find it somewhat amusing.

“This isn’t funny, it fuckin’ kills.” Frankie says, trying not to smirk at her too.

“It’s a little funny.” Jude replies, holding onto him. His skin feels smooth against her arm, and this close the scent of brine and sweat fills her nose.

They’re hobbling through the wooded area that separates both sides of the island, when they hear a snapping noise.

They both freeze on the spot.

“Did you hear that?” Frankie asks her, looking furtively and listening like a guard dog on high alert. They stay still for a moment, Frankie balancing on one leg like a flamingo.

They hear more rustling and then a low pitched screech.

“What the hell is that?” Jude asks, astonished. They haven’t heard or seen any animals on the island since they crash landed, so the noise is somewhat disconcerting.

“Sounds like dinner,” Frankie says, smirking down at her. “We can check it out later.”

Jude nods smiling and continues to walk with him. Once inside the shack he throws himself down on the cushion bed, and she sets to work on removing the remaining urchin spines from his foot with the tweezers.

“Lucky we have these. Hold still.”

“Thank you, nurse” Frankie says, as he inspects his foot afterwards. It looks all bloody and sore with tiny pin prick holes dotted around in a cluster on his heel.

“Lots of bed rest and fluids.” She remarks with a wink and he chuckles.

Frankie watches with a relaxed smile as she wraps his foot carefully in a damp t-shirt to alleviate some of the heated throbbing. “Are you excited about our date tonight?” He asks her.

“Depends,” she replies coyly.

“On what?” Frankie asks her with a curious smirk.

“On what you have in mind.”

“A gentleman never tells.” He makes the zipped lips motion with his fingers across his lips.

“I hope you are a gentleman.” Jude remarks with a tight smirk.

“Of course,” he confirms. “I won’t try anything funny, I promise.”

“Good, because I never fuck a guy on the first date,” she smiles through heated cheeks.

“Self-respect is hot.” Frankie grins.

She smiles at him and pats the side of his calf. “Rest up; I’ll go back and get the fish.”

Wandering out of the shack, Jude thinks about their impending date night and wonders what it is exactly she expects from him and that he has planned. How gentlemanly will he be exactly? I hope he at least kisses me... The thought makes her hot.

It’s evidently something she’s thought about and considered regularly as of late. It’s not hard to notice how smiley and flirty they’ve gotten with one another. Frankie feels easy to talk to and she enjoys his company greatly.

And equally it’s something that excites her more and more; much like the thought of him watching her on the ridge as she got herself off, thinking about him doing the same in turn. It’s kinda hard not to, let’s face it; he’s utterly gorgeous. She can only wonder why they haven't given in to temptation yet and pounced on one another. Laying side by side on the cushion bed each night tests their resolve further.

But she knows he's being respectful, and she's thankful for that. She could've been left trapped on this island with a complete creepy letch instead of Frankie.

Jude ventures back to the bay to collect the fish, but when she approaches the tin she’s dismayed to find most of the fish they’d collected that morning are mysteriously gone.

“What the fuck?”

Jude begins looking around and spots tiny footprints criss-crossing around in the sand. She scouts through the trees on the way back to the shack, trying to listen for that screeching noise again; the probable thief that has stolen their dinner, but is unable to track it or hear it.

She explains to Frankie what’s happened and he chuckles, standing up and limping a little towards her.

“We can wait, you know, until it’s easier for you to walk.” Jude says, watching as he frowns each time he puts pressure on his foot.

“No way. I’m taking you on a date tonight. Besides, I wanna get that fucker who stole our food.” He retorts, reaching for a spear. “You in?”

“Try and stop me.” She replies, smiling at him with determination.

“¡Esa es mi chica!” Frankie winks at her. (That’s my girl!)

It’s much cooler in the afternoon as they venture out slowly into the wooded area of the island. A reprieve from the scorching hot sun they’ve endured as of late.

They use the spears to move and poke around in the wispy grasses and bushes of the underbrush, looking for any signs of life. More footprints, droppings... Any evidence of what it is that stole the fish and made that shrill shrieking noise.

A while later they hear it again.

“Weird howling noises in the woods? That’s some straight up horror movie shit right there.” Frankie grits as they push further into the tree line. He limps still and is careful about putting weight on his heel.

“I can see your mangina.” Jude teases him and she hears him chuckle.

There’s a low screech again off to the distance of them. She’s completely unfazed and carries on stepping over stones and reeds towards the sound.

“What do you think it is?” Frankie asks, curiously.

“Sounds like a strangled peacock.” She replies, laughing.

“Maybe a small mammal; or a bird of some kind?” He suggests. “Hopefully something we can eat either way.”

“Well it’s either that or a zombie.” Jude states.

“Very funny, I fuckin’ hate zombies.” He says it like they’re real.

“Who doesn’t like zombies? Come on.”

“They scared me when I was a kid.”

“For real?” Jude asks, smiling.

“Yeah. The first time I ever saw a zombie was when I was seven years-old, and my cousin made me stay up and watch Dawn of the Dead. I didn’t sleep for weeks and the slightest creak in my room would set me off. Él era un cabrón.” (He was a bastard.)

“You’re perfectly safe, they only eat brains.” She turns and pokes her tongue out at him and he can’t help but smirk at her.

“You’re on real form today.” Frankie mocks. “And look, you’re in a white tank top too.” He says as he notices her top.

He can see the black bikini straps poking out around her shoulders and he drifts momentarily back to the image of her spear fishing in the bay with him this morning whilst he stole covert glances at her body all wet in it.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your tank top; it’s white.” Frankie says to her, moving drooping vines and leaves out of his way as they walk through them. “The heroine in all good horror movies always wears a white tank top, you ever notice that?” He confirms to her.

“We're not in a horror movie.” She giggles. “Besides, so does Bruce Willis. Yippee Ki-Yay, motherfucker.”

“You won’t be saying that when I’m dead with my entrails hanging out, and you’re fuckin' screaming and running for your life, unknowingly straight into the arms of a machete wielding maniac, after falling over a branch or two first, making the audience genuinely believe you actually have a chance to get away, and then… BAM!”

Jude jumps when he over emphasises the bam part loudly by punching his own open palm.

“You’ve thought way too much about this.” Jude laughs and carries on.

“Remind me again why I’m risking my life for you?” Frankie says, very deadpan.

“Because I rock. And plus you need me, hop-a-long,” she pushes him gently, and he stumbles and falls backwards on his butt onto a grassy knoll. She can’t help but laugh loudly and unrestrained.

"Oh my God!" She howls.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” He laughs at her, astonished and in awe at how freely she’s snorting in between unguarded giggles.

“I’m sorry,” she reaches her hand out to him and helps him back up, her body quaking with laughter and he can't help but to laugh too.

“Oh, my revenge is gonna be sweet, hermosa. Just you wait.” Frankie surmises to her with a side grin, his cheeks flashing a shade of embarrassment.

“Promises, promises...” Jude titters as they carry on.

They hear the screeching noise again, only this time it seems louder and they stop, listening out. Frankie turns his head and Jude’s eyes scan the trees.

The screech comes again and Frankie jumps a little “Shit,” he sighs out.

“I’ll never be able to count on you in a scary situation, will I?” She asks him, smirking.

“Hell no. I’ll offer you up as bait in exchange for my life any time.”

“Pussy.” Jude remarks and he looks down at her with a pink smirk breaking out his lips. She wonders instantly what those lips will feel like on her own.

“Monkey.” Frankie says, looking at her.

“Are you calling me a damn monkey?” She asks with a giggle, and feigning appal at his choice of friendly insult. “That’s not very creative.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Look...” He points just past her head and she turns. “Up there, in the tree - it’s a monkey.” Frankie whispers.

Her eyes scan as Frankie steps beside her and gazes up at the tree tops. There’s a little brown monkey sitting in the tree branches, almost entirely camouflage, and watching them back with wide yellow eyes.

“He’s so small,” Jude says in wonderment. “Maybe a capuchin or something?”

Frankie shrugs. “I dunno.”

“He looks cute. I’m going to call him Egon.”

“Egon?”

“Yep. He’s clearly a Ghostbuster, don’t you think?” Jude asks. “I reckon he has a Proton Pack hidden somewhere around here.”

They both snicker and watch as the small ape sits in the tree and screeches again as though he’s trying to communicate with them; trying to tell them that he enjoyed eating their fish.

“I don’t think I can eat a monkey,” she puts to Frankie quietly, feeling a little sad.

“Me either, especially now that you’ve fuckin’ named him.” He laughs gently, rolling his eyes. He takes off his cap and runs his hand through his curled, oily locks.

“How did he even get here?” She asks, watching the monkey as it pulls at a leaf on the tree.

“Maybe it’s native?”

“No, there would be more of them, surely.”

“Who says there isn’t?” Frankie asks, shrugging. He plonks the cap back on his head and looks around.

“We would've heard them by now, right? I’m surprised he’s been quiet all this time.”

They watch Egon for a while, marvelling and trying to work out how the little creature ended up on the island with them. He watches them back, cocking his head this way and that.

They walk back towards the shack as dusk is falling over the island.

“I wonder if he came here with the person who built the shack originally, like a pet or something?” Jude muses out loud as they walk, or rather Frankie hobbles.

He nods at her detective ramblings, smiling as the darkness begins to fall around them.

When they reach the shack, Frankie holds the plastic open for her as she steps through it. He reaches for some clothes.

“Be back soon,” he smiles at her, lingering in the doorway for a moment.

Whilst he’s gone, she flops down on the cushion bed tired and thinking about the monkey and then her mind drifts towards this evening.

She glances at the notebook on the case as she considers what their date will be like and can feel the tingle in her toes at the thought of it. She absentmindedly reaches for the notebook and takes the opportunity to have a curious look through it whilst Frankie freshens up.

She leafs through the pages gently at what he’s been writing. She’s sure he won’t mind; it’s not like he’s kept it hidden or has explicitly told her not to read it.

It seems at first like it’s just him making a note of the passing days. Little doodles litter in the corners of the pages, like stick men and vortexes where he’s scribbled the pen round and round whilst thinking, tossed on the paper like inky confetti.

She flips a few pages in and there’s some rough sketches of the shack; schematics if you like, of how he’s going to build it, which makes her smile at his methodical planning.

She continues turning the pages and stops when she gets to a paragraph he’s written and reads it slowly. It looks like a poem, maybe a haiku of some kind, but she soon realises it’s an admission:

... We’re probably going to die on this island. Both of us are going to die and I won’t be able to save her... I can’t watch her die. Not when she’s the one keeping me alive.

Jude wipes her eyes, shutting the notebook and instantly cursing herself for snooping.

It’s evident that Frankie doesn’t have any hope at all for them anymore. He had tried convincing her for so long that they would be okay, lulling her into a false sense of security, telling her what she wanted to hear, when inside he truly believed that they wouldn’t make it.

Of course, the day he went catatonic after the boat fiasco, she knew he’d given up the ghost somewhat, but to know he still had no hope for them, even now with their routines, was a tough feat to accept. Unknowingly burdening her with the responsibility for his own life, it seems.

But isn’t that what she’s done to him, too? She relies on him heavily to get her through, even if she never tells him or actively puts that pressure on him, or realises it herself at times. Just him being here with her is the most important thing to her survival; there’s no way she’d have made it this far without him - her life is literally in his giant hands, and evidently his is in hers too.

It’s a tough responsibility to place on someone, right?

Jude mulls it over as she sniffs in deep, desperate to keep the tears away, and understands his inner pain and turmoil because she’s spent so many nights lying beside him as he sleeps wondering, that if he wasn’t here with her - if he had died - that she would probably want to go with him. She won’t be able to cope on her own here. It’s draining being here and massively taking its toll.

Maybe that seems melodramatic in a way; losing all hope after a mere few months on the island, I mean what’s two months? Pah.

But think about it; every day they wake up with severe lack of sleep deprivation because the nightmares and belly cramps from being constantly hungry keep them awake. They drink water, but their thirst is never fully quenched. They eat the same fish every day. Maybe once a day; sometimes a few days pass by without eating them at all. And the fish soon starts to taste putrid; like they can’t even taste that’s its fish anymore. They soon start to loathe putting it in their mouth because why bother? They can’t even taste or enjoy the flavour anymore. They can no longer stomach it to swallow it down.

They try their best to stay clean and healthy, but the sun scorches their epidermis every day doing unseen damage no doubt; the sea salt is a permanent perfume they carry on their skin and hair no matter how much they sweat or try to rinse it off.

Their bare feet are cracked and dry from walking over the sand and rocks daily, the clothes they wear now aren’t even theirs and don’t fit properly. They don’t know who they belonged to, what stories they could tell them from the previous owners who are lying dead at the bottom of the ocean somewhere. They try to stay busy; to fish, to re-light the same damn fire over and over again. To collect water even when it doesn’t rain for days.

They build a recycled shack for shelter, but it’s never really home. They consume so much energy every day to stay alive, yet they’re constantly exhausted, spent and on the verge of collapse. They don’t even know what it is exactly they’re living for anymore. They can’t remember their families’ faces. They wonder if they can remember theirs; that they existed once.

All this happens in a very short space of time; a couple of months pass by since they landed here, and they’re both already, figuratively, standing on the edge of the ridge, looking over it and wondering if today will be the day they find the courage to jump off and just end it all in a bloodied heap at the bottom. Just stop the suffering, the constant fighting to live a life that isn’t a life to live anymore. How can it be?

Secluded. Isolated.

Just Jude and Frankie, barely hanging on to anything, because there’s nothing to hang on to anymore. It’s like they’ve been cast out from the rest of the world for something terrible that they did, but the world won’t tell them what it is they’re being punished for.

They talk together, they laugh together to pass the daunting stream of time suffocating them both. They put on a brave face masking their inner turmoil from one another, even though the other senses it. They crack jokes; Jude looks into his molten brown eyes daily, but inside them there’s nothing and she can see it as clear as the day as the emptiness is reflected in hers back at Frankie.

They’re both hollow husks of their former selves stranded here. Thrust together by some cruel, wicked fate and they can’t comprehend how or why it happened. Why the plane crashed, why they had to be on that fucking plane when it crashed; the series of events in their live that worked in some devious motion to put them here, to test them - to break them. They blame God, they blame kismet; Jude blames that no good bastard Nate.

Is God testing them right now? Have they passed or are they failing miserably and the reward is sweet, lustful death? Welcome oblivion? They’re so tired of this shit; just so fucking tired. When the Grim Reaper comes for them, they won’t resist, they’ll get up and take his skeletal hand willingly.

They’re wasting away, getting thinner; Jude’s hair is getting longer, all hair on her body in fact becomes unruly and un-groomed. Her legs are as hairy as Frankie’s some days. And she doesn’t even want to acknowledge the car crash between her legs. His face begins to disappear from the hair that grows on it and she wonders if she’ll forget his face too as he vanishes underneath it before her eyes.

She stops looking in the little cosmetic mirror because the face that’s looking back at her isn’t hers anymore. She buries the mirror in the sand one day, and a part of her forever gets buried with it.

They’ve changed; this horrid landscape has changed them. It’s not an island paradise in the tropics; the brochure lied - it’s Hell that they’re living in, literal Hell.

Every. Single. Day. Is. Fucking. Hell.

And when she reads those words from the person residing in this Hell with her, Jude can’t help but feel united in a peaceful acceptance with him; because deep down she knows Frankie is right.

Even though she desperately needs him to tell her it’s not true; that it’s not all in vain. That they’re both going to make it like he used to reassure her, and then escape into the sunset together back in the real world.

But it’s all a damn lie. He’s only being honest with her, even if he never says it to her face anymore, but instead via words on crinkled paper he wrote when he had lost all hope; when he was deeply hurting and didn’t know what else to do or say to comfort himself, let alone Jude too. The truth hurts after all. Jude wants him to lie so badly to her. But he doesn’t - he can’t - because they both know it.

They are going to die on this island. Both of them.

And there’s fuck all she can do about it except roll over and wait for it to take them.

She stares at the notebook for a long time. For so long that Jude doesn’t hear him come back into the shack at first.

Frankie’s wearing a blue, floral patterned shirt - which he seems to favour over the others most - over a white t-shirt and some shorts. His facial hair seems longer, yet is sparse in some random patches, she notes. Almost as if it’s grown further in the time it's taken him to bathe and return, which is probably mere minutes, but after reading the notebook passage, feels like forever.

He smiles at her, but his eyes regard her differently. It’s almost as if she can now see all the pain that he’s hidden so well from her.

“You okay?” Frankie asks her as he tosses his other clothes into the case they’ve allocated for their dirty laundry.

Jude nods and gives him a bright smile that’s as sincere as she can muster. More lies fed to each other.

“I’ll go and get ready; won’t be long.” She picks up some clothes and makes her way out the shack and down to the shoreline, stopping at the cave mouth for toiletries.

She bathes and washes away the grime and sweat from the day, but it never really leaves her skin. It’ll be a stench that will be about her person always now it seems.

She looks up at the dark sky from inside the water to be met with a vacant, deep sapphire sky and for a while her thoughts are just as blank. Cut off and void. Just floating on the water's surface, naked under the moonlight and willing the current to take her out to sea and drown her.

Once back on the shore, she puts on the sundress, the turquoise one with the sequins she has yet to wear, and sits on the sand and shaves her legs as best as she can with the blunt razor. She nicks her skin a few times, drawing blood as the razor is effectively useless now.

She inspects the razor blade; shimmering at her from under the light of the moon, and as she runs her thumb over the top of it feeling its jagged surface, she envisions running it across her wrists and just bleeding out here on the sand quietly. End it all, no worries; no more just surviving.

But then she thinks of what Frankie had written: Not when she’s the one keeping me alive...

She drops the razor to the sand beside her and places her hands over her mouth, sobbing as quietly as she can. Cramming the chokes and sniffles back into her selfish body and willing herself to stop with the breakdown.

But she can’t, it rocks through her and renders her a lost and frightened mess. The weight of their predicament, the uncertainty of their future, and the longing for home crashes down upon her like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf her in unrelenting despair.

Each tear that streams down her cheeks carries with it a torrent of pent-up emotion, a silent plea for release from the suffocating grip of this life. She cries until her throat is raw, her nose stuffy and until her chest aches with the effort of holding back the pain. And so, as she lays there on the sand, her tears mingling with the saltwater of the ocean, Jude allows herself to surrender to the unfiltered emotion that consumes her, because she can’t do anything else.

She walks up the beach front towards the rocks and the fire after a few minutes of convincing herself she’ll be okay; sniffing in deeply over and over to rid any evidence of her tears.

The heat is felt on her blotchy face as she passes it. Inside the shack, Frankie is sitting on the cushion bed and looks up at her as she comes in.

She tosses her dirty clothes into the case and he stands up to greet her.

“You look great,” he says to her, smiling approvingly and trying to keep his eyes inside his head.

Jude looks down at the previously unworn sundress that’s a little big for her, and smiles at him. “Not too bad, huh?”

He shakes his head. “Not too bad at all.”

“So,” she puts to him as they stand in the centre of the shack, inches apart from one another, staring at each other.

It’s like they’ve both been given new eyes and can really see each other for the first time. See each other for who they really are under that brazen front presented; can see that each of them are a little worn and bruised on the inside.

His eyes fall on the sequins that swirl all over the front of the sundress and glimmer as the flames from the fire through the window hole dance upon them and make them glitter at him.

His fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and touch one, and a slight look of remorse kidnaps his smile for a brief moment.

“What have you got planned for me?” Jude enquires with a smile.

He smirks at her from under the shadows of his cap; a devilish puckered grin breaking out across his lips that makes her skin prickle up and her nipples come alive and harden under the dress.

“Well, I was thinking maybe a movie, but the cinema here really sucks with their listings.” He states.

She giggles.

“Then I thought maybe salsa dancing,” he rocks his hips from side to side a little and she puts her hand over her mouth as she laughs again as she regards his awkward moves. “But I can’t fuckin’ dance to save my life.” Frankie concludes.

“Evidently,” she agrees, licking her lips.

“So, I figured we could go for a drive and maybe have an impromptu groping session in the back of my truck on the ridge. It’s what all the cool kids do, right?”

“Absolutely,” Jude laughs harder this time, and he chuckles in awe at her.

“I like it when you do that.” Frankie admits and his smile remains in place on his face.

“Do what?”

“Laugh like that. It’s awesome.” He steps forward closing the gap, and tucks her damp hair behind her ear.

She reaches up to his wrist and holds onto it for a moment before taking his left hand and circling the little bullseye tattoo over it.

He smells wild, like the sea and the outside world. The elements of the planet absorbing into his skin and leaving a distinct scent mixed in with his own fragile existence as a man. A man that’s seemingly more attractive to her as the days wear on; thinking about his skin against hers, how he’ll taste on her lips - all the ways he could fuck her over this island.

His fingers feel warm on her face as they brush against her cheek. Sure, they’ve both spied on one another for shits and kinky giggles covertly, but his touch is real now and it burns, leaving scorching, painful brands.

“Frankie,” Jude murmurs softly as he puts both his hands on the side of her face and looks down into her weary eyes.

“Mm?” He hums in a bewitching tone as time slows down around them.

“I need you to tell me that we’re going to get off this island. I need you to believe it.” She whispers to him, clutching onto his wrists.

He presses his forehead against hers and breathes out into her face, the rim of his cap pushing it off his head slightly as it makes contact with hers. “I can’t...”

“Lie to me. Make me believe it.”

“I can’t do that either.” Frankie replies, the warmth of his breath flowing from his plush mouth settles into her pores.

She looks at him and can see his lips, so huge and pink right in her eyes, surrounded by the fuzz of his ever growing moustache and beard.

“Please.” She whimpers; his fingers are felt rummaging hypnotically inside of her hair and scalp, making all the hairs on her body stand tall to order.

He draws back and looks at her square in the eye after taking a deep breath. “We’re going to get off this island.” Frankie says directly to her in a voice that isn’t convincing at all.

“Say it again.” Jude prompts.

“We’re going to get off this island.”

“And again.”

“We’re...” He pauses, searching for the strength he knows he had inside of him once upon a time; before he had come to this wretched place. Before he had succumbed to an addiction that messed everything up.

But he’s coming up empty.

“Frankie-”

He sighs softly. “We’re going to get off this island, Jude.” He repeats again, his shoulders sagging.

She looks back into his eyes; those big, unrelenting orbs that hold a thousand secrets and a thousand lies and it’s hard to tell which is which as they churn around his irises.

“Liar.” She says, with a small slip of a smile and he smiles back at her.

“Promise me something,” she puts to him as he regards her.

“What?” Frankie asks.

“Promise me that you’ll always be honest with me. Even if it’s something you think I won’t want to hear, okay?”

Frankie glances over at the notebook and she turns him back to face her. “Just promise me.”

He nods slowly, his face changing as though he’s been caught out on some dirty, twisted secret. “Did you read it all?”

“I read enough.” Jude says, softly. “You once said to me that it was okay to be scared.”

He nods. “I promise.”

She reaches for his hand and squeezes it tightly.

“Good. Now where’s your shitty truck parked?”

Frankie smiles lightly and takes her hand, leading her out the shack towards the fire.

They eat the remaining fish that Egon hadn’t stolen by the fire side and drink water.

But in the spirit of first dates, Frankie explains to her, in great detail, that he’s in fact taken her to his favourite Mexican restaurant in Florida. They aren’t here under the moonlight, but drinking cocktails, sitting at a table by the window watching the world go by, as they eat and talk and laugh about every topic imaginable.

“What’s it called, this amazing restaurant?”

“The Dancing Red Pepper.” Frankie says, after swallowing his fish.

“Really?”

“They make this cocktail, it’s all the colours of the Mexican flag. I have no fuckin’ idea how they do it, but it’s really cool.” He shrugs.

“That does sound very cool.” Jude agrees. “What do you think you’d be doing if you didn’t go into the Army?” She asks. “Like, what did you wanna be when you grew up?”

“I liked science at school… I figured maybe I could be an archaeologist. I wanted to dig up dinosaur bones.”

“Dinosaurs, huh?” She sounds impressed.

Frankie nods. “Almost came in my pants when I watched Jurassic Park for the first time.”

She snorts. “Cute.”

“What about you? What was the dream job?” He queries with a smirk.

“I’m doing it. I love taking pictures. Always have. It kinda gives you a different perspective on the world when you look through the lens.” She speaks with reverence and a deep rooted adoration for it. It radiates out of her and sinks into Frankie’s skin, infecting him with the wonderment of it all.

“What’s your favourite photograph you’ve ever taken?” Frankie asks.

Jude thinks for a moment and smiles looking into the fire. “I was in France, Paris… there’s this row of benches down by the Jardins Tuileries. And it's really peaceful there... it's nice to just stop and rest, you know? I watched when this old couple sat down together. She pulls a sandwich out of her purse and hands him half it, and they sit there and eat together. And like, they don’t say a word to each other. At all. Like, nothing. No conversation, just silence.”

“Really?” He asks.

“Yeah. but it’s not weird, you know? There wasn’t any tension like they’d had an argument or anything. They simply just hold hands and eat their sandwich half with the other, and watch the world go by together. I took the photo when they’d finished, and the man had turned to the woman and noticed she had a piece of the sandwich on her lip. And he gets his handkerchief out of his pocket and just… dabs ever so gently at her face and smiles at her. I captured it there at that moment. That moment when he looked into her eyes and smiled at her with the most adoration I think I've ever seen in anyone's eyes. It was beautiful.”

“They were in love.” Frankie surmises.

“I really think they were.” Jude smiles. “I have it framed in my room… or at least, I did.”

“I’d love to see it one day, your photo.” He says. And she smiles at him with a little nod.

They sit eating together in a wistful silence for a few moments before Frankie speaks again.

“Did Nate ever look at you like that?"

Jude snorts. "No."

"Tell me how you met him."

“You really want to know about him?” She frowns a little.

“Sure, he was a part of your life, right? Even if he is an asshole.”

“He was.” She bites down on the inside of her cheek sourly. “We met at a house party; he was a friend of a friend.”

“Tell me what happened. You said he cheated?” He enquires.

“I walked in on him fucking another woman in our bed. And it wasn’t for the first time either.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I needed to see it - again. To finally know that I was worth so much more than what he could give me. I’ve spent some time, whilst we’ve been here, evaluating things. I’m sure you have too.”

Frankie nods silently. His mind drifts back to the tumultuous events of his past - the choices made, the paths taken, and the mistakes that haunt him still.

“And it puts a lot of things into perspective, I guess. Like, when we get off this island, there are so many things I’m going to do differently.”

“Did you love him? Like those two people on the bench?” Frankie asks as he looks at her intently, those enquiring eyes of his round and fixated on her.

“With all my piece of shit heart,” she admits. “Did you love your girlfriend?”

Frankie shakes his head. “Not for a long time.”

“Why couldn’t you just tell her?”

Frankie picks up a pebble in the sand; fiddles with it around his thick, shaky fingers. “Because… I was afraid of admitting it out loud to myself,” he replies.

“What were you afraid of exactly?” Jude enquires.

“That I could never really love anybody,” he says flatly. “I know I felt something for her. I know I felt all those things you’re supposed to feel for someone in the beginning. Affection, caring... Maybe even love, I dunno. I just know for a long time we weren’t right, and it was my fault.”

“Why was it your fault, what did you do?” Jude asks.

He swallows hard and sighs hesitantly.

“Frankie, you don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfor-”

“No I…” He sighs again. “I wanna tell you. I-I just don’t think you’ll like it when I do.”

He glances at Jude, her soft features illuminated by the warm glow of the fire, and feels a knot form in his stomach.

For weeks, he’s wrestled with the decision to confide in her, to lay bare the darkest chapter of his past - the chapter he’s fought so hard to overcome, yet has never truly escaped. It's followed him here to the island too.

But as he looks into her eyes, he sees a glimmer of understanding, a flicker of empathy that gives him the courage to speak. Taking a deep breath, he begins to recount the events that had led him down the path of addiction - the pain, the loneliness, the overwhelming sense of despair that had driven him to seek solace in the numbing embrace of drugs.

“I-I had a problem. A problem with drugs. Cocaine. It was so stupid. I lost my licence to fly.” He breathes, feeling his fingers tremble around the pebble further.

“In the Army?”

“No, I’d done my service. Twenty years, or thereabouts. Felt longer. I retired honourably. Entered back into civilization, but it was… different. Tough to adjust and I don't think I really did. I guess I found it hard to settle. We all did.”

“We? You mean your Army buddies?” Judes probes gently.

“Yeah. There isn’t a lot of support out there for us. You're kinda left displaced, y'know? A pat on the back and off you go. I had nightmares for a really long time. I… have nightmares. Sometimes they’re really fuckin' bad. Vivid.”

“I can’t imagine the things you must’ve seen.” Her eyes urge him to continue.

“The things I did,” he holds his wrist out and takes off his broken watch to show Jude the numbers inked into his skin.

“Do they mean something?” She asks, peering at them carefully. She wants to trace her finger over them. “Are they coordinates?”

He shakes his head. “Memories. 9 physical scars. 28 stitches. 39 confirmed kills. 87 civilians. 208 days spent on the front line. 674 bullets.”

“God.” Jude trails off quietly. “Frankie, that’s…”

“I know.” He nods, he tosses the watch on the sand. Jude shuffles closer to him, her knee brushing against his and he smiles thinly.

"9 scars?" She asks, unable to imagine the stories behind them.

He nods. "My body is pretty fucked. But not as much as in here, I guess." He points to his temple and Jude nods forlornly as she tries to comprehend it all.

Taking a deep breath, Frankie begins to speak again, his voice steady, but tinged with emotion.

"It started a few years ago," he says, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames before them. “I dunno, I just… it wasn’t something I actively looked for, it was an opportunity to make some extra cash to help. Things were bad, I was pretty desperate. I was working as a cargo transfer pilot, shit pay and long hours, flying in and picking up small cargo units to bring over borders etc… legitimate cargo. But then I was asked to carry cargo that wasn’t so legitimate.”

“Drugs.” Jude nods.

“It was easy. Too fuckin’ easy. I knew the routes to stay undetected. And then they stopped paying me in cash and paid me in drugs a few times and it started then. I just wanted to sleep. To stop having nightmares. And it worked. Being high was like... all the noise stopped. It was quiet for a while... I got caught. I failed a routine drug test. Pilots can’t fly under any influence. I lost my job after a suspension. I was lucky I didn’t go to jail. And then my life just… spiralled. So fuckin’ fast. And then I went on a job with my buddies. An opportunity came up to make some decent money. Real decent. Could set me up for life. Completely illegal, of course. Colombia..."

He trails off, frowning at the recall of the events in the Andes.

"In Delta Force, we have skills that are specialist. Training for missions that aren't exactly by the book. And this mission was as far from the book as they come. I don’t even know why the fuck I said yes, it was a fuckin’ disaster from the start. We lost one of our own. Tom. He could be an asshole, but he was first in command. He had a daughter… We came home with nothing. Gave the money to the family. It was the right thing to do. I-I came home and threw myself into the drugs to cope I guess. I didn’t tell anybody.”

“You went through all that alone?” Jude asks, looking at him.

“I pushed them all away, it was easier. No guilt. It wasn't just the drugs," Frankie continues, his voice growing softer. "It was the loneliness, the sense of... of failure. I felt like I'd let everyone down, like I'd lost myself somewhere along the way."

Tears well up in his eyes as he speaks, and he pauses, overcome by the weight of his own words. He looks down to see Jude weaving her fingers into his and squeezing gently. He squeezes back.

His voice is steady, but tinged with emotion. “But then I accidentally overdosed and it scared me enough to get help. I went to rehab and it was... terrifying. My sponsor, Eddie, he... I got a new job and threw myself into work. It was all I had, and I needed the distraction it gave me. I was six months sober when I boarded the plane.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little coin and hands it to her.

"You had this on you all this time?" The coin is small; a little worn round the edge and tarnished.

"Yeah, it survived with me in my pocket. I forgot all about it until after a few days of being here when it fell out as I was washing up my jeans."

“I’m proud of you, Frankie.” Jude whispers.

He simply baulks.

“No-one’s ever told you that, have they?”

“No, just you…” He admits. Frankie wipes away a stray tear, his chest tight with emotion. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice thick with gratitude. "I've never told anyone about this before."

“Did your partner know?”

“Yeah. I put her through a lot. She was there when it got real bad. She was pissed when I went to Colombia. And it was worse when I got back. I think she really hated me in the end. I don’t blame her... I fucked it up entirely.”

Jude squeezes his arm with her other hand and rests her head against it, looking into the fire. “No-one enters into a relationship with the intention of fucking it up.”

“Even Nate?” Frankie questions.

“Well, maybe he’s the exception,” she smirks. “But I think he was just lost in his own way, I guess.”

“Do you miss him?” He asks her enquiringly.

She sighs out. “Sometimes it hurts, like it winds me a bit, from out of nowhere, you know?”

He nods, feeling how good her fingers feel knotted in his own. Her chin knocks against his bicep as she speaks.

“Do you miss your ex-girlfriend? I mean, would you want to try to rekindle things with her again when you get home?”

Frankie shakes his head. “No, it’s dead in the water. I just... I don't want you to think less of me," he admits, his voice tinged with a croaked vulnerability. "But I cheated on her too. Only once. I was completely out of it and, I know it's not an excuse."

She looks up at him, her chin resting on his shoulder.

"I could never think less of you." Jude says, earnestly. "You were hurting, Frankie."

“Back home, I was a completely different man to what I am here.”

"You're strong, you're brave, and you're here, sharing your story with me. That means everything. People can change, Frankie. I’m glad you told me.”

Tears well up in Frankie's eyes again, overwhelmed by her kindness and sincerity. “You told me I could tell you anything, even if you didn’t wanna to hear it.” He murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“It's heavy, sure. But, I’m glad you told me. And it’s eight months, by the way. You're eight months sober.” Jude smiles.

Frankie nods looking at her face, inches from his own. “Yeah.”

“I'm just grateful that you trust me enough to open up like this." She surmises.

“I do.” He confirms. He puts his arm around her and squeezes her in close. She feels his hand resting at the hem of the dress, his thumb smoothing over the crease in the dress there on her thigh, running back and forth gently.

She closes her eyes and focuses on the hypnotic feel of it, nuzzling in closer on his arm.

They sit together looking out at the water, blackened by night around the edges of the horizon, but lit up by the moon and galaxy of stars above. Despite the isolation, there’s beauty to be found in this place; times like this where the sapphire water seems to almost glimmer at them and the world is immensely peaceful, save for the gentle rolling waves on the shore; constant background music that never pauses.

“This might sound weird, but being here, with you, it doesn’t suck at all.” Frankie mumbles.

“Ditto.” Jude replies with a smile when he turns to her. She nudges into him playfully with her shoulder and he chuckles.

For a fleeting moment, he entertains the idea of leaning in, of pressing his lips to hers and losing himself in the warmth of her embrace.

His body feels it, blood pumping. Instead, he shifts slightly, adjusting his position by the fire, and forces himself to focus on the crackling flames before him. The temptation lingers in the air, thick and heavy like the smoke from the fire.

Frankie can feel it pulling at him, tugging at the edges of his resolve. He wants nothing more than to lean in, to close the distance between them, and to taste the sweetness of her lips against his own. But he holds himself back, his heart pounding in his chest as he fights against the urge.

Jude senses his hesitation, and turns to him, her eyes searching his face carefully. "Are you okay?" She asks softly.

“I’m sorry that what I wrote upset you.” Frankie says, swallowing hard.

“You don’t need to apologise for feeling that way. I mean, we’re kinda leaning on each other, right?” She feels that pang inside her chest again.

“Yeah... we are.”

“I’m glad.” She smiles. “I’m glad you’re here with me. We can definitely get through this together. This island has met its match.” She makes a fist and he bumps it with his own.

“It sure has, hermosa," he agrees. Frankie looks at her and smiles back before looking out at the sea again.

He stands up with her after a while of contented, thoughtful silence that envelops them both, and they smile back at one another again.

“So, this is the part where I walk you home and then you ask me if I want to come in for a coffee.” Frankie states with the fire casting dancing embers inside his eyes; almost glowering at her demonically.

“You know that's code, right?" She chirps. "Besides, I don’t drink coffee, so good luck with that.”

“Really, no coffee?”

“No, can’t stand the taste.”

“Man, I can’t even function in the morning without a coffee.” He holds out his arm for her, and she links it in hers.

“I had a really good time tonight.” She teases him in a fluttery voice.

“Oh, shut up,” he smirks, as they laugh walking the very short distance from the shoreline, past the fire and towards the shack.

Once at the shack, they linger outside the doorway and both giggle awkwardly.

“So,” Frankie begins.

“Don’t be weird.” Jude concludes.

“Was it everything you hoped for?” Frankie asks, as he puts his hands inside his shorts pockets awkwardly.

“You mean the date?”

“What else would I be referring to?” He shrugs with a smirk.

“It was perfect.”

“Perfect, huh? No room for improvement; I mean the fuckin’ waiter took ages with the dessert.”

“True. Okay, I’ll knock it down to a seven out of ten.”

“Seven? Ouch...” He puts his hand over his chest like he’s been shot.

She laughs again and brushes the hair away from her face.

“If I kiss you, will that bump it up to ten?” Frankie asks with a fixated smile looming over her.

“I don’t know. Try it and see.” She feels her stomach flutter and her heart begin to thrum in her chest.

He simply twists his cap backwards on his head making her chuckle, and pulls her closer to him with his arm around her waist; his touch seems like it’s suddenly burning. He reaches up, his fingers on her chin and tilts her face up to him.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?” Frankie murmurs to her and watches as her eyes dip, smiling under her fanned lashes and melting somewhat in his arms.

His eyes are deep set and mysterious, rounded and yet almond shaped at the same time. She’s wondered for so long what this would be like, thinking about how he’ll taste, feel...

“Are you gonna smooth talk me, Fish, or are you gonna kiss me?” Jude giggles.

Smiling, he slants his lips against hers, smooching delicately as her hands sweep around the back of his neck and she stands up on tip toes as he pulls her against his slender body.

His tongue slides inside her mouth tentatively and exploring; the wiry, greying hairs from his moustache tickling her lip deliciously. His hand works inside her hair at the back of her head, cradling her closer, and she rifles her fingers through his curls at the nape of his neck and feels him groan inside her mouth.

The noise sets her skin alight, birthing millions of goose bumps across the surface and sending shivers down her spine and into her toes. Jude nips onto his lips and he smiles through the kiss, biting back gently and suckling on her bottom lip; their tongues dancing and grinding against one another as they explore each other’s mouths in a hypnotic rhythm.

Every nerve in his body seems to come alive with the electric energy of the moment, sparking with the intensity of their connection.

But beneath the surface of his excitement, there’s also a profound sense of vulnerability lurking as he trembles. He’s baring his soul to her, laying his heart on the line in a way he never has before. The weight of his confession hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the crackling of the fire and the soft sigh of the night breeze.

Yet despite the uncertainty that dances on the edges of his consciousness, there’s also a sense of rightness, of belonging. In her arms, Frankie feels safe, understood, and accepted for who he truly is, faults and all. And as their lips meet in a tender, yet charged lock, all the doubts and fears that have plagued him melt away into a depth that he feels like he's no longer drowning in. He feels, for a moment, like he can truly breathe above the surface of the water.

For Jude, the moment is a whirlwind of emotions, a kaleidoscope of sensations that leave her breathless and exhilarated. As Franke leans in to kiss her, she feels a surge of warmth spread through her body, igniting a spark of desire deep within her core.

His touch is gentle yet firm, sending shivers down her spine with anticipation. Her heart races in her chest and ears, a rapid cadence matching the rhythm of their breaths as they meld together in an intimate vie for one another.

She can feel the heat of his body against hers, a comforting warmth that chases away the oncoming chill of the night air. With each brush of their lips, she feels herself sinking deeper into the moment, losing herself in the dizzying sensation of him. Time seems to stand still as they linger in each other's arms, their bodies pressed close as if trying to merge into one.

He pulls away, leaving the ghost of him on her lips to taste, and waits, looking at her expectantly.

“Meh. Nine point five,” Jude remarks, and he rolls his eyes smirking, leaning in to kiss her again.

