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fangswbenefits · 4 months

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The Arrangement (9) - The Arrangement

Chapter summary: Ava proposes an arrangement, and things get out of control with Astarion... once again.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Alcohol. Innuendo. Body worship. (almost) Fingering. Sexual tension.

Word count: 6k

Series masterlist . Ao3

Ava extended the palm of her hand across the table, expecting you to comply with her silent request.

But you weren’t so easily swindled, especially when too much of her story was beginning to rub you the wrong way.

As such, you feigned complying by placing your hand atop hers, whilst your other carefully unsheathed the dagger at your hip.

Her face held a honeyed smile that you didn’t return, and your watchful eyes followed her every move,

But before her knife could come close to your skin, you got on your feet, sending the chair sliding across the floor before you made a lunge for her, plucking her from her seat with one hand and pressing her back against the cabinet behind, your dagger firmly held against the side of her neck.

She did try to swing the knife in her hand, but you immediately caught hold of her wrist and squeezed tight until she dropped it on the floor.

“Sharp reflexes,” she noted with a curt smile.

You held her in place with the weight of your body, the sharp edge of your blade ready to slice through her skin.

“You sound surprised.”

She smiled again. “It is uncommon for sorcerers to be so skillful with anything but a staff and fancy hand flourishes.”

“Not many have the opportunity to learn from a seasoned rogue.”

Astarion had taken a liking to honing your dexterity, even when constantly remarking you’d never rival his.

However, in this particular moment, it did come in handy and his teachings had paid off.

“Unfortunately for you,” Ava said, her smile dropping slightly. “You are not the only one with tricks up their sleeve.”

And before you could question her remark, you felt the cool sting of metal tapping against your neck, just above the faint bite marks from the night before.

For a moment, the grip on your dagger faltered, but you quickly regained composure, not easing the blade pressed against her skin.

“This is coated in a most agonising poison.”

You offered a devious smile. “What a coincidence – so is mine.”

“Astarion’s?”

“Touché.”

A homebrew recipe that he had once shared with you.

Travelling together with Astarion had given you the opportunity to broaden your skill set and that covered knowing how to brew most basic poisons.

She did look far too amused for someone who you could easily incapacitate should she stray but a little.

“And here I thought we had made some progress.”

Her taunt made you snap at once. “How much of an idiot do you take me for?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Idiot?”

You pushed harder into her, causing the glass jars inside the cabinet to rattle. “Your story sounds a little too convenient. You were a monster hunter for decades, then had a sudden change of heart, and tracked down Astarion to aid him,” your words were venomous enough to match the poison coating your blade. “I’m sorry if I have a hard time believing someone could just abandon their principles all at once and even go as far as to kill their own kin.”

Her arm was gripping yours, but you didn’t flinch, your eyes boring into hers. “You don’t have to believe me. I wouldn’t either, to be frank. However, you shouldn't be passing judgement when it comes to others having changes of heart.”

You remained silent.

“You took a leap of faith with Astarion, did you not? You trusted him even after learning he could easily turn on you,” she went on, her voice now firm and low. “But he didn’t. He proved he could change, even when it goes against his very nature as a vampire spawn.”

Another wave of anger flared inside you.

How could she even compare this situation to that of Astarion’s? She was nothing like him. She didn’t know the first thing about the two of you.

“You utter sweetened words and use my bond with him to make me sway,” you said in a low warning tone. “But I simply don’t like you. It’s not even about you wanting my blood – it’s how you so easily take and take from him and expect me to compactuate with it.”

Ava scoffed, trying to push you off of her but to no avail. “So is that why you’re here? To stake your claim?”

" Claim? Astarion is his own person.”

She chuckled darkly. “Yet here you are, speaking on his behalf. Enlighten me on how that works.”

Her words tore through your flesh more effectively than the knife she held to your neck ever could.

You immediately let go of her as if suddenly burned by her touch and took a few steps back, falling silent.

Was that the impression you gave her? That you were taking away his free will on this matter? Would he think the same if he knew how close you had been to sinking your dagger into her?

Shame.

Guilt.

Your chest felt impossibly heavy from the weight of your doubts, and you dropped your arm at your side at once.

Ava adjusted her dress as she straightened up, but there was no triumphant smile on her face. “I am not the enemy. You don’t have to trust me – Hells, you don’t have to like me – but he does to an extent, and I already said that I do not take a single drop of his blood without his full consent, as I won’t take yours.”

It was starting to overwhelm you just how hard Ava was to decode. You wanted to trust her word and to believe that helping her with your own blood could be helpful to Astarion in the long run, especially if there were people out there who wanted to hurt both of you.

But you just couldn’t bring yourself to fully digest her reasoning without asking the proper questions and double checking.

You were once told: “Never swallow before chewing.”

“Why did you kill your group, then? Why not just leave?”

Ava’s pleasant features turned sour as she returned to her seat. “There are no fiercest shackles than those of the mind. I know it. Astarion knows it,” she said nonchalantly, placing her knife on the table. “Not that I expect you to resonate with this as I’m sure you’ve lived a sheltered life.”

You’re wrong…

On so many levels.

But you weren’t going to give her leverage on your past.

Not even Astarion was aware of the intricate details of your upbringing.

“Sorcerers are born with an innate talent for magic wielding,” she went on, her eyes fixed on you. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your family in Baldur’s Gate ranked up high with the rest of the nobles.”

You narrowed your eyes, lips still pressed shut.