She kisses him back intensely, feeling how wet and warm his tongue is inside her mouth again. It makes Catherine wheel’s spin inside her chest, her toes buzz. She clenches between her legs when she feels him prodding against her belly, something so obviously hard in it's shape, and it makes her whimper.

And Frankie groans at that sound, clutching her closer; his kiss becoming more frantic, her hands grappling at him harder. He squeezes at her hips with a grunt.

“Frankie…” She gasps, running her mouth up the side of his neck, tasting the salted skin there as he licks and kisses over her shoulder, tempted, so fuckin' tempted, to just pull the strap down.

Her mind goes blank, lost in the noise of the colour he paints over her skin with his tongue.

”Tell me to stop,” he husks as his hands slide over her ass, groping and squeezing as he winds his hips further into her body. "Jude, tell me to stop." He begs.

“I don’t want you to stop.” Jude gasps, finding his mouth again as he crushes her to him. She runs her hands down his chest and he shudders. “Take me inside,” she smiles around his lips.

“If I take you inside, I’m gonna fuck you.” Frankie warns with a groan as her hands knot inside his shirt, tugging on it sharply and moaning out at his words. “And you said you don’t fuck guys on a first date,” he pants, feeling his head swim and fill with bubbles.

All he can think about is how she feels inside his hands as he tries his damned hardest to cling onto his remaining composure, fingers slipping off the ledge.

And how fucking hard he is right now.

Jude looks up at him, her heart hammering so loud in her ears that she’s convinced he can hear it too. “I might make an exception, just this once.”

He grins at her, thumb running the length of her jaw before he kisses there again. “Me matas… fuck.” (You kill me.)

“Take me inside and fuck me, Frankie.” She confirms with a blazing smile.

To be continued...

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whiskeynwriting · 2 years

Note

Part 2 to eyes on me, pretty please 🙏🏼😩

I freaking love Bones

Welllll if you insist.

(I'm so flattered that you love Bones, and that you adored "Eyes On Me" so much omg)

Lucky

Simon “Ghost” Riley x OFC “Bones”

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Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Smoking, mentions of alcohol use, angst (only in the beginning), size difference, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), mentions of spanking, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex

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A/N: Here's part two to "Eyes On Me" (;

Also dear Jesus I just love this picture of him

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Heartbreak isn’t the right word, it’s too childish and naïve for you to use. You’re… surprised. Surprised and a little hurt, honestly. And sad. Definitely sad. But what were you expecting? A boyfriend? A fucking wedding? Just from a one-night stand? Because that’s all it was. And you should really start coming to terms with that.

Three days after you and Simon had sex, he was gone. During those three days, you didn’t do anything else, didn’t touch or kiss the other. But it was still friendly between the two of you; you still enjoyed each other’s company. But when he’d healed fully from his injury he just… left. Without a trace. He didn’t say anything to you, and you haven’t heard anything since. Through the grapevine, you learned that 141 had gone out on a mission. No one knows where to or for how long, which was normal. Their whereabouts aren’t really anyone else’s business. But inside, you’d hoped that he would have at least told you he was leaving. But maybe that night didn’t mean as much as you thought it did.

Feeling a bit foolish, you decide it’s best to just push it aside. You have better things to do, like your job. And with the boys gone, work was easy. Mainly, you filed paperwork, restocked supplies, and cleaned, making sure you were ready for their return. They didn’t always come back with injuries, but it wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, either. So, it was best to just be ready. Especially if you were needed for a rescue mission. Those were extremely rare. The only recovery assignment you’d ever been on was to recover, well… Simon.

“Bones?”

Lifting your head, you see one of your coworkers standing in the doorway.

“What’s up?” You’re still filing paperwork, but you’re finishing up.

“Are you coming tonight? We’re all headed out for a drink.”

“Wait,” Swiveling around, you glance at your clock. “It’s already five?”

“Yep,” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he says, “We all really want you to come.” But then, he takes it a step further. “I want you to come.”

Turning around, you grin. “I know you do.” It’s not a secret that he’s had quite the little crush on you. Maybe with Ghost gone, you could entertain it. But it feels so… fresh, whatever happened between the two of you. So, you decide you better not.

“I appreciate the invite. Maybe some other time.”

“Are you sure?” He prods, taking a step in. “I could pay for your drinks.”

“Really,” Laughing, you nod. “I’m okay. Thanks.” And then you turn away, satisfied when he retreats.

And as soon as he leaves, you feel that familiar sting rushing to your eyes. Why do your emotions have such a tight hold in you right now? Why can’t you just push this shit out of your head? He left, he’s gone. And he chose to not tell you. You got your answer; he doesn’t want to see you.

Before you can think any further on the topic, you hear your coworker come back. His steps are firmer this time, causing you to assume he’s returned with more gumption than before.

“Look, I said I don’t want to go tonight, alright?” But he doesn’t say anything. Fuck, can’t I have some privacy?! Quickly, you stand, spinning on your heels to face him. “Why do you -”

But it’s not your coworker. It’s him - Ghost.

“Oh.” Is how you end your sentence, your tone dropping off.

He’s standing in your doorway, taking up damn near the entirety of it. His arms are at his sides, and he’s still dressed in full gear. His tactical tools still hang on him, his belt looped around the expanse of his midsection. He’s armed, too, guns and knives in their holsters. And it must have been cold where they went, because he’s wearing a light gray quarter zip and gloves, too.

“Um, can I… can I help? With anything?” You ask hesitantly, trying to remain professional. “Do you have another injury?” You’re closing up shop soon, but you’d still help him if he needed it. Of course you would. It’s why you live on base; you’re here day and night for whatever medical help the task force needs.

Yeah, I figured you’d react this way.

All he does is shake his head, taking a couple steps toward you. And the closer he gets, the more your head tilts, looking up, up, until he’s right in front of you. Pressing your lips together in a nervous line, you look at him, unable to see his eyes. He’s wearing his mask of course, but with sunglasses this time, too.

After a long moment, you see his chest rise and fall, taking in a deep breath. And then he lifts his dominant hand, incredibly hesitantly. You look to the side, watching him reach out to you. He lowers it briefly, but eventually decides to continue, stepping forward to slowly, tenderly, wrap his arms around you. Closing your eyes, a wave of emotion washes over you, your arms sliding up his body to wrap around his neck, pulling him further in. Now, he fully embraces you, squeezing you tightly while you do the same to him. You have to stand on your tip-toes to fully wrap your arms around his neck, and that makes him grin.

Simon breathes out a heavy sigh, bending down even further and securing his hold on you. His hands slide down to the backs of your legs, and when he brings himself up again, he’s lifting you with him. Naturally, your legs encircle his center, arms keeping their hold on his neck. And when you’re fully clinging to him, both of Simon’s arms wrap around your back again, hugging you tightly against his sturdy frame. Then, his masked face finds your shoulder, and you swear, you fucking swear, you can feel the small indent of his lips against your neck.

There’s a ton of tactical gear in the way, pressing uncomfortably into your body, but it’s worth it. This is so worth it. A tidal wave of relief washes over him, thrilled to feel you accept his embrace.

“Hey, Bones.” He says calmly, affectionately.

“Hey, Ghost.” You return, smiling giddily.

Just a few minutes ago, your emotions ran angry and blue. But now, you’re filled with nothing but joy. You want an explanation, that’s for damn sure, but right now, you’re letting experience this contentment. Because he really does make you happy.

“You’re not hurt?” Sucking in a breath, you release your anxieties with a deep exhale. Even if you were unsure of where you stood, you still thought about him and his recently healed wound while he was gone.

“No.” Comes that deep, rumbly voice, his head shaking gently. “I didn’t mean to leave.” He mumbles into your ear, his tone low and tender. And it makes you sigh, his words offering you solace. “I didn’t, I…” And now he releases a harsh breath, sounding frustrated. “I didn’t have time to find you.”

It feels so nice, hearing his voice again. He’s speaking so calmly to you, making the moment feel soft, special. And once he says this, you nod your head, still resting in the crook of his neck.

You don’t want to come off clingy, but after hearing him tell you this, you feel he’s allowed you to be open with him. “I missed you.”

Things like this aren’t easy for Simon. He doesn’t express emotion like this, at least not verbally. Saying things like ‘I miss you’, it’s not… him. But while he was gone, he thought of you, and he knows how he feels about you. And he wants to reassure you, so he comes up with a response he hopes you’ll like.

“I… thought about you.”

His words make you smile, giggling briefly. He sounds nervous, like he isn’t sure what to say. And honestly, you find that incredibly cute.

“Will you come back with me?” He then asks, satisfied with your reaction. Now that he’s returned, he wants to go back to how things were before he left. He wants to spend time with you.

Furrowing your brows, you question him. “What?”

One of Simon’s hands drops down to your thigh, his other staying looped around your back. Slowly, he bends down again, releasing you. And when your feet meet the floor, your arms release him, too.

“To the barracks.” Rising to his full height, he towers above you. It makes you release a small, shaky breath, staring up at this man.

“Really?” You then ask, “Am I… am I allowed to do that?”

He shrugs. “Probably not.”

“I don’t know; I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

He smirks at this. “Don’t worry about me, love.” That word sends a genuine tingle right through you. “The boys are out for a drink.” Simon explains, reaching out for your hand. Looking down, you accept his heartfelt advance.

“Or have you got work to do?” He then asks, knowing how important both of your jobs are. But all you do is shake your head, looking back up at him. You’re displaying that pretty, genuine smile that he’s so badly missed. You’re looking at him with so much kindness.

“Then come back with me.” Ghost says, fingers wrapping around your hand.

Nibbling on the corner of your lip, you do your best to hold back your growing grin. But then you nod, unable to deny your excitement. And under his mask, he’s smiling, too. He’s hoping you’ll stay the night; he knows he could get away with it if he tried. And the excitement stirring inside him from the possibility of sneaking you into his room is making him feel like a goddamn teenager. Truthfully though, he likes it.

Simon waited patiently while you closed up shop. It only took a few minutes, organizing a handful of papers and wiping off your desk. And when you were finally ready, he took you by the hand, leading you to the barracks. They’re on the other side of the complex, but Simon still held your hand. With the guys gone, and it being a Friday, he wasn’t worried about anyone seeing the two of you.

He’s the last door on the left side of this barren, dimly lit hallway. It’s getting dark outside, but it’s even darker in his room. And Simon realizes this, stepping forward to turn on his desk lamp once he shuts the door behind you. The small light illuminates the small space, offering a much more amiable atmosphere. You can see more of his room now, too.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you’re still surprised by the emptiness of his room. There’s a bed in the left corner, a trunk at the foot of it, and a desk with a chair off to the right. It’s a small space with no windows and only one overhead light.

“I’ve gotta shower. Bit grimey.” He tells you, walking over to the trunk. “Will you be alright here until I get back?”

He’s already undressing, taking off his belt and disarming himself. Kneeling before the wooden chest, he unlocks it, setting each of his weapons inside.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You reassure him, walking over to sit on his bed.

“Sorry to make you wait, love.” He grunts, bending over to untie his boots. “I came to the med. room as soon as we got here.”

Now that warms your goddamn heart. “Really?”

“‘Course I did.” Standing, he takes a step over to you, gently tapping your chin with the knuckle of his pointer finger. “Didn’t want you thinking I skipped out on you.” Humming at the pretty smile on your face, he then stands. “Be right back, sweets.”

While he’s gone, you take this opportunity to look around. Not going through his things, of course, but just glancing over his room. There are some files laid out on his desk; clearly nothing too important, or else they’d be locked away. There’s a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the desk too, not exactly a surprise to you. What does come as a surprise, though, is the way he walks through the door.

Jumping a little, you turn to face the entryway, your anxiety telling you it would be someone else coming in. But it’s just him, a slightly damp, still-masked, shirtless, Ghost. He’s wearing dark gray sweatpants with long socks tucked underneath, his body still glistening. His dog tags are visible too, something you’ve never seen. And Jesus Christ, is every muscle along his body on display. It’s like he’s even more defined than he was before. The scars you’ve seen time and time again litter his body, the most prominent mark being the one near his heart.

“Happy to see me?” He asks with a grin. And even though you can’t see it, you can tell he’s smiling.

Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “You’re so fucking cocky.” Just like that, the air between the two of you is light and familiar again. It’s like he never even left.

“Well,” He gives you a small shrug. “After getting that kinda treatment from you, how could I not be?”

He’s stalking towards you, quite liking the view of you seated atop his bed. And you watch as he walks, eventually coming right up in front of you. Leaning over the side of the bed, he presses his palms into the mattress. His presence urges you back, resting on your forearms before him. And just like that, he’s in your space again, those icy eyes staring into your own. Your heart rattles inside your chest from his closeness; he’s barely an inch away and you can fucking smell him. It’s fresh, his scent filling your nose with hints of spearmint and eucalyptus.

After a moment of gazing into those dreamy eyes, your own dip down, falling on his covered chin. It was so exhilarating to see him before. Maybe he’ll let you do it again.

“I am happy to see you.” But he doesn’t say anything, because you’re starting to lift his mask. “And I’m so happy you wanted to see me…”

Closing his eyes, he inhales a steadying breath, allowing you to lift his mask. Letting go of all his worries is a hard thing for him, but he does it in an attempt to trust you. You told him before that you’d never take it off all the way, that you respect his privacy. He’s waiting for you to prove that now. And the trust that’s currently wavering in the air is suddenly placed into your very hands when you lift it, revealing only his lips. Along with a small, growing grin. Immediately, you lean forward to kiss him, and he meets you with a bout of eagerness.

Simon’s mouth moves against your own, slowly, firmly. He’s enjoying you, his smooth lips a satisfying sensation now that they’ve returned. And when both of your hands find his face, he fully moans, releasing a heated sigh against you. He wants so badly to reach out and touch you, slide his hands over your body again. But his broad palms are still holding him up, preventing him from doing it. And that’s fucking killing him.

With slow and calculated movements, he drops to his knees. And you lower your head, moving with him, but you’re forced to stop when he pulls away. Shuffling forward a bit, he settles his midsection right between your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist. Pulling you in, he hugs you to his body, pressing his face to your chest. This makes your heart pound, now entirely full of emotion. You can’t believe he’s being so sweet.

“I thought about you, love.” He repeats his words from earlier with much more intention this time. One of his hands retracts, moving to your waist and squeezing you kindly.

“Really, baby?” Embracing him, your arms lift to slide around his neck. And when you do, he releases a contended breath, nuzzling further into you. He missed this, missed how you touched and cared for him. He needs that in his life; he needs you.

There it is again, that affectionate word. The sound of it makes his chest tighten with emotion, with a sense of utter elation. He thought things were ruined when he left. But they’re not, they’re just like before. Hell, it’s better than before.

“‘Course I did,” Comes that low tone, his accent thick and gruff. “I thought about your pretty face, the way you kissed me.”

You can’t believe that a man like him is saying these things. He’s being so loving with you, and in ways you never expected him to.

“You’ve got me to fancy you.” He murmurs against your chest, his eyes closed as he relaxes. His words make your face heat up, absolutely overjoyed to hear his admission. And ever so slightly, he rubs his face into you, right in between your breasts.

“Yeah?” Fingers running over the back of his head, you discover soft bumps beneath his mask. They’re no doubt from his hair, and you find yourself wondering what color it is.

“Yeah,” He nods. “You’re pretty, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” You sigh out, replying cockily with, “I always knew you loved me.”

Chuckling deeply, he lifts his head, looking up at you from between your breasts. Tilting your head down, you meet his gaze, grinning.

“Pretty fucking annoying.” He finishes in a cheeky whisper, feeling your thumbs swipe over his covered face.

Looking down at him, you can see so much of his body, the muscles in his shoulders and biceps more than prominent even in the dim light of his room. Some of his back muscles flex, showing themselves off, too. And the sight alone makes you drop any and all attitude.

“Baby, you look so good.” Eyes leaving his own, they roam his figure, making him laugh.

“Okay,” He declares, dominant hand reaching up to grab your chin. “I’ll say it.” Yanking you down with a gentle sense of dominance, he meets your eyes with a passionate gaze.“I fucking missed you.”

That’s all it takes for you to kiss him again, hands holding his head while he leans into them. He’s so much taller than you know though, that even on his knees, he doesn’t really need to reach up to meet you. The hand he’d had on your chin holds your cheek, his other wrapping around your lower back and pressing you to him.

“You know what else I thought about?” He asks between heated breaths. But you’re still kissing him, feeling him smile against your lips.

“What, baby?” He’s happy you asked.

Hand sliding around to the back of your neck, he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I thought about your pretty pussy.”

That sends a shiver right through your very being. Closing your eyes, a harsh breath is forced out through your nose, trying to control the arousal that is suddenly building. And while your lids remain closed, Simon’s mouth eagerly returns, tongue sliding over your bottom lip. Easily, you open for him, feeling the wet muscle glide over your own.

You can’t seem to get a grip on reality; it’s like you’re drunk on him. “How do you know it’s pretty?” He pulls back, chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’ve never even seen me.”

“What do you think I’m asking for?” He returns immediately, now moving.

Simon’s arms hook beneath your legs, bending forward and urging you back in the process. You fall onto your forearms with a small, surprised breath. His hands come to rest on the tops of your thighs, bulky biceps now beneath them. It’s at this moment that his fingers find the hemline of your pants, tugging gently while kissing the inside of your covered thigh.

“Can I see you, darling?” Simon asks, lips running over your thigh. And you nod, already breathless from him.

Lifting your hips, you allow him to slide your clothes down your legs, leaving your bottom half bare before him. Easily, he drops your garments to the floor, eyes trained on your now naked skin. It takes the breath from his lungs, the sight of you, of your pink and sensitive lips, the delicate space of your sex. And then he moves in, lifting your legs to rest them over his shoulders, holding your thighs again.

“Perfect little thing.” He mumbles, groaning quietly. “Felt so good wrapped around me…”

“I want that again.” You admit to him, earning his immediate response of, “You’ll get it again.”

Broad shoulders spread you wider than before, a feeling of exposure creeping across your skin. Already, your heartbeat is pounding in your ears, washing waves through your sex. You’re nervous, full of anticipation, but you’re also unsure. Has he done this before? What if he doesn’t like it? And suddenly, you’re more worried than you are excited.

“Don’t go rigid on me.” He can immediately sense your anxiety, his fingers wrapping under and then caressing your thighs. It makes you breathe a sigh of relief, settling into his hold. “That’s it,” Simon praises happily, exhaling over your very center. “That’s good, love. I like that, much better.”

“Simon…” Hearing his praise makes your eyes roll back before closing entirely, fingers reaching for him. They find his hands, and then his forearms, wrapping around the muscles there. And he hums happily when you do this. He loves the feeling he gets when you hold onto him.

Leaning in, he gives your very center a kiss. It’s heated and firm and you can already hear him moaning. He likes your smell, inhaling it deeply. The subtle action makes your back arch, his arms fully wrapping around your thighs when he sticks his tongue out to give you his first real lick. It’s tender, running up your seam and just barely nudging your clit. And then he grins. You’re already shaking for him.

“Relax for me.” He coos sweetly to you, dominant hand rising and sliding beneath your shirt. It rests over your stomach, fingers stroking you lightly. “Let me taste it.”

Your thighs tense around his head when he licks you again, and the hand not on your tummy squeezes your leg, his mouth humming against you. The hot muscle of his tongue moves languidly over your sex, that deliciously wet noise already growing in the room. It’s only now that he gets a true taste of you, his tongue slipping between your sensitive lips. He licks into you with deep and heated strokes, his hurried breaths repeatedly forced out of his nose.

“Simon,” Involuntarily, your hips buck up against him, body shivering when his tongue dives inside again.

“Missed the way that sounds,” He mumbles, turning his head and kissing the inner skin of your thigh. “My name comin’ outta your mouth.”

“I missed the way you touch me.” You breathe out in response, a high gasp then leaving your throat when he lays that wet muscle over your clit.

Simon flicks the tip of his tongue over it, feeling you jerk in his hold. His head rocks rhythmically as he begins to truly mouth at you, lips and tongue now focusing on your delicate pleasure center. When he wraps his lips around it, he leans in even further, rubbing his face against you. He wants to be as close as he possibly can to you.

Every swipe of his tongue feels electric, his moans sending wave after wave of arousal through your hips. And by now, he’s practically drinking from you, lapping at your cunt’s dripping entrance with a sense of voracity you’ve never before seen. But in the same sense, he’s slow with it, taking his time in showing his passion.

“Oh my god…”

“Sh…” He then hums, slowing down to talk to you. His breaths are heavy, and when you look down, you can see his eyes. From between your legs, they’re staring right back at you. “Don’t know when they’ll be back, love.”

“I can’t help it.” You reply in a slight whine, and he can’t fight the groan he releases when you look at him with those pretty eyes.

“Well, you’re gonna have to.” And then, while keeping your gaze, his tongue lays out, running a firm swipe over you. With a dramatic moan, your head returns to the bed, hands still holding onto him. Your hips buck up against his face, eyes drifting shut as you enjoy this.

“Fuckin’ love your pink little pussy.” He grunts out, stopping the movements of his mouth entirely. Listening closely, you hear him suck a finger between his lips, the thick digit now prodding at your entrance.

“Ohhh my god,” It enters you slowly, the small stretch making you moan until it’s in entirely.

He keeps his finger still until his tongue returns, small kitten licks stimulating your nerves. And when he begins these motions, he moves his finger, too, pulsing the tip of it up inside you. It forces your hips to move, rolling pleasurably as you experience him. You never would have expected him to be so good at this.

“B-Baby,” You try to whisper, telling him, “You’re gonna make me cum.”

Simon doesn’t respond, he’s too focused. His eyes are closed, his breaths even quicker than before. That finger glides seamlessly into you, curling every time it’s fully inside. And his tongue doesn’t let up, either, now completely suctioning his mouth to you. He intends to keep this pace, but then you moan his name. It’s so sweet-sounding, so light and airy. Simon, please. And now, he’s ripping his finger from you, both palms finding a place beneath your thighs and shoving your legs up. Knees pressing into your chest, you gasp, having not expected him to do this. And with this new position, Simon dives in. The sounds he’s making are loud, fucking lewd, his tongue incessant and moving much quicker against you.

Your face burns from the brazenness of it all, of being so exposed and experiencing this new side of him. Tongue running over your clit once more, it sinks into your entrance, curling slightly and gathering your slick. He then drags it back up to your tingling bud, circling it.

“Simon, f-fuck.” With your fingernails digging into his forearms, he grins, purring pleasurably against you. He’s still holding onto your thighs, enjoying the reactions you have in response to him.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice is gruff and rumbles over you, your hips rolling up to chase his face. Immediately, he complies, returning his mouth to your center. But when you don’t answer, he taps your thigh, reminding you.

“I want to cum, baby.” It comes out as a whisper, your back arching. “I want you to make me cum.”

The hand that tapped your thigh now squeezes it, a pleased moan vibrating from between your legs. With practiced motions, he sucks on you, mouth working hard to overstimulate you. And you’d count his actions successful, because within seconds, you’re crying out for him. He’d tell you to be quiet if he didn’t overtly adore every single sound that’s coming from you. Hell, who cares if the boys hear? As long as it’s not Price, he’s in the clear.

“Fuck, Simon!”

His entire body weight is pressing into you, pinning you down. Your hips rut over his face, feeling his head move with every motion. The incredible sensation of your high rolls through you, the muscles in your body tensing before they inevitably unwind. The sparks flying through your system make you gasp, make you fucking sing, hands now reaching out for his head. You hold him against you, and he lets you, moaning from your taste. It washes over his tongue, a sensation he happily accepts. And when you finally release him of your intense hold, and he pulls away, he smacks his lips.

You don’t even have to see it to know what he just did, the noise more than noticeable. Smiling breathlessly in the near-darkness, you shake your head. “Cocky.”

“Sassy.” Comes his instant return.

And then he’s crawling up between your legs, his body hovering over you. His covered nose runs along the curve of your jaw, wet lips kissing your skin. With your body still feeling limp, you rest beneath him, smiling from his affectionate kisses.

“You ever tasted yourself?” He wonders aloud, turning his head and breathing against you.

“Mm-mm,” Shaking your head, you turn and lock eyes with him.

Immediately, he leans in, dominant hand taking hold of your chin. His open mouth meets your own, his tongue sliding in. And now that he’s close again, you reach up to hold him.

Simon drags his tongue over yours, the roughness of his taste buds clashing with your own. And his tongue and spit are laced with you, the tanginess of your arousal coating his entire mouth and his chin, too.

“You like it?” He asks huskily, pulling away.

“Yes.” Nodding eagerly, your hands bring him in again. “More, please.”

He chuckles, his lips already returning to you. For someone that wears his mask like it’s his second skin, how is he so damn good at kissing? How is he so good at everything?

“Lay down for me, gorgeous.” Already moving you is the strength of his broad hands, sliding you further up on his mattress.

“Dang, this is your pillow?” You tease, wincing dramatically. “You need something softer than this to sleep on, shit.”

“Well,” He says, cocking his head. Moving his legs to the inside of yours, he spreads you with his knees, resting his pelvis over your own. Those wonderful hands slide up your form again, this time paying special attention to your midsection. “You’ve got some pretty nice pillows there for me.”

Furrowing your brow, you’re confused for only half a second. He smiles when he witnesses it, your realization, his palms now on your covered chest.

“Maybe I’ll get to sleep on those tonight.” He continues on, mumbling. “Lean up for me.”

You do as he says, but not without your mind wandering. Did he… did he mean what he just said? Does he really want me to sleep here with him? But then you’re plopping back down, thoughts bouncing right out of your head when you hit the mattress again.

“Look at that…” Now that you’re entirely naked for him, he can’t tear his eyes away from you. His calloused hands smooth themselves over your breasts, cupping them while he inhales deeply above you.

When you look up at him, you feel like you can’t catch your breath. When standing in front of him, it was obvious how much bigger he was than you. But right now? Right fucking now? He’s dwarfing you.

“Simon…” Reaching up, your hands slide along his abdomen, feeling his muscular skin.

He’s towering over your smaller form, eyes full of passion and intense focus as they rake over you. His dog tags are hanging forward, just barely off of his chest as he leans over. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his tattooed forearm, the muscles bulging as he fondles you.

“Fuck,” Hissing out the curse, he squeezes you briefly before sliding down. Now, his firm, naked chest is pressing into the softness of you, holding himself up on that tatted forearm. Impatiently, he mouths at you, hand sliding around to hold the back of your head.

“You want me again, yeah?”

“Yes.” Your feet slide up on his bed, soles planting firmly on the mattress. It encases him between your thighs, feeling his hips sway against yours in response.

Before Ghost can say anything else, the two of you begin to hear noise. Specifically voices, many of them, four of them.

“Ghost!”

The booming voice and pounding knock on his door make your body jump beneath the weight of his. Usually, he’d be annoyed, but your reaction distracts him. He finds it cute, chuckling above you.

“C’mere,” He then says, climbing off of you and standing. “I’ll take care of this.”

There’s nowhere for you to hide in his room, and the knowledge of that makes you nervous beyond belief. Where are you going to go? Where is he going to hide you?

When you look up, he’s reaching his hand out to you, and you take it. With one gentle yet firm tug, he hauls you up, leading you over to the door. Holy fuck, is he going to let them see me?! But then he proves your anxious thoughts wrong. Placing both hands on your shoulders, he maneuvers your body into the corner beside the door, leaning in right beside your ear and whispering, “Stay here.”

While reaching for the knob, he keeps one hand on you, an affectionate gesture. His palm is on your face, thumb stroking your cheek. And when he opens the door, his teammates can barely even tell that his left arm is stretched out to his side. Before opening the door, though, he remembers to pull his mask down, not wanting to draw any suspicion.

“Yeah?” Simon answers questioningly.

“Where’ve you been?!” Soap asks loudly, clearly drunk. “We missed you!” Staggering in, Ghost’s broad palm in the center of his chest stops him.

“You just now comin’ home, Johnny?”

“Nah, we’re coming back to get you!” Suddenly, Gaz pops on the scene, right next to him.

“Fuckin’ pulled my muscle, you did!” Soap jolts to the left and away from Gaz’s arm, the one he’d just swung around his shoulders.

“Alright, boys.” Ghost intervenes. “Better get some sleep.”

“You reckon that lass is still around?” Johnny asks, ignoring his friend. And at this, your eyes widen. Is he talking about me?

“Lass?” Ghost repeats, raising a brow.

“Oh, Bones!” Soap finally remembers. “Heard she’s called Bones.”

“Yeah, our medic.” He almost sounds offended. They should all know your name by now.

“She’s a cute one, isn’t she?” Turning to the side, he offers Gaz a wide grin.

“Stop thinking you have a chance, pendejo.” Finally, Vargas chimes in. (Dummy)

“She lets me in on those ice baths,” Johnny continues, looking at Ghost with a wink. “Think she’d give me a sponge bath, too?”

When he says this, the hand on your jaw tightens, almost protectively. And immediately, you lift your hands, holding onto his forearm and giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“You might wanna keep your comments to yourself, Johnny.”

Furrowing his brow and frowning childishly, he asks, “Why?”

Simon wants nothing more than to haul you away from that corner and show each and every one of them that you’re by his side. You’re such a pretty thing and right now, you’re entirely bare for him. Wouldn’t that be a sight for them? But he won’t do it, he won’t ruin his reputation or more importantly, yours. Honestly, he hasn’t had a woman in years, hasn’t really cared to. But you? He’s not letting you go.

Clenching his jaw and releasing an aggravated huff, he decides on responding with, “Don’t get your hopes up on that sponge bath.”

“What? You don’t think she finds me sexy?” He asks, moving back to flex. But then the idiot winces, feeling the pulled muscle in his shoulder.

“It’s time for bed!” Price snaps loudly from further down the hall.

“Yes dad!” They all four shout back, and you almost release a chuckle when you hear that.

“Come out with us next time, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ghost nods, thumb brushing over your cheek. Maybe he’ll bring you.

Johnny reaches forward then, giving him a pat on the shoulder before turning in. Vargas and Gaz wish him a good night, Ghost just nodding in response. He waits until they’re all out of sight, making sure none of them have plans to return. And he counts himself lucky that he didn’t hear from Price.

When he shuts the door, he doesn’t let go of your face, using his free hand to lift his mask as he instantly returns to you. In a flash he’s on you, mouth covering yours and hands now sliding down your naked waist. Closing your eyes, you sigh against him, palms gliding up his chest and onto his broad shoulders. Passionately, he paws at your lower curves, his tongue diving into your mouth to tangle with your own.

“Sorry about that, love.” And then he’s picking you up again, wrapping your legs around his waist and pushing your back up against the wall.

“Simon,” You breathe out, stopping for just a moment. “Are you okay?”

“I’m more than okay.”

While he mouths at your neck, you slink your arms around him, smiling. “Did you not like what Soap said about me?”

“Johnny can have his fun,” Ghost mumbles over your skin. “He’s all talk.” And then he looks up at you. “I’m the one gettin’ lucky with you.”

Rolling your eyes, you can’t help but grin. Falling for his cheesy words, you bring him back to you for another kiss, his covered hips grinding into your pelvis.

“I want you, sweetheart.” He tells you, knocking your head to the side with his covered nose. Harshly, he bites into your neck, sucking on you. “Been waitin’ a fuckin’ week for ya.”

“Baby, you’re gonna leave a mark.” You’re trying to stay quiet, but the way he’s biting you is making you squeal. Your hands find either side of his head, lightly pulling him back, but he shakes his head loose of your grasp. “You think I fucking care about that?” It comes out as a growl, his mouth returning to your bruising throat.

“They’re gonna see.”

“Fuckin’ let them see.” He grunts out in response. “You know I want them to.”

This makes you perk up, shaking you out of your lusty haze. “You do?”

“Yeah. I do.” Leaning in, he brushes his lips over your cheek. “Want them all to know you’re with me.”

“I… am?” You ask in return, heart pounding in your chest.

Lifting his head again, he looks into your eyes. You’ll never get tired of that frosty gaze. “Do you wanna be?”

After a moment, you breathe out your anxiety. “I do.”

And then he smirks, briefly chuckling. “It’s not a marriage yet, sweetheart.” And this makes you smile, eyes darting to the side. “But for now,” He continues, that gravely voice absolutely mesmerizing. “You have me.”

Adjusting his hold on you, he breathes out a rough sigh. “Now,” He says, briefly grunting. “Think you can be quiet for me?”

“I’ll try.”

But he shakes his head. “That’s not good enough.” He’s met with another whine, a small and frustrated one. “Sergeant's right down the hall, sweets.”

“Okay, I promise. I promise I’ll be quiet, I’ll be good.” That last part comes out as a slip.

“You’ll be good, eh?” He teases, the arousal in his body heightening upon hearing your small admission.

“Simon,” You groan out, a bit louder this time. “Please.”

You don’t care that he’s teasing you, not anymore. All you know is that right now, in this moment, you want him inside you. For days after your first time together, you felt a delicious burn between your legs. He filled you so completely, especially since you had been sitting on him. But his cock wasn’t the only thing that felt good, it was his entire body. His smooth skin, his firm and flexing limbs, his strong hands and talented lips.

“Shit,” He hisses, taking you off the wall and fully into his arms again.

In two strides he’s at his bed, leaning down to set you on the mattress. What he really wants to do is just throw you down on the sheets, toss you around like the little rag doll that you are to him. But he’ll save that for another night, for a time when you won’t have to worry about making too much noise.

“Fuck me.” His eyes are glued to your soft breasts, gaze unwavering as he undoes the ties on his sweats. Sliding his pants and boxers down, he discards them, taking off his longer socks, too.

“Baby…” You’re leaning up and reaching out, the hand not holding you up touching his abdomen. And slowly, your hand slides down, fingertips brushing the side of him.

Simon’s palm falls over your hand, urging you to wrap your fingers around him. “You like that, love?”

“I fucking love it.” You wholeheartedly admit, no longer concerned with holding yourself back. “I love it…”

Slowly, he guides you to pump him, and you’re nearly drooling from it. You didn’t get a great look at him before, but now, you can see the entire length of him. How he felt accurately represents how thick he is, the veins running up the underside of his shaft making you nibble on your lip. His tip is dripping slightly, and his hips jerk when you run the pad of your thumb over his slit.

“Alright,” He then tells you, breaths picking up again. “You can gawk at me later, sweetheart.” Grunting, he takes your hand away so he can crawl over you on the bed. While positioning himself between your legs, he says, “And don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.” Looking up, he makes locks in your gaze. “I know you want this.”

While holding his stare, you smirk, rolling your eyes anyway. And then he reaches up, grabbing your chin. “You can be so goddamn cheeky.”

“Yeah, but you love it.”

Your sarcastic comment and the smug look on your face make him groan, ducking his head down. He really does love it.

Resting his head in the crook of your neck, he maneuvers his forearm to rest beside your head. His other hand then drops, wrapping around his erection and holding himself at the base. Lifting your legs, you encase him, feeling him settle even further against your pelvis. Gently, he taps his tip against your sex, about a handful of times. And the last time he does it, it hits your clit.

Sucking in a loud gasp, your hands instantly wrap around his neck. “Sh…” He coos to you, turning his head. “Sh…”

Closing your eyes, you quiet yourself, taking a breath to calm down. And that’s when he starts to slide in, head notching at your entrance and throbbing upon feeling the familiar warmth of you.

“You’re still so wet.” He comments, humid breaths washing over your neck.

“Fuck,” Comes your quiet gasp, arms tightening around him.

Halfway in, he pauses, inhaling to steady his own breaths. All too easily, he knows he could get carried away. After feeling your beautiful body and then being gone for a week, you’re all he’s been craving. And now that he has you, he feels like his mind is fucking reeling.

“Keep going,” Lifting your hips, you pulse around him. “Please, baby.”

Forcing a deep sigh through his nose, he does, shifting forward even more as he continues sliding into your heat. “Love when you call me that.” He admits to you, pectorals flexing to keep himself quiet once he’s fully sheathed inside.

“Mm,” Pressing your lips together, you muffle your whine, feeling the slow but firm grind of his hips directly into your pelvis. The feeling of fullness you get from him is like no other. “You like when I call you baby?”

“Yeah,” He nods, already panting beside you. “Nobody ever calls me that.”

And inside, you’re thinking, well who the hell would? The main people in his life are his team. But you know from the way he says it that he’s confessing something heartfelt to you, something you don’t want to make fun of or tease.

“I’ll call you baby,” Cooing sweetly to him, you run your hands over the back of his head, sliding down his mask. “For as long as you’ll let me.”

“Jesus,” He mutters, rotating his hips before pulling out slightly. Gracefully, he dives back in, huffing out over your skin. “How do you have such a hold on me?”

And then he moves his head, dropping it to your chest. Emotionally, he feels something snap, mouth opening to lay his tongue over your soft curves, flicking the tip of it over both of your pebbled peaks. And as soon as he starts doing this, his hips pick up their pace.

“Simon,”

“Quiet,” He pants, “Quiet, love.” Wrapping his lips around your nipple, he sucks it inside, now swirling his tongue around it.

“Jesus Christ,” You’re lifting your hips with his thrusts as they continue growing in pace and strength, feeling the heavy drag of him against your delicate walls. And he’s stretching you again, just barely feeling that little burn. The way he’s thrusting into you makes you feel every inch of him, his erection long enough to reach the deepest parts of you.

“That’s it, love.” Simon praises, smiling from the movement of your hips. “That’s it.”

But just as he truly begins enjoying your combined rhythm, the bed starts creaking, and rather loudly. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, hips slowing until they’re completely stagnant.

“Bloody fucking bed.” He mutters harshly, lifting himself from you.

It surprises you how quickly he slides out of your insides, stepping away and leaving you by yourself on the bed. But he doesn’t go far, dropping to his knees and leaning over to grab your sides. He pulls you off the mattress and onto his lap, his free hand yanking the blankets onto the floor.

“Get on your hands and knees.” He orders, placing a hand on your back to guide you down quickly.

He’d put the blankets down for your comfort, watching you get into position for him. It’s shameless, it’s brazen, not even questioning it as you bend over for him. Instantly, his hands find your ass, smoothing his palms over your curvaceous cheeks.

“This good for you?” He asks quietly, fingers pressing into your plump flesh.

“Yeah, baby.” His heart throbs when he hears that word. Both from affection and excitement. “Yes.”

You’re leaning down on your forearms, shifting your hips even higher into the air for him. And he seems to enjoy this, because he grips you harshly in his hand. You’d bet anything that if you didn’t have to be quiet, he would’ve smacked it.

Easily, he enters you again, feeling even bigger this time as he slides in from behind. Muffling your cries is the scratchy blanket beneath your face, your body experiencing his now returning pace. It’s even quicker than last time, the strength of his hands holding your hips as he fucks into you without an ounce of regret. He’s fully giving into himself, shoving himself into you as hard as he’s always wanted to. It rocks your body on the ground, his impressive physique towering above your submissive form. From this angle he can see some of the marks he’s left on you, one on your shoulder and neck.

“G-Ghost,” It’s getting hard to hold back your shrill gasps and small squeaks, and you can tell he’s struggling, too. The noises he’s making are no better when considering their volume, his grunts and groans echoing in the room.

“Uh-uh,” He puffs out, shaking his head. “That’s not my name.”

“Oh my god,” He’s ramming himself into you from behind, and by now, the sound has got to be too loud.

Huffing out a brief laugh, he says, “That’s not my name either, love.”

“Simon,” You groan, blood draining from your knuckles as you grip his bedsheets.

“There you go, sweetheart.” Leaning down, he kisses the center of your back, right on your spine. The action makes you shiver, rolling your hips back against him. “Atta girl.”

“Fuck me.”

“Almost there, princess.” He promises, “Almost fuckin’ there.”

Unfortunately, he knows he won’t make you cum with his dick, not this time around. He’s gonna blow too fast to let you do that.

“Where do you want it, sweetheart? Tell me.” His voice is rumbling behind you, hips unrelenting in their brutal pace against you. “Right now.”

“Fuck, b-baby, you know I like it inside.” You’re stuttering, your voice high and damn near delirious at this point.

“Yeah? That wasn’t just a one time thing?” Simon inquires, truly curious.

“Mm-mm,” You whine, shaking your head against his sheets. “I want you inside me.”

“You safe, sweetheart?” He then follows-up, knowing this will now be a regular thing.

“Yes, I promise.” You’re panting beneath him, feeling the full brunt of his body’s weight repeatedly rut against you. “Please, just cum inside me.”

Doing as he told, he allows himself to let go, jaw dropping as he feels the euphoria of his high shoot through his insides. He’s staring down at you, gawking at the way your ass jiggles every time it’s shoved back against him. And the way he tries to hold his breath makes him feel like he’s about to pull a muscle in his chest. Abs and arms flexing, he holds you against him, keeping you flush against his pelvis. Instead of thrusting into you, he keeps you close, grinding himself in as deep as he can get.

Allowing him to rock you gently along the sheets, your fingers loosen the grasp they once had. Breathing through your ecstasy, you wiggle yourself back against him ever so slightly. And when you do, his hands grab onto your hips, holding you steady.

“Easy, sweets.” Comes that ragged voice, clearly catching his breath. And then he smoothes a hand down your back, sighing. “Such a beauty.”

“You care if I smoke?”

Glancing up at him, you display your graceful grin. Calmly, you shake your head. “You know I don’t.” You respond quietly, having been around him far too often to care about that.

He doesn’t want to leave you, but does so briefly to grab the lighter and pack of cigarettes. Slumping back into his bed, you lift yourself, allowing his arm to slide beneath your head. Slouching, he allows you to cuddle into him, placing your hand on his chest. It’s similar to how the two of you slept. He’d held you through the night while sleeping on his back, his gentle snores lulling you to sleep. Last night, your fingers felt his muscles. Right now, they’re tracing his scars. It makes him smile, your tender touches, those icy eyes lowering to watch you. Once the cig is lit, he inhales a breath, exhaling the smoke upward toward the vent in the ceiling.

“You sure you don’t have to go soon?” It was already past his normal wakeup call, and you were starting to worry for him.

“Nah,” He takes those worries and brushes them right off. “It’s my day off, sweetheart.”

When that door closed behind you last night, it’s like an entirely new man was revealed. He’s starting to let his guard down, and only around you. He let his emotions feel free, allowing himself to be soft with you. And you feel lucky to have seen him this way. You doubt even his teammates have. In a way, he’s given his faith to you, placing it in your hands and is now trusting you to handle it carefully. It may take some time, but you’ll show him that you’re worth having. You won’t ever be a weakness for him, you’ll only be an addition to that lengthy list of strengths.

#Ghost #Simon Ghost Riley #Ghost cod #Simon Riley #Simon Riley x you #Simon Riley x reader #Simon Riley x female reader #Simon Riley smut #Simon Riley cod #Simon Ghost Riley cod #Cod fanfiction

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woahjo · 1 month

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bird of prey (tendou x reader) - chapter 3

series masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Tendou x Reader, Bokuto x Reader

Series Summary: Satori Tendou is your best friend, but you fuck for fun.

Chapter Title: Act I, Scene 3 — Pomegranate

Chapter Summary: Work is a nice distraction sometimes. Satori uses it as his own personal way to forget the shit he doesn't want to think about. It's a shame that said shit walks through the front door.

Chapter Content Warnings: afab!reader, tendou's pov, college au, friends with benefits, no strings attached, angst, jealousy, competition, insecurity, tension, sexualization of a fruit (my bad), dirty pictures / suggestive conversation, multiple partners (not cheating)

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: After many moons, she's back and in the same exact outfit she wore 6 months ago. crossposted to ao3 ofc.

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“So what if they're seeing someone else?” Wakatoshi says, tossing him the small, round figure they’d been throwing back and forth. “Has that stuff ever really bothered you before?”

Satori is a contradictory person, he thinks. There is a lot about him that he feels defies definition. An unplaceable sense of desire that radiates from every crevice in his body. Something about him that he can both hide, but never hope to conceal.

“Not really,” Satori responds.

He’s reclined on his bed, his neck craned at an awkward angle against the headboard. Wakatoshi sits across the room at his desk chair, one foot pushing him absentmindedly back and forth.

“So what’s the issue?” Wakatoshi questions, his baritone voice bouncing lightly off of the walls.

“Not really sure,” Satori says, turning the object over in his hand before tossing it back. “I just don’t… like it.”

“But you don’t wanna go out with them?” He raises the question like it baffles him, which Satori supposes that it does. Wakatoshi has always been… monogamous, for lack of a better term. When he likes something, he goes for it without thinking about anything else.

Satori isn’t quite like that. That’s not to say that he’s considerate, because consideration requires a sort of awareness for others that Satori lacks in a very abstract sense, but he’s calculating. What Satori does, he does because he wants to and because it feels right, but he considers the dynamic of it. He thinks often about what “could be” in an extreme sense and then seeks out that thrill with whoever he has in mind.

“It’s not really in the agreement,” Satori laughs dryly and with no particular disdain.

“It could be,” Wakatoshi says, his ideal state of mind peering through.

Satori just gives Wakatoshi a pointed glance before turning his attention to the window.

Late November this time of year sees the beginning of snowfall and as December begins to get going in full swing, snow comes down often. Thick, powder-like clusters flurry past his window outside, clinging to the small divots on the outside of the window. It begins to crowd his view and if he were to glance out of the window, he’d see that the streetlight outside is hazy and looks somehow distant.

“I like what we have going though,” he says, not with any particular sort of conviction. “It works for me and it’s nice. The sex is good and their company is great. It seems like a shame for it to end.”

“They haven’t said anything about ending it yet though, have they?” He tilts his head.

Satori shakes his head noncommittally, shrugging his shoulders briefly.

It’s true that you haven’t. The two of you tip-toe carefully around the subject of your relationship to Bokuto, but you never break it off. Each time you finish and lay sweat-soaked and panting in each other’s company, Satori gets the distinct feeling that it’s coming, but it never quite does. The ball never drops and he vaguely feels like there’s a space there for him to speak. To maybe be the bigger person and do it himself. He doesn’t think he will though, he likes this far too much to end it.

“Not yet,” Satori says. “But they’ve been seeing each other for more than a few weeks now and from what I know, it’s pretty regular, so… you know… matter of time, I guess.”

Wakatoshi doesn’t really say anything. He’s never been a man of all too many words. Satori shouldn’t find his silence unsettling, but for some reason he does. It’s like a quiet confirmation.

Satori is an idealistic person at times. The world, for him, is played in saturated color. It’s vibrant and it glitters. He’s never been all too preoccupied with the negative side of situations because when things sour, Satori is exceptionally good at cutting his losses. There’s fun and then there’s not fun and they exist in two completely different universes. Satori happens to exist in the fun one, where he never has to take anything all too seriously.

Maybe it’s a negative quality of his. He sometimes thinks that if he never takes anything too seriously, he’ll never have to worry about getting hurt, and if he’s always having fun, there’s no room for pain. Satori doesn’t like pain or discomfort. He has a very low tolerance for it and he’s never been too keen to stick around and see where the limit is. Of course, the flip side of this is that Satori inadvertently causes pain wherever he goes. Carelessness acts as a sort of medium for it, one that he himself manages to circumvent.

You have been the first arrangement where he’s avoided that particular discomfort. The discomfort of causing another person pain. You just get it and in the process, you get him.

“The futon is in the closet,” Satori says, sinking down into his bed and pulling the comforter up to his chin.

He hears Wakatoshi get up from the chair and it gives a distinct click as it moves back into its fully upright position. There’s the gentle squeak of the thin closet door, the soft sound of a blanket rustling, and then the click of the closet latch. Satori listens as Wakatoshi lays the futon out on the carpeted floor beside his bed, the distinct ruffle of it as he throws it out and slowly lays it down. As Wakatoshi crawls to lay down, Satori glances over at him, watching his friend’s broad body get under the blanket he’d laid out with it.

“You know that it’s really impolite to make your guests get out their own futon, right?” Wakatoshi says absentmindedly as he settles in.

“You’re more like family,” Satori grins, the corners of his lips curling up. “And since I’m older, you should do it yourself.”

Wakatoshi blows a quick puff of air out of his nose and Satori gives a small chuckle as he settles in. There’s a long beat of silence as Satori turns out the light and they lay in the dark room. He can hear as Wakatoshi turns over and then finally settles and lays on his back.

“I think it’s worth talking to them about,” Wakatoshi adds, picking up the previous conversation as if it had never stopped. “You’re stupid if you don’t.”

Satori lets out one quick laugh. “Maybe I’m stupid, I don’t know.”

Wakatoshi groans a little and Satori is a bit surprised to see him show that sort of frustration over something other than volleyball. He laughs a little and stares at the ceiling.

“What?”

He hears the sound of Wakatoshi shaking his head against the pillow. “Nothing. It just sounds to me like you like them.”

“Well,” Satori muses. “I do. Obviously. They’re one of my best friends, how could I not?”

“Like that?” Wakatoshi emphasizes.

Satori just sort of hums noncommittally and it isn’t long before the room has settled into silence, evened out by Wakatoshi’s breathing.

Satori supposes that there may be love there. There has to be. Maybe it’s not the kind Wakatoshi thinks he’s looking at, but Satori is near certain that it exists.

—

Satori works part time in a small izakaya. It’s an out-of-the-way, run down place, but he likes it. At first, he only picked up the job to help pay for his car, since the shit-mobile’s expenses were dipping a little too far into savings, but now, he finds that it’s a nice escape. For some reason, the space feels like he’s just walked into a picture.

It hasn’t been redecorated since the place opened and it’s dressed in a classic Japanese style. The space is small, no more than 8 tatami mats for the sitting area, giving it a pleasantly stuffy and crowded feel, and it always smells vaguely of barbecued meat and beer. Satori thought the smell was unpleasant at first. He didn’t like the way it clung to his clothes, giving the impression that he’d spent the evening drinking, but now he’s grown rather used to it. It’s become one of the many smells he sometimes carries with him.

The outside of it is modest, just down a step from the sidewalk, with a small sliding door that is always open during daytime business hours. There’s a glowing neon sign just outside, protruding from the side of the building and into the alleyway. It’s the most marketing this place does, but that suits it fine. Most of its customers live in the neighborhood anyway and tourists are infrequent visitors, as there are far trendier bars in Sendai.

The inside is homely and gives the distinct impression of having walked into somewhere familiar. Just inside the doorway, there is a small area to remove your shoes, along with cubbies lining the wall. As Satori enters, he sees a few pairs of shoes already inside and he slips his own off carefully and puts them in the staff section along the other side of the entryway. Haruna’s shoes are already in there. A pair of neat black flats, worn at the toes and creased just behind where the balls of her feet would be, tucked squarely into the left middle cubby. She stands on her tiptoes a lot. Akio’s shoes are also in the cubbies. He wears a pair of old white sneakers with soles so worn that they’re completely smooth in the center.

His work shoes, the uniform ones meant for the kitchen and behind the bar, are just beyond the main room and around the corner. Satori enters the izakaya without a bow. He’s so accustomed to being here that he no longer does it and Haruna just tosses him a pointed look from where she’s rounding the corner to the staff area.

“You’re late,” she comments. “Your shift started ten minutes ago.”

Haruna has a pointed way of speaking. Her words are sharp on her tongue and almost nothing slips past her.

“You keepin’ track of my punch card now, Runa?” Satori laughs, breezing past her to punch it in the old fashioned machine by the wall. It’s not even automatic. Satori has to physically push the stamp to make it work.

“No, I’m keeping track of when I get to go home,” she scoffs. “We only have a thirty minute overlap today and I can’t leave if you’re not here.”

“But I am here,” he teases.

“You’re lucky Daisuke likes you so much,” Haruna scowls, scrunching her nose.

Satori shrugs his shoulders and fastens his apron, walking behind the bar without a proper response. Haruna just shakes her head a little.

She’s really not a bad person. Haruna is actually really enjoyable and Satori likes working with her, she’s just… particular about how she works. She doesn’t like working longer than she’s scheduled. It fucks up her mojo as she would put it. Satori finds it endearing, despite her being nearly six years older than him.

Haruna actually works two jobs, one in a retail office and another here at the izakaya. Her other job is what the flats are for. He only ever sees her actual shoes on weekends.

“What are you even doing here?” She says, coming to stand next to him behind the bar as she gathers small plates on a tray. “You don’t usually work Thursdays.”

She’s right. Satori usually works on Sundays, Mondays, and Fridays.

“Yasu called out, so I’m covering,” he states plainly.

“Why are you doing that?” She pulls a face.

Satori places a beer in front of a customer at the counter and then leans one hand on the bar. He lets his weight rest on his shoulder, causing it to rise to his ear as he tilts his head.

“Are you not overjoyed to see me?”

Haruna doesn’t dignify his tease with an answer and he clicks his tongue with mock-disappointment.

“Needed a break,” he says.

“So you came… to work?” She laughs, a plate topped with sprouts in her hand. “Yeah, right.”

“Yeah,” he smirks, “I needed a break so I came to work. You gonna keep grilling me and wait for those bean sprouts to become full-blown mung beans or what?”

“Smartass,” she mutters.

Satori hums again and it’s not long before she’s back around the corner and serving a table on the far end of the izakaya.

He falls quickly into a rhythm, calling back orders to Akio in the kitchen. Satori disappears a little when he works. It’s like he goes on autopilot. Satori doesn’t like rules, but when he goes into work by choice, especially when he feels he has a lot on his plate, he seems to appreciate the work flow a little more. Besides, his job is relatively relaxed. As long as Satori serves drinks and food, he’s golden.

Of course, another one of his stress relief methods is photography. Pictures of the things he likes, beautiful things that some people find ugly or without taste. Usually sexual things—pornographic, as his classmates might say. In his second year, Satori did a photo series in his film photography course centered around a pomegranate. He only used one and he carved it up over the course of many days. He let the fruit bleed, nearly rot, and photographed it throughout the process. He liked the color of it, so red and inviting, and the photos seemed to give off the distinct tarte smell of the peel. His classmates said that it made them particularly uncomfortable and that the pomegranate, which was really just a fruit, no longer felt like something inanimate by the end of the photo series, but rather something alive—or something that was once alive. It’s a little abstract, but that’s exactly what Satori was going for.

He can’t really take photos in this situation. Lately, you’ve been a bit of a muse to him. There are aspects of you he’d like to photograph and when Satori wants to photograph something, he can’t seem to stop thinking about it. He thought about that pomegranate for weeks. About the roundness of the juice-full seeds, the way they began to dry out and the ones that survived long enough to shine amongst the bunches of dried pulp. A small part of him regrets not eating it.

Ideally, he’d like to disappear into the lens of his camera for a bit. Look at the world through the little window at the top of it and enjoy the December season behind glass. Maybe it was a bit of a hasty idea to make you the central point of his project for his self study class. After his conversation with Wakatoshi earlier this week, he’s afraid that the pictures will chronicle his marvelous, long overdue downfall. By the end of it, the photos will no longer be of your back from a few inches away, but rather of your face in a crowd of people he’s never met, surrounded on all sides and taken from feet away. He never wants to use a distance lens on you. He’d take your picture with a microscope if he could, if only to see the cellular composition of your skin.

He’s deep in these thoughts when the inner paper door of the izakaya slides open with a thud and a raucous composition of three voices. His coworkers welcome them in, but Satori is so caught up in the thought of you and the pomegranate that he forgets, idly wiping at a glass in his hands and staring blankly at the shining, translucent rim.

“Tendou?” A voice calls, baritone and confident. They sound almost surprised.

He looks up from the class and is greeted with eager, gold eyes and thick expressive eyebrows.

“Bokuto,” he says, his lips curling into a faux smile. So much for getting his mind off of things. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Well, we were in the area,” he laughs a little, motioning his head to the people who begin to seat themselves at the bar near him.

There are two other people with him, a girl and a boy. The boy he recognizes as someone who usually hands around Bokuto, but he’s never seen the girl before. She’s got a mid-length, reddish-brown bob and calm eyes. She doesn’t look up as she peruses through the menu and Satori gets the distinct feeling that Haruna might like her.

“You gonna drink, Akaashi?” Bokuto turns to his friend with a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he says, “If I get a beer are you gonna pressure me to drink four more afterwards?”

“When have I ever done that?” Bokuto questions.

“You do it every time we go out to drink,” the girl chimes in. “Why do you think you always have to beg him?” Then, she turns her attention to Satori. “Three beers and two orders of beef skewers, please.”

“That’s so not true,” Bokuto responds indignantly. “But also, why end the party just ‘cause your glass is empty. Might as well get more.”

“Here he goes,” the girl laughs.

“Yukie, don’t just order for me,” Akaashi chides the girl for getting him a beer.

“You know you’d have caved eventually,” she says calmly. “Let’s not go through all the back and forth this time. Bokuto’s a hard person to say no to.”

“Hey, woah,” Bokuto turns to Akaashi and gives his friend a genuine look. “You never have to do anything you don’t want to. I’m just saying that I’ll be so crushed and sad and depressed if you cancel the order. That’s all.”

Bokuto speaks earnestly, like he doesn’t realize how hypocritical he sounds as he talks and his friends chuckle pleasantly at his airheaded demeanor. It’s too late to cancel the order anyway. Satori eavesdrops on their conversation as he fills their glasses with the house beer. He’s already pouring the third. Akaashi is getting one whether he likes it or not.

“Three beers,” Satori sets them down in front of each of them. “Skewers’ll be out in a second.”

“Thanks man,” Bokuto says, pleased as he takes a sip of the amber liquid. “Drink up, Keiji.”

The grill is just behind the bar facing the guests. Since the izakaya is rather homestyle, Satori prepares and grills things like skewers directly in front of guests, though it’s not really for performance purposes. Right now, he wishes that Akio were in charge of cooking things like this. That way, Satori wouldn’t have to stand directly in front of Bokuto and his friends for all too long. No matter, he can deal with it. It’s not like he particularly dislikes Bokuto.

“I thought you’d be with ____ tonight,” Bokuto says brightly as Satori places the first of the skewer sets on the grill. Akaashi gives him a somewhat mortified, sideways look.

Satori smirks down at the grill and flips a skewer with one hand. His lips curl at the corners and he pleasantly takes in the idea that Bokuto had assumed you’d be with him.

“What makes you think that?” He smiles, his words a little slimy.

Bokuto shrugs his shoulders, leaning up to look at the meat on the grill. He doesn’t spare Satori a glance as he watches it.

“Well, they’re usually with you no?” He says evenly. “Otherwise they’re with Yuki. Maybe Alice or Keiko. Oh, not this Yukie, though.” He jostles the girl’s shoulder and she lets out a huff of air as she struggles not to spill the drink held up to her mouth.

Satori shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head briefly at the assumption that he wouldn’t have noticed that this Yukie is an entirely different person from the one he met at the party. Then, he gives Bokuto a slick grin and returns his attention to the meat on the grill, satisfied with Bokuto’s relief.

“You know,” Bokuto starts, “I’m a little relieved they’re not with you right now. The idea was making me jealous.”

Satori furrows his eyebrows and lets out a small laugh. Bokuto looks almost bashful, though not in an insecure way. Instead, the statement almost gives him an indiscernible look of unknowing confidence. Bokuto doesn’t have to worry about divulging this information to Satori because he doesn’t even view it as a competition. Neither does Satori really, but it irritates him that Bokuto is so nonchalant about his confidence. It’s almost like he’s sure that things will work out for him. Satori isn’t sure if that’s something with his personality or something that you told him, and the idea unsettles him.

“Well, I’m here,” Satori says, plating two skewers of meat and starting on the next two. His eyes dart up to look at Bokuto over the tops of his cheeks, tone dipping slightly with the next part of his statement as his lips curl up in the corners. “And so are you. No harm, no foul.”

Bokuto nods his head a little at the slight. He picks up on it, Satori can tell that much, but if it bothers him, he doesn’t let it show. The comment rolls off of Bokuto’s broad shoulders and he moves on to the next topic with an almost unintentional ease. Yukie glances up at Satori briefly, her expression closed and unreadable before she returns her gaze to Bokuto.

Even the steam from the skewers gets caught up in Bokuto’s social pull. It floats towards him evenly, almost as if it’s drawn to the openness of his expression. Satori idly works on the second plate of them, turning the wooden skewers with his bare hands over a crosshatch grill. Bokuto’s voice carries and as Satori busies himself with the remaining order of skewers, he can see the way other patrons of the izakaya glance at where he sits at the bar. He passes the plate over the counter, setting it down in front of the group.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” he offers before starting off to the other end to help a few other patrons.

Satori briefly studies the sort of looks Bokuto receives, his eyes slinking across strangers’ expressions. Most of them, it seems, are admiring. They look at him as if there is something there to be desired, something they’d like to take for themselves or experience. Bokuto carries on with his loud conversation obliviously and Satori wonders if he truly doesn’t notice that people are looking at him or if he’s so accustomed to it that it no longer phases him. It’s likely the latter and Tendou furrows his eyebrows momentarily before setting down a glass of dark beer in front of an older patron. She thanks him with a practiced smile, curling her shoulders forward as she takes a sip.

“Hey!” Bokuto calls from across the bar. His voice rises above the conversation in the room and if the whole room weren’t already aware of his presence, they certainly were now. “C’mere for a sec.”

Bokuto waves Satori over casually and he obliges, slinking over and leaning forward on the bar with a raised eyebrow. Bokuto raises his glass of beer to his lips with open posture, tilting his head up slightly and taking a large gulp. There’s not a hint of shyness in his movements. All of it is executed with an oblivious, admirable confidence.

“Yes?” Satori questions, glancing at the half empty beer in front of him. “You wanna prematurely order another drink?”

Bokuto swallows and sets his glass down, shaking his head and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Akaashi makes a face at him.

“Nah,” he says, leaning forward a little. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Tendou raises an eyebrow and Bokuto offers him a broad smile that feels too friendly for their relationship. It’s all teeth, surrounded by full and round lips.

“You and _____,” he starts. Yukie sighs heavily and glances at Akaashi, who shrugs his shoulders in a defeated manner. “What’s going on there?’

Satori is caught off guard by the question, though he really shouldn’t be. Bokuto has proven time and time again to be so forward that it borders on stupid.

“Why do you ask?” He grins lightly.

Bokuto gives Satori a bashful look, running his hand down his face to cover the expression he wears. It does little to hide it and the gaps in his fingers and color of his cheeks betray a recklessly confident emotion that makes Satori wonder through what light Bokuto even sees him.

“Ah, well, you know,” Bokuto says. “We’ve been talking.”

Satori nods slowly, subconsciously chewing the skin on the inside of his cheek. What he wouldn’t give to be able to leave this conversation.

“So?” Boktuo presses.

Satori’s lips curl up in the corners, his expression twisting into something cat-like and aware. It’s not quite friendly, but Satori’s never had that sort of face.

“We’re friends,” he offers.

“Friends?” Bokuto says, perking up a little. “What kind?”

“Good friends,” Satori says, sticking his tongue in his cheek so that it rests over a sharp canine.

Bokuto nods, his body language opening up a little bit. Satori examines the way he moves, the confidence in the breath he lets out, as if the idea that Satori might be lying has never even crossed his mind. That, or it betrays the idea that Bokuto doesn’t even view Satori as being in the same playing field. Both are irritatingly casual and he rolls his head over his shoulders as if to rid himself of the tension.

“So you don’t mind?” Bokuto adds, his words a little more measured. “If I ask them out?”

Satori momentarily grits his teeth, raising an eyebrow as he returns Bokuto’s gaze. On either side of him, Akaashi and Yukie are suspiciously minding their own business.

“Why would I mind?” Satori answers, hiding the way his stomach clenches unpleasantly. He greases up his words with a curled smile, as if the idea is amusing to him.

Bokuto looks at him for a moment before setting both of his hands on the counter and leaning back with a wide grin.

“That’s good,” Bokuto says, his tone returning to the light and somewhat airheaded tone he usually maintains. “Probably would have made things awkward if you did when we start goin’ out.”

Bokuto says this with his head angled down, picking up a skewer and taking a bite out of it.

“Oh, this is good,” he says to Akaashi, putting the skewer in front of his face. “Try it.”

Satori comes to the quick realization that Bokuto hadn’t been asking for permission. He’d been letting Satori know that he’ll be asking you out. It wasn’t a question of if he can, but rather a warning that it will happen regardless of what Satori wants. The arrogance of it makes his skin crawl.

There’s a confidence about Bokuto when he talks about you. Something intrinsic within his person. A haughty, unabashed confidence that things will just work out for him, so much so that he hardly seems to notice when he says something arrogant. Even worse, his arrogance comes across as justified.

It’s rare that people genuinely get on Satori’s nerves, but Bokuto does. Bokuto grates on him like sandpaper and Satori can’t help but click his jaw as he turns around and returns to his duties. There’s something in the way he talks about you, as if you’ve already handed yourself over to him, that makes Satori feel uneasy. It would be unfair to say that you’re Satori’s. After all, it’s just sex, but he can’t help but feel some sort of possessiveness over you. You’re not just a fuck buddy either, you’re a friend, someone he connects with on a very real level. To have Bokuto reduce the relationship between the two of you to something as definable as “minding” provokes him.

Of course, this sort of thing is likely inevitable. It’s not like Satori plans to put any sort of ring on your finger. Shit, he doesn’t even intend to put any sort of label on it. For Satori, this is fun. It’s fun he’s not exactly eager to give up. It’s his. This discomfort, however, toes the line and he can feel the way the urge to just let go creeps up on him. Satori’s never been all that much of a fighter, even when it comes to the things he adores. Boredom follows displeasure quite quickly with him.

Bokuto and his friends linger for the larger portion of his shift, chatting idly. Like Yukie said, Bokuto pressures Akaashi into quite a few more drinks and by the time they leave, the two boys’ figures are swaying as if thrown softly off their axis, pushed and pulled by imaginary breezes. They settle their tab with cash on the counter and clamor out with a final wave. Yukie, the soberest of the group, stops in the doorway to give Satori a look that he can only interpret as apologetic. The sort of look you give someone who has started a losing battle.

He laughs to himself at it, lowering his gaze as he clears away their plates and wipes down the counter. None of them even know the half of it. Not the way you whisper to him, the way you look at him, the curve of your body in his camera lens. What do they know about the two of you?

—-

The air outside is cold when Satori steps out of the izakaya and shuts the sliding door behind him. It makes his cheeks and nose feel like they’re being pinched and as he exhales, he can see the billow of clouded breath that leaves his open mouth. The street is calm in the way city streets get on weekdays in the late evening and the streetlamps create a familiar glow across the black pavement. He pulls his phone out of his coat pocket, studying for a moment the way his knuckles redden in the cold.

Satori: Saw your boyfriend today.

You: Not my boyfriend.

Satori grins at your message, exhaling through his nose and shaking his head. He’s unable to hide his pleasure at the quickness of your response.

You: Where?

That’s a little less funny.

Satori: Work.

You: I thought you didn’t work today?

Satori: Someone called out.

You: Sucks lol

Satori tucks the device and his hands away in his coat pockets after liking the message, stepping further out into the street and starting off in the direction of his apartment. He focuses on his breathing, distracted by the way his breath comes in clouds that he leaves behind. His cheeks burn and his lips are chapped from the delicate nip of the cold. A thin layer of snow tucks itself away at the edge of the street, fading out into puddles on the road.

Some part of Satori regrets the answer he’d given Bokuto. So noncommittal and careless. He’s never been one to give the whole truth, but it’s obvious to anyone that the two of you are fucking. Even his photography class knows it.

For some reason, it makes Satori feel worse that Bokuto didn’t even squirm. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that maybe he’d lose. What Bokuto would be losing, he isn’t sure, but he knows that it never even crossed the other man’s mind.

Satori hates losing. He’ll stop competing if it means he doesn’t have to admit that he did. He’d rather not play at all than get burned doing it. Even when he played volleyball, he’d been noncommittal. When his team lost in his final year of high school, he’d let it roll off of his shoulders because it was just for fun anyway, the thrill of the game. What’s fun about a game where he loses? Or worse, a game that he wasn’t even considered to compete in in the first place but thought he’d been playing all along. Yukie had given him a look like that, like he was only on the team to be kept from being left out. Satori likes high stakes, but he’ll take the bets he knows he can win.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he gets back to his apartment, vibrating quietly in his pocket when he slides the key into his lock.

You sent an image

You: How about something like this for your photography project?

It’s a dimly lit photo of your legs, cut off just before the apex of your thighs where they meet your center. One knee is bent, leaning against the other outstretched leg, and in the mirror across from you he can just barely make out where your bare ass rests on your duvet cover, shadow hiding the place on you he most wants to see. He stares momentarily at the photo, feeling the way blood rushes to his lower half.

Satori: I’d rather keep something like this for myself.

You: Good, that’s who it’s meant for.

#tendou x reader #tendou x reader smut #tendou smut #tendou satori x reader #hq x reader #tendou satori #haikyu x reader #bokuto x reader #tw.jealousy #tw.multiple partners #tw.insecurity #YEAHHH DOGGGG #im so excited #yippee!!!!#i missed him bad #cal.writing #char.tendou

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part eleven

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you get the short end of the stick, but it’s worth it.

a/n: okayyyyyyyyy shit’s getting heavy, folks, but things are chaaaaaaanging. hope you’re ready 😈

word count: 4.4k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, a lot of angst, a lot conversation, canon-typical violence and injuries (heavy on both), drinking, Joel has more feelings, I love Tess.

if you haven’t already, please read the announcement/follow up I posted about giving Liv a name.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters✨

Tess likes to talk. You don’t mind; it makes the walk back much faster, and the QZ is within sight much sooner with the easy conversation between you.

She talks about how she found Joel and Tommy, how they’d been stuck together ever since Kentucky. She mentions her husband, Nate, and you offer your sympathy — which she brushes off — and tell her about Dean.

“With a baseball bat?” she repeats, an almost incredulous look on her face. “That baseball bat?”

“Yep,” you laugh, hefting the thing in your hand. “Kept me alive this long. All those years of softball finally paid off.”

Tess tells you what she was starting to build in Baltimore, and you can’t help but grin. The two of you are more similar than you thought. You return her stories in kind, details of your own ventures. “There are lots of ways in and out of the Boston QZ,” you tell her, “you just have to know where to look.”

You don’t ask about her and Joel, and she doesn’t offer the information. He hangs back the entire time, a good twenty feet behind you, rifle slung over his shoulder. You chance a glance back once or twice, mostly making sure he’s still there, and his hard gaze makes you freeze every time.

This definitely isn’t the reunion you’d imagined. Honestly, you’re not quite sure what you had envisioned, but this sure as hell ain’t it. Fuck, why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut?

You lead them through as quietly as possible, using a spot on the wall where the bricks have been cracked, leaving footholds behind for those who know to look for them. You send Tess up first, then Joel, and he waits at the top, grabs you by the arm and hauls you up the last foot. You open your mouth to say thank you, but he’s already released you, turned away yet again.

All right, so this is how it’s going to be.

Through the top level of the building, down the ladder into the alley. You stash your bat and your bag in the same place, tell Tess and Joel to leave their guns there, too. Joel’s reluctant, but Tess smacks his shoulder and he does as you say, that hard look on his face the entire time.

Your boots splash in the same puddle they had last night. Tess is close behind you as you head out of the alley and skirt down the next building. A few more alleyways, heads ducked, avoiding soldiers and civilians alike, and you head down another alleyway, waiting for the coast to clear before shoving a dumpster aside, revealing a hole in the bricks that leads inside the empty warehouse.

“How did you—” Joel starts to ask, but cuts himself off.

You hold your arm out, gesturing him inside. “Quickly.”

The opposite end of the warehouse faces the gate almost directly. The windows on the lower level are covered with newspaper, shattered in some places, and you peer through one of the missing panes. Beside the main gate, there’s an office, of sorts. Where they take any survivors that make it to the gate, test them, either put them in the system or put a bullet in their heads.

“Wait here.” You prop open the window, slide through the gap and pop back up the other side. No one pays you any mind as you head towards the office, leaning up on your toes to peer through the little window in the door. Nick’s standing inside, staring at one of the old computer screens, and when you tap on the glass, he nods.

You turn back, waving at Tess. “C’mon.” They’re quick about it, and you push the door open once they’re close, following them both inside. Nick stares at Joel for a moment, meets your eyes over his shoulder. You try to school your face neutral, but you can’t tell if you get away with it or not.

“In there,” Nick says, the words blunt, and points down the hallway, to one of the smaller rooms. The office used to be a doctor’s office, you think; one main lobby, a bunch of smaller exam rooms down the hall. Joel and Tess do as he says, and you start to follow behind, but feel Nick’s hand on your shoulder. It makes you pause, and you look at him, turning beneath his hand.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice low. “Joel.”

You repeat yourself to him a third time. “Does it matter?”

Nick’s brow creases. “Of course it fucking matters, Liv.”

You shake your head. “Just process them, please? Then you can throw me in lockup and this’ll all be over.”

The look on his face says he doesn’t believe you, but you push his hand off your shoulder, step into the room where Tess is standing, Joel sitting in one of the chairs, elbows on his knees. “This is Corporal Nick Cowan,” you introduce, jutting a thumb over your shoulder. “I trust him. He’ll test you both, put you through the system, and take you back to my place.” Your eyes flick to Joel. “Tommy should still be there.” You turn to look at Nick. “On the off chance he’s not, take them to Deanna’s.”

Nick gives you a curt nod, and you can feel Joel’s stare boring holes in your skull. It’s Tess that finally breaks the silence, concern on her face. “What about you? Why aren’t you taking us?”

“Cuz I’m gonna be in lockup,” you say, and Joel jumps to his feet, but doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t do anything but stare, “for the next two days.” You swallow hard. “There’s enough food at my place for you three, water too. Tommy knows where the whiskey is.” You give a little chuckle, staring down at your boots before lifting your head. There’s something like admiration in Tess’s eyes, whereas Joel is pure fire. You chew the inside of your cheek. “It’s fine, really. All part of the deal.”

“You’ve been in FEDRA lockup before?” Tess asks, crossing her arms.

You nod. “Once or twice. I’ve been caught by a couple other soldiers, but I have dirt on most of them. Makes it easier, but this is all part of the plan.” Your eyes dart to Joel before meeting Tess’s. “It’s fine. It’s worth it.”

Nick grabs your arm then, all business, fingers biting into your elbow. “Let’s go. Now.” His voice is louder, and you lift a brow as he pulls you back through the door. “You two, don’t move, or so help me god, I will throw you both right back through that gate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Seriously?”

He stares down at you. He’s angry, you realize. “Seriously.”

Nick yanks the door shut, Joel and Tess staring at you as it closes, and he all but pushes you down the hall to the door, out onto the road, towards the building where you’ll be for the next two days. Lockup. “There were other soldiers in there,” he mutters under his breath. “I had to make it somewhat believable.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure.”

Since the world ended, Joel will admit he’s gotten quick to judge. First impressions were hell before cordyceps ravaged the planet, but now they’re even worse, if not more important. But Joel’s met one too many terrible people, and he’s learned to be quick on the draw, quicker on his judgement.

He knows almost immediately that he does not care for Corporal Nick Cowan. At all.

Mainly, he doesn’t like the way Cowan was looking at you. He saw the way he stopped you outside the door, the two of you whispering under your breath to each other, an almost defiant look on your face. Are you two…?

He doesn’t finish the thought.

Joel’s mind has been churning from the moment he saw you, standing there in the gas station parking lot, that fucking baseball bat in your hand. Something else had taken over, something like happiness, spilling into the corners of his heart the moment he had you in his arms again. Alive, breathing, whole, right in front of him. He felt whole, for the first time in a long time, holding you like that. It felt…good.

And then you opened your mouth, and it all came crashing down.

He hasn’t forgotten. He can’t forget that night. The gunshots and the blood and the way Sarah had cried. The way he’d felt her go. It haunts his every step, her voice a constant reminder in the back of his mind. He knew he’d have to tell you, if he ever found you again, and in a way, he’s grateful his brother was the one to deliver the news, but the way you’d said it, the broken apology, the tears on your face, it was too much.

It is too much.

Cowan returns not ten minutes after he’d hauled you off, and Joel gets to his feet when the door opens. The soldier gives him a look, but Joel doesn’t flinch. He’s used to this shit; the FEDRA soldiers in Baltimore were the same. “You can sit,” Cowan says, but Joel doesn’t move. Tess sinks into the chair he’d been occupying. There’s a clipboard in the soldier’s hand, and he flips the page over. “Names.”

“Tess Servopoulos.”

“Joel Miller.”

“Date of birth.”

“April 9th, 1969.”

“September 26th, 1967.”

On and on it goes, until the page is full. Cowan doesn’t look at either of them once, and then takes the scanner from his belt. He’s not gentle with it, the hard press of plastic and the following tingle at Joel’s neck making him wince. The scanner turns green both times, and Cowan scoffs.

“Well, there you go.” The soldier sighs. “Boston QZ works about the same as Baltimore. You work for the community, keep it running, earn your ration cards. Liv will tell you where to find assignments, what jobs you’re allowed to take. She’s responsible for you for now, once she’s out. You stay in her place until she comes back, and we go from there.”

“We don’t get our own space?” Tess asks, and Cowan shoots her a look.

“You wait for Liv,” he says tersely, “and we go from there.”

Joel bites his tongue.

He leads them through the QZ quickly, both hands on his rifle. Joel itches for his own gun, stashed in your hideaway, but forces his hands into fists instead. Tess gives him a pointed look. Don’t fuck this up.

It irks his brain that Cowan just knows where your apartment is. Tommy opens the door after the soldier knocks, and pulls Joel into a hug, Tess afterward. “You made it.”

Tommy steps aside to let them in, and when Joel turns back to the door, the Corporal is gone.

Good fuckin’ riddance.

“Much nicer than the shit we had in Baltimore,” Tess comments, shucking her coat off, and Joel huffs a laugh.

It’s…well, nice isn’t really the word. The flower wallpaper is something else but the place looks lived in, which already makes it better than the plain walls and nondescript shit they had in the Baltimore QZ. There’s a butterfly painted on the window, a bookshelf built into one wall, another little shelf between the two windows with a radio perched on top. The flower paper doesn’t continue along all the walls, giving way to a yellow colour, the lower two feet of the wall painted blue. There’s a big window near the bed, a tall wardrobe beside it, a cracked radiator, the bathroom tucked beside the bedroom.

Tommy makes lunch, some kind of instant mac and cheese that tastes all too familiar to Joel. But washing it down with a glass of whiskey definitely helps. Tess busies herself looking through your bookshelves, combing through the titles.

“Where did she get all this stuff?” Joel asks. The shelves are filled with books, but there are other things too, little knickknacks and candles and tchotchkes. A little elephant made of jade. Joel picks it up, rubs his fingers over the carved edge.

“If you’d been listening, on the walk back,” Tess quips, an almost sing-song to her voice, “instead of being an asshole, you’d know. She’s been doing the same shit we have. Smuggling. Looting places that have been deserted. And she’s clearly better at it than we are.”

Joel says nothing, his brow lowering as he puts the elephant back on the shelf. There’s a little glass dish on one of the other shelves, filled with rings of all sizes and metals. Wedding rings, he realizes after a moment, engagement rings.

Tess hums. Joel watches as she reaches down, rubs her thumb over the silver band on her finger.

“Who is she, Joel?” Tess asks, and a zap of cold slides down his throat. “To you. Who was she? And don’t try to bullshit me and say nothing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, instead of nothing, and walks away from the bookshelf. There are no doors between the different rooms, the living room and kitchen and bedroom one open space with a dividing wall. He walks towards your bed, lets his hand trail over the plaid sheets and blankets and sinks onto the edge, parks himself in front of the window.

He stays there, until the sun sets.

Two days in lockup, you’d said. You wait for Liv, Cowan had instructed.

Part of him feels like he needs to apologize. He’s going about this wrong, he knows that. But the memory of what he’s lost has risen to the surface of his mind, and made him hurt. Made him all too aware of how broken he is.

With Tess, it doesn’t matter. He cares for her — of course he cares for her — but the line in the sand is clear. It’s stress-relief, comfort, a placeholder for what they’ve lost. Tess lost Nate, and Joel lost you.

And what the fuck did he do to deserve to find you again?

Tess crawls into bed, eventually. She doesn’t say a word to Joel, doesn’t invite him to lay with her. He can hear Tommy snoring on the other side of the thin wall that separates the living room and the bedroom, his brother sprawled on the couch.