It was unfair that she was drawing all these assumptions in regards to you when they couldn’t be further from the truth.

There had never been privilege.

The magic coursing through your body was what made you nearly lose it all once…

But silence was your best weapon now.

“Not everyone has that privilege – I know I didn’t. I was forced to do the bidding of others, because that was all I knew growing up until Astarion’s case put things into perspective. Sure, I did expand my knowledge on Alchemy here and there, but I was never allowed to openly practice it,” there was a faint hint of sorrow in her voice that nearly made you feel sorry for her. Nearly. “So long as they lived, I would never be truly free as they would make sure I’d painfully regret leaving them. But I was done hunting those who could use a second chance, which was exactly what you offered Astarion.”

Her answer absolutely floored you.

Your mind wanted her explanation to not make any sense.

You wanted a reason to hate her.

A reason to tear her bond with Astarion to smithereens.

Yet here she was, giving you seemingly truthful justifications to her deeds, which further troubled your heart and mind and completely defied your anger.

Eventually, you slid your dagger back in its holster with a long sigh. “Who’s after us?”

She crossed her legs. “I have my suspicions, but I need more time.

As much as you wanted to take her vague answer at face value, your common sense spoke louder this time.

“How can I be sure you’re not just feeding me some fable to cover up your own tracks?”

She chuckled almost in disbelief. “You truly are a tough one to crack, no doubt. I have a solid alibi, if that is what you’re requesting.”

“Go on.”

She paused briefly as if pondering her next words. “I was with a patriar.”

Hold on…

“Who?” you immediately shot back.

“Someone from the Parliament of Peers.”

Now, this piqued your interest. “ Who?”

“Rob Sorel.”

The wealthy baldurian merchant with an uncanny reputation for being ruthless when his interests were involved? The man whose wealth could easily overshadow that of a duke?

That seemed like a stretch.

A very unsettling stretch.

You crossed your arms. “And what were you doing with such an influential patriar, especially so late at night?”

Ava gave you a long and hard look, lips tugged upwards, unveiling her amusement.

Oh.

“His influence reaches beyond Baldur’s Gate and I am able to gain exclusive access to wares that aid my research.”

You felt tempted to ask what the trade off was, but judging from the way her face twisted deviously, you could tell it probably revolved around carnal pleasure, which you refused to know the sordid details of.“Feel free to have Wyll cross-check this information as I’m sure Rob has mentioned my name.”

This nearly sent off alarm bells ringing in your head. “Wyll had never heard your name before I told him.”

She chuckled again, drumming her nails on the wooden surface of the table. “Oh, but he has . Ava is short for Avalar. I have had long dealings with Rob and he will uphold my alibi. Feel free to ask.”

Against your better judgement, you began to feel less… wary of her.

Not that you were able to fully let go of your gut feeling, but every answer was delivered with almost no hesitancy on her part and, truth be told, you would quickly be able to catch her if this involvement with a patriar was nothing but a desperate lie.

A sudden knock on the door made you jolt in place.

It was Wyll. “We ought to get going. Are you done?”

Your eyes remained fixed on her. “Yes. We're just going over some details.”

He didn't reply again and you saw Ava raise her eyebrows. “Details?”

You ignored her remark. “Will you try to track whoever is after us, then?”

“I will.”

You swallowed. “What's the price?”

She rose to her feet and took slow yet sure steps towards you until she was close enough for you to fully see the olive green colour of her eyes.

“Let's just say our interests are temporarily aligned.”

Bullshit.

“You wanted my blood.”

“I want your blood, yes. But I will settle with running a few more experiments after he's fed on you, if you accept this condition, that is.”

As far as you were concerned, you would rather she stopped meddling with anyone's blood, but Astarion seemed so confident in her promises…

Maybe there was a chance of success… maybe she could truly help with their hunger.

Maybe.

“Only after you tell Astarion about this discovery of yours in regards to his blood mixing with mine,” you said firmly. “Or I will.”

She nodded, offering a sweet smile.

“Don't think of this as payment, though. A mere transaction. An arrangement, if you will.”

You were starting to dread that term as of late. It was as if everything revolved around transactions and that it was the only way people knew how to properly function and establish relationships with others.

Slowly, you nodded and, for the second time that night, Ava extended her hand to you, only this time you took it in yours.

A mysterious smile settled on her lips until you pulled her closer to you, lowering your voice, “I still don’t trust you.”

“I’d be disappointed if you did.”

You glared intensely into her eyes, hardening your face. “Any small step in the wrong direction, and you’ll hear from me.”

She nodded. “Deal.”

Then you gave her a firm shake before letting go and exiting her room without even looking back, as you were in dire need to distance yourself from the overwhelming events of tonight.

Wyll hurried to your side, glaring at you inquisitively. “So? What did you find out? Is she to be trusted?”

“Do you know a woman who goes by Avalar?”

He tapped his chin pensively for a moment. “Avalar? That name does sound familiar. Wait – she is Avalar? The merchant?”

You nodded as you made your way down the staircase, feeling the uncomfortable and draining presence of the mage slayer right behind you.

“She is connected to Rob Sorel, right?”

He hesitated at first, grabbing your arm and bringing you to an abrupt halt as you reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Lord Sorel isn’t one to trifle with idly. If she is indeed who she claims to be, then we must keep an eye on her.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine, already feeling that you might have given her the benefit of the doubt too quickly.

Wyll turned to one of the Fists by his side and gave him a silent command to which the man nodded and exited the tavern.

“She said she was with him on the night we were caught, and that Sorel will vouch for her.”

The commotion around the two of you from the rowdy and very much intoxicated crowd made it nearly impossible to hold a proper conversation.

“I will dig around,” he said with a raise of his voice, guiding you to the door.

But you yanked free from him, which earned a wary look from the other Fist.

“I need a drink. Please.”

The Fist spoke before he could, “My Lord, I don’t think we should linger any longer.”

You rolled your eyes and promptly made your way to the counter, squeezing past a few smelly individuals who grumbled in

Bork appeared rather quickly in front of you, and you blinked twice.

“What can I get you, missy? ”

Wyll was by your side at lightning speed. “Are you sure you want to have a drink? Now?”

You never felt a particular interest in indulging in alcoholic beverages, but you craved it now more than ever.

“A pint, please.”

Bork’s lips parted into a devious smile and you tapped your fingers impatiently as he shifted to work on your request.

“You are not one to hold your liquor, if I remember correctly, my friend,” Wyll noted, already placing one gold piece on the counter. “Mayhap you ought to take a sip or two before we leave.”

He was absolutely correct, but you also needed a quick way to numb your restless mind.

At worst you’d get a bit too intoxicated.

At best, you’d find a way to, hopefully, sleep through what was left of this night.

As Bork set the mug in front of you and eagerly collected his payment, you grabbed it with both hands and proceeded to down the sweet liquid.

In one go.

Wyll’s hand tried to ease your eagerness, but you slapped it away with a chuckle.

“Why do I have the feeling I will have to carry you home after this?”

By the time you were through with the ale, you realised you had made a severe mistake.

If Wyll had not been there to steady your unbalanced feet, you would have certainly tripped on the nearby stool.

Fuck…

By the time you made it back home, it was more than evident you should not have drunk all of it.

But it seemed that your brain was starting to morph a sense of guilt into finding anything within your grasp to be rather hilarious.

Even when you almost bumped into the mage slayer stationed outside your house.

You gave them a wide grin and a pat on the shoulder as if he couldn’t easily split you in half.

Wyll pushed the door open and guided you inside with both hands gripping your shoulders for added support.

“Easy now. Mind the step.”

You completely disregarded his warning, which led to you almost losing balance if not for his strong arm that looped around yours, pulling you back.

You giggled.

He was truly a sweetheart.

Inside, you were met with the dim flickering of a few candles that provided enough brightness to spot the love of your life.

Wait.

Love of your life?

Scratch that. What a ridiculous overstatement.

“What in the sweet Hells took you so long?” Astarion said with a scowl, rising from his chair and heading straight towards you like an arrow.

You giggled again, throwing your arms in the air. “You stayed up and waited for me!”

Astarion halted abruptly in front of you, hands on both hips. “I don’t sleep as I’m sure you’re aware. What is wrong with you?”

Wyll patted your back reassuringly. “She…drank a pint, and – well… this is the result.”

Suddenly, there were two Astarions standing next to each other and you yelped in shock, flinching back.

“Why are there two of you?” you asked, pointing at them.

Both of them cocked an elegant eyebrow. “Two of what?”

Odd.

They moved and spoke in perfect unison.

If one Astarion was already such a headache at times, you couldn’t even begin to fathom what two Astarions would be capable of.

Driven by curiosity, you tried to reach out to one of them with your hand, but grasped nothing but air as your vision corrected itself and only one Astarion was left.

Really odd.

But entertaining.

He quickly gripped your gesticulating arm by the wrist. “Will you stop it? You’ll hurt yourself.”

The sudden proximity made your stomach turn dangerously, but you were far too amused to care. “ You’ll hurt yourself ,” you mimicked poorly, earning another scowl.

“I let you out of my sight for a few hours and this is the result,” he said with a sigh, then turning to Wyll. “Why would you let her drink a whole pint?”

Wyll rubbed the back of his neck. “She insisted, and I figured she could use the distraction.”

“What happened with Ava?” Astarion pressed.

Oh, Gods… not her again. “Will everyone please stop talking about her? Gods!”

He then pulled you closer to him, not letting go of your wrist, but easing his grip.

His beautiful eyes met yours and you felt yourself swoon, feeling the image of Ava dissipating into thin air.

Gods… he was the most beautiful man to ever grace this earth, no doubt.

Books should be written on his beauty and songs should be sung in his honour.

You felt yourself smile widely at him, feeling a rush of heat flood your face.

You’re so handsome…

His brows immediately furrowed.

Oh.

Shit.

You had said that aloud.

But you stood by it.

Astarion was so very handsome.

The only man who could make you yearn for him and have your heart and soul enamoured by all of him.

Then his face gradually softened. "Well, good thing there are no newshounds nearby. Can you imagine the headlines in tomorrow’s paper about the hero of Baldur’s Gate making a fool of themselves?”

You felt so giddy and drunk in his beauty that you just nodded at every word that spilled from those full lips that you wish you could just–

Whatever you say, handsome…

“Where’s Shadowheart?” you heard Wyll ask.

Astarion shrugged. “No one else is here, and it’s not as if I’m their mother.”

He was so snarky and it just made you almost melt under his touch.

“I can stay if need be.”

You rapidly turned to face Wyll, and immediately felt dizzy as Astarion steadied you.

“Please stay! We can have a party!” you suggested with a dramatic pout.

Behind you, Astarion scoffed. “I’m quite sure dear Wyll is busy with his Duke duties, darling.”