He gets to his feet, scrubbing a hand over his face. The wardrobe door creaks as he pulls it open. There’s not much inside, clothing meant more for warmth than anything else, an assortment of sweaters and flannels. He knows he shouldn’t, feels a prickle of guilt up his spine as he drags his hand through the fabric. His fingers catch on something softer than the others, and he pinches blue flannel, striped with white and grey.

You kept his shirt. All this time. Held it close enough to take it with you when you left.

It makes him ache.

Joel wanders into the kitchen, grabs the bottle of whiskey from where it had been left on the worn kitchen table. It’s a mess of coffee cups, pages torn from notebooks, a collage of maps spread beneath everything else. He sees paths marked in red, on the maps, places circled and x’ed out, scribbled notes and times and dates. The kitchen sink is clean, a few plates stacked beside, evidence of Tommy’s cooking still on the stove. The fridge is slightly crooked, from when Tommy had pulled out the whiskey.

He sees it, from the corner of his eye, on the top door of the fridge. Held in place by a magnet shaped like a strawberry.

July 4th 2002

The magnet falls as he pulls the polaroid off, but he catches it before it can hit the ground. The picture is torn at one corner, the edges a little warped, but otherwise intact. He can remember that night. The warm summer air, your head on his shoulder, beer and barbecue in his belly, the awe on Sarah’s face as you all watched the fireworks together. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Joel puts the magnet back on the fridge, but keeps the picture in his hand, sinks into a chair at the table, takes a swig from the bottle of whiskey.

He doesn’t hear Tess until she’s sliding into the chair across from him. He says nothing, another long sip from the bottle as she pulls the polaroid from his grip. She looks at it for a long moment, smoothing her fingers over the edges before handing it back to him.

“Tell me who she is, Joel,” she says again, more of a statement than a question. “Please.”

Joel’s throat bobs. Tess doesn’t often say please.

He blows out a shaky breath. “A ghost,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “To be honest, I’m still not totally convinced she’s really here. That we’re really here.”

Tess grips his free hand, pushes the bottle away. “We are here, Joel. Liv is here.” She squeezes his fingers. “Please, I just wanna make sense of it all.” Tess pauses, leans back a little. “Did you love her?”

Joel just nods, the movement slow as molasses, making his neck ache. “Her parents owned a hardware store, back in Austin. She moved back from Michigan after she finished school, started working in the store, and I met her there. We had one summer, and then she got a job in Boston.”

“You let her go.”

His brow crinkles, and his fingers itch to reach for the bottle, but he doesn’t. “I couldn’t let her stay in Austin just for me, couldn’t let her throw away her future.” He shoves a hand through his hair. He’s still holding the picture. “We spent the rest of the summer together, and then she left. Came back the next summer, and we had another two weeks.” He rubs his thumb over the photograph, the image of you leaned against him. “But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough.”

“She broke it off?”

He lays the polaroid on the table, thumb still tracing your outline. “She met someone. Dean. The space was too much, for both of us. I understood. I let her go.”

“And then the world ended.”

Joel reaches for the bottle then, and takes a long swig before sliding it across to Tess. “And then the world ended.”

“So, she’s the reason you wanted to go to Boston.”

He can’t bring himself to look at Tess. “I called her that night, when everything happened. Told her to get out of Boston, that I’d find her. It was never about Boston, exactly, it was just about going East, praying that we might meet in the middle. I looked for her at every QZ, every shelter, every single time I saw a body in the street, I was looking for her.”

“But you found her,” Tess says, her voice low, and Joel forces his eyes to hers. “Joel, she’s alive. She’s right here. Second chances like this…” She trails off, shakes her head. “This kind of stuff doesn’t happen all the time, Miller, not anymore. This is…”

“If you call this a miracle, Tess, I swear to god.”

She scoffs a laugh. “No, not a miracle. But…something. You can’t—”

“I told you who she was,” he cuts her off, that same feeling rising in his throat again. What the fuck did he do to deserve a second chance with you? “Now drop it.”

“Joel—”

“Drop it, Tess.” He shoves his chair back, gets up, heads for the bed.

If she notices him take the polaroid with him, she doesn’t say anything.

Stairs are hell.

Every step makes your side scream in pain. The pressure you’ve been holding against your ribs has done little to ease the ache, and even breathing makes it worse. Your mouth tastes like blood, iron and tangy against your teeth, and you know you’re lucky as hell your cheek isn’t broken. Bruised to shit, yes, but not broken.

They were feeling feisty in lockup, worse than you’ve ever had it before. Nick left you with two other soldiers inside, muttering something about disturbing the peace. They processed you, put the charge on your record, and when another soldier came to get you, your stomach sank into your toes.

Angie.

The same soldier who’d been working the pharmacy when you’d gone to get inhalers for Henry. You hadn’t threatened her, not exactly, but you’d made it clear that you could do some damage if she didn’t give you what you wanted. The pharmacy is a no-violence zone; she couldn’t have hit you then even if she wanted to. It would get her in deeper shit than you.

But in lockup? A whole other fucking story.

She grabbed you roughly, all but shoving you through the doorway that led deeper into the building. You don’t think the building was originally like this, all cells and interrogation rooms; FEDRA must have built it themselves.

You were expecting to get shoved into a cell right off the bat, but instead, she lead you to one of the rooms, pushed you inside and yanked the door shut behind you.

“What are you—”

Your words cut off with the first slap, a hard backhand that made your head snap to the side. You grunted, grabbing the back of a chair inside the room. You had half a mind to grab the thing with both hands and launch it at Angie, but that would only extend your time in lockup.

All you could do was sit there and take it.

Her second backhand made your teeth rattle, pain sparking behind your eyes. You nearly ducked to dodge the next hit, out of instinct, but forced yourself still, tears springing forth as her fist connected with your cheek. Over and over again, you just let her hit you. She hit you hard enough that you stumbled back, tripped over your own feet and the chair behind you and hit the ground. She didn’t waste any time driving her boot into your side, and you just curled inwards, just took it.

You weren’t sure exactly when she left, all you knew was that the blows stopped landing, but the pain didn’t. Two more soldiers came in after, picked you up off the floor, and carried you out of the room. They put you in a cell next, gave you a bottle of water and a blanket. The fabric was mottled with blood when you finally opened your eyes, and your face ached something fierce.

You slept it off, the rest of your time inside. Ate the shitty bread when it was offered, used the water to clean the blood from your face. And then, your forty-eight hours were up, and they let you go.

Part of you expected Nick to be waiting for you outside, but you were happy he wasn’t. You didn’t want to feel like you owed him anything more.

It took ages to get back to your building. Every step outside made pain shoot through your side; you’re pretty convinced at least one of your ribs is broken. And now, fucking stairs.

You almost fall against the doorjamb once you reach your apartment, digging in the pocket of your coat for your keys. You’re fumbling with the lock when the door swings inward, revealing Tess, bright-eyed and wearing one of your t-shirts. “Jesus Christ.”

You actually fall forward then, and Tess catches you, sliding an arm around your waist and dragging you over the threshold.

“A little help here!”

Tommy and Joel are both sitting on your couch, and they both jump to their feet the moment they see you. Tommy moves before his brother, and is at your side in an instant, taking some of your weight from Tess. You’re grateful as hell, though the movement makes your side scream in pain. They bring you towards the couch, and from the corner of your swollen eye, you see Joel move out of the way, heading in the direction of your bedroom. You’re in too much pain for it to really sting.

You cry out as they lower you onto the couch. Tommy looks frantic, and Tess disappears for a moment, coming back with a wet cloth. She drags it over your cheek and you whimper.

“She’s messed up,” she says, you assume to Tommy. “They have a clinic here, right? Like in Baltimore.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, “saw it when I first got here. I can go—”

You flail an arm out, your hand landing on Tommy’s leg. “Get Deanna.”

You think he nods — you hope he nods — and you hear the door bang shut a moment later. Tess wipes at your face more; guess you didn’t get as much blood off as you thought.

“Tess,” you call softly, and her eyes snap to yours. “You don’t have to—”

“Oh, shut up,” she tells you, her voice almost stern. You want to laugh. “Who did this to you? FEDRA? Cowan?”

“Not Cowan. Pissed off the wrong girl, I guess.” You actually scoff out a laugh, but it makes your ribs sing with pain. “Can’t fight back in lockup.”

Tess’s brow wrinkles. “Good to know it’s the same shit all over in some way, at least.”

You go quiet, for a long moment. Tess holds the cloth against your cheek, and you revel in the cool feeling, letting your eyes flutter shut. The pain throbs with every beat of your heart, every breath you take, but her hands are gentle, almost soft.

“Joel told me,” she says, breaking the silence that’s been filled only with your shaking breaths. “About the two of you, about…before.”

Tears fill behind your closed eyelids, and you feel them slip down your cheeks. “Doesn’t matter now,” you say, trying to shake your head but failing miserably. “He doesn’t…”

“Don’t worry about what he does or doesn’t. He’s a stubborn ass.”

“You two—”

She puts a finger on your lips, shushing you. “I said, don’t worry about it, Liv.” She shakes her head, brow pinched, moving the cloth to dab at the corner of your mouth. “Not right now.”

You hear the door open, and a moment later, Deanna’s face comes into view, hovering over you. “What the hell did you do, girl?”

“Made a deal,” you say, “but it was worth it.”

Through the thin wall, you think you hear Joel sigh, the noise long and deep.

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#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

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rhoorl · 10 months

Text

Working Title - Chapter 5

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Belle

Rating: Mature, 18+

Word Count: 6.2k

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Chapter 5 on AO3

Chapter Summary: It’s time for the party! We meet a couple more side characters. Plus, more best friend vibes happening with Belle and Indy. Toward the end we go through a more rapid fire of alternating POVs, I hope it translates the way I pictured it in my head!!

Warnings: This chapter has some swearing and allusions to smut.

Indy could tell you were starting to get in your head about the party and knew just how to get you to loosen up.

“Ok, pick a playlist,” she calls over to you as she tosses her phone.

“Jeez, you know I can’t catch for shit,” you say as you barely grasp her phone in your hands, looking through her Spotify to find what to listen to.

“You thinking champagne or a mixed drink?” she asks over her shoulder as she saunters into the kitchen.

“Isn’t it a little early?” you ask and before she can retort you follow it up with, “And don’t say it’s 5 o’clock somewhere, for the love,” you chuckle.

“We aren’t going to pregame hard, B, just a little something to sip on while we get ready!”

It had been a while since you both had gotten ready together to go to a party. When you lived in New York you’d spent many a night crowding into your tiny bathroom fighting for mirror space as you got ready to head to a club or bar. You’d sing and dance to whatever mix CD Indy had burned. Sometimes it still makes you gag to think you both used to rip cheap vodka shots straight without chasers.

Although the location is different, the energy is still the same with you two – giggling, reminiscing about old times, and sipping on the champagne Indy popped open.

She’s been on her phone off and on texting, smiling at herself when she didn’t think you were looking. At one point you both decide to Facetime Rhys.

“Hey! How are you two doing?” he picks up on the second ring, sitting on his couch presumably watching a hockey game or whatever other sport was on TV.

“Hi Rhys!” you wave. “Thank you soooo much for upgrading my flight, that was clutch!”

“Yea and this fucking room?! Rhys, you’ve outdone yourself!” Indy chimed in.

“Ha, well I’m glad you both like it, you deserve it, both of you.”.

“Oh Rhys, you’ll never guess what happened this morning!”

“Shh, stop it he doesn’t want or need to know about that,” you chide her.

“Know about what?” he smirked.

“So I walk outside to the balcony this morning, which is huge by the way,” she says as she puts down the phone against the mirror and keeps putting on her eyeliner. “I was looking for Indy so we could have our coffee together and I walk out there and see her staring at the balcony next to us where freaking Dieter was standing – without a shirt on! Her mouth was practically on the floor drooling over him.”

“Oh my gosh Ind, my mouth wasn’t on the floor,” you roll your eyes. “Rhys, I was behaving myself.”

“Oh, you were behaving yourself when you moaned about how good a fucking cookie tasted?” she laughed.

“Wait, what?”

“Ugh, never mind Rhys. It was nothing.”

Rhys starts to smile, laughing when he says “So I guess you met your neighbor then, huh?”

“It was so funny Rhys, she was so flustered it was so cute!”

You kind of paused for a bit at his reaction. He was trying to act surprised, but he was a terrible liar. What is he up to?

By this point, he and Indy had moved on to another topic you barely even heard, still lost in thought.

“I should be there in about a week or so. I haven’t booked my flight yet, but I’m excited to visit my two favorite girls!”

“We can’t wait to see you!”

“Yea both owe you a big hug,” Indy added.

“Ok ladies, have fun tonight, but not too much fun,” he winked.

Indy hangs up her phone and you both finish the last touches to your makeup. You offered to do it for Indy, but she refused. She had watched you so much over the years, studying your techniques, and eventually picked up a few basic things. And honestly, with her, it didn’t take much to still look stunning.

Putting on one last spritz of hairspray, you give yourself a final look before heading to your room to get dressed. You slip out of your t-shirt and shorts and walk over to grab a bra out of the dresser. As you open the drawer to look in, your mind wanders to Dieter. You were nervous to see him. Presumably, tonight was going to be the closest you’ve both been to each other physically. The first time you were separated by a couch and this morning you were separated by the balconies.

Indy’s voice is coming through loud and clear in your head, if you want to feel confident wear something that makes you feel good. Spurned by that thought and the champagne, you rummage through the drawer and decide on the black bra that makes your boobs look amazing. You also decide to change into a skimpier pair of underwear figuring if you felt sexy, it may help you feel flirty.

You head over to your shoes and slip on a pair of sandals. Your finishing touches were your watch, a bracelet Indy got you for a birthday, and a pair of diamond earrings. Grabbing your purse, you head out to the living room where Indy is texting and smiling at her phone.

She sees you and starts to whistle, “Ok sexy mama! I see you!”

“Oh my god, Ind,” you laugh.

“Alright, ready to do this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Oh c’mon, you’re getting good at going to these!”

You’ve been accompanying Indy to these types of parties for more than a decade now. They’ve run the gamut from boring to wild – the stories you both could share! By all accounts, tonight is going to be pretty chill; some of the cast and crew traveled with their families and were bringing them over. The only part that always made you nervous was when inevitably you and Indy would get separated. At least this time around, you will have some friendly faces in the crowd.

Indy shoots another quick text, smirking at her phone.

“Ok, let’s do this!”

Dieter had spent the afternoon looking over scripts and chatting with the writers. He was a TV and film nerd and loved the process of making the art. Lizzie always told him he should write or direct something of his own, but he had never followed through despite the countless notes of ideas on his phone.

He’s lost in a daydream, thinking of the morning and what he should have said, or wanted to say when his PA Danny walks in. In his early years, Dieter went through PAs like nothing. Over time he realized they only ever wanted the drugs he could score, or to fuck him. And, frankly, he saw them the same way too for a while.

Danny had been with him for the past couple of years. He was young and a hard worker, no job or task was too small for him. Dieter liked his work ethic and respected his hustle, so he looked out for Danny. When Dieter wasn’t working, he would make sure to find Danny a gig with a fellow actor friend. They’d grown to have a bit of a brotherly relationship.

Danny sits down across the table from Dieter, unwrapping a package and pulling something out.

I know that packaging.

“Danny, what is that?” he pointed at Danny’s mouth as he was mid-bite.

“It’s…uh…a cookie,” he mumbled out with his mouth full. After he chewed and shallowed he added, “Did you get one in your welcome basket? They’re so fucking good and it’s from a local company too. Want one?” he offered Dieter the other one.

“Uh. Yea. I mean. No, I don’t want one, knock yourself out. Wait, did you say they were a local company?”

“Yea,” he continued to chew. “I’ve been talking with the other PAs, apparently they make them here on the island and there’s like a fuck ton of other flavors. It’s been like Pokemon trading cookies with everyone today,” he laughed.

“Dan - how close is this place?”

“Uh, I don’t know, let me look,” wiping his mouth and grabbing his phone. Once he pulled it up he turned the phone to Dieter, “Looks like it’s 20 minutes away!”

Looking down at his watch, Dieter does some quick math. “Danny, you up for a little adventure?” he asked with a lopsided grin.

“Ok, phone, wallet, room key. Check, check, and check! Let’s go do this!” Indy said, slapping you on the ass as she walked by you and opens the door.

“Hey, ouch!”

As you close the door behind you, you hear her yell “Hold the elevator please!” Your heart skips a beat at who could be waiting for you in the elevator.

You look down the hallway and see an arm pop through the closing elevator doors, stopping them and opening them back up. As the elevator doors open back up, you hear a deep voice call out, “Indy?”

“Hey Sam!” she gushes as she hustles over to the elevator.

You exhale but also have a tinge of disappointment come over you. You hurry so you don’t keep them waiting, glancing over to the door to Dieter’s room as you walk by. I wonder where he is.

“Oh my gosh, Sam you haven’t met Belle yet!” Indy said as she ushered you into the elevator. You could see why Indy was into Sam. He was tall, fit, with a great smile, and he had the most piercing blue eyes you’d ever seen.

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you! Indy has been talking about you non-stop,” he laughs and goes in for a hug, which you reciprocate. Wrapping your arms around his back you add another reason to the “why Indy is obsessed with Sam” list – the guy was made of pure muscle. “She said you were beautiful, but you’re even more stunning in person,” he says in his low, Southern drawl.

Okay. I can see why she’s all googly-eyed now. This guy is a charmer. Normally this shit would be a red flag, but he seems sweet.

“It’s nice to meet you too Sam. You’re even more handsome than she described,” you winked at him. For as awkward as you could be, there was something about playing a wing woman to Indy that made you a little bolder.

Looking over at Indy she is beaming. She sidles over to Sam and you look down to your phone to give them a little privacy. You stop on a floor to let a few people in when you hear him whisper in her ear, “You look absolutely stunning, baby.”

They were practically eye fucking each other the whole ride down, which made you wonder how far Indy had gone with him.

You make it down to the first floor and the elevator empties into the lobby. Ari is getting out of another elevator and you wave to her so she can join headed to the front of the resort. Along the way, Ari tells you that Mitch organized a few shuttles to help get people to and from the party.

Getting to the entrance, you see a full shuttle leaving as an empty one pulled up. Sam let you and Ari go ahead before letting Indy board ahead of him. Ari takes a window seat and you scoot in next to her, Indy taking the window seat in the row behind you, Sam following closely behind.

Sitting at the front of the shuttle, you are practically the unofficial greeter, saying hi or at least smiling to everyone who boards. You look to the outside of the shuttle where a line was forming, looking for that distinct mop of fluffy hair above the crowd. He said he was going to be there, maybe he already left. Or, he’s not into this kind of stuff and is going as late as possible to still make an appearance. You battle back and forth with yourself and suddenly realize the shuttle closed its doors and is starting to move.

Behind you, you could hear Indy giggling as Sam whispers to her. Oh, they’re fucking. Making a mental note to ask her long that’s been going on. You smile to yourself, happy that Indy seems to be head over heels for the guy, but a little concerned seeing as filming hasn’t even started yet – what if something happens? That would be awkward.

Ari makes small talk with you on the way to the party and before you know it, the shuttle is coming to a stop.

“Holy shit, this place is nice,” Ari says under her breath.

“Seriously. I’m totally going to get lost,” you chuckle.

You all file out of the shuttle and are greeted by servers with glasses of champagne. Add another glass to my tally. You follow the crowd up the stairs and across the threshold of the house which opens up into an open-air living room overlooking a huge backyard with a fantastic pool.

“Wow, this is nice,” you hear Indy come up next to you.

“Seriously. So … who is Mitch?”

Looking around, Indy spots him. “Hey Mitch!” she yells, waving at a man standing by the bar in the backyard. She grabs your hand and ushers you over to him, Ari and Sam trailing behind.

“Indy, great to see you,” the man says going in for a hug.

“Thanks so much for having us, it’s so fun that we get to start off the shoot this way!” Oh, she’s on her schmooze game. “Oh, I need to introduce you to one of the most talented hair and makeup artists I know, and she’s my best friend,” she beamed motioning over to you.

You introduce yourself and shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, thanks for having us!”

“Oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you, glad you’re joining the crew. I hope you all have fun tonight, make yourselves at home. If you want to get in the pool go ahead, we have towels. There’s a bar and food,” he motions over to the bar and the full buffet set up. “Otherwise, just have fun!”

“Thank you!” you all chime in.

“Indy, Sam, could I steal you both?” he asks as he guides them to another group of people standing around a high-top table. They look a bit more dressed up than everyone else. They must be from the studio.

Poor Indy, these types of events seemed so exhausting. She had to be “on” for most of the party trying to make sure she talked with the right people and said the right things.

You take a second to scan around the party. Another shuttle of people had been dropped off by this point. Hmm, I don’t see him. You tried to not let your disappointment show. Besides, it’s not like even if he was here he’d talk to you. Look at Indy, she’s going to be busy all night, so he will be too.

You and Ari head over to the bar to grab a drink. A few of the other PAs were hanging out at a nearby table so she heads over there. You manage to find Meredith and some of the other stylists and grab some food and talk. She gets you all to play two truths and a lie as an icebreaker to get to know everyone. You all end up laughing to the point of tears at how ridiculous some of the lies were. After a while, some of the group decides it’s time for a cigarette so they get up to leave.

With the sun starting to set, you take it as a good opportunity to sneak away and try and take some photos of the spectacular sunset. And also recharge your social battery. You liked being around people, but you didn’t get energy from it like Indy did.

As walk around, you hope to catch a glimpse of Dieter. While you didn’t see him, you did see Indy. She was in the pool leaning against the side, talking to Sam who was sitting on a nearby lounger. You gave her a wave and as discreet of a thumbs up as you could as you weaved your way through the crowd.

Exploring the backyard, you head down a path and find a little secluded spot with a perfect view of the ocean. You see a little bench right next to a small pond with some beautiful koi fish swimming along. Sitting down, you take out your phone and start snapping photos and taking some videos to post on your Instagram stories. You lost track of time and almost didn’t hear the rustling and footsteps behind you. Turning around, you see that Dieter is coming your way down the path.

He sees you and gives a lopsided grin, one of his dimples peeking through.

“Hey! I was looking for you,” he waves with his left hand, rubbing the back of his neck with his right as he approaches. “Mind if I join you?” he motions towards the bench.

Looking for me? Ok, breathe. Remember to breathe. Shit, he looks good.

He was wearing light gray chino shorts, a plain, black t-shirt, and sneakers. You couldn’t help but linger over how tight the sleeves of his shirt were over his biceps. His hair was a bit more tamed than it was this morning, but it still had gorgeous curls and waves.

“Oh, h-hi Um, yea be my guest,” you bow towards the seat. Why are you bowing, that’s lame. “How long have you been at the party?”

“I, uh- I just got here, a little while ago. I had to take care of something and then Danny drove us over.”

“Danny?”

“Oh, uh, my PA. Good kid,” he smiles. “Um. Y-you look beautiful,” he whispered as he looked down at his hands.

Wait, he’s nervous too, right? Holy fucking shit, just remember to breathe. But also, girl, take advantage of this.

“You look nice too. You put on a shirt for the occasion,” you winked at him.

He laughed, “Touché, but I can’t tell if you mean that’s a good or a bad thing.”

You bite your lip and look down. Ahhhhhh.

“So, uh,” he clears his throat. “Did you have a good day today?”

“Uh, yea. Yea, it was busy but fun,” you said turning towards him. “Did you?”

He seemed to be taken aback that you asked him such a simple question and seemed to care about the response. “Y-yea. I’d say it started off pretty well,” he winked.

“Ha, yea. Although it did take me a while to actually get a hot cup of coffee,” you laughed.

“Maybe we can make up for it tomorrow morning,” he said a bit lower.

You breathing hitches.

“I- uh. I mean from each of our balconies. Not from the same one. Unless. Uh- shit, sorry” he starts to ramble shaking his head as he rubs the back of his neck.

You don’t understand how this man could ever be flustered, let alone around you, but you had to admit each time it happened it was really cute.

You laugh and then softly say, almost as a whisper so he doesn’t hear, “I actually would like that.”

His face softens, “You would?” You nod. “Yea, I would too,” he smiles.

“Only one problem though,” you replied.

He furrows his brows together, “and what’s that?”

“We only had that one package of cookies in our basket, and I need something sweet with my first coffee of the day.”

“Oh that is a dilemma then isn’t it,” he laughs. Leaning further into your space he whispers “I think we can figure something out,” with a wink.

You let out a nervous laugh, biting your lip again. Holy fucking shit.

As if she knew you needed help, you suddenly hear your phone ring and look to see a call coming in from Indy. You usually kept your phone on silent, but in situations like tonight, you both kept your ringers on. It started when you used to go clubbing, that way in case one of you needed to help the other would be able to hear their phone.

“Oh, sorry, I have to get this. She would only call if it were an emergency.”

“Of course!” Dieter looks concerned, clearly hoping everything was ok with Indy.

You give him a small smile and answer, “Hey, Ind, are you ok?” furrowing your brows in concern.

“Y-yea, yea. Um, pineapples.” Over the years, you both developed a series of code words to help get each other out of bad or awkward situations. Luckily, this one was not a serious one, but she still needed your help.

You let out an exhale and smirked, “Ok, where are you?”

Dieter looks a bit confused, looking at your face to see what’s going on. “She’s ok,” you mouth to him and he nods.

“Second-floor bathroom, it’s to the left when you walk up.”

“Ok, be right there.” Hanging up the phone you turn back to him. “Sorry, I have to go find her. We’ve got a wardrobe malfunction,” you laugh.

“Oh shit, yea let’s go so you can take care of that.”

He gets up from the bench and lets you walk in front of him, lightly touching the small of your back as he leads you around the path. You’re thankful that your back is to him because you blush at his touch and also curse yourself for being so affected by something so small – a simple courteous gesture.

He keeps his hand there until you reach the party again, bringing both hands into his pockets. “Do you know where to go?”

“Yea, she said she’s on the second floor. I, uh, I’ll see you around?”

He smiles, “Definitely.”

You hate to turn away and leave, but you’re also so curious as to what situation Indy has found herself in.

BELLE: Headed upstairs

INDY: THX 🙏

As you make it to the stairs, you see Sam hurriedly making his way down. He has a sheepish look as he sees you, trying to avoid your gaze.

“Hey Sam, do you know where Indy is?”

“Uh, y-yea, she’s the second door on the left,” he glances away trying to avoid eye contact.

Confused you keep heading up the stairs, You know nothing bad happened because she used pineapples but Sam’s demeanor was a far cry from the confident swagger he had earlier. He seemed embarrassed.

You made it to the door and gave your customary three knocks so Indy knew it was you. She opens the door slightly poking just her eyes out. Confirming it was you, she opens the door the rest of the way and pulls you in. Then you see her and let out a laugh.

“Hooooly shit Ind! What the fuck happened?” pointing to the huge hickey on the left side of her neck with one hand and covering your mouth in shock with the other.

“Can you fix it?” she asks nervously as she looks in the mirror, trying to tame her mussed-up hair.

“Well, I left my special effects make-up at home. Ow!” she punches you in the arm as you laugh. “But I do have a small kit with me so we can make it work. Here sit.”

She gets up on the counter extending her head back, exposing more of her neck so you can see the full brunt of what you have to work with.

“Sooo…care to share with the class how this happened?”

She rolls her eyes, “I think you know how this happens, B.”

Pulling back and putting your arms up in surprise, “Hey! I’m the one helping you remember. I can walk out and leave you to work the room with that gigantic mark on your neck,” you tease.

She lowers her chin looking at you with a smirk, “You wouldn’t do that.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t.” She lifts her chin again as you start to mix some of the concealers.

Knowing you weren’t going to drop it, she finally caved, “So, Sam and I came in here.”

“No! I’m shocked!” you say sarcastically as she gives you another stern look. “Ok, ok I’m sorry!”

“We were fooling around and next thing I know I glance in the mirror and see this,” motioning to her neck, “and I freaked out. It's too big to cover up with just my hair. So, that’s when I called you. Sam was still here, he felt really bad. He stayed the whole time, but left when you texted.”

“The guy could barely look at me when I came up the stairs,” you chuckled, applying the makeup to the area. It wasn’t going to be a perfect cover-up job, but between Indy's long hair and your rushed handiwork, you both could leave without anyone being the wiser of her romp in the bathroom.

“So, how long have you guys been hooking up?”

“Um, it’s been … a few weeks.”

“A few weeks?! And you didn’t tell me!”

“I was going to, I swear. I just … I don’t know. He's younger, you know. I really, really like him, but I wanted you to meet him first.”

“Well, he's not that much younger," you wink. "And seems lovely and he’s clearly dicked you down well enough that you didn’t even notice him doing this on you. Seriously, Indy this is like the biggest one you’ve ever had!”

You both giggle, Indy noticeably relaxing now that she’s clued you into how involved she’s become with Sam.

As you were finishing up, she asked how you had been enjoying the party. You tell her about some of the two truths and a lie the other stylists shared.

“Oh, did Dieter ever find you?”

“Huh?”

“He was looking for you. When he got here I could see him looking around and when he saw me, he made a beeline over. He was trying to play it cool, asked where my ‘sidekick’ was,” she gave air quotes. “I saw you walk down toward the path, so I sent him that way. Did he find you? Wait, were you with him when I called?”

You nodded.

“Shiiit, I’m sorry!” she smacks her the palm of her hand to her forehead. “I feel like a jackass. You were getting some alone time and here I am messing it up!”

“It’s really fine, Ind. You actually called at a perfect time because I wasn’t sure where the conversation was going.”

“Oooo go on ….” she waggles her eyebrows.

“We were kind of starting to talk about repeating our coffee and cookie thing tomorrow morning…I think.”

Indy hops down from the counter and grabs your shoulders.

“Holy shit! So, are we talking like from his place? Or ours? If it’s ours please let me know so I can put in earplugs.”

“Indy!! Not like that,” you shake your head and look down. “Me on my balcony and he would be on his.”

Arching her eyebrow and tilting her chin down she gives you a lopsided grin. “Ok, Belle, ok. But I’m sure he was thinking it.”

“Oh stop it,” you laugh and then start to yawn. The jet lag and excitement all starting to catch up with you.

“Oh shit, you’re probably tired, huh? I keep forgetting you came from the East Coast. Wanna head back? It’s getting late anyway and we want to make sure you are well-rested for your coffee date!”

“It’s not a date, he probably won’t even show up.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs your hand as you both head out of the bathroom. You make it downstairs and see a group starting to make their way to the shuttle so you shuffle in step with them and head back.

The shuttle ride was uneventful and you made it up to your room. Indy unlocks the door and you both file in. You start to head over to your bedroom, but stop when you see a giant box sitting on the kitchen island. You both look at each other confused as to who left something in your room. You figured it was either Rhys sending you both a surprise or maybe even Sam as an apology.

Indy skips over to the box, snatching the note to read it. She stops and looks up at you with a smile and doesn’t say anything, she just extends the note to you to read.

Turns out they have a bunch of flavors. Pick a few for tomorrow! - D

“Holy fucking shit, Belle, this is the cutest thing ever!”

Getting a gift from a man was a pretty foreign concept to you. The only gifts you had received in recent years either came from your dad, Rhys, or Indy's brother. Ryan had forgotten your last several birthdays and anniversaries.

You step around Indy to see exactly what was in the box. The company that made the cookies from this morning apparently makes several other flavors. It looks like there are about 12 different varieties in this box, but you notice a few boxes of the macadamia nut flavor, which makes you blush.

“He had to have done that earlier today! I saw him talking with Danny, his PA, and then they grabbed some car keys and left.”

You started pulling out the boxes, unsure what to even say or think.

“Umm. Earth to Belle? Dieter surprised you with a cute gift. He wants to see you tomorrow morning. Honestly, babe, if I were you I would just knock on his door and invite yourself in right now.”

“You know I’m not doing that. Besides, we don’t even know if he’s back yet.”

“I know, but could you imagine? He would absolutely flip.”

You wanted to smile, but something stopped you. You felt like there had to be a catch. There’s no way this was happening to you.

“I can’t meet him tomorrow,” shaking your head at the sheer ridiculousness of this situation.

“What?! Why?” Indy mumbled as she stuffed a cookie in her face.

“Because this is probably some big elaborate joke or something.”

“You and I both know that’s a load of bullshit you’re telling yourself. Don’t build that wall up. Stop it.”

She knew you better than anyone and knew exactly how your head was spiraling. You felt like you didn’t deserve to have someone, especially a man, do nice, sweet things for you. And if someone did, it was with a catch or out of obligation.

“I am setting my alarm and dragging your ass out of bed myself.”

“Please don’t do that. Besides we both know you will sleep through that alarm,” you smirk.

“Fine. But please promise me you’ll go outside and have coffee with him. This,” she gestures to the sampler box of cookies, “is too fucking cute. Rhys said he hasn’t heard of Dieter dating or even being interested in someone in years, so he’s probably just as nervous as you are.”

Is that true? I mean, now that I think of it I haven't read about him being linked to someone in years. Also, why are Rhys and Indy talking about Dieter's dating life?

Taking a deep breath you straighten up and look over at Indy who has opened up another box to try. “Ok, I’ll try.”

“Ooo you should text him thank you!” You give her a look. “Before you say ‘I can’t do that I don’t have his number’ yes you do!” She grabs her phone from her purse and starts to go through the contacts. “Here, I’m texting you his number.”

Her text comes through and you stare at your phone. I mean, he did get you a gift, the proper thing to do would be to acknowledge it.

Indy comes around next to you as you both lean over the kitchen island, looking at your phone. It brought you back to when you both used to sit in front of the computer, trying to compose the perfect AIM message to your crushes. You keep staring and Indy grabs the phone, “Ok I’ll just do it. ‘Dear Dieter, let’s skip the coffee and I’ll give you my cookie instead’ winky face.”

You snatch the phone from her, realizing she didn’t actually type any of that and she was fucking with you. “Oh my gosh, Indy! First of all, no. Second, the cookie pun, really? I am just going to say ‘Hey it’s Belle, thanks for the cookies, that’s sweet’. Simple and I still get a pun in,” you chuckle.

“Come onnnn. The guy got something for you, you made plans to see him tomorrow morning. Be a little flirty! Let’s speed this shit up!”

Rolling your eyes you look back at your phone and start to type with a smirk. When you were done you hand her back the phone, “This ok?”

“Do it!”

Dieter wasn’t one for parties anymore, although this one sounded like it would be pretty tame and safe. He knew he would have to make an appearance, but it definitely made it more appealing to see you and hopefully get a chance to talk.

He was relieved when he finally saw you, his breath catching. Wow, she’s beautiful. He thought that this morning when he saw you with no makeup, a messy bun, and glasses. Now, your hair was down and he could see your eyes better. He was nervous to talk to you, but excited, trying to turn on some charm to see how you’d react. Every time you bit your lip, he could feel his shorts get a little tighter. All he wanted to do was reach over and kiss you.

When Indy called he was concerned, but then a bit frustrated. He felt you were maybe starting to reciprocate some of his advances.

Knowing that you would be occupied with Indy, he decided to head out and drive himself back to the resort. On his way, he called the front desk agent to let them know to proceed with the plan. After he hung up a wave of nerves washed over him.

That was probably too much, right? Like who the fuck buys someone cookies? But, it gives me an excuse to see her again. You’re going to see her on set every day though. I wonder if she’s back yet. No, she and Indy are probably still having fun. Am I coming on too strong? I always come on too strong.

He makes it back upstairs and starts pacing around his room, his insecurity and anxiety starting to spike. He sits on the couch and does some breathing exercises. In … two … three … out … two … three .. four … five.

After doing this for several minutes, he feels himself calming down, deciding to go lay down on his bed. Shrugging off his shorts and grabbing a pair of basketball shorts, he pulls off his shirt and slides under the covers, and grabs the remote. He’s honestly not sure what’s on the TV, he finds the noise comforting as he zones out.

Then, he hears his phone ding.

“Ok, sent. Shit!” you bury your face in your hands.

“It’s a pretty innocent text.”

You both stare at the phone screen waiting. After a couple of minutes, you see that the message has been read. Shit. He’s not typing. Wait, yes he is. Ugh, then he stopped.

“Aww, it seems like he’s nervous too,” Indy teases bumping your shoulder with hers.

Dieter sees a text come in from a random number. Normally, he would just ignore it, but the timing was coincidental so he unlocked his phone.

I’ll bring the cookies, you bring the coffee?

He exhales and smiles. Although the text is from a random number he knows who it’s from and goes to immediately save the number.

His stomach does a flip as he decides how he wanted to play this. Ok, breathe.

Indy shrieks when the phone dings again.

DIETER: Oh, I think that can be arranged sweetheart.

DIETER: What time? I want to make sure the coffee is hot for you…

“Ohhh shit!” Indy grabs you by the shoulders and shakes. “See, I fucking told you!”

“Shit, what do I say?”

Ugh. Was that too much? That second bit was too much, right?

Ding. Dieter unlocks his phone.

🍪 ☕ BELLE: Hmm. Like 6? Is that too early?

🍪 ☕ BELLE: Also, any requests?

Ding.

“Oh, this is so fun!” Indy giggles.

DIETER: 6 is perfect.

DIETER: Macadamia nut please. 😉

Indy gets up and starts running around the kitchen island giggling. You couldn’t help but smile. Suddenly you weren’t tired anymore, this interaction giving you a little burst of adrenaline.

🍪 ☕ BELLE: I think that can be arranged.

🍪 ☕ BELLE: Good night. And thank you, by the way. 🙂

“Was the smiley too much?”

“He sent you a goddamn winky face, so no I don’t think a smiley is too much.”

Ding.

DIETER: Sweet dreams, Belle.

“Fuck, I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.”

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

A/N: Eeek! I hope you liked the last bit alternating between them receiving texts from each other. Our poor, flustered babies! They’ll get it together, I promise. I'm honestly a little intimidated of writing the smut, but these two need it dammit, so I'll get over myself :)

If you’re still here, thank you so much for reading. For those who have commented, reblogged, or liked any or all of the chapters so far THANK YOU. It really makes my day whenever I hear your thoughts or encouragement.

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list or if I inadvertently left you off or added you by mistake. :)

Tag list: @musings-of-a-rose / @legendary-pink-dot / @bitchwitch1981 / @mysterious-moonstruck-musings / @gracie7209 / @amneris21 / @pastelnap

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #dieter x reader #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fic #working title fic

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mrprettywhenhecries · 9 months

Text

i don’t think you notice (what you did to me) [b.h]

seven. | thankful

Billy Hargrove ✘ Win Lewis (ofc)

⇾ w.c. 4.4k words ⇾ warning(s). canon x oc pairing, f!oc, neil's a grade A asshole, allusions to abuse, though none is explicitly shown in this chapter, smut, angry sex, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, billy is bad with emotions ⇾ a/n. i know i'm completely warping the timeline of season two, but i wanted more time for win and billy to get to know each other before the events in The Gate happen

[ masterlist ] [ win lewis bio ]

“So, Win, got any plans for Thanksgiving?” Max asked as she slipped into the backseat of the Camaro, skateboard in hand.

“Oh shit, that’s tomorrow isn’t it?” Win murmured, her lips twisting slightly. “Uh, no, not really,” she admitted. “My dad has to work, so I’ll probably get some Chinese takeout or something and veg in front of the tv,” she said with a shrug, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice. She felt Billy’s eyes on her as he drove down the deserted country road, but he didn’t say anything.

“You’re kidding,” Max huffed. “That’s so lame.”

Win shrugged, glancing out the window. “It’s fine,” she said, brushing off Max’s concern. The last thing she wanted was anyone’s pity. She’d been left on her own for most of her life since her mom’s death. She was used to it.

“Billy, you should invite Win to our Thanksgiving dinner,” Max suggested, speaking up after a moment, and Win could see the silent battle of wills taking place through the rear view mirror–Billy glaring back at Max, who didn’t back down, glaring right back at him.

“You don’t seriously want your girlfriend to spend the holiday on her own, do you?” Max insisted and Billy scowled, pulling up to the curb of the arcade.

“I’ll be back in an hour. You better be here,” he said instead, his voice gruff.