Wyll chuckled. “I always make time for my friends.”

“Well, I can take it from here,” he retorted and you could spot a hint of disdain in his voice.

So attractive…

Astarion then lifted your arm and wiggled your wrist. “Say goodbye to Wyll, sweetheart.”

You giggled dramatically again. “Goodbye Wyll!”

He took a step forward and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I’ll be back tomorrow once I have an update on what we discussed.”

Astarion pulled you away from him at once with a gasp. “Keeping secrets from me? Oh, you two lovebirds.”

Hold on!

No! You weren’t that close to Wyll.

As you were about to protest, Wyll spoke, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sound jealous, Astarion.”

“What is there to be jealous of, I wonder?”

You nodded vehemently, finding it utterly amusing how he sounded so territorial all of a sudden.

Adorable man.

Wyll gave a lighthearted chuckle before turning to leave. “Well, I’m sure I can think of a few reasons.”

You laughed way too loudly at his remark, which caused Astarion to click his tongue in annoyance.

Adorable.

The door closed shut behind him, and Astarion immediately spun you on your feet to fully face them.

“What were you thinking? Drinking a pint?”

You couldn’t care less about what he had to say in this moment, and simply glared at his face, your hazy mind reminding you just how much you adored him.

And before you could restrain yourself, the words tumbled from your mouth. “I… I really like you.”

Idiot.

A deafening silence settled around you, and you began to feel an increasing wave of nausea as he merely glared at you.

Then you giggled, trying to disperse the awkwardness as fast as possible.

He didn’t laugh with you, tugging at your hand instead. “I think it’s time to get some sleep, darling.”

Too bad you were clearly incapable of walking in a straight line, which earned his attention. Without a warning, you felt your balance shift rapidly as he scooped you in his arms, effortlessly carrying you along the dim corridor.

“Put me down! Astarion!”

Instinctively, you looped your arms around his neck for support, but still trying to wriggle out of his fierce hold.

“I don’t need to be carried… please put me down,” you whined. “I - I will curse you!”

An amused smile tugged at his lips. “How very ferocious of you. I suppose we should have gotten you drunk more often back then. I’m sure our foes would have fled in horror at the sight of you.”

You slumped into him with a pout. “Mean.”

He pushed the door to your room open with a nudge from his shoulder, before easing you back on your two feet again.

The room was plunged in darkness and you felt him shift away from you, setting alight a single candle next to your bed, and you blinked a few times to adjust to the clarity.

You were now entering the less amusing stage of your insobriety and you could feel yourself scowl at him, clumsily crossing your arms.

“I should have hexed you.”

“Darling, the only thing you’ll be hexing in that state is a doorknob.”

You snorted at his playful jab. “I was perfectly capable of walking!”

“Into a wall? Yes, indeed.”

He then moved back to your side, helping you out of your cloak and quickly wrapping a blanket around you.

The simple gesture was enough to melt your defiant demeanour at once.

The two of you stood there in silence, eyes locked and you found yourself wishing he’d kiss you, but you knew he never would.

Astarion valued consent above all else, and he would not cross any lines. Each time you had gotten ahead of yourself in terms of sobriety, he always reigned you in.

And that was just one of the many things you adored about him.

How safe he made you feel and how you knew he’d never take advantage of your vulnerability.

“You need to properly rest,” he urged, ensuring the thick fabric around you was tucked properly in place.

Just as you were about to head to bed, you felt the room tilt to the left and you yelped, clutching onto him for support.

“I’m going to fall!”

The walls around you began to swirl and sway and your own legs wobbled.

A genuine laughter rumbled across his chest as he patted your back. “You silly little goose. Your warped mind is playing tricks on you.”

That term of endearment caught you slightly off guard and your heart fluttered.

Gods…

Why was he so easy to love?

Or was this the alcohol talking? Were you truly so far gone, that the alcohol was merely making it easier to surface your feelings?

Either way, you wouldn’t voice them, and allowed him to guide you to your bed, helping you to slip under the bedsheets.

It felt rather good being taken care of this way.

Maybe he didn’t think of this as anything but a nuisance, but you were grateful, nonetheless.

“Thank you…” you mumbled in a whisper, gripping his hand.

The ceiling was now begging to spin dangerously fast and you had to close your eyes to help with the overwhelming sensory overload.

He didn’t reply back, but you felt him tugging his hand away from your grasp.

A sudden shiver of panic coursed through your body. “Please stay? You always leave…”

Please…

He relaxed his cool hand against yours.

Slowly, you peeled back an eyelid only to see him easing onto the spot next to you over the covers.

You turned on your side to glare at him and he mimicked you, meeting your eyes in silence.

“How do you feel?”

In love.

“Well…”

He nodded and you smiled warmly at him, probably looking rather silly, but too mesmerised by his face to even look away.

“May I touch you?” you asked hesitantly.

He arched his brow, but nodded.

You lifted your hand and with a single finger, you began to slowly trace the bridge of his nose, admiring how he didn’t just look perfect…

He felt perfect…

“You’re so beautiful…” you sighed, feeling the slight bump of his nose as you trailed down to his lips. “So… so beautiful.”

He chuckled deviously. “I’m all for praise, darling… do go on.”

And you wanted to, but you were beginning to feel lightheaded, and your hand dropped from his face and your eyes dropped close.

“Or not…” you heard him say.

His voice seemed so distant now as drowsiness enveloped your senses. A part of you wished you could trace all of his face with the pad of your finger, worshipping every inch of him.