“Yeah, yeah, or I’ll have to skate home,” Max muttered, rolling her eyes before shooting Win a sympathetic glance, flipping Billy the bird as he pulled away, peeling out of the parking lot.

Finally alone in the car, neither of them spoke, both seeming unable to break the silence.

“You really don't want me to come to dinner?” Win finally murmured, her eyes flitting to Billy, hating how insecure she felt.

“I just don’t think it would be a good idea,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the road, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. His brusque answer felt like a slap in the face.

“Are you embarrassed of me?” she asked, bile rising in her throat, her thoughts beginning to spiral–she knew he was a playboy, why did she think he’d actually be serious about her?

“What? No!” Billy exclaimed, stomping on the brakes and pulling to the side of the road so he could look at her, a conflicted expression crossing his face. He paused, taking a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself before he spoke, not wanting to snap at her.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t want you there,” Billy exclaimed, his gaze slipping, not quite meeting Win’s eyes. “It’s just that, if you haven’t figured it out yet, my dad’s a grade-A fuckin’ asshole and I don’t want you to have to deal with that,” he explained, tensing, as if waiting for Win to tell him off, and shame filled her.

“Shit,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as she silently berated herself for jumping to conclusions. “I’m sorry, Billy,” she murmured, heaving a breath as her eyes found his. “I don’t care how big of a dick he is, I wanna spend the holiday with you,” she assured him softly. “I can handle myself.”

Billy let out a doubtful huff, but he didn’t argue, placing his hand atop hers as a hopeful look flickered in his eyes, gone the next moment.

Throwing the car back in drive, he pulled back out onto the road. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he muttered.

The next morning, Win paced as she waited for Billy to arrive to pick her up. Her father had already left by the time she woke, leaving a note for her on the counter, promising to be home as soon as he was able, though Win wasn’t about to hold her breath for that.

When she heard the snarl of the Camaro’s engine in the drive, she pushed open the front door and slipped into the leather seat. Billy raised an eyebrow at the sight of her and her knee length black collared dress, her short platinum hair pulled up halfway.

“What?” she asked, noticing his expression.

“Nothing,” he replied quickly. “You look nice, is all,” he added, backing out onto the road, his hand enveloping her bare knee.

“You clean up pretty nice yourself,” Win observed, warmed by his touch. “You even managed to button your shirt up most of the way,” she teased and Billy stuck his tongue out at her, his hand on her leg tightening, giving her a warning squeeze.

However, the closer they got to Cherry Street, the grimmer Billy’s expression grew, his apprehension bleeding into Win. By the time he parked in front of the house, all trace of his grin had disappeared and he reluctantly got out of the car.

“Hey, it’s gunna be alright, I promise,” Win insisted as they walked up the sidewalk together, stopping at the front stoop.

“Yeah,” Billy agreed, though he seemed distracted.

Win smiled encouragingly, taking his hand in hers as she raised up on her toes to press her lips to his cheek. Billy’s expression softened and he turned his face to steal a kiss, grinning down at her before pushing the door open.

Inside, the warm smell of roasting turkey and pumpkin pie met them and Win took a deep breath, inhaling the nostalgic scent. Billy’s dad sat on the couch, watching the football game, a can of beer in hand, and Win gave him a cursory glance.

Neil Hargrove was the definition of straight laced, his appearance neat and tailored, everything in place. Billy had told her that he worked as a security guard, and with his mustache, Win would have probably guessed it–that or a cop. There was nothing soft about the man, and when he turned his stern gaze on her, she felt like she was being sized up.

Before Billy could pull Win to his room, Neil spoke up, stopping his son in his tracks.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going? Don’t be rude, come back here and introduce your girlfriend,” he snapped and Win could instantly see the shift in Billy’s demeanor–the way his shoulders hunched slightly and his jaw flexed, setting in resignation as he stared ahead flatly.

“I want to meet this girl you’ve been staying out all night with.”

At his words, a sinking feeling opened in the pit of Win’s stomach, making her wonder just how much that night together had cost Billy.

“Win, this is… my dad, Neil. Dad, this is Win. Win Lewis,” Billy said haltingly, as if the words were being pulled from him, reluctant even to call the man his father.

“Nice to meet you,” Win said, flashing him a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“You’re not what I expected,” Neil mused, returning her smile, though his too held no warmth.

Win wanted to ask what exactly he expected, but she held her tongue, determined to be civil, at least for Billy’s sake.

“So, Susan tells me your father’s working today?” Neil continued, glancing between her and the television when one of the teams scored.

“Yeah, he works at Hawkins Lab. They’re really busy right now, I guess,” Win murmured and Neil nodded.

“Sounds like he’s working hard, like any good American should,” he exclaimed and Win had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

“Yeah well, he should at least get to spend the day with his kid,” Billy grumbled, slipping his arm around Win’s waist protectively.

Neil’s eyes flashed. “Sometimes when you’re an adult you have to make sacrifices, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand that,” he said pointedly, his voice dangerously low and Win felt Billy tense next to her.

Thankfully, it was then that Susan appeared, stepping out of the kitchen to greet Win.

“I thought I heard voices out here,” she said, carefully keeping her eyes away from her husband as she crossed the room to wrap Win in an awkward hug. “I’m so sorry your father had to work today, but you are always welcome here,” she insisted, pulling back to smile warmly at Win.

“Thank you,” Win murmured, ducking her head. “It smells really good,” she added, which made Susan’s smile grow.

“It’s not quite finished yet, another half hour or so,” she said quickly and Win followed her further inside, grateful to get away from Neil.

“Do you need any help?” Win asked, ignoring Billy’s sharp sidelong look.

Mrs. Hargrove, however, practically gaped at Win, completely taken aback by her offer before finding the words to respond. “You’re so sweet for asking, but it’s fine, really. Besides, you’re our guest, you shouldn’t be put to work,” she exclaimed, letting out a nervous laugh.

“I don’t mind,” Win insisted with a shrug. “I feel kinda bad I didn’t bring anything.”

Billy snorted, amused at the thought. “That’s probably a good thing,” he teased under his breath, hastily avoiding Win’s elbow as she tried to jab him in the side, her lips twitching into a grin despite herself.

“It’s fine,” Susan assured her. “Though, I suppose if you really want to help, there’ll be plenty of dishes to wash after dinner.”

Win nodded before Billy pulled her away, growing too impatient.

“Hey Max,” Win greeted, sticking her head around the younger girl’s open bedroom door as they passed.

“Hey Win,” Max called back, looking up from the comic book spread open on her bed.

Win didn’t have time to say more before Billy was yanking her to his room and she let herself be led. This time when he pushed open his door she noticed a small latch fastened to the top corner of the outside of his door and the implication behind its presence was clear. Win wondered how many times Neil had locked Billy inside his room and her stomach knotted at the thought.

Once they were inside, Billy quickly shut the door and strode to his bed, plopping down unceremoniously.

“You okay?” Win asked, joining him on the edge of the bed.

Billy let out a long breath. “Yeah, m’fine,” he finally muttered, his voice gruff, like talking about it at all made him uncomfortable. “Sorry for my dad’s behavior, he’s such an asshole,” he growled, shaking his head, and Win gently placed her hand on his arm.

“It’s fine, I was expecting it,” she murmured, the question she wanted to ask waiting on the tip of her tongue as she deliberated it. Wetting her lips, she decided to just ask, her lungs burning the longer she held it in.

“What happened after that night that you stayed over? How much trouble did you get in?”

The question hung in the air for a long moment and at first Win thought Billy was just going to ignore it.

“Nothing. Nothing happened,” he finally replied, eyes staring straight ahead, his voice clipped and hard, as if it took all his effort to keep it under control.

“Billy…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped and Win pulled back, dropping the subject, her heart in her throat.

After a moment Billy glanced over, his expression conflicted, as if he wanted to say something, but before he could open his mouth, his father’s voice echoed down the hall.

“Billy, Maxine! Come set the table!”

Billy’s jaw flexed in annoyance, but he pushed up off the bed. “C’mon, it’s almost time to eat,” he said, holding out his hand to help Win up, the gesture as much of an olive branch as he could give at the moment, and Win took it, letting him pull her to her feet.

They met Max in the hallway and filed into the cramped kitchen to grab the plates and silverware while Susan dished all the food into serving trays and bowls for the table. Once the table was set and the food all brought out, Neil made his way in to cut the turkey, taking his place at the head of the table. In the other room the television babbled to itself, the game still playing in the background.

“Everything looks amazing, Mrs. Hargrove,” Win said as the side dishes passed around the table and everyone took what they wanted.

“Thank you, Win, that’s very sweet of you to say,” Susan replied, practically beaming, and Max piped up as well, echoing Win.

“Yeah, Mom, really good.”

Neil didn’t glance up from the turkey, but his words were clearly meant for Max. “You could’ve helped your mother more. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to know how to do this.”

Max’s face tightened, but she merely looked down at her plate, biting back the comeback she wanted to hurl.

Once the turkey was sliced, it too circled the table and Win speared a piece with her fork, getting it halfway to her mouth when Neil cleared his throat.

“Shall we say Grace?” he murmured and Win quickly dropped her fork, awkwardly folding her hands like the others with the exception of Billy who rolled his eyes when his dad wasn’t looking.

Not really paying attention while Mr. Hargrove prayed, Win shared a secret look with Billy, thinking it was awfully ironic that Neil was leading them in prayer, projecting this wholesome family man image when really he was the biggest bully of all.

When he finished, Win quickly shut her eyes, opening them with the others, as if they’d been closed the entire time. Neil didn’t say anything, but it seemed his first bite was the actual official cue for everyone to start eating.

Win’s mouth was full when he suddenly directed a question her way.

“So, Win,” he began, placing a strange emphasis on her name. “That’s an unusual name,” he mused, seeming to veer off from his original question. “Is that short for something?”

Win nearly choked as she swallowed to answer, clearing her throat awkwardly as she stalled, wiping her mouth with her napkin.

“Uh, yeah, it’s short for Winrey. My mum was British,” she explained.

“British. Huh,” Neil grunted, taking a drink from his glass. “Play any sports? Cheerleading?” he asked, his gaze flicking to hers for a moment before focusing back on his plate.

“No, I’ve never really been all that athletic, except that time I tried gymnastics. I’m more into music and cars,” she said, shooting a small grin at Billy who snorted softly and shook his head.

“Music and cars,” Neil repeated dryly and Billy’s grin vanished as quick as it had appeared. “Sounds like you have a lot in common,” he said, his tone flat, as if he didn’t really think that was a good thing. “Sounds like you found yourself a keeper, wonder how long it’ll last before you fuck it up,” he said, glancing at Billy as if just waiting for him to snap back.

Everyone at the table fell silent, their eyes dropping to their own plates, except for Win. She stared incredulously back at Neil, taken aback by the bluntness of his comment. Next to her, Billy’s jaw flexed and his grip on his fork tightened as he seethed in silence.

Win however, wasn’t as adept at biting her tongue, muttering the most smart-assed comment that sprang to her lips. “Well if you can keep a wife…”

Neil’s eyes narrowed at her across the table as he chewed slowly. “Excuse me?”

“Oh! Who wants pie?” Susan exclaimed quickly, jumping to her feet.

“I do!” Max said, latching onto the distraction.

“Neil? Honey?” Susan asked pointedly and he finally tore his gaze from Win, turning his attention to his wife and nodding.

Win ducked her head as she ate, grinning to herself.

Susan returned moments later with the pie and dinner resumed without any further conversation directed at Win or Billy. Neil, for the most part, ignored them to go on about how great Reagan was for America.

By the time dinner wound down, Win was ready to slip away with Billy, wanting to make sure he was alright, but before she got the chance, Susan asked if she minded helping with the dishes, and Win reluctantly agreed. She had offered to help earlier, after all.

Standing next to Susan at the counter, she dried the plates as the other woman passed them to her.

“It’s so nice having another woman in the house,” Mrs. Hargrove murmured, smiling softly to herself. “Maxine’s not exactly the feminine type, so…” she trailed off and Win nodded in understanding.

“My mum died when I was about Max’s age,” Win admitted, looking down at the serving dish in her hands. “I miss this kinda stuff too,” she murmured and Susan’s sad smile returned.

“You know,” she began, pausing nervously to glance around, as if making sure her husband wasn’t in earshot before continuing. “I’m glad Billy met you,” she said quietly. “I-I think you might be the best thing to happen to him in a long time.”

Win looked up at her and her shock must have shown on her face because Susan only nodded. “You’re a good influence on him,” she insisted.

Win wanted to laugh. Certainly that wasn’t true. She felt, if anything, they were both bad influences, but of course she didn’t say so.

Once the dishes were all washed and dried, Win went in search of Billy, but his bedroom was empty.

“He’s out in the garage with Neil,” Max said, watching Win from her door.

“Oh,” Win breathed, frowning, worried about what the two men could be talking about.

“What do you see in him?”

Max’s question took Win off guard and for a moment she merely blinked at the redhead, trying to think. “I-I dunno,” she spluttered, her brows pinching further. "I mean, I know he can be kind of a jerk–"

"Kind of?" Max scoffed, interjecting.

“Yeah, okay, more than kind of,” Win agreed begrudgingly. “But I guess there’s more to him than meets the eye,” she continued, shrugging. “I know that’s hella cliche, but it’s true.”

Max eyed her and for a moment Win thought she was going to scoff at her again, but all she said was “maybe” with a shrug.

“When you first started going out, I thought you were too nice for him, but maybe you’re rubbing off on him. Or maybe he actually really likes you,” she said. “I’ve never seen him act like he does around you,” she added and Win’s lips tugged into a small grin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and trust me, he’s been out with a lot of girls,” Max said, wincing as soon as the words were out of her mouth. “I mean, you know,” she added, her freckled cheeks flushing before she quickly shook her head. “But I don’t think he’s ever actually dated anyone before,” she admitted and the thought that she was somehow more special than the others made Win’s stomach flutter.

“Anyway, I hope Neil’s wrong and you guys stay together. Billy’s not as terrible when you’re around,” Max said, sharing a small smile with Win before the garage door slammed open and Billy strode back inside, his expression tense.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” he said brusquely, his eyes not quite meeting hers.

“Uh, okay–” Win began, but Billy was already heading impatiently for the front door.

“I wrapped up some leftovers for you to take home for your father,” Susan offered, coming out of the kitchen with a plastic bag full of aluminum foil parcels.

“Thank you, he’ll appreciate this,” Win murmured, accepting the bag. “Uh, thank you again for dinner,” she said hastily, nodding to Susan and Max, who lingered in the hallway.

“It was our pleasure,” Susan called after her as Win followed Billy.

Outside, the sun was slipping toward the horizon, casting the darkening sky in an orange hue as the wind picked up, blowing several dry leaves past their ankles.

“Hey, you okay?” Win asked, jogging to keep up, but Billy didn’t answer, slipping behind the wheel and slamming the door shut. Win joined him in the car, her brows furrowing with worry. “Billy,” she tried again, firmer. “Did something happen?”

Billy started the engine, keeping his eyes on the road. “It’s nothing,” he said, finally glancing over at her, a tightness around his eyes as if he were fighting to keep something in, to keep his mask in place.

“It’s not nothing,” Win said gently, placing her hand on his arm and Billy tensed.

“I said it’s fine,” he insisted, gruffer than intended, but Win didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured and Billy snorted, the sound harsh in the quiet car; he hadn’t even bothered to turn on the radio.

“I told you my dad would be an asshole,” he mumbled, tearing down the empty road.

“It really bothered you, what he said about us,” Win ventured, though it was less of a question and more an observation, and Billy’s expression tightened further, his lips pursing angrily. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about–” Win began, her words cutting off as he suddenly veered off the road and threw the Camaro in park.

“He doesn’t know shit,” Billy growled, leaning across the center console, his lips colliding with hers as his hand slipped behind her head, holding her in place as he kissed her roughly, his tongue invading her mouth. “I need you,” he groaned, raw desperation lacing his deep voice, usually so velvety smooth and coated in honey. “Need you so fucking bad.”

Win gasped, her head spinning at the intensity behind his bruising kisses, all teeth and tongue, as if he wanted to devour her. Once she caught her breath, she kissed him back just as fiercely, grabbing hold of his jacket and moaning into his mouth as his hand slipped between her thighs, his thumb pressing circles against her clothed clit, sending heat rushing through her.

“Get in the back seat,” he commanded, nipping hard at her bottom lip before pulling back and unbuckling, throwing open his door.

Gasping at the sudden disappearance of his lips, it took a second for Win’s brain to catch up and she hastily followed suit. Billy was already around the car by the time she stood and he opened the back door, his mouth hot on hers as he guided her, lowering her back onto the seat.

Reaching under her dress, he tugged her panties down impatiently, freeing them from her legs before straightening to unzip his pants and free his throbbing cock, a desperation to his movements.

“Billy—!” Win yelped breathlessly as he yanked her to the edge of the seat and pulled her legs apart, bullying his tip between her folds and rutting into her. “Oh—“ she gasped as he sheathed her, waiting only a moment for her to adjust before he was pumping into her, his thrusts sharp and frantic.

“Oh fuck—“ she groaned, bracing herself with her arms, her entire body jolting with each desperate snap of his hips, the air filling with the lewd smack of skin against skin and Billy’s labored pants.

“Want you to cum,” he growled, freeing one hand to once more thumb her clit, gathering her wetness on the pad of his finger so it would glide over her delicate nub easily, sending electricity shooting through her. “Cum for me, Win,” he grunted, the words a harsh plea, as he fucked her into the seat, and she had no choice but to obey, the tightly coiled spring of pleasure snapping at his relentless assault on her clit.

“Fuck—BILLY!” she wailed, cumming hard, her orgasm hitting her like a train, but Billy didn’t stop, fucking her through it til his hips stuttered, bottoming out as he filled her, his chest heaving as he emptied himself deep inside.

For a moment neither of them spoke, too dazed to formulate words, merely panting hard to catch their breaths. Billy pulled free, hastily tucking himself back into his tight jeans before grabbing her discarded panties and slipping them back up her legs, helping her to stand.

Before she could speak, he pulled her into his arms, holding her to him tightly, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“M’sorry,” he murmured hoarsely, as if he were trying to keep his emotions in check and not quite succeeding.

“I’m glad you were there,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “It made today… bearable.”

Win buried her face against his chest with a sigh, the tension from before leeching away. “I’m glad I was there too,” she whispered back, warm tears catching in her lashes.

“C’mon, I better get you home,” he said reluctantly, clearing his throat, and Win nodded against his chest.

––

“I’ll call you later,” Win murmured, leaning in to steal a kiss before opening the car door and slipping out, grabbing the bag of leftovers.

Billy nodded, giving her a wave as he backed out of the drive, leaving her standing in there as the sun disappeared completely below the horizon. Win watched the Camaro slip away into the night before turning toward her house. Her dad’s car was parked in the drive and several lights burned inside. She wondered how long he’d been home.

“Hey,” she greeted as she opened the door, finding him standing listlessly by the counter. David’s head snapped up as she came in.

“I’m so sorry—“ he began, but Win shook her head fiercely, cutting him off.

“You’re here now,” she said, rounding the counter to embrace him, her chest tight.

“Did you have a nice time at… Billy’s?” he asked, still struggling to say his name without any vitriol and Win snorted, pulling away to open the leftovers and fix them both a plate.

“Yeah, it was alright,” she said. “His stepmom sent some food home for you.”

“That was nice,” David mumbled, running a hand through his dark hair as he watched Win plate the food.

“They nice people?” he asked and Win shrugged.

“His stepmom and stepsister are,” she answered, biting her lip. She wanted to tell her dad everything—about Neil’s abuse and the way his family walked on eggshells around him, about how Billy shrank in on himself, flinching at nothing more than a sharp look or word from his father, but she hesitated. What good would it do? What could her dad even do about it? And how would Billy react? His embarrassment at the situation was obvious. Would telling her father just make things worse?

David frowned at Win’s sudden silence. “You okay?” he asked, ducking his head to peer at her suspiciously.

“Y-yeah, I was just… thinking,” she replied disjointedly, quickly clearing her throat and throwing one plate in the microwave.

“I’m gunna change, I’ll be right back,” she said, retreating to her room. Once she pressed her back to the door, she let her frustrated tears fall.

⇾ taglist. @b1tchywheeler @super-unpredictable98 @santacarlahorrorshow @oliver-sykes @wherethewitchersare @elliethesuperfruitlover

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove fanfiction #oc: win lewis #otp: lewgrove #fic: i don't think you notice #joz.fic

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redahlia-writes · 1 year

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you make loving fun. | frankie morales x ofc

four. crystal

content (for this chapter): smut, family gatherings and That really annoying relative, a lot of feelings, a hint of possessiveness, frankie is once again being an idiot

word count: 5.8k

a/n: i'm so sorry for the delay, life's truly kicking my ass and i hope the chapter will make up for it. updates might be a little bit slow from now, but i'll do my best

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

series masterlist | masterlist

“For the first few months of their relationship, Fish didn’t even know it was a relationship. They moved in together, and still he would say stuff like she’s not my girlfriend, we haven’t talked about it, I don’t want to pressure her. Considerate, really, but so–Alba, chiquitita, cover your ears a moment–so fucking dumb. And that was how I knew. We’ve known Frankie a really long time, we’ve been together through a lot, and that was the first time I’ve seen him be so stupid–which is saying a lot. But, after all, isn’t that what love does in the beginning? It makes you foolish, nervous, doubt things you would’ve never doubted before. It was a new look on him, and it made it crystal clear how enamored he was, probably without even realizing it in the beginning–because I know he fell for Camila right off the bat. And I mean, how could he not? He called me, that first morning, and even then Camila was a surprise. Will said it all already–funny, kind, smart, beautiful, but most of all right. You were, and still are, right for him, Cami, the right person at the right time, and that is something rare, something great. Sometimes I think we should thank you more, because you changed Frankie’s life, and with his, ours too–mine for sure, because not only did I get to see my best friend finally start living again, but I also gained a sister. So, one Garcia to the other: thank you. That being said, it’d be nice to have him back every now and then–seriously, they’re practically glued together, can’t keep their hands to themselves to save their lives! I have some stories–”

Frankie’s hand tightened slightly around the glass of water in his grip when he felt a hand clasping him on the shoulder, tight and all too buoyant, shaking him and forcing his eyes away from Camila, Alba and his mother–Alba was lying on her back over Verónica’s knees, the older woman laughing in her chair as the child stretched and let her head dangle back towards Camila, sitting on the grass and smiling.

“Who would’ve thought–young Cisco with an actual girlfriend,” the man at his side was grinning, a glaze clouding his eyes, mouth stained red from wine. “Well, not so young anymore, are you?”

“Takes one to know one, Nicky,” he retorted with a hint of a laugh, some of the tension melting from his shoulders when he saw Camila move again at the corner of his eye, could hear Alba’s loud giggles from his spot.

His cousin laughed, clearly not put off by his comment–he wasn’t trying to be mean, exactly, but out of all the people in the family currently gathered in his mother’s backyard–

“So you got one of the last good ones, huh?” he still had his hand on Frankie’s shoulder, standing a step back as they were angled towards the other three. Camila’s hand was underneath Alba’s head, supporting it up as she leaned in, brushing their noses together as the child giggled again. A small smile caught on Frankie’s lips, warmth spreading across his chest. “Man, and she’s good with the kid. You oughta keep this one.”

Frankie’s family wasn’t mean–they’d never given him too much shit for what had happened to him, for what he’d done, at least not to his face and certainly not to his mother’s, for they wouldn’t even be there if they had. But he’d gotten good at understanding people’s double meaning, at hearing the light shift in their voices. You oughta keep this one, not like the last one, or all the others before.

“Thanks, Nic,” he sighed–across the garden, Camila tilted her head as she looked at him. She quirked up an eyebrow, and he was quick to shoot a smile in her direction, the slightest shake of his head at her silent question.

“Fine, too, your girl,” he continued, clearly not put off by Frankie’s lack of trying at keeping up the conversation. “Young face, pity for the grays–I mean, she could always dye it,” he shrugged, before grinning and elbowing Frankie in the side, making him turn fully towards him, his lips pressed in a thin line as he inhaled deeply. “Although I’m sure she makes up for it plenty in–”

“Listen, Nicky–” he exhaled sharply, the sentence dying on his lips when he felt a hand brush up his back, from the lower side up–his shoulders sagged slightly, leaning towards Camila’s touch as she settled at his side.

“Sorry,” soft-voiced, she pulled his cousin’s perplexed gaze towards her, too. “I need to borrow Frankie for a moment–Alba spilled some juice on my dress and I could really use the help before it stains.”

“Oh, of course,” Nic cleared his throat, stepping back, his gaze flickering from one to the other–shy, all of a sudden. Frankie almost rolled his eyes, held in check only by Camila’s hand sliding into his, gently pulling him along.

“Alba wasn’t drinking anything,” he murmured, his head bowed slightly as they walked back inside the house. She shrugged lightly, then looked over her shoulder as she smiled–quick and amused, making him scoff. “Mila–”

“Just come with me for a moment,” she retorted before he could finish forming the protest. “Alba’s with Santiago and your mom, it’s alright,” she added as he went to speak again, walking past the kitchen and living room.

“I’m still not sure why he’s here,” Frankie muttered, making her chuckle and pull him slightly closer as she reached the stairs–he placed the glass on the closest surface at hand.

“According to him, he’s included in the family for the family reunion,” he got closer each step, his now free hand coming up to brush her hip. “Don’t get ideas, Morales,” she added, giving a delicate slap to the back of his hand.

“You’re the one getting me away from the rest of them,” he retorted as she pulled them both inside the bathroom–to which he arched an eyebrow, as if that was proof of his point even before she turned the key. “Really difficult to not get any ideas now,” Camila laughed, shaking her head before turning fully to face him, eyebrows slightly arched. “What?”

“Out with it,” she said simply, resting her hands on the countertop of the sink behind her back. Frankie frowned slightly, stepping closer again–she tipped her chin up to look at him, her gaze soft.

“With what?”

“You’ve been jumpy all day,” she told him, voice as soft as her eyes, and he wondered if he was truly that obvious or she simply knew him so well. “Your family is not so bad, you know? I mean, Nicky is–” she let the sentence hang, mouth turned in a grimace.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he sighed, and she shifted the weight on one hand to reach for his face with the other, cupping his cheek.

“You don’t have to apologize, honey,” she hummed, thumb brushing along the apple of his cheek, warm from the sun. “I like them–by now somebody in my family would’ve started a fight for sure,” she added with a quick grin that made him scoff out a laugh, gaze lowered. “But they’ve all been nice,” he must’ve tensed up again, because she tilted her head to try and meet his gaze. “Is that it?”

“No, it’s–I’m glad they are, it’s just–” her hand moved down across his cheek and jaw, pushing underneath his chin to get him to look up at last. “It’s nothing. Nicky said some shit, and he talked about me having an actual girlfriend or something,” he scoffed, gaze darting away and back–behind her, he saw their reflection in the mirror, her hair shifting with the movement of both her arms shifting up.

“Frankie, sweetheart,” her words carried her soft smile as she took his cap off, putting it aside because she held his face in her hands, looking at him with such tenderness in her eyes he almost crumbled in front of her, hands twitching at his sides. “So what?”

“I don’t know,” he groaned softly, eyes shut for a longer moment before letting out a long sigh. “We just never discussed it, and people keep bringing it up, and I didn’t want to pressure you or–” when he looked at her again, her lips were parted, brows knitted tightly with perplexity as he repeated, “I don’t know.”

“Pressure me?” her confusion bled into her voice, her touch getting a little hesitant for a moment–if he were to look past her head and into the mirror, Frankie would register the guilt in his gaze. Instead, he only noticed the realization dawn in her eyes. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry–I kept thinking I would bring it up and then never did and I was worried it would be too much, or too early,” he shifted back a little, her hands falling to his shoulders.

“Wait, so this is because he called me your girlfriend?” she asked, a little baffled. At his little nod, a quick laugh escaped her, and she pushed herself towards him. “Frankie, honey, we’ve lived together for two months,” she smiled as she said it.

“I know,” she locked her hands behind his neck, pulling him slightly closer in the process, fingertips pushing at the nape of his neck. “I just didn’t want to assume,” she laughed again, a little louder, and Frankie frowned once more, pouting slightly. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not, I promise I’m not,” she said quickly, getting herself closer, though still laughing. “I’m sorry, just–I thought there was nothing to discuss. You’re it for me?”

“You–” he was still frowning, a little deeper, and she let one hand move from the back of his head up across his face, gently kneading the spot between his eyebrows where lines were etched. “You’re still laughing. Camila–”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, unable to help herself as she shook her head through the laughter turned giggles, shifting her body weight so she was leaning against his chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, keeping her upright and ducking his chin to keep his gaze on her face, the lines at the corner of her eyes deepening as her smile widened. “Why would you worry about that, honey?”

“You told me you thought you’d jumped in too fast with that guy,” he’d been that guy for months now, no longer Jason–Camila found some amusement in it, her nose scrunching up.

“I did,” she nodded, bringing a hand to his chest while the other still cupped the back of his head. “But you’re not him, and I’m no longer 20-something, so I’d like to think I’ve wised up,” Frankie sighed, carefully lowering his head towards her. “Then again, I’ve moved in with you after–what, eight months? So maybe–”

“Mila,” he groaned in half-complaint, making her laugh again before she tipped her chin up, kissing him in full. He sighed again, the tension in his back melting away as her fingers brushed through his hair, the other palm pressed firmly against his heart.

When she didn’t pull back, Frankie’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him and straightening his back to sweep her off her feet, taking the half step that separated them from the countertop to sit her there–he slotted himself between her legs, her back arching slightly as her lips parted for his tongue.

He kissed and kissed and kissed her until the rest of the world blurred away, until there was no Nicky or Jason, no Santi nor the rest of his family, just the two of them tangled together, sharing soft breaths and touches and the only thing grounding him was the weight of her against him, the shift of her body as he let his hands wandered back and thighs and legs, right underneath her dress.

“Are you gonna ask me, then?” she breathed out once they parted, heavy breaths from both of them and Frankie’s vision blurry for just a moment as he chased her, interrupted only by her soft words, the hint of laughter in them.

“What?” he licked his lips as if trying to cling onto the taste of her, fingers digging into her flesh. Her cheeks were red, bruised lips as she looked up at him while it all came back into vision for Frankie. “Is it–official?” her smile turned into a snort at the uncertainty in his tone, a shimmer in her eyes to highlight her amusement.

“You can do better than that, Francisco,” she murmured, mockingly, and he huffed out a breath as his lips quivered in a semi-pout. Camila leaned forward, kissing it away, but before he could chase her again she pulled back abruptly–one hand on his chest, the other falling behind her over the counter to support herself.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he scoffed, letting his hands travel a little up across her skin, the skirt of her dress bunching up with the movement.

“Maybe,” she said with a light shrug, letting her hand travel down across his torso, lingering on each button–just teasing to undo them, Frankie’s eyes following the movement as his own fingers moved up and up. “You know what I’m going to say,” she murmured then, the tip of her first and middle finger hooking in his belt and pulling him forward ever so slightly, “ask.”

“I don’t need to ask,” he lowered his head towards hers, hooking his fingers at each side of her underwear–she squeezed her knees at his sides, humming softly as he pulled. “Do I?”

“Ask,” she repeated, lips still curved in an amused smile.

“Camila,” uttered as a warning before he kissed her again, a little harsher than before, almost feverish, pulling and pulling at her underwear that wouldn’t shift.

He could feel the laughter bubbling in her throat as she pushed against his lower stomach to make him step back, hopping down the counter to bare her lower half–Frankie kept his hands on her legs, her dress bunched up between the two of them, and slowly began lowering himself, ready to shift onto his knees in front of her.

“We don’t have time,” she mumbled against his lips, swiftly undoing his belt. “Later. Home.”

“Did you not tell me to not get any ideas?” his mocking question ended with a groan when she cupped her hand to his front, stroking his already half-hard length from above his briefs–his hips twitched into her touch, and he felt the grin forming on her lips at his immediate reaction.

“Ask me,” she replied instead, stroking him again.

Again, and again, until he was panting in her mouth, hips bucking with each movement–Frankie kissed her one more time before turning her around, her hands coming down against the counter for balance as he gently kicked her legs apart to slot himself closer, his still clothed front pressed against her back.

“I don’t have to ask,” he repeated, punctuating each word with a kiss to her neck, one hand to her hip as the other bared himself. Camila’s reflection smiled in the mirror, her head ducked as if hiding herself but not quite, as he pushed the tip of his length against the seam of her folds. “You’re my girl, aren’t you?” he murmured then against the shell of her ear.

Before she could form a response, her mouth fell open as he nudged at her entrance, slowly–agonizingly slow–starting to push into her. Her eyes rolled back and she nodded, soft gasps leaving her as she gripped the countertop, both of Frankie’s hands now on her hips, guiding her back to meet him.

“Look at you,” his gaze remained glued to the mirror as she tilted her head back towards him–her eyelids fluttered a moment, trying and failing to focus on their reflections as he kept going. “My beautiful girl,” another kiss to her neck, right behind her ear, making her shudder and rock her hips back. With a groan, his front pressed to her back as he sank fully inside her, he spoke against her shoulder, “mine.”

“’Course I am,” she panted, her thighs trembling slightly against his. “Yours,” at the word, Frankie’s cock twitched, his grip on her hips tightening. “God–Frankie,” she moaned, back arching as her walls fluttered around him.

“Baby, you gotta keep quiet,” he mumbled, pushing forward so her hips were against the countertop, and he was leaning against her in turn. One arm wrapped around her middle to keep her flush to him, he let his other hand wander up across her torso, the fabric of her dress wrinkling underneath his touch.

“Thought you liked it when you could hear me,” her gaze flickered over their reflections, down to his rising hand and up to meet his eyes, a flush spreading from her heaving chest up and her lips slightly parted.

“Yes,” he shifted back, the slow drag of his length as he pulled out almost all the way making her breath quicken. “When I–” he snapped his hips forward, and Camila bit down onto her lip to keep herself from crying out, knuckles turning white as she gripped the counter a little harder, “can. Not the rest of the family.”

“We wouldn’t be here if that were a problem,” each word felt like it was punched out of her chest, Frankie’s movements steady, hitting a spot deep inside of her that had her vision wavering. “You enjoy the thrill, Francisco,” she added–not a question, rather her ability to read him so perfectly laid out in a tease.

And he did–he liked his life, his new one, with no drugs and very little alcohol, a steady, almost boring job, a home with the two halves of his heart, a bed with hogged blankets and slow nights. He loved that life–but sometimes he missed the rush, and Camila seemed to know exactly when he felt like he was starting to waver. Exactly what to do about it so that he wouldn’t topple over again, returning back to her each time.

“Fuck–don’t stop, don’t stop,” he’d gotten so lucky. He was so goddamn lucky.

The hand that had been traveling up her body moved up again, grabbing her by the chin to turn her head so that he could kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her, swallowing each sound away as he picked up his pace, his hips snapping against her skin almost too loudly–and only spurring him further.

A shiver ran through her as Frankie stopped with one last thrust, his head falling into the crook of her neck as he came–he tightened his hold around her, keeping her flush to his front. Her walls fluttered around his length buried deep within her, a weak, frustrated cry leaving her at his sudden stillness–he breathed out a quiet laugh before pulling his head up, chin hooked over her shoulder as he brought two fingers to his mouth, coating his fingertips before reaching for the apex of her core.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” Camila’s pupils were wide, eyes glazed over as she let her head loll back and sighed at his perhaps-too-delicate initial touch. Each of Frankie’s words was accompanied by a soft kiss across her skin–cheek and jaw and neck, his gaze never leaving her face as he began drawing quick circles over her clit.

“Frankie,” with a breathless cry, she grasped at his arm still wrapped around her, holding her upright. He kissed her neck, humming at her sharp intakes of air with each of his movements.

“I know,” he could feel her muscles grow taut under his touch, her thighs shaking as she got closer and closer–he groaned when she squeezed around his length, sensitive and softening as she tethered the edge. “Come on, baby, I can feel you–so good, you feel so good, baby, you–”

Camila twisted her neck and kissed him abruptly, harsh and trembling as her orgasm rippled through her–she quietened herself, the loud moan muffled by Frankie’s own bruised lips. He drank the noise greedily, slowing down the movement of his fingers until she twitched in his hold and dug her fingernails into the arm she was holding onto, a weak whine as she went limp into his hold.

He pulled out slowly, another softer moan escaping her as she folded forward, hands coming down to the countertop with a shaky exhale and equally shaky arms. His gaze remained low a moment longer, following the slow trail of their combined releases dripping down her thighs, and then he bowed down, kissed the space between her shoulders softly from above her dress.

“You alright?” he spoke softly, hands rubbing soothing circles on her bare hips as she evened her breathing, head hanging forward. She hummed quietly, rolling her shoulders back.

“I just need a minute,” she nodded, bringing her head upright again and wincing slightly. “Jesus–maybe two minutes,” she sighed, and Frankie chuckled softly, another kiss pressed against her shoulder as he tucked himself back in.

“Turn around,” he guided her by the hips tenderly, meeting her eyes for a brief moment in the mirror. “Let me clean you up.”

She hummed softly as she let him move her, leaning back again with her hands on the counter, her breath now even as Frankie recovered a clean towel from underneath the sink, turning on the water and waiting for it to turn lukewarm. Camila’s eyes remained on him as he moved, eyelids low and a tired half smile stretching across her lips.

He sank to the floor in front of her, gently brushing the towel up between her thighs, one hand on her calf rubbing circles with his thumb again against her skin, gentle and soothing. He helped her get dressed back up, smoothing down the skirt of her dress and pressing one last kiss to her now clothed hip before standing back up, mere inches from her.

“Promise me something,” she wrapped her arms around his middle, threading her arms underneath his. Frankie lowered his gaze to her still slightly flushed face, a small frown crossing his brow. “You’re gonna ask me whatever it is that crosses your mind, anything you want to–even if it’s something as banal as is my hair alright,” her fingers curled against his back, gently bringing him closer.

Frankie sighed, cupping her jaw in his hands before nodding–small movements, getting closer to leave a delicate peck against her lips.

“Promise,” he conceded, voice a little hoarse as he kept it low. “We should head back–you okay?” she nodded, mimicking his quick kiss before detangling herself from him and stepping aside, reaching for the door. “Wait, Mila,” he caught her hand as she unlocked the door, her gaze a little perplexed when she turned back around. “Is my hair alright?”

Camila laughed, a light roll of her eyes as she reached for the cap left on the countertop, putting it back on his head and pulling it low over his brow–he grinned in return, tipping his head back to keep his gaze on her.

“Better,” she nodded, wrinkling her nose before opening the door.

He pulled her under his arm once they were into the corridor, fixing his cap as she wrapped one of her arms around him again, bumping her hip with his while they stepped forward–and stopped at the stairs creaking, Santi’s head popping up with a deep frown that vanished as soon as he saw them.

“Ah, there you are–Alba’s been asking for you,” the other man said, looking at Camila, then made a face, somewhere between a pout and a grimace, muttering, “for some reason. Also, is it me or has Nicky gotten worse?” this he asked Frankie, his expression turning into a full scowl. His gaze then darted from one to the other, still tangled together, and surely somewhat guilty-looking–Camila’s face was still reddened, Frankie’s shirt slightly wrinkled, their hair just about messed up. Santi groaned, full on rolling his eyes. “Seriously? Gross.”

Camila laughed, loud and amused, leaving a rapid kiss to Frankie’s shoulder before sliding from under his arm, keeping her own open as she advanced towards Santi.

“Come here,” she said at his mock disdain, reaching for him. “Come on, Garcia–give me a kiss.”

“No, I don’t know where that mouth has been,” he argued, trying to step away and back down the stairs. Camila all but leaped for him, laughing again and throwing her arms around him–he quickly got his arms around her, too, keeping them both upright with a huff of protest as she smacked a kiss against his cheek. “Fish, will you keep your girlfriend in check?”

Frankie just watched them, the quick, purposefully sloppy kisses she peppered across his face from the upper step, his twisted expression as he tried to pull away but couldn’t make a move–they both knew it was an over-dramatization on Pope’s part, that he’d been basking in the affection Camila reserved for them all.