“Please, don’t leave…” you found yourself repeating.

He clicked his tongue. “I will if you vomit on me.”

You giggled, managing to shift closer to his body and rest your head on his still chest. “Deal, handsome…”

Your heated body welcomed his coldness, and it didn’t take long for your busy mind to progressively quiet down as you drifted off into a pleasant sleep.

It was the soft click of a door being shut that roused you from your sleep. With eyes still closed, you flipped onto your back with a pained groan as your body was hit with the aftermath of last night.

“Rise and shine,” Astarion’s honeyed voice filled the room.

You stretched yourself with a yawn, feeling your mouth dry as sawdust and an overwhelming thirst that nearly made you sob.

“I’m never drinking again…” you whined pitifully.

The mattress dipped slightly next to you. “Well, how do you feel today?”

“Like death…”

“Your breath definitely reeks of it,” he said, voice dripping with disapproval. “I drew you a bath, as I anticipated you’d need one.”

At this, your eyes flew open. “Is this your chivalrous way of telling me I stink?” you grumbled, trying to make sense of your surroundings.

The curtains were no longer drawn and the faint light bleeding from the top and bottom was enough to tell you the sun had already risen.

He took your hand in his, tugging gently until you were sitting in front of him with your legs crossed. “Darling, you’re free to bask in that dreadful stench for all I care.”

You shot him a serious glare before bursting into laughter. “Good point. I need to get off these clothes…”

Astarion helped you on your feet and you carefully paced across the wooden floor and into the washroom.

A pleasant smell hit you as you stepped inside, with him following closely behind.

“I borrowed a few bath salts from Gale,” he informed, pointing to the round tub in the middle of the room, almost filled to the brim with steamy water.

You glared at him in disbelief. “Borrowed as in… stolen?”

He shrugged.

You knew him too well.

“He does have a decent selection, yet manages to always carry the most interesting smells around,” he said, bringing you over to the large basin under a round mirror. “I minced peppermint and it should help with your breath,” he added, handing you a glass of water.

You did as he advised and took a gulp, rinsing your mouth eagerly before spitting the content onto the basin.

“So… are you going to tell me how the conversation with Ava went?”

Wiping your lips clean with a rag, you gave him a look.

“It could have gone worse, I suppose.”

“Charming,” he said. “Worse as in ‘I almost killed her’ or ‘She made me want to pluck my eyes out’?”

“All of the above, maybe,” you said with a roll of your eyes.

To be fair, after hearing her reasoning, she didn’t come across as that bad. But you couldn’t help but to still feel wary of her intentions in the long run.

Astarion was studying your face intensely as you emptied the glass of water to quench your thirst, the minty aftertaste doing wonders to your throat.

“Anything in particular I should know about?”

Besides her wanting to take my blood? Nothing at all, you thought grimly.

You merely shook your head.

“I’ll be waiting outside, then.”

Right.

Bath time.

You took a quick look in the mirror and nearly groaned out loud from the sight of your weary face.

Just as you were trying to strip the shirt you had on, you huffed in annoyance, which earned his attention before he slipped out of the washroom.

“You need help.”

You tried to pull the sleeve, but your body ached too much to comply. “I need help.”

Astarion slowly crossed the room again, and swiftly helped you out of your shirt.

You hissed as his cold knuckles brushed against your bare stomach. “Cold, cold…” you said, teeth jittering.

Being naked in front o fhim had long lost some of its inherent sexual meaning. It used to make you feel too exposed and only when the two of you were about to indulge in one another.

Now, it felt like something casual.

His stare didn’t linger on your breasts for too long or on your now hardening nipples.

“I apologise,” he said with a smile. “Let’s get you out of these next.”

Skilled fingers worked on the front of your trousers, undoing them slowly before carefully dropping on one knee and pulling them down along your thighs.

You had to look away to hide the rush of heat that had settled on your face.

Now that felt too intimate…

He tugged at your underwear next and shiveres began to prickle along your body.

You suddenly felt too exposed.

Astarion had seen you this bare since you last slept together before reaching Moonrise Towers.

And this new predicament had your heart strumming hard in your chest.

You slipped out of your trousers and looked down to meet his crimson eyes. “What?”

“May I kiss you?”

You swallowed. Hard. “Where?”

He leaned in to press his cold lips to the dip of your hip, lingering for a few seconds before pulling away and rising to his full height again.

Gods…

“Do you need my help getting inside?” he asked and you could see it .

You could see the lust in his eyes.

You could hear the faint innuendo in his words.

And you could feel the familiar throb between your legs increasing.

“Yes…”

He promptly gripped your hand and you lifted each leg to dip into the nicely heated water, its surface covered in frothy suds.

Slowly, you lowered yourself into a sitting position before leaning back.

Astarion placed a folded towel under your neck, so you could easily relax against the wooden tub as you sank below the waterline.

“May I wash you?” he asked, settling himself on his knees behind you.

You immediately nodded, gripping the edges and trying your best to ignore the swell in between your folds.

It was almost embarrassing how easily he could turn you on with mostly his words and intonation.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you jolted briefly when you felt a soft sponge being dragged from your neck and down your breasts.

A sigh parted your lips and you arched your back instinctively, just enough to raise your nipples above the waterline as he grazed each of them in circular motions.

You instantly clenched around nothing, knowing fully well that it would have driven him insane had his cock been buried inside you.

A second moan was heard when he started planting soft kisses along your jaw while his hand kept on gliding the sponge down your abdomen.

“Does that feel good?” he whispered in between kisses.

Your legs parted as you welcomed his ministrations.

With his other hand he gripped your jaw and applied enough pressure until the back of your head hit his chest, his thumb caressingly you lovingly.

A strained whimper erupted from you when the sponge reached your folds, deliciously caressing the growing swell in between.

Your hips rolled a few times to increase the friction and you begged the Gods above to have him use his fingers instead…

“Please… Astarion…”

He planted a lingering kiss on your lips, pressing the sponge against you so you could grind desperately on it.

“Does it feel good, darling?”

“Use your fingers… please…” you begged against his lips, squeezing your legs together to trap his hand as you gripped the edges of the tub for support.

He chuckled darkly, dropping the sponge and he had to cover your mouth with his other hand to muffle a loud moan as he slid one finger along your folds.

“Do you remember how many you could take?”

Your eyes rolled shut as lust clouded your senses, hips rolling at a faster pace.

All you remembered was struggling to fit his cock inside at first…

The pad of his finger teased your swell a few times before he moved to place it at your entrance.

“Answer me.”

You could cry from the despair alone as he refused to slide a single one inside.

“I - I… two? Astarion… please… ”

He chuckled teasingly in response, and you

The door to the washroom burst open, causing him to detach from you at once.

Shadowheart.

You let out a yelp, sinking until you were neck-deep in water.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Astarion’s words were dripping with poison.

“Even heard of not greeting people with... that?”

From this position you were almost at eye-level with his lower half, giving you a privileged view of his rather generous bulge, strained against his own trousers.

You felt heat flare in your cheeks as you remembered just how easily he would drip precum for you.

She hurriedly crossed the room and threw a robe at you. “Dress up. Quickly .”

Lust quickly turned into panic from the way Shadowheart glared worriedly at you.

“What happened?”

“Gale is leaving,” she said. “We just received word from Waterdeep that his contact has been killed.”

TBC

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x oc #astarion x f!reader

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sunflowersandsapphires · 3 months

Text

Drunk on You

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: After losing a bet, Frank's drunk night turns into a nightmare when he accidentally leaves a VERY honest voicemail on your phone. (Prompt: "I need to see your phone.")

warnings: swearing, excessive drinking (do NOT do this.), Frank being affectionate

a/n: This wasn't requested by anyone, I just saw this prompt and immediately pictured Frank freaking out about a voicemail he left on someone's phone. A huge shout out to @gracethyomen and @madschiavelique who I forced into beta-ing this for me multiple times. As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated. Thank you!

w/c: 6k (Yah, i know. I got carried away.)

Frank liked to think that he was decently romantic—so it was almost embarrassing that your relationship happened by accident.

He didn’t possess a natural charm, like the one that Red always flaunted, but he could usually hold his own when he found someone attractive. Before…everything, his cocky attitude and unjustified youthful arrogance helped him flirt with Maria. Since the loss of his family, flirting was more of a pastime. Until you.

From the moment you both met, Frank had known that you were different—that you were never meant to be a casual fling. It terrified him, at first, but after many many lectures from Curtis, he was ready to try a relationship again.

Despite that fact, he could never seem to get the words out.

Flirting with you was as easy as pulling a trigger, but being honest and open about his feelings? Never his strong suit. He was just thankful that Curtis believed in boundaries and David was oblivious, otherwise you would’ve gotten the news through the grapevine weeks before he blurted it out.

It all started when David scolded him.

“Language, Castle. This is a family establishment.” His stern tone was completed with a pointed finger.

The two men were seated on opposite sides of the Lieberman’s sturdy dining room table, on the precipice of one of their classic “Family Dinner Spats”–a term Curtis had coined exasperatedly a few weekly meals ago. You, Sarah, and Curt were also currently at the table, nursing your wine while the kids played video games in the living room.

Smirking at David's tone, you raised a brow at the curly haired man. “Can you really call your suburban house an ‘establishment’?”

Frank chuckled at your attempt to defend him, his lips parting around the lip of his beer bottle in a smug smile.

“The house has been established, and there is a family present.” David snapped at you with a no-nonsense look. Looking at his wife incredulously, he threw his hands in a vague gesture. “C’mon Sarah, back me up!”

Sarah shrugged at him, grinning at his defeated groan. Shooting you and Frank a knowing look, she murmured, “We’ve all heard worse.“

Desperate for someone to agree with him, David glanced across the table pleadingly. “Curtis? C’mon man.”

Sighing, Curtis nodded, his lips twitching in a tiny smile. “You do have a foul mouth, Frank. There are children present.”

Frank scoffed, gesturing widely to the two teenagers in the other room.

Crinkling your nose as you stifled a laugh, you nodded solemnly. “They sort of have a point, Frank. Your vocabulary could make a sailor blush.”

Finally vindicated, David crowed, “You practically only speak in curses and grunts!”

The marine gaped. “Christ, I am not that bad.”

Smelling a game, David’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Oh yah? I bet you couldn’t go a week without swearing.

Sarah and Curtis took the vague challenge, and Frank’s responding bitter laugh, as their cue to leave the table, murmuring about cleaning up after dinner and chuckling to each other as they left. You, unfortunately, were far too intrigued to remove yourself from the conversation.

Good thing you were entertained, because David was far from finished with his accusations. “You know what? I don’t think you could even last a single day without that sinfully filthy language of yours, Castle.”