With one last kiss to Santi’s forehead–loud and possibly even sloppier, making him groan in protest–she skipped away with a laugh and a gentle pinch to his arm, one last glance in Frankie’s direction from above her shoulder with a wide grin across her reddened cheeks before walking down the stairs.

“What, no not my girlfriend?” Santi muttered, running a hand across his face before looking back up at Frankie–his gaze somewhat lost towards where Camila had gone.

“No, not this time, actually,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Oh, thank God,” Santi exclaimed, lifting his hands. “Seriously, fucking finally!”

Frankie had gotten used to sleeping as close to Camila as he could get–whether she was curled up in his arms, her back pressed against his front, or her body draped across his, it was rare for them to roll on opposite sides of the bed.

Mostly because she still hogged most of the covers, and Frankie would wake up in the middle of the night with half of himself exposed to the room, and she would then complain his hands were cold when he sought out her warmth.

He didn’t mind it one bit–each excuse he could find to feel her skin under his hands, to wake up and know she was still there, would be enough to make him withstand anything.

And he always woke up first, taking a few moments before her alarm would go off to look at her sleeping, relaxed face, hair braided back and away, eyelids trembling as she seemed to be following her dreams, lips slightly parted to let out soft huffs of air–he would pepper her skin in quick, delicate kisses as soon as she turned off the alarm, tightening his arms around her.

But the alarm didn’t sound that morning, and when he glanced over her shoulder to where the clock was he sat up so quickly the whole room spun, dragging the covers with him before turning towards the already curling up woman, her face twisting in a still-asleep frown.

“Mila, we overslept,” he called, gently shaking her by the shoulder. She groaned softly, burying her face into the pillow. “Mila,” he tried again, and she turned in his direction.

“You overslept,” she protested, bringing a hand up to rub her eyes. “I have the day off,” she added in a mumble, head heavy on the pillow and exposing the sleep lines on her opposite side of the face. “Did you not set an alarm again?”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, leaning in to press his lips to hers as he brought the covers back up over her while simultaneously sliding off the bed. “I didn't–you know I usually rely on you.”

“And that is twice you’ve made that mistake,” she mumbled, her eyelids drooping again, ever so slowly. Frankie scoffed, quick steps around the room as he searched blindly for some clothes. “I’ll take Alba to daycare, it’s alright.”

“Are you sure? You can go back to sleep,” he was still rummaging through the closet as he spoke, and suddenly the light was on and he could see the shirts hanging in front of him.

“I’m up already,” Camila groaned softly, and turning around he saw her sitting up, rubbing at her eyes again as she suppressed a yawn. Frankie’s expression softened as she kicked her legs off the bed, lingering there a moment with her head tilted forward slightly. “Go finish getting ready, I’ll make us some coffee.”

Frankie grabbed a shirt before turning around, padding across the room to reach her–he tipped her head back gently, hooking one finger underneath her chin before kissing her. Camila hummed softly, her eyelids fluttering open and shut and open again when he pulled back, thumb brushing along her jaw.

“See? I knew it’d be convenient for you to move in,” she snorted at his grinning remark, pushing him back with both her hands on his chest before getting up the bed, stretching as Frankie kissed her again, lips just at the corner of her mouth.

He passed by the living room once he was dressed, Alba sitting on the couch with her morning cartoons playing, hair still ruffled by the night–her breakfast was waiting on the coffee table, along with Camila’s empty mug.

“Morning, nena,” he murmured, placing a kiss to the top of her head. The child moved her legs, bouncing her feet and smiling and looking up at her dad. “Are you waiting for Mila?”

“Ma!” voice laced with sleep, Alba nodded, eyes squinting as she smiled. Frankie chuckled, ruffling her hair before heading towards the kitchen, leaving her to the images on the screen.

It was a new development, ma–an imitation of Frankie, of possibly the other children at daycare. The beginning of a word that signified much more for them both. The three of them, actually. Frankie’s doubts had dwindled with one single word, and he had started to tell her truly what went through his mind (almost everything).

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he murmured as he walked up to her at the sink, one hand falling to her hip as he reached for the travel mug she was already offering him with the other. She smiled in the reflection of the mirror, taking the moka pot from the turned off stove. “I’ll set an alarm next time, I promise.”

“Heard that one before,” she chuckled, bumping her shoulder into his front as she gently leaned back into his half-hazarded embrace. “Go on now, before you’re late.”

“Thank you,” he kissed the curve of her neck–a peck, really, quick and non-committal. “I love you,” he added then, stepping back.

Camila’s head straightened abruptly, the sleep seemingly still clinging to her leaving her all of a sudden, and in the reflection he saw her eyes widen ever so slightly.

He told her almost everything.

Until that moment. He wasn’t sure he’d fully woken up just yet.

“Alright, bye,” he said just as quickly, a little louder, walking away before she could even begin turning around. Alba babbled for him from the couch and he went on, holding his breath through the corridor and entrance, down the steps and across the front yard until he reached the car.

Only then did he exhale, heavy and almost too loud as he leaned his head forward towards the steering wheel, almost hitting his forehead to the honk in the process, a soft groan abandoning him. I love you. Alright, bye.

“For fuck’s sake–” he muttered, bumping his head against the wheel again. “Alright, bye?” he grimaced. He jumped in his seat at the quick knocking against the window, pulling his head straight quickly and turning around, gripping the mug tighter to not topple it. “What–”

Camila stood next to the car, hair wild around her now that it was unbraided as she gestured at him to lower the window, bouncing ever so slightly on the spot. With a slight frown he did as she asked, and before he could form the question she was leaning into the car, grabbing him by the collar of the shirt to pull him closer and kiss him.

Frankie’s body relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut as he shifted in the seat and brought his free hand to her shoulder–he could feel her lean closer and closer, her torso sticking inside the car as she used his shirt as leverage and kissed him, kissed him, kissed him.

“I love you too,” she gasped, pulling back. Though his gaze was unfocused and he felt slightly breathless, dizzy, he managed to make out the shape of her body draped over the car door, legs dangling and the shirt of her pajama riding slightly across her back. “I thought you heard me already–a while ago.”

“What while ago?” he muttered, still a little dazed. He would think about her smile for the rest of the day, distracted out of his mind.

“I was talking with Alba, she couldn’t sleep,” the tip of her thumb brushed the side of his neck, right where his pulse was stuttering rapidly. “Telling her how much you love her–and I love her, and you,” she murmured, still leaning close, the tip of her nose almost brushing his.

“Well you didn’t tell me,” he could feel the pout on his mouth that seemed to only pull her smile wider. “I just thought–” she kissed him quickly this time, pulling back before he could register it, return it.

“Always a bad idea, honey,” she quipped, her eyes shimmering ever so slightly. “I told you, Frankie–you can tell me anything. Everything.”

“I know,” he sighed with mock defeat, leaning towards her until he was the one resting against the car door and she could touch the ground again, his head sticking out of the window. “Everything?” he asked then, looking up at her once she straightened.

“Yes,” she let her hand shift so it was cupping his jaw, thumb pushing gently into his cheek.

“You keep stealing the covers,” he whispered it, like it was a secret, and after the moment of initial shock Camila laughed. As she laughed, he turned his head to kiss her wrist, the heel of her hand, her palm, words murmured against the soft skin there– “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she repeated–she’d repeat it over and over from then on, whispered close to his ear or shouted from across the house when either one or the other left for the day, mumbled before falling asleep and just awoke. It’d always have the same effect on Frankie. “But I’m cold, so I’m not giving up the covers.”

“I know you’re not,” he chuckled, taking her hand in his to turn it around and kiss her knuckles, too. “I’ll just have to stick close, then.”

She hummed in assent, squeezing his hand in hers before leaning one last time, the kiss too brief for both their tastes–if it were up to them, that’d be where they’d spend the whole day, just as close to each other as they could get.

“I’ll see you later,” she said instead.

Frankie remained in the driveway a moment longer, watching as she ran back inside–still barefoot, a light skip in her step, and one last look over her shoulder towards him.

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borntoocry · 1 year

Note

ellie x fem!reader

reader is Tommy and maria's adopted daughter Who's never been outside of jackson and also has a BIG crush on ellie

Tommy decides One day to invite his Brother ,Joel , over for a family dinner where while the olders are talking , reader and ellie are in reader's room where She tells the auburn haired girl her Wish (going to a real Mall)

funny thing ellie found One and decides It would be a perfect date to ask reader out ,they sneak out and ellie brings reader to this Mall where they have a almost-death experience since our smartass ellie forgot to clear out of infected some shops , they make It out alive but reader ends up with a medium/big wound (NOT A ZOMBIE BITE PLEASE) and they're like " well good luck to us explaining that to Maria"

They go home to find very angry and upset Brothers +Maria

(if you like It i also have an idea for a Little part 2 AND ALSO SORRY FOR BAD ENGLISH🤍)

THIS WAS SO GOOD??? HELLO??? OFC! the first part will be the dinner with a bit of an argument, and the second part will be the mall. we'll see how long we can drag this on for. thank you for this anon!

this is a fem!oc x Ellie williams fic. she's a poc. sorry if this diverges from what you wanted, I just wanted to write something in first pov instead of YN. (is that okay??)

warnings: conversation about death. drinking. some kissing. that's about it.

PART II

I fucking hate the apocalypse. Then again, who enjoys it? Besides psychos testing out their survival skills.

The apocalypse means losing people: people you’ve known since birth, people you’ve known since your mind could render memories, and people who you never got to know due to your young mind. Like my mom. Young and full of hope, which is something everyone says when they talk about the dead mom they don’t remember. But from what I hear, that’s what she was like.

Her name was Poppy, which means that I might’ve had weird grandparents. And because my name is Clementine, that means I might’ve had a weird mom. From the pictures tacked onto my wall, it seems so: she had blue hair as a teenager, she dyed it every so often from shades of pink to purple and orange. She had piercings all over her ears and a couple on her face, and she had tattoos that littered her soft tan skin.

I have… nothing. I’m bare. All that I have is curly hair and tan skin from my mom, and an odd shade of hazel eyes from my dad. I don’t match myself whatsoever. But I guess that’s why I’m like my mom–I don’t make sense.

But the one person who has made an effort to make me make sense is Ellie–Joel’s ‘daughter,’ who isn’t truly his daughter because they are not related whatsoever. She’s just been around him since she was 14. I make an effort to make that known, because people around town consider me Tommy and Maria’s daughter, which then implies that I’m Joel’s niece. Which I am not. Because if I was, that would make the entire situation of me liking Ellie sort of… incest-y.

But me and Tommy and Maria are not blood related, and me and Ellie and Joel and whatever this family is, are not related either. I’ve just been taken in by Tommy and Maria since I was three years old.They care for me like their own. And for that, I’m grateful.

Tommy enjoys inviting Joel and Ellie to dinner at least once a week; because we’re a group of put together people that have been through more shit than we probably should’ve. And every week, they come over. Sometimes with food, sometimes with alcohol. Maria allows me to drink because she says I’m mentally old enough. That and from what Tommy says, laws don’t really exist anymore, so they can’t really go to jail for letting me drink underage.

This week, Maria has made lasagna and her famous salad, which is just a mixture of pickled vegetables tossed in oil and goat cheese with lettuce. It really is good, but I won’t lie and say I haven’t gotten a bit tired of it. I eat it anyway, because Maria is a marvelous cook and I’d rather stab my eye than ask her to make something different.

I set up the table and lay out five wine glasses. I usually sit next to Ellie while the old adults sit next to each other around the end of the table. I somehow still get nervous sitting next to her even after four years of knowing one another. It starts off with a rumbling in my stomach, and then a batch of butterflies find their way into my chest and absorb all of the liquids spewing into my body. I can’t really stop it, but at least they don’t attack my vocal chords.

“You done?” Tommy asks as he walks into the room with two bottles of wine. This week, Ellie is making her famous garlic rolls, which pair amazingly with Maria’s lasagna. Because she never makes them, I eat one too many and end up tipsy and bloated.

I nod and grab the bottles from his hands. I set them in the center alongside the other bottle of wine and one singular bottle of whiskey. This family drinks too much, but no one seems to care. It’s a Friday, after all.

“How does it look?” I ask, waving a hand over the table.

Tommy smiles, which force his wrinkles to dance about his face. “It looks wonderful like always, sweetheart.” He comes around and wraps an arm around my shoulders. I pat his hand and lean my head against his.

I love Tommy–he’s truly my father even though I’ll never call him dad. I guess he knows that, but he’s fine with it. I call him ‘My Tommy’ to everyone I know, which is somehow more special than the title ‘dad.’

“Awe, look at you guys,” Maria says as she enters the dining room. She places her lasagna and salad in the center of the table and can’t stop her smile from spreading along her entire face at the sight of us. “My Tommy and my Clem. You are adorable.”

I kiss Tommy’s cheek and pull away, smiling back at Maria who has now run around the table to kiss Tommy. I don’t watch as she kisses him, but I hear the peck.

I take one last look at the table, trying to see if there’s anything I need to perfect. But as nothing comes to mind, there’s a knock at the door. I turn to look at Tommy and Maria, but quickly leap towards the door when I find them kissing.

I already know who it is, so I don’t check the peephole. I unlock the door and twist the handle, opening it up to see Joel and Ellie on the other side. Joel holds a bottle of whiskey and Ellie holds a dish of rolls.

I smile and take the whiskey from Joel. “I don’t think we need anymore of this, but thank you.”

They step inside and I shut the door behind them. “There’s no such thing as too much whiskey.”

“Or wine,” Ellie states, which draws me over to her.

I look at her and smile. “Well wine, no. Whiskey, maybe.”

Her hair that’s tossed into a low bun shakes along with her head. Some tendrils of hair fly into her face and I fight against my fluttering stomach not to push them out of my face. To fight it, I look away and take the whiskey to the dining table.

Tommy watches me place the whiskey next to the plenty of other bottles and chuckles. “Thank you brother but that might be too much.”

“That’s what I said,” I tell him. “Do you want me to take it to the kitchen instead?”

Tommy shakes his head. “Leave it. It’s a Friday and I’m sure we’ve all had a rough week.”

I nod even though I don’t do much around Jackson. I’m not really allowed to go out on patrol like Ellie. My mom died that way. Maybe not riding around safely like Ellie, but she died out on patrol. And ever since I was old enough to take on tasks, I was labored with tending to the farm animals.

I have never gone outside of the walls of Jackson. I’ve begged Tommy and Maria, but they always say no. We’ve even gotten into fights about it, which have led me to nights in Ellie’s room, where she tells me stories of what she’s seen out there. And some of those stories have included a mall.

Because of her stories, I have dreamed about sneaking away and finding that said mall. Even though I know it won’t happen, I dream about it–because how harmful can a dream be?

“Alright, has everyone washed their hands?” Maria asks.

Tommy and Joel nod but Ellie and I look over at one another, shaking heads. I head into the kitchen with her behind me and the butterflies come out in full effect, knocking into the walls of my stomach.

I eject soap into my hands and turn on the sink, quickly shoving my hands underneath the slow stream to get some bubbles forming. As I knead the soap into my hands, Ellie clears her throat. I look over at her with a smile and she begins a conversation.

“How are you doing?” she asks.

I nod. “Good. So far, I’m doing good.”

“Has that guy Jacob been bothering you?” she asks, referring to this one guy around our age that can’t seem to stop pestering every girl in Jackson. He used to catcall me everyday during the summer. I wore shorts and thin shirts so I wouldn’t overheat, and he’d come over whistling at me, hoping I’d feed into his delusions.

I never told him I wasn’t into his type, so he kept coming onto me. Until a couple weeks ago when I punched him so hard that he fell back and got a concussion. I guess that gave him the memo.

I wash the suds out of my hands as I shake my head. “He hasn’t talked to me since you know what.”

She laughs and takes my spot by the sink. “That was badass, by the way,” she tells me as the soap suds up in her hands.

My cheeks become hot and I laugh. “Thanks,” I say, “you’ve told me that quite a couple times.”

Her cheeks heat up and swell with blood, but I try not to think of it. Instead, I focus on her hands and the way the soap begins vanishing from her fingers. The new tattoos that tread down her hands come into full effect and I have to turn away.

“I say it ‘cause it’s true,” she tells me as she dries her hands on her jeans.

I shrug. “It’s no biggie.”

“What’s no biggie?” Joel asks as he steps into the kitchen.

“Me punching Jacob,” I tell him.

He laughs and grabs a couple more napkins from the counter. “That was bad ass, by way.”

Ellie and I turn to one another and laugh. Joel, as confused as he is, turns away and re-enters the dining room, where we follow him into and sit down for dinner.

We’re three bottles of wine into dinner and I’ve had about two very full glasses. Even though I’ve been allowed to drink around Tommy and Maria since I turned 17, I haven’t gained a high enough tolerance. So now I drunkenly sit in my seat with one of Ellie’s garlic rolls in my hand.

Tommy and Joel are laughing at something Maria said, and Ellie is staring me down.

“You don’t think you’ve had enough to drink?” she asks as she glances at my wine glass.

I shrug. “You want some?”

She shrugs.

“Have it,” I tell her.

She chugs the rest and places the glass next to her, as if to say, ‘Now you can’t get any more.’ I’m fine with that, so I chow down on the garlic roll and listen to the adults.

This runs for about ten minutes before the conversation is redirected towards the teenagers. “So,” Maria says, “how are you girls?”

I glance at Ellie and I catch her looking back at me. Her red cheeks make a re-appearance and I mistake it for the wine and whiskey. Ellie looks back at Maria and smiles. “We’re good. Well–I’m good. I’ve been doing fine on patrols and all that.” She turns to me again and with her red cheeks and perfectly molded lips, asks, “And you, Clem?”

I shake out of my drunken thoughts and crookedly smile. “It’s been fine on the farm.”

Joel glances between me and Ellie and chuckles. “You hate it at the farm, don’t you?”

I shrug. I pick at the leftover pieces of dead lettuce on my plate and try to find words that don’t come off as bitchy. But I fail. The words tumble out of my mouth before I can slap a hand over my lips. “Nothing new ever happens and I can’t do anything else, so yeah, I kinda do hate it.”

Maria sighs and I look up at her. “You know you can’t go on patrol, Clem.”

“Well I can’t do anything else here either.”

“Clementine, don’t start your arguing,” Tommy warns.

I scoff. “I’m not arguing, I’m just trying to understand why you won’t let me go on patrol.”

“Because–” Maria starts.

“Because what? Ellie goes on patrol!”

“That’s different,” Joel mutters.

I avert my gaze towards him and ask, “How? How is it different?”

“Your mom died while out on patrol,” he continues.

“From what I know, combat skills aren’t hereditary. Y’all can teach me! Ellie can teach me.”

Ellie stays silent. I suddenly feel bad for jamming her into our conversation. She sits next to me and places her hand on my hand, forcing my trembling fingers to die down. She leans in and tries to whisper something in my ear, but I shove her away and continue with the conversation between me and the adults.

“Stop trying to fight this, Clementine,” Tommy tells me.

“But you can teach me! How do you know I’ll die if you don’t teach me how to defend myself?”

“Your mother knew how to defend herself,” Maria says, but before she can continue, I cut her off.

“Okay then! So teach me how to defend myself.”

“But she was stupid and got herself killed. And I’d rather keep you locked in Jackson than have you do the same.”

“So I’m stupid?” I ask. The color drains out of my face and leaves me as pale as a ghost. I’ve always been mistaken for Tommy and Maria’s daughter due to my skin color, but now that my color has drained from my body, I feel like everything that used to connect me to this couple is gone. “You think that because my mom died stupidly, I’ll do the same?”

Maria shuts her eyes and pulls herself away from the table. She stands up and gathers her and Tommy’s plates. “We’re not talking about this. Talk to your Tommy and leave me out of it.”

Tommy glances at me and I look away, pulling myself away from the table and fleeing. I trip over the chair and try kicking it away, but Ellie latches her hand onto my arm and pulls me around the tipping chair.

She helps me up the stairs as my vision becomes blurred and once we enter my bedroom, I flop onto my bed. She shuts my door and I instantly sob.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Ellie whispers as she plops down next to me and rubs her hands along my spine. “You’re okay, Clem.”

I shake my head. “Fuck them!” I exclaim. “They’ve kept me locked up in Jackson my entire life and expect me not to want to go out? I’m a fucking human, not a pet!”

“They just want to keep you safe, Clem.”

I drunkenly disobey, pushing her off and scooting up to the back of my bed. She crawls towards me and sits in front of my legs. She places her hands on top of my knees and slowly rubs her thumbs along the grooves.

“Leave me alone,” I whisper.

“Nothing they said was true,” she tells me.

I look up at her with a frown. “How do you know that?”

“You’re the smartest girl I know, Clem.”

I roll my eyes.

Ellie slaps my knee and cowers over me. “I mean it. You’re incredibly intelligent with animals. You practically speak to them!”

“I’m telling you, I’m weird.”

She shakes her head and places her hands on both of my knees. She spreads them apart and crawls between them. I gulp down the nervousness cinching my throat and try to push myself back against my bed. But I’m already against the wall.

I’ve wanted this ever since I met Ellie. Sure, it was inappropriate for a fourteen-year-old to be thinking about this very moment where Ellie kisses me, but I couldn’t just knock those thoughts away. They have been imprinted onto my mind ever since, and now it’s happening.

Or maybe not. We’re drunk. But I so badly want this.

“What’s so bad about being weird?” she asks me in a seductive tone that makes an awful whining noise come out of my throat. She chuckles and lowers her head even more. “What was that?”

I shrug. “I’m nervous,” I say. “And we’re drunk.”

“And what about this is making you nervous?”

“It looks like you want to kiss me…” I whisper.

“And what if I do?”

I raise an eyebrow.

Ellie places her lips on my forehead and smoothes the wrinkles lining my skin. “You are nothing they say you are. You’re intelligent, you’re beautifully weird and you I know you’d be one badass fighter.”

I look up at her, our lips mere centimeters apart, and frown. “Then why don’t they see that?”

Ellie’s fingers move up from the bottom of my neck up to my cheeks. She rubs her thumbs along my lips and whispers, “They do, I promise you they do, Clem. I think maybe they don’t want to risk losing you, even if they can show you how to be a badass warrior.”

I crack a smile, even though it might be the fakest one I’ve ever put on. She must notice, though, because she leans in as close as she can. “If I kiss you, is there a chance this frown will disappear?”

I lick my lips and stare up at her dark eyes that seem to seep into my body. “Maybe,” I whisper, and allow her lips to sink into mine.

Her hands wrap around my cheeks and mine wrap around her hair. She pushes me down into my bed and I slowly lean back, wrapping my legs around her waist. I act needy, because I am. I kiss her like I’ve always dreamed of, with my lips following hers and opening up my mouth when she wants to dart her tongue in.

I’ve kissed one person before Ellie, but it was to get her off my mind. She was spinning in my head, owning every single crevice of my brain. I used to think it was on purpose–the universe was trying to drive me mad before the walls of Jackson did. But now I think… Well, I don’t know what the universe was trying to do. What I do know is that all those times I made out with Kennedy was to prepare me for the making out Ellie and I are doing.

The kissing between Ellie and I is fervent. She’s kissing my lips, sucking my bottom lip, kissing along my neck down to my collarbones. She’s trying to pull a leg over one of mine so she can–what I assume–hump it, but before she does, I pull away.

“Maybe let’s go back down,” I whisper, out of breath.

She pulls her head away from my neck and brushes her hair out of her face. “Not yet,” she says. “I have something to tell you.”

I nod. “Do you like me?” I ask.

She chuckles. “Yes, but that’s not what I was going to say.”

I frown. “Oh.”

“I thought that was obvious,” she tells me. “That I like you. I’ve been staring at you ever since I showed up.”

I drop my head in embarrassment and sheathe my eyes with my hands. “I couldn’t tell. I’m sorry.”

Ellie lifts my head with both of her hands and sits on her calves in front of me. She kisses the corner of my lips and pulls away. “It’s okay, Clem. Don’t worry about that right now.”

I nod. “So… then… tell me what you were going to say.”

She nods and drops her hands onto my shoulders, where she rubs my blades. “You remember that mall I told you about ages ago?”

My eyes open wide and I smile. “Yes. The one you found when you went on patrol the first few times.”

She nods. “What if I sneak you out one of these days and take you there? Just us. We can look around and make it memorable for your first time outside of Jackson?”

I nod. I nod like a child who’s just had a tub of sweets. “Yes!” I exclaim, but quickly run a hand over my mouth. “Sorry… But yes! We should.”

Ellie nods and kisses me one more time. “How about next Friday? Our dinner will be at 4, and we can sneak out and make it back here by midnight. They won’t even notice we’re gone–they’ll be drunk by eight o’clock.”

I nod. “Okay. Deal.”

Ellie kisses the side of my head and pulls away, crawling off my bed. She walks over to my record station and thumbs through my vinyl records. I crawl to the end of my bed and watch as she grabs one and pulls it out of its sleeve. She pulls the needle up and sets the record down. Then she places the needle back down on the record and we wait for the music to begin.

Ellie turns and extends a hand. “Wanna dance? To get you out of your bad mood?”

I bite down on my lips to hide my smile and nod. I take her hand and she pulls me up, almost launching me into the air. I hold onto her as she spins me around, and once we’re tired, we plop back onto my bed.

I turn my head to her and smile because she’s already looking back at me. “I’m excited about this trip,” I whisper in case anyone is standing outside.

“Me too. I’ll make sure to make it extra special.”

“You promise?”

She nods. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

#ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #elliewilliams x reader #ellie williams x you #fluff #lesbian romance #the last of us #oneshot #romance #ellie williams x reader angst #ellie williams x oc #ellie williams recs #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fanfiction

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sillyrabbit81 · 2 years

Text

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Ten

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Ten Summary: Mike discovers what the other Brothers have been discussing and he and Lori become closer.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 2.9k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Ten Warnings: Mild smut (mostly kissing), some angst, mention of masturbation (male), a bit of fluff

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne .

So here is my attempt at a Mike POV. I hope you enjoy it!

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Nine Part Eleven

Mike

It was hard not to watch Sy and Lori say goodbye without a little spike of envy.

Alright, fuck. I was this close from boiling a rabbit level of jealousy.

But I felt bad about that. Really bad. I owed Sy a lot and I hated that it didn’t stop me from still wanting to be with Lori. Standing outside their room last night was fucking torture. It was sheer force of will that stopped me from trying to sneak a look through the tiny slither of light that seeped through a gap in curtains. And nothing I did had stopped my dick from getting hard.

“I don’t know how he hasn’t killed Walker,” I said to Geralt as I forced myself to watch the street like I was supposed to.

He grunted, but said nothing.

“Think he’ll try something, G? Walker I mean.”

He shrugged.

I glanced back at Sy and Lori and they were looking at us.

“What are they talking about?” I wondered out loud.

“He’s telling her that whatever happens when he’s gone won’t change how he feels about her.”

My face scrunched up, how the fuck did he know that? Then what he said sunk in and my jaw dropped. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It’s hard to take your eyes off her isn’t it?” Geralt asked in that teasing way of his.

“No shit,” I said, tearing my eyes away from them as they started kissing again. “But we should, she's his girl now.”

“Is she?” he asked. “She seems to enjoy the company of us all.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be friendly. I’m not trying to…” I explained weakly and he raised an eyebrow at me.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

I felt my cheeks redden. Hell yeah, I thought about it, especially after the shit I heard last night. I thought about it in the shower after my watch and in the morning while pretending to take a dump so Marshall didn’t know what I was doing.

“Thinking about it isn’t the same as doing it,” I grumbled. “Man, this is so fucked up.”

Geralt hummed. “Is it? Are you really surprised that we’d fall for the same woman?”

“We had an agreement. She’s made her choice.”

“Perhaps she isn’t finished choosing.”

“Man, that's fucked up,” I said again. “You’re fucking crazy.”

The sound of Sy’s softail starting made me look back at them. Sy beckoned us with a short jerk of the head.

Geralt lifted his chin to Sy in acknowledgement, but put a hand on my arm. “Think about it. Has Lori being with Sy made you feel any different about her?”

It hadn’t. Not one bit.

“But he’s my Brother,” I protested.

“And you are his.”

“Is this what you, Sy and Marshall have been whispering about?”

Geralt dipped his head. “Makes sense don’t you think?”

I let out a puff of breath. It did. Strangely it really fucking did. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t crazy.”

Geralt chuckled and let me go. “Since when does the Brotherhood care about doing something crazy?”

Lori wiped at silent tears as we approached. Sy took her bag out of his saddlebags and handed it to me. Geralt took her helmet.

“You ridin’ with Marshall?” Sy asked Lori.

“No, ah, Mike actually.”

“Mike,” he barked. “No God damn showin’ off, you hear me?”

“Told you. I’m not allowed to have any fun.” I said, rolling my eyes and putting my arm around Lori’s shoulder.

I froze as I met Sy’s eyes. Fuck, I started to remove my arm but Sy surprised me by gripping my shoulder.

“Take care of her, okay kid?”

For a moment I was 19 again; lost, confused, really fucking stupid, but most of all desperate to have Sy treat me like an adult.

“You know I will,” I said as solemnly as I could.

“I know, li’l Brother,” he said and the way he said it told me that Geralt was right; Sy knew what was going to happen when he was gone… and he was still going.

I let Lori go and put my hand out. Sy took it and drew me into a hug.

He chuckled as he slapped my back. “I don’t know why I keep callin’ ya ‘li’l’.”

“‘Cause you're old as dirt,” I said, cracking a grin.

Sy’s big paw swiped at the back of my head. I tried to duck but the bastard was fast.

“Dick,” I said, grinning as I rubbed my head.

He didn't hit me hard, none of them ever did anymore. It was something they began doing when I first started hanging around and never stopped. The fact I could never duck them was what stung more than anything.

“Can I call you?” Lori asked Sy.

“Best ya don’t,” he said. “I don’t want anyone knowin’ ‘about you. It’s safer for you.”

Sy pulled Lori into another kiss, he held her so tight I thought he’d crush her spine. I suddenly became very interested in the colour of my motorcycle boots.

Eventually he put his helmet on and climbed onto his Softail. He gave the bike a few good revs, nodded at the three of us then rode away.

He didn’t look back.

Lori watched him leave, motionless, even when he had ridden out of sight.

Ah shit.

I glanced at Geralt, shrugging. What the fuck do we do now? He gestured towards Lori motioning to put my arm around her and I nodded.

“C’mon,” I said as gently as I could while I tucked her under my arm.

She sniffed a little then sighed and leaned into me while I guided her to my V-Rod.

“You’re ok, Babycakes.” I whispered, tightening my arm. I tried to think of something nice to say to her. Something that will make her feel better. “He’ll be back before you know it. The rest of us will take good care of you, I promise. And when we get home, if you want, we could hang out. Watch some movies or play a game or something.”

She hummed softly. “What kind of game?”

Fuck, I’m a total idiot. She’s not going to want to play video games and now I’m going to look like a complete dork. I shoved her pack into my saddlebag and tried not to look at G. I knew he’d be laughing at me and he’ll give me shit later.

“Like computer games or something?” she asked. “I’m not really a gamer, but… You could teach me.”

“Yeah, I mean, if you want. We could just watch movies. You know, if you’re bored or whatever,” I tried to smile at her. I knew my face would be bright red.

“Sounds good,” she said.

“Yeah?” My grin became real.

She returned my smile and wiped under her eyes.

“You’re even pretty when you cry,” I told her.

She laughed softly and shook her head. “Thanks Mike.”

Ok, maybe I didn’t completely suck at this.

We rode hard. My forearms were very nearly shot but we were lucky most of the distance was on the highway. It wasn’t as bad for me as the Brothers. They were frequently pulling back, looking for tails or racing ahead to make sure the path was clear. But we barely stopped all day. Just enough time for pee breaks and to scoff down a burger.

Plus I had Lori. I had her pressed up against me, clinging to me, resting her head against my shoulder. She felt so fucking good.

But I couldn’t enjoy it as much as I wanted to. I could tell she was in her head, not feeling it the way I was. And she was quiet. She barely spoke to me or the Brothers. Shit, she barely even looked at any of us. I tried to make her smile again a few times and while I was able to get her to raise the corners of her mouth once or twice, there was no spark in her eyes.

What did we expect after what she’s been through?

It was still daylight when we pulled into the clubhouse. Lori and I stayed in the garage and the Brothers went to clear the buildings.

Like most clubhouses, the compound was in an industrial area on the outskirts of town. It was deceptively larger than you would think when you saw it from the road. It was surrounded by a high wall, razor wire and a second fence, only slightly shorter and it was covered with more wire. There were a few buildings, a couple of sheds, including a large one that served as Geralt’s workshop, a garage for bikes and a few other vehicles we had and the Clubhouse proper.

I started to check my bike while we waited. The breaks in particular. They had felt a little spongy by the end but were probably just overheated. I checked the mileage and saw it was due for an oil change so I lifted it onto a stand, dropped a drip tray beneath it and sat beside the bike while I let the oil run out.

“You guys have a great collection,” Lori said. She was walking past a row of about ten bikes.

“They’re mostly G’s and Sy’s. They're the real bike nuts. The rest of us roll with it cause it's expected I guess.”

“You look like you know your way around the bike though.”

“That’s G,” I told her, “he taught me how to take care of her.”

She smiled so I kept talking. “Marshall taught me how to shoot and tactical stuff.”

“And Walker?”

“He taught me how to turn the money I make into clean money, and how to get the most out of it. That’s how I got this baby.” I patted my bike, and pointed down the long garage to the few cars we had, “And that purple one over there.”

She grinned, “He should have taught you better taste in cars.”

“That's a 1999 Nissan Skyline GTR V-Spec. There’s only like 10 in the whole country. Legally anyway. That’s a fucking great car,” I protested. And expensive, it cost me a quarter of a million dollars.

Lori shrugged. “I prefer a bit of American muscle.”

“Don’t let Marshall hear you say that,” I teased.

She laughed at that. Blushed too. “Well, speaking of American muscle, what did Sy teach you?”

“Respect,” I said honestly.

She stopped laughing.

I turned back to my bike and checked the chain. “He’s a good guy. I don’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for him.”

“He brought you in?”

“Yeah. I was hanging around downtown near this tattoo shop. A friend I went to college with dropped out and started working there. I’d been having some trouble and thought about dropping out too. Anyway, long story, but my grades dropped and I was having trouble paying my tuition but I was too scared to tell my parents. Eventually, I couldn’t afford accommodation and the shop had an apartment over the top which I thought was empty and my friend started sneaking me in sometimes and letting me sleep there. The manager found out and called the boss.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit. So Sy shows up and I thought, okay, my friend’s going to get fired and I’m going to have the shit kick out of me.”

“My brother would have probably kicked the shit out of both of you.”

“Well, Sy didn’t. He spoke to my friend and once he found out what was going on, he said if I was going to stay, I’d have to earn my keep. Told me to clean and mop the shop, make sure it was tidy. He offered me an apprenticeship after a few months, but I can’t even trace for shit, let alone draw, so that wasn’t happening. He also made me go back to college.”

“So how did you end up here?” she asked, coming to sit beside me.

“I still don’t really know. Sy started picking me up and taking me on little jobs. I guess he was testing me, seeing how I’d react. After a while, he brought me here and G started teaching me about bikes. Apparently I was good at that, so I started working with him instead of at the shop. Later, Marshall started taking me to the range. After I graduated, I was called into Walker’s office and they asked me if I wanted to be a Prospect.”

“So that’s what you do now? Work with Geralt?”

“I have my own shop now. Cars mostly. The guys there work on imports,” I shrugged and grinned at her and she smiled back. “And of course, I do these kinds of jobs with the Brothers.”

“And that's all because of Sy?” Lori shook her head, “He didn’t tell me that.”

“He wouldn't. He’d say I earned it. Or that they only keep me around because they like having a pet idiot.”

She laughed again and I put my arm around her. She leaned her head on my shoulder. My heart started racing, thundering so hard in my chest I thought she must be able to hear it.

I wish I had more experience with girls. It's not that I hadn’t been with girls, but since being around the Brothers, I hadn’t really had to work hard to get them. They seemed to throw themselves at us. More often than not, they were throwing themselves at my Brothers and usually I got what was left. Which was still some top quality pussy I might add. But you could see in their eyes I was interchangeable, I could have been anyone, so I never cared if they felt good, if they enjoyed it. I fucked to get off and that was it.

I wanted Lori to see me, but at the same time, I was terrified she’d hate what she saw. I’d never been with a girl who I actually cared about before and I had no fucking idea what to do. I wanted to do things for her that I have never done for any woman before. And I don't mean that I want to buy her flowers.

She was so out of my league though. Cliche as it is, she wasn’t like the girls I was used to. She was more like the girls I knew in college, the ones who barely looked twice at me, the ones who saw me for what I was; a dumb fucking kid with an attitude problem. I thought I’d left those insecurities behind until Lori showed up.

I wondered what the others would do. Would they just risk it all and kiss her? They’d probably say something that would make her panties drop in two seconds.

I made her laugh, so what? That meant shit compared to what the other guys had to offer. Real experience, real understanding of women, of real, good women, not just the groupies who were attracted to what we represent more than they were attracted to us.

And I was such a fucking loser, asking her if she wanted to play fucking video games like a fucking teenager. So what if I still had a chance with her? I know I’m going to fuck it up at the first opportunity. If I hadn’t done so already. I knew I was headed straight for the friendzone and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do about it.

“The guys are taking their time,” she said.

“They’ll be watching the cameras as well as doing a physical check of the buildings. Might do an electronic sweep too.”

She nodded. Then reached for my hand and looked up at me. “Thanks for today Mike. I enjoyed riding with you.”

My throat felt dry. God she was so fucking beautiful.

I put my hand on her cheek, her skin was so soft, and warm. “I liked it too.”

She smiled. Really smiled. For the first time since this morning her steel-grey eyes seemed to dance; they looked so bright. I ran my thumb over the curve of her cheek as I licked my lips, and leaned into her slowly, giving her plenty of time to push me away. But she didn’t; she closed her eyes, put her hand on my wrist and let herself be guided to my mouth.

My lips brushed hers gently. She was so soft, her lips were like petals, smooth and silky. My hands shook as I felt the pressure of her returning my kiss. I leaned into her further, parting my mouth, capturing her bottom lip between mine. I wanted to taste her, lap at her mouth until she opened and let me in. But I felt her hand on my chest and she pulled away.

“Mike, I…” “Yeah, sorry, I…” we started talking over each other.

My face burned and I turned away. How could I have been so stupid? But she’d kissed me back hadn't she?

She cupped my cheek in her hand and brought my face back to hers. Then she kissed me, softly, her lips stroking once over mine before she pulled away again.

God, I was so confused. Did she want me to kiss her again or not?

Lori put her head back on my shoulder while her hand found mine and she laced our fingers together. I lifted my chin and rested it on the top of her head. She hummed and squeezed my hand, shimmying closer.

Okay, this was nice. Better than nice. I chilled and put my nose into her hair. She smelled so fucking good; fresh and clean and so very feminine. Alright, maybe this is what I’m missing, these moments. Moments where its not about fucking, but something else. Closeness, intimacy, connection or something?

Yeah… this was good. I liked this.

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yonemurishiroku · 10 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/yonemurishiroku/726171882461724672/i-have-excellent-news-for-you?source=share

What r some of ur hcs about this ship?

Ok. I usually don’t spill the beans about what I plan to write (mainly bc I need to keep up the motivation), but this would be an exception bc I always make exception for rarepairs.

Anw. About Clovis and Nico.

I have many jumbling thoughts about them but Ig it all comes down to two things:

1/ Their stories

2/ Their powers, down to their very core.

When I say the stories, here’s the thing

Nico has a lot of history, whereas Clovis does not. Obviously. Nico has been around as the deuteragonist since book 3, whereas Clovis barely makes an appearance. The difference in their screen time is abyssal.

But look at it in the normal way. If Nico was to play a character, what does that make Clovis?

An observer.

Why? Because Clovis, as it turns out, has the potential to be the one who knows the most, seeing as the Hypnos’ cabin is literally the central station of the highway through which all dreams must pass through.

And dreams, essentially, are just fragments of one’s life stories.

So look at it this way. Nico is a character. Clovis is the observer, and from that, a story teller.