Frank rolled his eyes, but his jaw was tense. “Ya gonna make me a swear jar, Lieberman? What are you, my ma?”

David shrugged, pleased at how easily he was able to get under the hulking man’s skin. “Someone has to teach you some manners.”

You tapped a finger on your chin, meeting David’s roguish gaze. “He’s right though, a swear jar would never compel him to change.”

David crossed his arms. “And you have a better suggestion?”

Frank glanced at you, brow raised in curiosity, lips pursed.

You grinned manically. “Maybe a drinking game? Every curse word he says within 24 hours means he takes a shot.”

The technician erupted in bellowing laughter. “YES!”

Ignoring him, Frank smirked at you. “Tryin’ to get me drunk, sweetheart?”

You placed a hand over your heart in mock surprise. “Don’t tell me you’re chicken, Frankie.”

The large man bristled, straightening his posture as he shook his head. “Course not.”

David was glowing. “So you accept?”

“Uh—“ Frank’s hesitation was quickly settled by your adorable expression, your head tilted at him as you anticipated his next move. “Fuck, I guess.”

Practically screeching, David pointed a finger at the man, looking at you excitedly. “Oh my god, that counts right? That totally counts!”

Laughing as David practically began a victory dance, you raised your glass of wine. ”Let the game begin!”

What had he gotten himself into?

Unfortunately for his liver, the next 24 hours did not get easier.

With the combined efforts of you, Curtis, David, and the various CCTV systems of New York city, the tally landed at 52 curses in 24 hours.

“Holy shit, Frank,” You gaped at the final count, turning to him with wide eyes. “Were you even trying?”

Frank glowered, sinking further into the booth next to you. “Yes.”

“Well, we’re gonna need to change these rules a bit. Otherwise, you’ll need a transplant by next week.” You frowned, eyes glowing with the light of David’s computer screen.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft now, doll.” Frank muttered, the corner of his lips lifting up against his will.

“I’m always soft on you, tough guy.”Your words were earnest, causing Frank's throat to constrict. You raised a hand to pinch his cheek, seemingly unperturbed by his furious blush.

As if knowing he was ruining the moment, David returned to the table with a tray of half a dozen shot glasses. “Who’s ready to get wasted?”

Groaning, Frank dropped his head into his hands—his stomach already churning.

“New rules:” You announced, “No more than 7 drinks an hour.”

“Woah woah woah, who died and made you referee?” David scoffed.

“Everyone who has ever taken 52 shots in one night.” You retorted, refusing to change your mind.

While David began placing a row of tiny glasses in front of him, you took one of Frank's calloused hands in your much more delicate one. He raised his head to meet your serious gaze. “Hey, you do not have to do this. It was a stupid bet.” You were chewing on your bottom lip, his hand itched to cup your face and smooth the furrow in your brow.

“Um, he does so have to do this! I already put my card down. Drink up, asshole!” As David shoved the alcohol towards him, your arm shot out, acting as a barricade.

Looking at him with an inquisitive concern, you stroked your thumb over his knuckles. With a sigh, Frank grasped one of the shots between two fingers, downing it with a grimace.

David cheered. “Thattaboy! Drink up!!”

Biting your lip, you slid a single shot towards yourself and one to David. “If he’s going to do this, he’s not doing it alone. Drink up, Lieberman.” You teased, parroting his words before downing your own shot with a grace that was shocking and incredibly attractive.

“Damn, that’s smooth. You shelled out for us.” You snorted, setting the shit glass back on the sticky table.

Pouting at the tiny cup of clear liquid, David groaned. “I haven’t had tequila since college.”

“Sounds like you made a poor choice of beverage then. Drink!” You grinned at him, face warming as Frank slid an arm around your shoulders.

“She’s gotta point, Lieberman. You’ve dug your own grave. I ain’t drinkin’ another drop until you take that.” Frank smirked, eyes dancing with a mirth that you’d been missing.

“C’mon David!” You encouraged, the curly-haired man across from you finally nodding and downing the drink with a gag.

You and Frank cheered, laughing as he coughed in the aftermath.

“Alright, it’s gone. Your turn.” David nodded to the three remaining shots, crossing his arms impatiently.

Huffing out a breath, Frank tossed all three back, chasing the acrid taste with a swig of the beer he’d purchased himself without thinking. “There, ya fuckin’ happy now?”

“Thrilled.” David laughed. “We’re going to wait…15 minutes, and then I’m going to hustle you in pool.” Setting a timer on his watch, the engineer missed Frank’s exaggerated eye roll.

“Doesn’t a hustle require one party to not know they’re being hustled?” You asked, settling into Frank’s side with a smile.

“I could kick your ass with my eyes closed, Lieberman.” Frank snorted.

“Oh please, it's all geometry–I'm a whiz at geometry.”

Listening to them bicker, you couldn't help but smile. Sipping your beer, you crossed your legs, excited for the upcoming show.

As Frank's inhibitions grew steadily lower, you were joined at the booth by Curtis and Karen–both of whom were humored by the giant man's state, but not free of their own worry.

“Y’all trying to kill him?” Curtis chuckled, eyes focused on Frank's uncharacteristically wide grin as he slid into the booth across from you, beer in hand.

“Trust me, I’ve been negotiating Lieberman down all night to spare his intestines.” You huffed, your own gaze fixated on Frank as he lined up his next shot at the pool table, muscles bulging against his tight shirt as he bent over.

“See something you like?” Karen asked gleefully, lips curled in a smirk.