- He is frankly a stranger but he may know a lot more about Nico than a mere stranger would. Isn’t that romantic? (A little creepy but let’s not delve on that)

- Nico wouldn’t be alone. He might think he’s alone, but if we take in the assumption that Clovis knows about his struggles, he might offer silent help without prying too much.

Think of it this way. You’re struggling and you’re just so tired but every way you look at is a dead-end. And then suddenly someone comes and takes your hand and opens a new door and you just collapse in their arms crying as they tell you “It’s gonna by okay”

- Clovis is a son of the Underworld too. What does it mean? It means the “ppl don’t like children of hades” doesn’t mean shit. Clovis would be the exception to whatever Nico has had to deal with from CHB.

- Rick makes Nico an insomnia and I’m monopolizing it for Clovico bc not letting Clovis in this is obviously Clovis-erasure. The potential is hitting me in the face. I’m sending Nico off to Hynpos’ cabin at every chance I get.

- Sleep dates every night bc I SAID SO. Nico getting over his touch-fright thanks to piling up in pillows and blankets with the Hypnos children so much.

- Clovis falling asleep during meetings bc he has Nico relaying everything to him later. Bonus point if he is actually laying on Nico’s shoulders and everyone’s like “shouldn’t we address that” but Nico’s like “Shhh” 😭😭😭

- Brewing tea and warming milk for each other!

- Morning routine: opening eyes - “Do u feel like up and shining?” - “Nah” - proceeds to return to sleep until Austin comes rapping on the door

- “We have a date” and all ppl see them doing is just sleeping. JOKE’S ON THEM tho bc they’re having the best dates ever in the dreamland

Which brings us to the second point vvvv

Their powers overlap in one thing, and that is the dreams.

Throughout the series, we have been shown: Olympus, Erebus, Tartarus, Atlantis (idk ab that tho). You know what we haven’t touched?

The dreamscape.

No, not the misleading nightmares/ illusions of Epiales in TSATS. I mean the dreamscape. The land of one’s living mind.

It’s literally a new world right there.

And oh would you look at that. Who could enter this realm? Oh right! Children of Hades and Hypnos.

Nico and Clovis (and other children of Hypnos Morpheus ofc) have a whole world to themselves, no shit.

- Here’s a thing I like ab what Rick did in HOO: Through the dreams, Nico could connect with the Hypnos cabin in general and Clovis in specifics, thousands of miles away from them.

So what does this mean? It means that, no matter where Nico is, he can always find his way to Clovis.

Just fall asleep and then let his dream lead him.

Isn’t that romantic - that the one you love would always be there, behind your eyelids? 🫶🥰 And you can always see them just by closing your eyes?

Nico could be at the other side of the globe and they’d still be seeing, touching each other every day/night. Look me in the eyes and tell me another couple who could do it.

- The whole thing about death being a big, undisturbed sleep. But it’s 1:30 am i don’t have th willpower

- I have a whole thing which is Alice in Wonderland AU but again i have nothing

#nico di angelo #pjo #hoo #toa #yone rambling #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo #clovis #clovico #yone au #yone headcanon #nico headcanon

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chickensarentcheap · 1 year

Text

Lost and Found- Chapter 7

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake and Esme Drummond (established OFC. Although you do not need to read the others to understand this one)

Warnings: angst, mild profanity, brief mention of childhood cancer and death

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @thesirenrealm @residentdormouse @asirensrage @munstysmind @muchadoaboutcj @starryeyes2000 @karimac @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @occommunity @themaradaniels

My tag list is OPEN. Just give me a shout if you’d like to added :)

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/115598767

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t a social call?”

“Is that any way to greet your nearest and dearest?” Nik chides. “Haven’t we progressed to pleasantries by now?”

“I’ve spent enough time with you to know you never call with pleasant news. Or ideas.”

“It’s been a couple of years since I got you into trouble. I thought it was kind of fun. The last time we got together.”

“You and I have very different views on what’s considered ‘fun’. Being caught in the middle of a prison riot isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.” Tyler catches movement out of the corner of his eye; watching as Delaney briefly slides upon the door and sets a mug of coffee down on the deck. And he returns her shaky smile with a brief one of his own; offering a stiff nod when she raises her hand in farewell.

He wants to feel something. Anything. Regret, guilt, humiliation. And while he’s able to acknowledge that he hurt her and should find a way to make amends, he can’t help but wonder if it’s even worth the effort. It’ll never work; the two of them rarely see eye to eye on where their relationship stands or where it’s heading. He will never be the man she wants him to be; he can’t bring himself to open up to her or commit to anything more serious than they’re already experiencing. And she’ll always be in competition with Esme; everything she says and does will constantly be compared to the year he’d spent with someone else.

“It wasn’t THAT bad,” Nik’s voice jolts him back to the conversation at hand. “You got out of there unscathed. Relatively, anyway. And I’m kind of insulted; you assuming I only call under bad circumstances. Maybe I just missed you and wanted to catch up. See how you’re doing.”

“I’m the same as I was when you called out of the blue six months ago. Old, sore, and miserable.”

“So basically the same as the day I met you. Minus the ‘old’. You always did have the personality of a crotchety old man, standing on his front porch with a shotgun, yelling at people to stay off his lawn.”

Smirking, he heads barefoot across the deck and then peers through the window; making sure the kitchen is empty before grabbing the cup of coffee. “Comparing me to Clint Eastwood? That’s a compliment. I’ll take it.”

“It’s nice to see that some things don’t really change. You’re still a smart ass, Tyler.”

“And you’re still a sweet talker. Flattery gets you everywhere.” Taking a swig of his drink, he grimaces at the bitter taste; mumbling profanities as he heads for the edge of the deck and dumps the coffee out onto the grass. “You alright? How’s things?”

“Busy. As usual. The bad guys don’t take days off.”

“Being busy keeps you out of trouble. Or keeps you in it. I know how you get when you’re bored’ all grumpy and shit when business is slow. Nice to hear you’re keeping a roof over your head. What house are you on now? Six? Seven? Last time we talked you were thinking about buying that penthouse in Dubai. Somewhere you could keep your boy toy stashed away. How is he anyway? Did you feed him breakfast and get him on the school bus alright?”

“You’re such a fucking asshole. Remind me why I call you again?”

“Usually because you need me to bail your ass out of trouble. Or you want to get me into some. Like I said, I know this isn’t a social call.”

“Maybe it’s both. Personal AND business. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

“Depends what the business is.”

“First thing’s first. I never bought the place in Dubai. And there is no boy toy. Not anymore.”

“Sorry to hear that. You seemed pretty happy. What went wrong? He got therapy for his mummy issues?”

“He just decided he wanted to go in a different direction with his life. Without me along for the ride. Apparently, I was ‘bringing him down’. He wanted someone he could pamper and spoil and treat like a princess. Someone completely dependent on him. Subservient.”

“He definitely barked up the wrong tree with that one. Things are good, though? Other than that?”

“I’m still as assertive and bitchy as ever, if that’s what you’re asking. And things are okay. I’m still on this side of the dirt.”

“Definitely a good day when you can say that.”

“Things are good. I’M good. What about you, Tyler? How are YOU? And don’t bullshit me. I always know when you’re lying.”

He contemplates telling her about the dreams and the memories; about the immense loneliness and heartache that have permanently staked their claim on both heart and mind. He’d been encouraged by the feelings and the semblance of happiness he’d experienced when he met Delaney; allowing himself to begin a relationship even though he’d made it perfectly clear that it was the last thing he really wanted. He’d been willing to try; succumbing to the pressure piled on by her brother and Koen. And while he’d enjoyed the moments of contentment and the companionship that she provided him with, they were always fleeting; finding himself quickly annoyed by her presence and her often overbearing and suffocating behaviour. Then the guilt would set in; the harsh reality that while she deserves so much better, he can’t seem to totally cut her loose. Not wanting to be alone, yet not wanting her around at the same time; desperately needing space and breathing room. And it makes him feel pathetic. Weak. The fact that his happiness still hinges on a woman who clearly showed she never meant a damn word she said to him; lying about love and her hopes for a future…THEIR future…and conning him in the same way she had so many others while on the job.

“I’m doing alright.” He chooses the easy way out. “ Working a lot of long hours. Putting out a lot of fires. Getting a lot of cats out of trees.”

Nik gives a small laugh.

“And the reno business is going good. A lot of clients on my hands. And more coming on board every week.”

“How are you feeling? Health-wise?”

“I’m in better shape than I've ever been. I feel good, Nik. Real good. Keeping myself busy. Active. Rate I’m going, I might live to be ninety.”

“And mentally?”

“It’s hit or miss. Some days are good, some not so good. It’s a crap shoot.”

“You still on the meds? Are you…?”

“I’m stable, Nik. I keep on top of it. Haven’t had a really bad episode in a while. It’s under control.”

“What about the other stuff?”

“I’m clean. Sober. Haven’t had a drink or gone anywhere near Oxy in four years. And I plan on keeping it that way. Now…” His knees crack as he lowers himself onto the top step of the deck stairs. “… is this where we quit the bullshit chit-chat and get down to why you really called? Because I am staring down a twelve-hour shift; gotta be at the station soon.”

“I have a job for you.”

“I’m retired.”

“SEMI retired. And you said whenever I needed you…”

“I didn’t say ‘whenever’, I said if you ever found yourself in a tough spot. If a job came up that you didn’t have the right guy for.”

“I’m in a tough spot. I DO have the right men for it, but…”

“But? You either do or you don’t. What’s…?”

“There’s a client asking for you. By name. Willing to pay big money.”

“How’d they hear about me?”

“I didn’t ask. But when I told them that I had other men that were more than capable of getting the job done, they wouldn’t hear of it. Your reputation precedes you, Tyler. This isn’t the first time someone has wanted you in the driver’s seat.”

“First time it’s happened since I retired. Did you tell them? That I didn’t exactly have both feet in the pond anymore?”

“It didn’t matter. They said they only wanted you. In fact, they said it HAS to be you.”

“Sounds like they’re pretty determined.”

“They want the best. No one else will do. They won’t settle for mediocrity.”

“What kind of stakes are we looking at?”

“Pretty damn high. You’ll be going against a pretty powerful organized crime family. Hell-bent on revenge.”

“What did the client do? To get themselves on their bad side?”

“They were working a job themselves. Strictly on the down-low. Spent months infiltrating the circle. They had their cover blown last night. I had to get a team together and go in and get them out of trouble. I’ve got them somewhere safe right now, but…”

“You need to get them somewhere safer.”

“I can only keep them here for a few days. It’s a secure spot, but one that’s normally just a refuge for certain clientele. The owner is doing me a huge favour; giving them a suite to hole up in and around-the-clock protection. The goal is to get them out of the country. Take them somewhere far away while my team and I deal with things here.”

“And where exactly is ‘here’?”

“New York City.”

“Jesus Christ, Nik. You know how much I hate the North American circuit. I haven’t been that way in six, seven years. You know I like to stick to things on the other side of the globe.”

“I realize that. But I’m only doing what the client asked for. And that’s for you to handle their case. I wouldn’t have called you if they weren’t adamant about this. And if I didn’t agree that you really are the best person for this job.”

Sighing, he runs a palm along his beard. “What exactly is it you need me to do?”

“Get the client out of New York City. Get them somewhere safe. Keep an eye on them. Until my team and I handle things here.”

“Babysit, you mean.”

“Extract and protect. Tyler, I wouldn’t have called if she…”

“Hold up…hold up. It’s a SHE? Nik…”

“Tyler, they…SHE..asked for you. She’s adamant. It has to be you.”

“I’m not into rescuing damsels in distress. Nik. I’m not some knight in shining armour. I’m…”

“She comes with fragile contents.”

He falls silent; his thoughts turning to his son. That beautiful, blond-haired little boy that he’d left behind while he was sick and dying; choosing the military over his family when they’d needed him the most. And he allows himself to think of the happier times; before cancer ever became a part of their lives. The walks on the beach and the camping and fishing trips and the dreams of his son taking up his love of surfing.

“Tyler…”

“How old?”

“Four. A little girl. Her mother is terrified. Says she can’t trust just anyone with her daughter’s life. All that matters to her is the little one. Keeping her safe.”

“And exactly who are these people? That are after them? I know you said organized crime, but…”

“It’s better we discuss that in person. Along with the payout. How soon can you be in New York City?”

“How soon can you get me a flight”?

“I can get you a red eye. Your time, of course. I’ll set it all up. Contact you when everything is finalized. Can I tell them? That you’ve agreed to take it? Can I give them my word that you’ll show?”

“I’ll be there,” he promises, abruptly hanging up to end the call. And for several minutes he remains on the step; listening to the kookaburras and the rustle of leaves as a stiff breeze passes through the trees. And his chest aches and his eyes close as he once more thinks of her. Of big brown eyes and a freckle-splattered nose and hair that felt like silk when his hands moved through it.

And of the absence of her next to him.

*****

The sweatshirt is faded and tattered. His smell long gone. It had devastated her when it finally happened; preparing herself for the inevitable over the course of several months, yet still despondent when it disappeared entirely. The hoodie had been the last thing she had grabbed before fleeing the shack; snagging it off the back of the armchair in the living room on her way out the door. Wanting something…anything…to remember him by; a token or souvenir that could remind her of happier, simpler times and all of the plans they’d made for their future. And provide her comfort on the hardest of days and loneliest of nights; either wearing it as intended or simply wrapping it around her pillow. Desperately needing to feel him close to her amidst the harsh reality she’d likely never see him again; the mixture of his familiar scent and the warmth provided by the fabric the closest thing she had to being in his arms.

It had been her only link to him. Just a plain and simple burgundy garment that he’d purchased long before they met. The drawstring for the hood completely missing, the cuffs of the sleeves moth bitten and frayed, the fabric stained in various places; remnants of paint and drywall from when he’d been doing much-needed repairs and renovations on the shack. Every imperfection and loose thread served as a reminder of the time they’d spent together; ten months spent getting to know one another and growing together and planning a future. Dhaka had created a solid foundation for them to build upon; beginning with those initial five days in that dirty little hotel and room and ending with those terrifying and life-altering moments on the bridge. Everything that came after served to help them learn about one another and grow together; his long stay in the hospital, her decision to stay in Australia instead of returning to Colorado, and that comfortable little bubble they created inside that run-down little cabin in the outback. Shedding blood, sweat, and tears while turning it into a home; every coat of paint and every inch of new flooring helping to exorcise the darkness and the demons that haunted him for far too long.

Her fingers trace each hole and every frayed edge. The sweater was the one thing she’d refused to leave behind; frantically searching through both clean and dirty laundry baskets and then hastily shoving it into the lone backpack she and Millie had fled with. Choosing those stains and imperfections over the most expensive garments in her closet; the memories attached to it far more important than any price tag or designer label. Alessio had always nagged her to get rid of it; it was far too big on her petite frame, far too messy with its stains and its puckers and tears, far too ‘poor looking’. Despite refusing to get too deeply involved with his family’s illegal doings, he put far too much emphasis on being one of the ‘elite’; obsessed with the image that he not only presented and maintained, but she and Millie as well.

The latter he complained about often; her hair was too wild and untamed, she was too loud and vibrant and should be ‘seen and not heard’ and he was ‘disgusted’ by her penchant for mixing the frilliest of dresses with the sloppiest of footwear. And Millie had been devastated when he’d taken it upon himself to throw out her beloved light-up Spiderman sandals while she’d been at school; crying herself to sleep as her mother cuddled her tight and tried her very best to console her. The next morning, Esme had made it a point of replacing the shoes; buying two pairs and then boldly setting them right in the midst of all of Alessio’s Hugo Boss and Bruno Malli loafers. He had crossed a line and she refused to let it slip; no one disrespected her daughter and got away with it. Those sandals representing everything that is beautiful and perfect about her little girl. Carefree and confident, vibrant and creative, feisty and resilient. And no one was going to strip her of those things and turn her into a watered-down version of who she was meant to be.

He had tried the same nonsense with the sweater; throwing it into the bin in the kitchen and burying it under household waste in hopes of preventing her from finding it. When she couldn’t locate it after an especially long and trying day of attempting to keep up the lies and the fake persona, she’d just KNOWN he was the culprit. And she’d frantically and angrily torn apart every inch of the house in order to find it; tears spilling down her cheeks as she ranted and raved about his refusal to respect her or her boundaries. In his eyes she was being ridiculous and overly dramatic; what kind of sane and rational person is that attached to a cheap hoodie that looked as if she picked it out of a dumpster? She hadn’t bothered to explain; he would never understand and definitely would never try. And she hadn’t wanted to share those intimate details; tales of her real and her immense heartache and guilt over the choices she made just made things far too personal. She was just there for the job after all; not make genuine bonds and actually go through with the wedding. Admittedly, she had enjoyed how he made her feel when he wasn’t being a complete asshole; loved and wanted and cherished. It had been so long since she’d had a man gaze at her in adoration; it was flattering and ego boosting and it did wonders to mend some of her shattered confidence. But there was no way she could ever TRULY care for him. She’d only ever loved one man in her life; with everything she was and everything she had. And she’d wounded him deeply and saddled herself with a lifetime of regret.

Moving on is impossible. Even with the most honourable and respectful of men. After all, how do you love a person when your heart still firmly rests in the hands of someone else?

Her heart is heavy as she slips into the hoodie; a mixture of anticipation and fear co-mingling with the guilt and regret that’s been burdening her for four and a half years. While she’s relieved he agreed to the job and both anxious and excited to see him again, there’s genuine fear gnawing at both stomach and nerves. She worries about how deep the damage may still run; how ferociously he may be clinging to all that hurt and anger. Nik had always kept her informed of how he was doing during the first year; searching endlessly and aimlessly for her, struggling to maintain his sobriety, one moment filled with rage and hate and the other with heartache and loneliness.

She wouldn’t blame him; if -upon seeing her- he changed his mind about the job and turned his back on both her and Millie. She had wounded him deeply; fleeing without explanation and leaving nothing but random articles of clothing, her recently factory-reset cell phone, and an apology hastily scribbled on a scrap piece of paper. Nothing more than a simple and pathetic “I’m sorry”; placed in the middle of the kitchen table and propped up by her favourite mug. It seemed silly; leaving something so trivial behind. But in the back of her mind she’d hoped it would give him some kind of solace; having something that she’d loved and had brought her so much joy. Perhaps he’d even see it as something much deeper; both a reassurance that her absence wouldn’t be permanent, and a promise that she’d one day return to that cup. And to him.

Drawing the sleeves of the hoodie over her hands, she lifts them to her face and inhales deeply. While his scent may no longer cling to the fabric, if she closes her eyes and tries hard enough, she can still remember it. Familiar and comforting, it fills her with a sense of peace and contentment; allowing her to immerse herself in the memories of those much happier, easier times. It’s the smell of home; of safety and security and love. A reminder of the last time she’d ever been truly happy. When she’d been taught what love…REAL LOVE…was all about it. It was patience and it was sacrifice and it was choosing to be together even when all the cards were stacked against them. It was taking the bad along with the good and learning more about yourself than the person you’re with. Tyler had shown her that she was still worthy of love and being loved in return; taking all her broken pieces and every so slowly and tenderly putting them back together. Mark hadn’t destroyed her, he’d simply damaged her. And another man was ready, willing, and able to help her out of that deep, dark hole she’d been tossed into. And when he wasn’t able to, he just climbed down into that hole with her. Loving her when she wasn’t capable of loving herself.

She misses that. That level of adoration. Trust. Acceptance.

Most of all, she misses HIM.

******

A brisk knock comes to the door, followed by Abuela’s voice; soft and full of concern. “Esme? Are you awake?”

She wishes she was; wanting nothing more than to climb into bed and bury herself under a mountain of blankets and stay there forever. She’s physically and mentally exhausted and the ache is intense; her heart heavy and weary as she relives both those happier times and the moment she’d thrown her entire life away. There’d been no other choice; he hadn’t deserved to be dragged into the mess with The High Table and she knew she had to do whatever it took to keep him safe. Even if it meant breaking both their hearts in the process

It hasn’t been easy; attempting to go on with life without him. And at times she still grieves the tremendous loss; torturing herself with thoughts of ‘what if’ and daydreaming about what their life would have been like had everything worked out for the best. It’s an agony she wouldn’t wish on her own worst enemy; to love someone to the very depths of your soul yet be forced to cut them loose. And then spend the rest of your days missing them terribly and constantly wondering about ‘ what could have been’.

“Esme?” Abuela again, her knock more insistent. “Honey, you CAN’T stay holed up in there forever. I know you’re going through it right now and it seems like there’s no end in sight, but you’ve got to at least TRY and function. You’re not sleeping…you’re not eating properly…you’re…”

“I’m not hungry. I just need some time. Alone. Just a little bit of time.”

“You didn’t eat breakfast and you went back to bed the second Millie went downstairs to hang out at the front desk with Charon. Have you been sleeping all this time? It is well after noon hour and…”

Had she really been hiding for that long? Locked away with her memories and her guilt and regret? Had she even fallen back asleep? It’s all so hazy; every moment that’s passed since fleeing her home in the middle of the night is a complete blur. She had expected the news of Tyler agreeing to take the job would brighten her spirits; fill her with hope and optimism and a newfound assurance that everything was going to be okay. But the lingering trepidation has now shifted focus; switching from the desperate need to ensure Millie’s safety to wanting to keep her own heart intact. She had lied the night before; when she told Nik she could handle Tyler having another woman in his life. That she’d be able to cope if all they could manage was being friends and amicably co-parenting their daughter. The truth is that she’ll be devastated; torn apart seeing him in love with someone else and watching them with the adoration and affection that had once been solely reserved for her.

It makes her physically nauseous to even THINK about it. The stress and the fear and the heartache finally catch up to her and she buries her face in her hands and openly sobs. She hates herself for what she’s done; not only hurting the only man she’s ever loved, but putting their daughter’s life at risk. The baby that she so desperately wanted but has kept from him for four years; her own pride and selfishness and fear harming them both. And maybe it’s her punishment for making such horrible mistakes; forced to watch him as he creates a life with someone other than her.

She hears neither the door clicking open nor Abuela’s footfalls as she enters the room, yet suddenly finds herself wrapped in the woman’s strong, motherly embrace. She has been a godsend since the job started; working under the guise of being Millie’s nanny while not only keeping a close eye on both mother and child, but on Alessio’s behaviour and the comings and goings of his family. At a remarkably spry and fierce, sixty-five, Abuela -as she’d told Millie to call her- remains a legend among those in the ‘circle’; long ago given the moniker ‘the death dealer’’ for her lucrative mercenary and weapon trafficking businesses. Highly educated and well-spoken, she personifies ‘never judge a book by its cover’; conning people with an initially meek and mild persona and then quickly becoming their worst nightmare. Tall and beautiful even as she ages; with warm, dark eyes and an inviting smile and a soft, demure smile. But she’s not to be disrespected or underestimated. There were very valid and admirable reasons why she excelled in a world dominated by testosterone.

“Talk to me,” Abuela encourages as she pulls away; smoothing Esme’s unkempt hair from her face and then cradling her face in her palms. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“It’s just too much. It’s just all too much.”

“What is? Take a breath and tell me. What’s too much?”

“Everything. Five years ago, two nights ago…” She struggles to draw breath. “...just…everything! I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked up so bad and I don’t know how to fix it. First Tyler, now Millie. I screwed things up with him and now I’ve royally messed things up as a mom and…”

“That’s bullshit. Utter bullshit. You did no such thing. Millie is fine. She’s settled nicely, she’s almost back to being her normal self. In a couple of days, she won’t even think about what happened. It won’t even bother her anymore. And you know why? Because her mother was right there with her. Through all the tears and the tantrums and the nightmares. That’s what she’ll remember. That you never left her side.”

“I never should have taken the risk. Not with her involved. I know the job. I know how crazy and unpredictable it can be. How quickly things can go wrong. And I never…ever…should have dragged her into that. Knowing the possibilities. I never…”

“You had no reason to believe things that would go THAT bad. None of us did. I know I didn’t see it coming. And I’ve been in the game a hell of a lot longer than you have.”

“No mother in their right mind would have gotten their kid mixed up in this shit. What kind of parent would do that? Get back into this life? When they have someone dependent on them? She’s innocent. She doesn’t deserve any of this. She never should have been put in harm’s way. And I’m the one who put her there!”

“All you’ve ever done is love that little girl. Devote your entire life to her. Your entire BEING. You didn’t intentionally put her in danger. There is no way you could have known how bad things were going to go. Now when it had all been going so well. For months! Esme…” Abuela uses her thumbs to swipe at the younger woman’s tears. “...none of this is your fault. You did nothing wrong. In fact, you were doing everything RIGHT. Things went sideways. It happens. You should know that by now.”

“But Millie. I never…”

“Millie is tough. Like her momma. You’re her entire world. The centre of her little universe. Do you think she thinks any less of you because of what happened? That she blames you? All that mattered to her was that momma was there through the entire thing. Keeping her safe. That’s all.”

“I don’t want her growing up to hate me. I don’t want her thinking…years from now…that I put her in danger. Because I would never do that. Not intentionally. All I’ve ever wanted was to protect. Even when she was still in my belly. Keeping her safe was my priority. And now…”

“And now you’ve taken the proper steps to get her the hell out of New York and to somewhere safe. WITH someone safe. And it’ll do you both a world of good; being far away from this shit show. Now….” She loops Esme’s hair behind her ears, then once more cups her cheeks in her palms. “...you’re no good to that little one of yours if you don’t take care of yourself. And that includes eating. You need to…’

“I’m really not hungry. I….”

“No nonsense from you. No more bullshit. You need to keep your strength. For Millie AND for yourself.”

She allows herself to be guided from the bedroom room and out into the living area. Abuela’s arm wrapped securely around her shoulders, keeping her tightly pressed into her side. It’s attentive and caring. Motherly. The treatment she’d so desperately longed for from her own flesh and blood as a child and beyond. And it’s filled a void that she never realized she had; repairing those final pieces of the wounded little girl and teenager that had never felt wanted or loved. Old, previously gaping wounds that nearly healed; no longer needing reassurance or acceptance from her own blood when she’s surrounded by her ‘adoptive’ family.

And Millie, of course. With those brilliant blue eyes and cheeky grin and infectious giggle. So full of brightness and love and wonder.

“I took the liberty.” Abuela nods down at the coffee table; its surface filled with various cold beverages and a wide variety of Mexican food. “All your favourites. Nothing like a little comfort food to get things back on the right track.”

“I don’t know how much I can eat,” Esme laments, and rubs her stomach in slow, smooth circles. “I’m not exactly in the best shape. My nerves are shot. Everything’s just piling up and piling up. And when I think about how I’m going to come face to face with him in less than twenty-four hours…”

“Just try your best. Believe me, you’ll feel a lot better with at least something in you. You can’t pour from an empty cup, Esme. You’re going to burn yourself out; letting your mind run rampant like that. So just sit…” With a hand on the small of the younger woman’s back, she leads her to the couch and encourages her to take a seat. “...and try and relax and get at least a little bit of food.”

“Millie…” Worry creases her forehead as she furtively glances around the suite. “....where….?”

“Grandpa Winston took her for lunch on the rooftop terrace. And told her he has some flowers that are in dire need of her attention.”

“Millie and her green thumb,” Esme smiles and accepts a cutlery and a plate of food. “Not even four and a half and she can grow anything, it seems. I can’t even keep a simple house plant alive and she’s out in the backyard watering her massive strawberry and tomato plants. She always tells me it’s because she talks and sings to them. Always says, ‘momma, you have to baby them. You have to chat and sing!’ I think she’s just damn lucky.”

“She’s certainly got a knack for nurturing things. Actually, she has a knack for quite a lot, doesn’t she? If anyone ever told me that a four-year-old could draw as good as she does…”

“Her dad’s quite the artist. It’s his secret talent. I never would have expected it in a million years. And then he told me about his childhood and how he loved to draw and how his mom really supported it. She was his biggest fan. His dad…” She chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip; eyes downcast she uses her fork to move food around her plate. “...well let’s just say he didn’t deserve that title. Dad.”

“Not a Father of the Year award finalist?”

“Not in the slightest. He was a horrible person. First to Tyler’s mom, then to Tyler. He had it pretty rough. His dad was a monster. And that’s putting it lightly. He used to worry about being just like him. Whenever we’d talk about kids and if we could see ourselves having any. He’d always tell me that he was scared. Of turning into his dad. And that was the last thing he wanted.”

“And would you say?”

“That it could never happen. That he was nowhere close to being like his father. I understood though; why he felt that way. I just tried to do my best to convince him he wasn’t the monster he thought he was.”

“Because of what happened with his son?”

Esme glances up. “How’d you…?”

“Information is easy to get. If you know where to look and who to ask. I never hired someone without thoroughly researching them. And I taught Nik to do the same.”

“Tyler made a mistake. He was scared and emotionally vulnerable and weak. He admitted that. And everything fell apart after his son died. His marriage, his military career. His sobriety. He was in a pretty dark place. When I met him.”

“Seems like you got him out of it.”

“We got EACH OTHER out of it. I wasn’t in the best shape, either. Between my own marriage disintegrating and the problems with The High Table. And then Dhaka…”

“That was…messy.”

“That’s putting it lightly. Everything that could go wrong, did.”

“Other than that first five days.”

A blush creeps into her cheeks. “You know about THAT, too?”

“Oh, honey. I know about everything. Word travels. And it’s not hard to put two and two together. A woman doesn’t just decide to give up her entire life for no reason. It’s obvious something happened. To make you stick around. Both on that bridge and off it.”

“It wasn’t the right place. Or the right time. But it happened. And neither of us regretted it. Or at least we didn’t five years ago. I know I don’t. He’s still the best thing that ever happened to me. He was the first person that ever made me feel safe and protected. Who I could just be myself with. And he gave me Millie. We created this amazing little human together. No way I could EVER regret that.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t regret meeting you. Or how things went down between you. If you were to ask him, I’m sure he’d say that was the best ten months of his life. You saved him. In every way a person can be saved.”

“And then I turned around and hurt him. He deserved so much better; than how I ended things. He deserved so much better than ME. And I don't know how to make up for it. I don’t know what to say to him. Somehow ‘sorry’ just doesn’t seem to cut it, you know?”

“Just tell him the truth. Tell him about your involvement with The High Table and the threats they made and that you had no other choice. You did what you did to PROTECT him. You said it yourself; he never would have survived their onslaught.”

“He would have fought back. No hesitation. When he told me that he’d do anything for me…anything he had to keep me safe…he meant it. HE SHOWED it. In Dhaka. We barely knew each other and he was more than willing to sacrifice himself so I’d get out of there alive. There’s no way he would have just let them walk in and take me. He wouldn’t have gone down without a fight. And I never would have forgiven myself; if something happened to him.”

“Then tell him that. Tell him ALL of it. It isn’t just black and white, Esme. There are a lot of shades of grey. But once you explain, he’ll understand. That it WAS for the best. And that it wasn’t a decision you wanted to make,”

“I never wanted to go. And I didn’t leave because I didn’t love him. I left because I did.”

“Make sure you tell him that too. And maybe he won’t understand right away…right in the moment…but once you give him a chance to sit back and let everything sink in? He’ll realize you only had his best interests at heart. You were protecting him. In the same way he would have protected you.”

“He may understand THAT, but what about Millie? How do I explain HER? I kept her from him. For four years! For the first eight months, I didn’t have a choice. I had to protect BOTH of them. But what about after? I had so many chances to reach out to him. To let him know about her.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“I was scared. I was worried that he hated me enough to totally turn his back on her. And I wouldn’t have been able to handle that. Him rejecting her. My baby. OUR baby. I realize now how stupid I was. For ever thinking that. Because I know his heart. He’s a good man, AB. A really good man. And he wanted to be a dad again. He was just afraid. There’s no way he would have closed the door on her. Pretended that she didn’t exist.”

“And you think he would do that now? Esme, he’s still that same man. The one you fell in love with. The one you STILL love. I see it in your eyes and I hear it in your voice. It’s all still there, isn’t it.”

“I never got over him. I don’t think I ever will. And I know he’s moved on and it’s killing me inside; thinking about him with someone else. I tried convincing myself that I’d be okay with it; if all we could manage was co-parenting Millie. But the truth is, I don’t think I can do it. See him with another woman. Even if it is what I deserve.”

“And these are things you need to tell him. If there was ever a time to be completely honest, this is it. As soon as you can, you need to sit him down and tell him everything you’ve told me. It’s what he deserves, don’t you think?”

She nods.

“He’s going to be angry and hurt and he’s likely going to lash out. He’s been holding onto all of that for years. And just like you have things that you need to talk about, so does he. Once he’s gotten that anger out, he WILL listen. Because there was a time he loved you very much. Where he would have done anything for you. And I’m pretty sure some of those feelings still exist. If not all of them.”

“But if he hates me…”

“I doubt he hates you. I don’t think he could EVER hate you. I’ve met Tyler. Briefly. When he first started working for Nik. And I could see it in his eyes; all that hurt he was carrying around. But you know what else I saw? Humanity. Lingering right there under the surface. Someone that could still feel. That was still living. Even if he didn’t realize it.”

“That’s what I saw too. When we met. He wasn’t like everyone else on the job. He was quiet and thoughtful. He had a gentleness to him. And that’s what drew me in. The fact he was different. And when we were in Dhaka, I got to see all these different sides to him. That he never let anyone else see. And that was the man I fell in love with. The one that cried to me about his son and the mistakes that he’d made. The one who wanted to kill my ex-husband for doing the things he did to me. The one who looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing on earth.”

“That’s the man you still love.”

“I can’t help it. I can’t stop. I know I should. But I just can’t.”

“There’s no time limit. On when it’s appropriate to get over someone. Sometimes you never do. Sometimes you find that one person that you love more than you ever thought you could love someone. And then you lose them. Unfortunately. I never got over my husband. I still love him. I still miss him. And it’s been twenty years.”

“How did you do it? Move on? How did you get over him?”

“I didn’t. And just because my body is carrying on, it doesn’t mean my heart is. There will never be another. I don’t want there to be. And something tells me you don’t want that either.”

“I don’t,” Esme admits. “I don’t want anyone else. Just him. It’ll always be just him.”

“And that’s what you tell him. I know you’re scared; that he’s going to tell you he doesn’t want the same thing. But you need to take the risk. Because if you don’t and he DOES move on with his life, you’re going to spend the rest of your life kicking yourself in the ass. Isn’t it better to find out where you stand than spend decades watching him with someone else?”

“I guess so. I don’t know. I just…” Setting her plate on the coffee table, she places her elbows on her knees and her face in her palms. “...I just didn’t think this is how it would go. Seeing him again. Telling him about Millie. This is not what I planned for. At all.”

“But this is where we’re at. This is what’s happening. Through no fault of your own. And in twenty-four hours, he’s going to be standing right in front of you. And as scared as you are, I know there’s a part of you that’s excited. About seeing him again.”

“Of course I’m excited. I’ve only spent nearly five years thinking about him. Worrying about him. Missing him. I WANT to see him. But I’m still terrified. About how things are going to go. About what I’m going to say to him. How I’m going to explain the things I did. How I’m going to explain our baby. HIS baby.”

“When he’s here…when you’re finally face to face with him…it’ll come to you. Just speak from the heart. You can never go wrong when you do that, believe me.”

Tears threaten; lower lip and chin wobbling as she attempts to rein in her emotions. “What have I done, AB? What kind of mess have I made? How did this happen? How did it all go so wrong? We were so happy. We were happy and we were planning a future and it just went so bad. We deserved a chance. At a normal life. We paid our dues and made our amends. Wasn’t it enough?”

“Sometimes things don’t go the way we want them to. There’s no reason. No explanation. They just don’t. But honey, you have the chance. To set things right. To get back to where you were. And it’s scary as hell; having to own up to what you’ve done. But that man deserves to hear it, don’t you think?”

“He deserved that a long time ago.”

“Love is a hell of a thing. There’s times it's wonderful and it’s beautiful and there’s times it’s maddening and terrifying. But nine times out of ten? It’s more than worth it. And you’ll never know what he’s feeling if you DON’T face him. Do you want to spend the rest of your life wondering what he would have said?”

“Of course not. Five years has been way too long as it is.”

“He’s not going to turn his back on you. Not after everything the two of you went through in Dhaka. Not after you gave up your life for him. And especially not after he meets that little girl. He’s going to take one look at her and fall madly and deeply in love.”

“I hope so. Because she’s everything that’s perfect and beautiful inside both of us.”

“Even if she does look exactly like him.”

Esme manages a laugh, then uses the backs of her hands to brush wayward tears from her cheeks. “She’s definitely his Mini Me. From head to toe. You know how many times I’ve been asked if I’m her nanny? When we’re out together? There’s not a stitch of me in her. She is ALL dad.”

“I don’t know about that. She’s a strong little thing. Resilient as hell. And stubborn…”

“That’s him too. The stubborn thing. He is the most stubborn human being I have ever met.”

“Other than when you look in the mirror, you mean? Because in case you haven’t been told, you have got to be the most pigheaded person on the planet. I’ve never seen anyone that gets knocked down and keeps getting back up quite like you do.”

“What’s the saying? It’s the little ones you have to watch out for? They’re the ones you least expect?”

“I always say that great things come in small packages. Millie, her mom. Look at everything you’ve been through. Not just here in New York, either. Dhaka, the trouble with The High Table. All the things that could have…SHOULD HAVE…broken you? You beat them. On your own.”

“I had help. In Dhaka. I wouldn’t have survived. If Tyler hadn't been there. If he hadn’t been so willing to sacrifice himself for Ovi and I. He could have left us. He could have just abandoned us and worried about himself. But he didn’t. He was willing to die for us, AB. No questions asked.”

“If he was willing to do that then, think about what he’ll be willing to do for you now. After the year you spent together. After loving one another. After making a baby together. Do you really think he’ll feel nothing? When he sees you?”

“I don’t know what he’ll feel. Good OR bad. I want it to be good. I’d give anything for it to be good.”

“Give him a chance. Even if he doesn’t react the way you want at first…even if he’s angry as hell…give that to him. He’ll come around. I don’t doubt it. In the slightest. He’s a smart man. Smarter than anyone gives him credit for.”

“I always thought so too. That everyone underestimated him. That he underestimated himself. I can’t wait to see him.” Tears threaten once again. “It’s all I’ve wanted. For almost five years. Just to see him. To hear his voice. Just be in the same room with him again.”

“Soon.“Very soon.”

“I just hope he wants the same thing. Who knows; maybe he’s been waiting for this too. I don’t think it’s too much to ask, do you? That maybe he feels the same way? That maybe he’s missed me too? That maybe he still loves me?”

“Oh sweetheart…” Leaning forward in her seat, Abuela reaches across the coffee table; gently cradling the younger woman’s cheek in her palm. “...I don’t that it’s too much to ask at all”

#Tyler and Esme series #Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction #Extraction #Chris Hemsworth #Chris Hemsworth Extraction #Tyler Rake fan fic #Extraction fan fic #Tyler Rake x OFC

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lesbianwillbond · 11 months

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YIPE finally a game that i’m actually ‼️‼️‼️ about. @nickclose tagged me to do a book ask(?) game OFC i’m doing this one

book that pleasantly surprised you: the maid by nita prose!! i don’t remember much of what i thought of it before reading it or reallt after finishing it but i do vividly remember finishing it and closing it and being SO happy bc i liked it so much more than i thought i would. there was one kind of romantic subplot i wasn’t a huge fan of but it was easy to ignore. i should reread it i don’t remember much of it ough……

book that disappointed you: milk fed by melissa broder. i can genuinely say i hate that book. i used to have goodreads (deleted it) and it was the only book i actually left a review on bc it sucked so much. like all the reviews i saw before reading it were good they were like this is such a profound and funny and well-written book but then i just. it finished it and it absolutely drained my soul of any will to live. if THAT book can get published any book can get published i stg. i don’t even care about being brief about my hatred for that book here it is so fuckinh surface-level in its exploration of disordered eating and toxic mother-daughter relationships and queerness and religion. saying there’s ANY exploration in any way gives it too much credit. the character of. i don’t even remember her name she was so unmemorable. the ‘romantic’ interest was so one-dimensional. we learned basically nothing about her other than the fact that she’s jewish and fat and the narrator really fucking fetishizes that to the point that the interest isn’t even a fucking person which is just FANTASTIC storytelling when she’s supposed to be falling in love with her. then the entire second half of the book is just really shit lesbian erotica (if you can even call it that). the scenes weren’t even shit in like the way erotica written by men is shit. genuinely every chapter was like 2 pages and so the sex scenes were just like. ‘i licked her clit then fingered her then she came.’ i’m hardly exaggerating it was the least sexy shit i’ve ever read. it’s just so fuckinh shit from front to back it made me want to claw my own eyes rather than finish it.

current read: the master and margarita by mikhail bulgakov! it’s taken me a while to get through bc i’ve just been lazy but oh my godd it’s a lot of fun and insane and it’s kind of making me lose my mind it’s very good

top 2 books on your tbr: the idiot by elif batuman and before she disappeared by lisa gardner i’m very excited to read them

rec a book to the person that tagged you: oughhh uhhh. i mean i will ALWAYS recommend eileen by ottessa moshfegh (the book of all time) but i think i recall you saying you’ve read it before. i do know you like russian lit so lmao probably the master and margarita (if you haven’t read it yet) it’s fucking insane like i said but its sm fun and it’s really making me want to read more russian lit hehe

tagging @noburden @youngestdaughtersyndrome @nolouisprotested @relaymp3 @nobodysgf and i’m gonna pspspsps betsy come hereeee @indigogirled i miss you. idc if the last thing u guys read was the very hungry caterpillar in 2008 i wanna hear about it.

#idec if the ppl i tag aren’t Readers i’m not just gonna do the ‘tagging anyone who wants to do it’ thing #en

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softguarnere · 1 year

Text

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 6: Nothing to Hide

Summary: Zenie swallows the lump in her throat and nods. “Could have been worse.”

Warnings: language

A/N: Ya girl has been in a Mood™️ today, and since I have a feeling that the storm is gonna knock out my wifi, have another early LAGLAM update, on the house 😉

Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @lieutenant-speirs

March, 1943 – Camp Mackall, NC

Liebgott is the best at cutting hair and his prices are fair. If you’re a paratrooper and you want your hair cut and you want it cut right, then he’s your man. He’ll throw around jokes, talk about camp drama if that’s your style. And if not, he’ll work quickly and quietly through the silence without complaint.

They never talk while he cuts Zenie’s hair. This is mostly on her, because ever since that day in Toccoa when he accused her of being “performance shy”, she swears that every time he looks at her he sees straight through her disguise. She wants a good haircut. What she doesn’t want is for her observant barber to hear her voice up close and realize that – despite all her practice and effort – it’s probably more feminine than it should be.

He's close to being done and Zenie is counting down the minutes. Liebgott might be a nice guy to joke around with under different circumstances, but she’d rather get back to her friends, who are less observant.

Behind her, Liebgott sucks in a breath, and she’s worried that he’s about to say something when Luz rounds the corner, fiddling with what appears to be a stack of papers.

He smiles. It’s duller than usual. “Hey ho, Tommy Boy!”

“Hiya Luz. Watchya got there?”

The radioman looks down, his mouth dropping into an O of shock. Then he smirks. “Oh, this old thing? Just some maps that I’m helping the Black Swan misplace.”

Liebgott snorts, his hands still preoccupied with Zenie’s hair. “Plain sight is the best hiding place. I’d try slipping them into Regimental HQ.”

“Or the kitchens,” Zenie suggests. “He spends a lot of time in there.”

Luz taps his nose. “Those are both good. We have that field exercise tomorrow, and I don’t want him to find them before then.”

“Put ‘em under his own mattress,” Zenie jokes, thinking about the hiding place she used back in Toccoa. No one ever looked under or in her mattress until Eugene started helping her. And who would think to look under their own mattress for missing maps?

The laugh that escapes Luz isn’t as jolly as it usually is. It’s offkey, sour. “Yeah, that’d be some sort of poetic justice.”

Liebgott’s hands pause. “How?”

“You haven’t heard?”

“Obviously not.”

Luz tilts his head, motioning for them to follow him as he shoves the maps into his pocket. Zenie turns to Liebgott, whose eyebrows are drawn in a way that must mirror her own. He gives her a pat on the shoulder and says, “You’re all through, Tommy” before they follow George away.

“Holy shit,” Liebgott says when they step into the barracks.

“Holy shit,” Zenie echoes. Her stomach drops at the sight before her.

The barracks look as if a tornado has swept through them. Mattresses have been toppled off of beds, the sheets that once adorned them tangled together in heaps on the floor. Footlockers have been forced open and toppled over, their belongings spilling out. Socks and underwear are everywhere. Letters line the floors. Even their pillows haven’t escaped the massacre, Zenie notes as she watches a few paratroopers trying to seal up holes in the sides of theirs.

“Fuckin’ Sobel,” Liebgott mutters, taking a step further into the mess.

Surveying the carnage, the room suddenly feels cold, like ice water has been poured down the back of her shirt. Zenie has nothing to hide – no physical belongings to hide, anyway – yet she feels exposed. Her hands shake as she reaches her bed, pulling her mattress back onto it before she searches the floor for her few letters from Bobby.

Thank God none of them call her by her real name or mention her secret.

Thank God for Eugene helping her keep her secret.

Around her, the others are comparing the damage done to their personal belongings, but their voices seem distant. She plucks a sock off of her pillow and busies herself trying to put it into a neat ball. Everyone else is pissed off because they feel like their privacy has been violated, like their secrets have been laid bare. Ironic, that she – with the biggest secret of them all – somehow had nothing to hide and got of scot-free. A trickle of cold sweat runs down her spine as she takes it all in.

“You okay?” A gentle voice beside her pulls her from her thoughts and back into the loud, indignant atmosphere. Gene’s hand is paused halfway to her shoulders, like he was going to place one there to comfort her before thinking better of it.

Zenie swallows the lump in her throat and nods. “Could have been worse.”

They look around at the rest of the company. Someone is complaining that all of his letters are gone. Someone’s socks were stolen. A few men are packing their belongings away for good, readying themselves to be shipped home after what was found in their belongings.

Eugene nods. “Coulda been much worse.”

The deep, throaty croaking of a crow in the branches above her makes Zenie pause mid-step. Back home, the crows that hung around the farm usually only made that noise when someone entered their woods, or when they sensed some sort of perceived danger. She holds her breath and waits. Sure enough, someone – or something – rustles the greenery nearby.

On instinct she crouches and freezes, turning her attention towards the noise.

To her right, a group of paratroopers and a medic are crouched around an unconscious body, giggling and talking quickly. It becomes obvious the second that one of them lifts the body that whoever it might be is unconscious. She almost starts to worry that there has been an actual accident, but when she creeps closer she realizes two things: the paratroopers are pulling down the unconscious body's pants, and that the unconscious body in question belongs to none other than Captain Sobel.

Curiosity satisfied, she turns away and heads back in her original direction. It’s supposed to be a training exercise. No one is supposed to get hurt. Yet she has a feeling that things will be much worse for Sobel when they get into actual combat. Especially since what she just saw is definitely born out of revenge, no doubt about it.

Maybe the next time that there’s a boxing match, Sobel will try his luck and get in the ring. It’s too bad that Bill stopped boxing once he got promoted from corporal to squad sergeant. He’d have a thing or two to show their captain when the gloves were on. Then again, Liebgott’s a hell of a boxer. It probably wouldn’t take much convincing for him to get into the ring and show Sobel what’s what.

That’s what he gets for going through our stuff and taking our weekend passes, she thinks. Remembering the barracks – turned inside out and completely trashed, people’s personal effects strewn everywhere, half of it missing – still makes her throat dry. Thank God for Eugene and his friendship. If not for him, her mattress would have been torn open to reveal rolls of bandages and packages of health sponges, and she would have been . . . Court martialed? Thrown in military prison? Or worse, maybe sent home. She makes a mental note to thank him again for keeping both her secret and any supplies she might need safe for her.

In a different part of her life, or maybe some time back at Toccoa, Zenie might have felt bad about what she just witnessed. Part of her might have felt bad watching Luz and some of the others misplace the Captain’s maps and equipment. If there’s one thing she’s learned recently, it’s that the Airborne is no place for secrets or emotions. She simply tries to numb the feelings, push them down and ignore them, as she plunges into her training.

Ahead of her, she spies more movement that she thinks she recognizes. Sure enough, Popeye turns, allowing her a glimpse of his face through the trees. And beside him moves another familiar figure – one that makes her heart speed up.

No! She swallows, trying to concentrate. These feelings will go away if she ignores them long enough. Then things can go back to normal; she can go on being friends with Shifty without worrying about ruining the whole damn thing.

(Because right now, looking at him is like looking directly into the sun; she feels like she can only do it in glances. She would never ignore him. He’s her friend, and she couldn’t do that to him. Especially when she knows how awful it feels to be the one being ignored. No, it’s just uncomfortable to talk to one of her friends while I think I’m in love with you and I really can’t afford that runs through the back of her mind the entire time. She’s got to find a way to fix this – whatever this is.)

There’s more movement to her left. She turns in time to see the smiling face of Joe Toye.

“Easy, Tommy.” He tilts his head back towards where he came. “Rest of your squad is that way.”

She shoulders her gun and starts after him. Part of her wants to go after Shifty and Popeye instead, but she needs to find the rest of her squad, not follow her heart.

Because no matter how she does or does not feel, here, on the ground, there is only one thing that matters: being prepared to jump into combat. If there’s one thing from her life before the Airborne that is useful, it’s that – as per the usual – her feelings do not matter.

#honestly shocked tumblr let me upload the moodboard with all the rain #Hope y'all are having a nice day btw #lots of love <3 #like a girl (like a man)#my writing #oc zenie mcglamery #shifty powers x original female character #shifty powers x ofc #shifty powers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #joe liebgott #george luz #joe toye

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babacontainsmultitudes · 11 months

Note

hello!!! hope you are well!!!!! asking all the dndads folks this .. what are your hopes / predictions for next episode

Hi you!!! Hope you’re doing well too :]

Hopes and predictions huh? Hmmm…

Haven’t put too much thought into the realm of actual predictions for this one, truthfully! I’m *hoping* it’ll be a pretty Linc-centric episode (well, Linc and Grant!), which feels reasonable enough to expect?

Very excited for whatever Matt is gonna bring to the table more generally, really. Aside from Lincoln just being the bestest fucking boy, I think Matt more than all the other players (granted Beth excels here as well) just does a phenomenal job at remembering the core themes of the show (“Family!!!” I scream from the rooftops, “This is a show about family!”) and accordingly pays a lot of attention not just to the arc of his own character but to that of Grant as well (and of course all the intricate ways in which the two are intertwined)- a fact that I think is obvious just by looking at how many of Matt’s dad and teen facts revolve around Grant actually! But that’s another post lol. But yeah, even in last week’s teen talk he stated:

“I’m sure Scary won’t be happy with Grant but like, I think, the thing I’m more concerned [with] is obviously Grant- is gonna be how Grant feels about himself. Him screaming “no” after he did it is like, that’s rough”

Which is just- ugh it’s everything to me. That to say, I’m really pumped for what’s to come on that front, since I have a lot of faith in Matt to steer things in a direction that is narratively satisfying for both Lincoln and Grant. Also, it’s such a small thing relative to all that’s going on but, I really do hope that Anthony remembers that Grant hasn’t heard Lincoln’s new voice yet lol, I don’t want that to go unaddressed! Ugh I almost wanna go and relisten to “The Staircase” just thinking about all of this- I’ve been waiting for Grant and Linc to confront each other for *SO LONGGG* hahaha. As a final note on Grant, cause if not I could go on forever, in the teen talk Anthony stated:

“(…) I’ve already had some thoughts as to what he [Willy] wrote onto Grant’s collar”

Which seems to imply that the kiddads don’t all have the same thing written on their collars, which is very interesting! Makes me wonder about Lark and Sparrow as well (<- this got me thinking: “what if Lark and Sparrow’s collars had things written on them that forced them to be apart from each other” or something to that effect OUGH that’d be so rad anyways anyways total tangent loool).

*Otherwise*, FUCK ANTHONY BETTER REMEMBER NICKY. Lmaooo he better parachute in at some point in this episode or else!!! I’d love to see him have to confront Terry’s death, I’d LOOOVE to see him confront/interact with Grant, and I really hope that his reactions to either of those things isn’t just “fuck this shit I’m out” and then he poofs away as he is one to do. Especially now that Anthony decided for convenience’ sake that Nicky can’t make portals anymore- at least keep that consistent lmao. If he *did* try to just dip though, my hope would be that Taylor steps in and actually confronts his dad about that trend of his. Because really, ever since Waterdeep when you think about it we’ve seen that Nick has this bad habit of running away from his problems rather than confronting them (granted his behavior is I think pretty understandable in a good chunk of those cases) and so… Well I guess now that Taylor has become more attached to his dad I would like to see him actually call Nicky out on those behaviors and how it affects him as his son and let his dad know that, well, he doesn’t want Nick to walk out of his life again, y’know?

Hopefully that makes some sense haha, didn’t mean for this ramble to be so long! But yeah, I guess those are the main things running through my head atm (I’ve also been thinking about Scary and Terry and how all that shit is gonna play out ofc, but nothing concrete to say on the matter as it stands).

:3 Wbu???

#SORRY THIS CAME OUT SO LONG LOL #dndads #thanks for the ask this helped me put together some thoughts that'd been running through my head that I was too lazy to make a post about #grant wilson #lincoln li wilson #dungeons and daddies #nick foster #nicky freeman #taylor swift dndads #taylor swift #tags tags tags...#But yeah I'm really just along for the ride with this one however it goes I know it's gonna be good I feel it in me bones

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part sixteen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

the aftermath (and after that).

a/n: I swear this is the last time liv and joel will fight for a while 🫠 we’re working through some shit, but we come out the other side! ALSO TUMBLR IS STILL BEING A BITCH AND CUTTING OFF THE ENDING SOMETIMES but not other times?? READ ON AO3 IF YOU CAN!!!!!

word count: 5.8k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, canon typical violence/injuries, blood, treatment of injuries, angst, everyone says a lot of shitty things but we come full circle, unprotected p-in-v (wrap ur shit in the apocalypse folks), let me know if i missed anything!

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new chapters/works!✨

2 months later - May 2009

You’re standing at the stove, nursing a cup of shitty coffee. It’s lukewarm by now; your mind has been wandering all morning, and you keep forgetting about it, leaving it on the counter or the bookshelf or the kitchen table.

There’s too much on your mind, not enough, too much, not enough.

Where are they, now? Are they alive, are they safe? Is he still with—

You shake your head, blink back the tears that have crawled up your throat. It’s the same feeling, every day since it happened. You can’t shake the guilt, the grief, the fear. It just comes back up again the next morning, strong enough to knock you to your knees if you let it. You don’t, most days, but other days, you can’t help it.

The curtains are drawn, mid-morning light filtering through the gauzy material. You should really find something better, something that blocks out the light more thoroughly. Maybe then you could both get some half-decent sleep that wasn’t alcohol or drug-induced.

You’ve done a lot of drinking in the two months, which, given the circumstance, isn’t shocking, but you’re running out of bottles in your stash behind the fridge. Tess has brought you back a few more, but you want to go back to a few places you haven’t shown her yet, and you know full well Joel isn’t about to let you go for a run anytime soon.

Sitting on the couch makes you antsy, so you park yourself at the kitchen table, bringing your coffee with you. There’s a bottle for whiskey on the table, and you reach for it, pour a healthy amount into your mug. The sound of the bottle hitting the table feels ten times louder than it really is, and you sigh heavily as you lift the mug.

From the corner of your eye, you see Joel rise from the bed. His movements are slow, his boots dragging a bit with every step. You see him push his hand through his hair — it’s grown out on the side where you’d had to cut it away, more of a mop than it was before. You should trim it, the beard too, make him look a little less unkempt.

He makes his way into the kitchen, but you don’t turn your head. He stops behind your chair, bends at the waist to brush a kiss at your temple, and carries on to the stove. “Mornin’.”

You return the sentiment, sipping your spiked coffee. You set the mug back down, reach for the bottle again. You can feel him watching. “What?”

“That kind of morning, huh?”

Saying nothing, you top up your mug.

It’s quiet, mostly, for a few minutes, as Joel makes his coffee, fishes a granola bar out of the cabinet. He tosses one to you, too, grumbles something about putting food in your stomach if you’re intent on drinking. You let it sit on the table, right smack in the middle of your map of Boston, and just stare it down.

The scar on your side prickles with memories of the last two months. It’s a strange feeling, not like any of the other scars you have, accompanied by the strange raised lines that spread from the bite itself, spidering out across your skin. The infection, you figure, trying to work it’s way through your bloodstream and failing, by some stroke of luck.

Is that what it is? You’re lucky?

The bite healed easily, once you were able to give it the proper attention. There were other things that took priority.

Another stroke of luck, that Nick’s aim failed him miserably that night.

They both fired at the same time. Joel’s bullet found a home in Nick’s shoulder, knocking him back a step, but Nick’s…

Joel shoved you backwards as the shots sounded, and you sprawled back on the pavement, stuck watching as the bullet from Nick’s gun hit Joel in the head. Horror rose like bile in your throat as he stumbled back, tripped over his boots, landed on top of you. You screamed, scrambled beneath him, grabbing for his head, yelling his name.

“Joel!”

Nick stood there and stared, one hand gripping his bleeding shoulder. His gun clattered to the pavement.

There were fresh tears on your face, your movements frantic as you turned Joel over, tried to see his face. The fear sparked with relief when you saw he was still breathing, saw his eyes were cracked open. The bullet had hit just above his temple, and skimmed along the right side his skull. There was blood everywhere already, pouring down the side of his face, making his hair clump together. You reached for his bag, pulled a bandage out and pressed it against his head. Joel hissed, his hand reaching up to cover yours.

And then Nick spoke.

“Liv, I just—”

Everything in you screamed as you grabbed Joel’s gun from where it had landed, scrambling to your feet and lifting it, pointing it at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His eyes were wide, pupils blown, as he stared back at you. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

You took a step forward, pulled back the hammer on the gun. “What do you think?”

“I’m doing my fucking job, Liv! You’ve been bit, and you think I’m just gonna let you back in here? I can’t, y-you could get people killed. You could turn, you could—”

“I was bit yesterday, you fucking jackass,” you spat, taking another step. There was only a few feet between you. “Why do you think we were out there all night? You know what, it doesn’t fucking matter. It’s not—”

“Yesterday?” Nick repeated, and his eyes got impossibly wider. “If you were bit yesterday…” He trailed off, and you could see the wheels turning in his head. “Liv, that means you’re—”

You took another step, until the barrel of Joel’s gun was pressed right to Nick’s chest. “Don’t you fucking dare. I’m not, as far as you know. You tell FEDRA that I am, and I’ll tell them about the smuggling, about the sneaking out, all of it. I will drag you down with me, Nick, so help me god.” The corner of your mouth twitched, an unkind smile on your face. “Guess I’m just as terrible as you thought.”

Joel called your name, and everything in you froze.

“Olivia.” You couldn’t move, staring at Nick’s face, rage making your gut twist. “Put the gun down.”

Slowly but surely, you did. You shoved it into the waist of your jeans, turned back to Joel. You were both grunting with pain as you got him to his feet. He was pale, his hands shaking as he gripped your forearms, used you as leverage. Worry filled your gut.

When you turned around, Nick was gone.

As quickly as you could, you took Joel home. He held the bandage to his head the entire way, and you supported his sagging weight as much as you could, your side screaming in pain with every step, but you knew whatever you were feeling, he was feeling too. You stopped a few times, propped him against the brick and wiped the blood from his face.

No one dared approach you as you walked. Your guns were hidden, the bat slid between the straps of your backpack, but you paid it no mind. Even the few FEDRA soldiers that crossed your path looked the other way, and it made your gut twist. No one wanted to get involved, risk themselves for someone else, and as you approached the building, you knew you couldn’t go to Deanna. You couldn’t go to Tess or Tommy. You had to help Joel, then help yourself. If anyone saw the bite, it put them at risk. You were already a risk.

Leaving Nick alive was a risk.

Joel nearly passed out on the stairs, and you had to half-drag him down the hallway to your apartment door. He came to again in the doorway, stayed alert long enough to get to the couch, but then he was out again. You hastily threw a clean bandage on your bite, grabbed what first aid supplies you could find, and set to work.

You had to cut his hair, baring the wound along his scalp. There was blood everywhere, sticking to your fingers and clumping his hair together, and you found the cleanest towel you could to wipe it away. He hissed loudly when you wiped at it with alcohol, one hand flying out and curling around your thigh, fingers digging into your jeans. You shushed him, tried to work as quickly as your shaking hands would allow. “I know, baby. I know.”

It felt like forever, sitting there, cleaning the blood from him. It was deep enough in one spot to need a stitch or two, and you were grateful as all hell that Deanna had taught you what she had, that you knew enough to fix it, to make him better. Tears slipped out of his shut eyes as you stitched it, and you fished an oxy out of your stash, pushed it between his lips.

Finally, his breathing evened out. The wound was still nasty-looking, but the blood had slowed, the few stitches you’d given him were holding, and his grip on you was relaxed. Not completely limp, but relaxed. You smoothed your hand over his hair, brushing it away from the wound. Joel mumbled your name, and you leaned down to kiss his forehead, wincing at the pain in your side. You needed to tend to that. “Get some sleep,” you murmured, rubbing your hand across his chest. “I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t nod so much as just lift his chin, but it was confirmation enough, and you got to your feet, taking the first aid supplies with you, heading for the bathroom.

You were a mess, just as blood-covered as Joel, if not more so, crimson streaked across your middle, dragged down your hips, disappearing beneath your waistband. You peeled off your jeans, pulled off the bandage, bit your lip as the pain spiked. Your hands shook as you reached for the rubbing alcohol, tried to stifle your whimper as you poured it over the bite. If you were too loud, you knew Joel would try to come and help, and you didn’t want that. He needed rest.

You’d stashed some of the same medical glue stuff that Deanna had used on you years back, and you reached for that. It stung just as bad as the alcohol, but it seemed to work. The bleeding slowed, you wrapped yourself up, tying the gauze around your middle to keep the bandages in place. You popped an oxy yourself, swallowed it dry, spread your blood-covered hands across the counter.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, and cried.

It wouldn’t stop, as you washed the blood from your hands, cleared away the dirty bandages and towels. You didn’t dare make a sound, didn’t want Joel to hear, as you moved through the apartment, cleaned up. He was out cold, hand dangling off the edge of the couch. You circled back to him every few minutes, hot tears on your face, checked his pulse, made sure he was still breathing. You fished a bottle of whiskey out from behind the fridge, drank until your throat felt raw with it. You perched in the chair across from the couch, watched Joel, eyes glued to the rise and fall of his chest. He was mumbling in his sleep, his face pinched, and you got up, sat at the edge of the coffee table instead. You smoothed your hand over his hair, careful of the bandages, over and over and over until his face relaxed, and he leaned into your touch.

Then someone knocked at the door.

Your heart raced as you walked towards it. What if it was Nick? Or FEDRA? Had he ratted you out? It had been maybe two hours since the alleyway. What was—

“Tess,” you breathed, sighing heavily as you pulled the door open, but the relief was temporary, fresh fear crawling up your throat when you saw the expression on her face. She reached for you, hands wrapping around your biceps.

“They’re gone, Liv,” she said, and confusion prickled at you, obviously clear on your face as she continued. “Deanna and the kids. I just went up there, and the door was open. All of their stuff is gone, and I found this on the table.”

She handed you a piece of notebook paper, folded in half, your name scrawled in an unfamiliar hand on the front.

Tess stepped into the apartment with you, closing the door behind her. From the corner of your eye, you saw her gaze snap to Joel laid out on the couch, but she didn’t say anything as she lead you to the kitchen table, sat you down in the chair as you unfolded the note.

I won’t tell anyone what you are, but I won’t let you put them at risk. Don’t come looking, Liv. You’ve done enough. Stay in Boston. Keep yourself alive. — N.C.

Your hands shook as you read the words, over and over again, as if they might change if you read them just one more time. Tess just stared at you, her eyes occasionally flicking over to Joel on the couch. You laid one hand on the table, shaking so much your fingertips tapped against the wood. “Did you read this?”

“No.”

“Can I have your lighter?”

“Lighter?” Tess repeated, but nodded, fishing it out from the pocket of her jacket. “Liv, what does it say?”

Wordlessly, you took it from her, got to your feet, walked towards the kitchen sink. You folded the note in half again, flicked the lighter, and let the corner catch, holding it over the sink as the flame ate at the paper, until your name curled to ash, until the fire grew too close to your hand and you dropped it into the sink, watched until the paper crumbled into nothing.

“Liv?”

“I need you to understand something,” you said, still staring at the sink. You heard the scrape of a chair, felt Tess moving to stand behind you a moment later. She reached for you, and you flinched, but let her grab your arm, turn you towards her. “Nick took them. I can’t tell you what happened. Ever. Joel’s alive, and I’m alive, and that’s all that matters, but I can never tell you what happened. And I need you to be okay with that.”

She stared at you for a long moment, eyes raking over your face. You held your ground, curled your fingers around the sink to try and keep yourself upright. The air felt still, the both of you just staring at each other, her eyes searching yours. Your side twinged with pain, and you put your arm around your middle, flattening your palm over the bandage. And then finally, Tess broke first, rubbing a hand over her face. “Okay.”

She didn’t stay long. Long enough to have a drink with you, both of you sitting in silence, the only noise in the apartment Joel’s slow breathing and the clink of your glasses. “I’ll cover for you, if Tommy asks,” she said, halfway out the door. “Clearly you two need some rest.”

“Thank you.”

And then she was gone. As soon as the door swung closed, you reeled, planting your hands agains the wood, hanging your head between your shoulders.

They were gone. Deanna, Henry, Emily. Nick. Gone. You didn’t know where; you knew Nick had enough sway with FEDRA that he could get transferred to another QZ if he asked, but taking the three of them with him? That was different. There’s no way FEDRA would sign off on something like that, which meant he was sneaking them out, and instantly, you were so worried you felt ill. The thought of those kids out beyond the wall, it made bile crawl up your throat, and you sprinted for the bathroom, emptied your stomach into the sink.

There was a hand on your head a few minutes later, and Joel sank onto the tile behind you, pulling you back against his chest. You protested, whining as you wiped at your mouth, but he just held you tighter. Neither of you said a word, leaned against the bathroom cabinet, until the sun disappeared outside and the dark was all that remained.

“You need to eat something,” Joel says to you, sinking into the chair across from you. He pushes the granola bar across the table to you, and you just stare him down, lifting the mug to your lips again defiantly. He stares back, his brow going hard before he looks away, pushes his hand through his hair. “You can’t keep doing this, Liv.”

“Can’t keep doing what, Joel?” you throw back, your tone nearly mocking. “Please, enlighten me. There’s a fucking laundry list of shit I shouldn’t be doing — living included — yet here I am.”

He bristles, shoulders going tense. “You can’t keep shoving your shit away,” he says, hand curling around his own mug. “I know that you’re upset, about Deanna and the kids, but they weren’t—” Joel cuts himself off, staring down into his coffee, and now you’re the one bristling, planting your feet on the ground and learning forward.

“They weren’t what?”

He won’t meet your eyes, shaking his head as he keeps staring down into the mug. “Nothin’.”

“They weren’t what, Joel?”

Finally, his eyes lift to yours, and you can’t read them, can’t understand the expression in that dark gaze. “They weren’t your kids, Liv.”

It hits you like a punch to the gut. “I’m sorry?”

“I know that you…that you cared for them, and you helped Deanna raise them, but—”

“Shut up.” The words are nearly spit from your mouth, shoving your chair back and getting to your feet. The whiskey crawls up your throat, buzzing in the back of your mind, threatening to send you sideways, but you grip the table, lean against it. “You don’t know everything that happened here before you showed up, Joel. You don’t know what we—”

“Sarah died in my arms,” he throws back, still sitting, shoulders still tense, still not looking at you. “And I couldn’t do anything to stop it. So don’t talk to me about what happened before, or what you went through. There’s a lot of shit we haven’t told each other, Liv, but don’t you dare try to throw this in my face.”

Your hand curls into a fist, and you press your knuckles into the tabletop. “Oh, you want all the details, Joel? You wanna know how Emily watched her father rip her mother’s throat out, right in front of her? That kid hasn’t said a word since the outbreak, you ever wondered why? And me, well, where do I start? You want the list of the people I’ve killed? The shit I pulled to stay alive after the walls first went up?

“And you, fuck, I should be furious at you. All this time, you’ve been here, right in front of me, but my sister was alive, and you didn’t have the balls to tell me? You’re right, Joel, there is a lot of shit we haven’t told each other, and I let it slide. But Anna? How could you?”

Your voice snaps on the last word, and you don’t bother wiping at your face, tears dripping off your chin, splattering onto the table. He finally stares back at you, his expression still unreadable. “I didn’t want to hurt you any more than I already was, when we got here,” he says, his voice gruff and low. “And then when you got bit, I knew it was the only thing that would stop you from losing it, stop you from telling me to put a goddamned bullet in your head. I’m sorry, that I kept it from you, Liv, I am. I just didn’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Your bottom lip quivers, and you sink your teeth into it, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. “Well, you are.”

With that, you turn on your heel, yanking your jacket from the back of the chair and walking out the door. If Joel calls after you, you don’t hear it.

Your head is spinning with every step you take up the stairs. Deanna’s apartment is still empty. FEDRA tried to shuffle new tenants in a few days after they were gone, but you wouldn’t let them. You expected pushback, but got none, and part of you wondered if Nick had anything to do with it.

Now, you step through the unlocked door, and your heart sinks into your toes. Whatever they hadn’t taken with them has been rummaged through, picked over, anything useful long gone. Not that it shocks you. But there are still remnants of them, Henry’s math homework spread out on the kitchen table, Emily’s pictures taped onto the walls, Lego pieces and Monopoly money scattered across the living room floor. A long-empty bottle of gin sits in the sink, and you wonder if it was empty before they left, or if Deanna needed the liquid courage to agree to go with Nick.

You wander, your hand skimming along Emily’s drawings on the wall. The paper is torn in some places, crinkled in others, and as you move, one of them flutters to the floor, facedown. You crouch down, picking it back up, and your heart breaks even more.

It’s a classic little kid drawing, stick figures of different colours on the page. Four of them, total, each with a name scrawled beneath.

EM. HENRY. DEE. LIV.

Joel’s right, they’re not your kids. You didn’t hold them as they died, you didn’t watch the life leave their bodies. You didn’t give birth to them, but it doesn’t matter. Since the mall, you and Deanna have been the closest those kids have to family. Before Joel had come back, they were the only things keeping you going, and providing for them was what kept you on your feet, kept you going beyond the wall. To keep them safe, keep them alive, keep them healthy. They were your family.

If it weren’t for Nick, you know that FEDRA would have dragged them off to the schools for orphans, that you would have lost them much earlier than you did. But now he’s undone all of that, left you reeling.

Now they’re gone.

You don’t come home, and Joel gets anxious with every hour that passes.

It was unfair of him, to say what he did. He knows he shouldn’t have kept Anna from you, that he should have told you what had happened a long time ago. But the look on your face, the crack in your voice, that’s exactly what he was trying to avoid, and yet here he is. Right where he didn’t want to be.

His hands shake as he props his elbows on the table, leans his face into his palms. The memory of Sarah will forever leave him reeling, and the guilt eats at him for using it against you. He knows how much you loved those kids, knows that their being gone, not knowing to where, not knowing if they made it, it’s not the same, but it’s still awful. The fact that Cowan’s the one who took them from you just makes matters worst.

The scar along his scalp prickles. It’s healed nicely; you pulled the stitches out when they were ready, kept him bandaged, forced him to take it easy. You had enough ration cards to get you by for some time, and while you weren’t telling Tess or Tommy what had happened, Tess showed up once a week with some food, spare cans of soup or beans or whatever she could get her hands on.

He hasn’t told you that his hearing has been off, ever since that night. It took a while for him to notice it himself. Things have been so tense between you since that night, there hasn’t been enough conversation for him to realize something was wrong. It wasn’t until Tommy asked him for help with a job at the other building — a door that needed replacing — that Joel even noticed. His brother had called his name four times before Joel had even responded, and once Tommy said what needed to be said, Joel took a step back, lifted his hand to his ear, snapped his fingers. The sound was there, but it was muffled, like there was cotton in his ear.

Most of the scar is hidden by his hair, and he touches his middle finger to the bit along his temple, the line slightly jagged, imperfect.

You’ll come home, and he’ll apologize. Part of him wonders if he should hide the whiskey, stash the pills somewhere you won’t find them. He’s worried. He’s always worried.

And the ring, the one he found that day in the jewelry store, still sits heavily in his pocket, a weight that follows him around.

He loves you, so much sometimes it’s like he can’t breathe. The world you’ve found yourself in, it’s not fair, none of it.

If he had his way, he’d still be in Austin, with you and him and Sarah all together in that house. You never would have left for Boston, would have stayed instead. He would have asked you to move in at the end of the summer, asked you to marry him by Christmas. He would have done things properly, would have asked your dad for permission first, asked Anna for input on what ring to give you. He would have talked it over with Sarah, made sure she was okay with it.

He would have married you a long time ago.

The clock ticks closer and closer to curfew, you still haven’t come home, and Joel only worries more. Finally, he gets up, pulls his coat on, locks the door behind him. He checks all your usual places; the food bank, the pharmacy, the warehouse that used to be the donation hall. He sees McCoy out on patrol, but the soldier hasn’t seen you either.

It’s not until he’s circling back to the apartment that he runs into Tess. “I saw her heading up the stairs to Deanna’s floor on my way out a few hours ago,” she tells him, crossing her arms over her chest. “What happened?”

Joel gives her the short version, and by the end of it, Tess shakes her head, shoves at his shoulder.

“You’re a dick, Joel.”

“I know.”

“Go apologize.”

The door’s locked when he gets up to Deanna’s. He can see light from under the door, shadows like you’re moving around. He wonders if you’re standing on the other side, waiting for him to say something. Hastily, he runs back down to your apartment, finds a piece of paper and writes a message across it. Then he goes back out, stops in front of the door, bends down and slides the note through the gap.

You can hear him on the other side of the door, the shift of his boots across the floor. You hear the rustle of paper beneath the door from where you’re standing, Emily’s picture clutched in your hands. Still a tear-stained mess, you walk towards the door slowly.

The paper is face up, Joel’s handwriting scrawled across the page.

Please come home.

It’s a few hours still before you find the courage. Joel’s note and Emily’s picture held to your chest, you leave Deanna’s, you boots echoing with every step down to your floor. The door is unlocked, and when you push it open, your heart leaps in your chest.

Joel’s standing at the stove. It smells like spaghetti sauce, and there are two plates set at the table, your place and his. As the door swings shut, he turns to look at you, and you nearly burst into tears all over again. You put the papers on the counter, step towards him, right into his arms when he holds them out to you. You bury your face in his chest, sling your arms around his waist.

“I was a jackass,” he says into your hair, “m’sorry.”

“I don’t wanna fight you anymore,” you reply, resting your hand at the small of his back. “There’s enough shit out there out to get us, Joel, please. I’m sorry, too.” You squeeze him slightly. “What you went through with Sarah, I…” You bite your lip, shaking your head, and Joel pulls back slightly, one hand lifting into your hair, angling your face so he can look at you. “I know losing Em and Henry isn’t the same, but…”

“No, baby,” he murmurs, turning off the hot burners before taking your face in his hands. “I shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have said that. You love them, and I’m sorry they’re gone, and you…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Anna sooner, and I’m sorry I’ve done nothing but fuck everything up with us since I got here.”

“You didn’t fuck everything up,” you tell him, and you both crack smiles, Joel rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks. “The world’s fucked up. We’re fucked up.”

“Still love you though,” he jokes, and you pinch his hip, making him yelp.

“Still love you too, even when you’re a jackass.”

He kisses you then, his mouth warm against yours. You fall into it, letting everything else melt away until it’s just you and him, the world outside forgotten for the moment. You let yourself push away everything that’s happened, losing yourself in Joel as he claims your mouth, his tongue laced with whiskey when it pushes past your teeth.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he mumbles against your lips, the words broken up by your insistent mouth. He walks you back until your ass hits the kitchen table, and you slide on top of it, wrapping around him when he lifts your legs around his hips, your arms around his neck. He drops his head onto your shoulder and you turn yours, your lips glancing across the scar at his temple.

“Dinner can wait,” you reply, pushing yourself against him. You can feel how hard he is, bulging against his jeans, and a shudder wracks through him when you close your teeth around his earlobe, cheat your hand between your bodies to palm him through the denim.

He scoops you up a moment later, one of the chairs toppling to the floor as he makes for the bed, laying you out on top of the blankets. His movements are frantic, Joel yanking your boots from your feet, your jeans down your legs. You reach for his belt with the same fervour, the metal clanging against the floor when you toss it away. He pushes his jeans down just enough to free himself, and then he’s leaning over you, your legs wide either side of him, your back arching until your chest is pressed to his.

There’s no preamble to it, not that you need it. It’s been a while, since you had him like this. Since that night, since that awful tension had formed between you, you’d barely reached for each other, too wrapped up in your own heads, too broken from what had happened.

And when he pushes into you, you nearly cry with relief. You toss your head back against the blankets, arms curling under his shoulders. His own cage around your head, mouth seeking yours as he rolls his hips against yours. You’re nearly blind with the pleasure, nails scrabbling at his back, teeth sinking into his lower lip.

“Fucking christ, Joel.”

“Whaddaya need, baby?”

“Harder, please. Fuck me harder.”

He listens. Joel pulls his hips back, until just the tip of him is nestled inside you, before slamming back in with such force that the air is punched from your lungs. You moan loudly, pushing your face into his neck. He doesn’t let up, giving you that same intense thrust again and again until the bed is creaking beneath you, the mattress shaking with the movement. The pace grows faster, the tip of his cock dragging along that devastating spot inside you until you’re cumming, tangling one hand in his hair as you press your cheek to his, your mouth dropped open as your thighs twitch against his ribs, pure fucking ecstasy rumbling through your veins.

“You got another one for me, baby?” he growls in your ear, and you don’t have words, just a frantic nod as the pleasure ebbs only to ramp up once more when he starts up again, having slowed only slightly to let you ride out your orgasm. The bed creaks louder, wobbling, but you both ignore it, your ankles locked together against the small of Joel’s back as he drives into you again and again.

You pull his hair as you cum a second time, everything inside you going tighter than sin as the second one barrels through you. He growls in your ear, gritting out praise that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You can feel his body start to tense, his mouth dragged across yours, hot breath spilling past your lips as his eyes screw shut, hips stuttering as he spills inside you. You’ll never get over that warmth.

Joel kisses you, both of you spent, and just as he settles some of his weight on you, there’s a loud crack and the bed frame gives out, snapping in the middle, both of you thudding to the floor, padded by the mattress. Joel curses under his breath, and you just start laughing.

“Y’alright, baby?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

You lie there for hours, sprawled atop the broken bed. You only move when the position makes your hips ache, and even then, you’re still holding onto each other. And you just…talk. You’ve done this before — the night he admitted he couldn’t stay away from you — but there are new stories, things you haven’t told each other, things you were too ashamed to share, gaps in your timelines filled in. You both ask the other questions, pry as much as you dare, but you’re both laid completely bare to each other by the end of it — your pasts, your sins, your regrets, it’s all right there in the open.

And after, when hunger has gotten the best of you both, you disentangle slowly, sliding towards the edge of the now much lower mattress. You’re pulling your boots back on, Joel stood in front of you, when he slowly sinks back down, onto his knees, fitting himself between your legs.

“There’s one more thing I gotta ask you, Liv,” he says, and your brow furrows as he reaches into the pocket of his jeans.

The ring is simple, rose gold etched with flowers, glinting in the streetlight coming in through the window. Your whole body stalls, breath hitching in your throat as he holds it up, pinched between his index finger and his thumb.

“Will you marry me?”

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(tumblr has been eating the last few paragraphs of my posts lately

idk why

i’m doing this to hopefully avoid that

read on ao3 if you can just in case!)

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