“Shut up,” You hissed, squirming in your seat as your body was hit with a flash of warmth.

“He's not making this easy for you, is he?” Curtis chuckled, sending Karen a knowing look.

“Does he always get so…touchy when he’s drunk?” You asked quietly, trying not to salivate as you got a perfect view of Frank's ass, his back turned towards you as he played his next turn.

Letting out a bark of laughter, Curtis shook his head at you.

“Oh stop it,” You groused, ignoring your friends' giggles as you slid off of the vinyl bench and made straight for the bar.

“Um whiskey. Neat, please.” You stammered out your order to the bartender, trying not to cringe at how disjointed the words sounded. Your mind was entirely preoccupied by the feelings you harbored for the man currently guffawing behind you. The scraping of glass on wood startled you out of your daydream.

Taking the glass from the bartender, trying not to meet their gaze as they eyed you suspiciously, you nodded a thank you.

Before you could return to your seat, a thick arm wrapped around your shoulders--a sensation that would've been horrifying had it not been accompanied by a familiar voice.

“When did ya start drinkin’ whiskey?” Frank's deep rasp ignited a heat deep in your gut, stealing the words straight off your tongue.

”I-I, uh didn't,“ You squeaked out, shoving the glass to Frank's chest. “I figured you’d want something other than mid-shelf tequila.” Looking up at him through thick lashes, your breath caught in your throat as you met his stare.

Frank's lips were tilted in a small smile, the tension he normally carried in his jaw nowhere to be found. His cheeks were flushed, his hair mussed from running his hands through it throughout the night. Boring into you, his beautiful ochre eyes crinkled with a happiness you rarely saw from the man.

A rough knuckle tipped your jaw upwards, shutting your mouth, which had apparently been hanging open as you admired the figure before you. “Somethin' on my face, sweetheart?”

Tilting his head, his eyes twinkled, his smile growing wider as you remained silent. “No, Frankie.”

“Good. C'mon, I need someone to cheer for me when I whup Lieberman's ass for a third time.” Frank snorted, pressing a kiss to your crown before taking your hand and dragging you towards the pool table.

The rest of the night flew by, a symptom of the intense focus you held on Frank's relaxed drunken nature. He'd been tipsy with you before, so you'd caught glimpses of this behavior from the man previously, but it would always catch you off guard to see him so...easygoing.

It wasn't that Frank wasn't affectionate, he was incredibly sweet, he just wasn't usually so forthcoming with his emotions. Nor was he normally content snuggling with you in public.

Rubbing his nose against your hair, Frank gave a sleepy hum before pulling back to down the rest of the ice water you'd forced into his grasp. His hand was gently gripping your waist, thumb tracing lines over your hip as your friends chatted. Frank was much too tired to be paying any attention, and your ability to retain any conversation topic flew out the window the moment his hand landed on your side.

Watching as his free hand lifted to clumsily scrub at his face, you frowned. “Wanna call it a night, Frank? You look ready to drop.”

“'M fine.” He grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Shit, you'd hoped the water would stave off the impending headache for now.

“The kid's right.” David remarked, smirking at your offended scoff. “If I'm beat, you must be half dead. I'll go close the tab."

"Can the rest of you make it home ok if I handle this one?" You asked, kneading at Frank's neck as he dropped his head to your shoulder with a grumpy huff.

"Yah, we can get David home in one piece." Karen promised, squeezing Frank's arm as she passed. "Goodnight."

"Ok, tough guy. You gotta get out so I can get out," You murmured, nudging the marine as carefully as possible.

Grumbling under his breath, he slid out of the booth, grabbing the table as he listed sideways.

"Christ, Frankie. Hold on, I gotcha." You grunted as he leaned against you, his weight shifting you off balance. Wrapping an arm around his waist in a motion similar to the one he'd made mere minutes ago, you shuffled towards the door. "Ok, Castle, you gotta work with me a little bit here."

As the two of you neared the exit, you heard an indignant squawk from the bar. "I OWE HOW MUCH??"

Chuckling softly, Frank's skull knocked against yours. "We'd better get outta here, sweetheart."

The two of you made it back to Frank's tiny apartment without incident, though the man was stumbling all the way. When you reached his front door, he snatched his keys from his pocket, tossing them at you without a word.

Not expecting the projectile, the ring of keys hit you square in the chest, your chin following them as they crashed to the grimy carpet underneath your feet. Looking at Frank with narrowed eyes, you raised an eyebrow. “Was that really necessary?”

Frank chuckled quietly, his laugh as close to a giggle as it would probably ever get. His half-lidded eyes creased as he grinned at you. “Sorry,” The apology was undercut by the shit-eating expression on his face.

“Drag your ass all the way home, breaking my back doing so–mind you,” You complained halfheartedly, your chest swelling with fondness as Frank’s raspy laughs continued. “And you just throw your shit at me.”

Shaking your head, you let your smile betray you as he kissed your forehead. “You’re unbelievable, Castle.”

“Thanks for puttin’ up with me.” His stubble scratched your skin as he spoke, his lips still resting against your temple.

“Anytime, big guy.” Your eyes fell closed as his hand rubbed over your lower back.

After a minute, Frank spoke again. “Are ya gonna open the door, or am I gonna have to sleep in the hallway?”

“Jesus Christ.” You groused, breaking out of his hold to squat down and grab his keys.

Just like that, Frank was back in stitches, shifting his weight to the door frame as his body shook with near silent laughter.

Shoving the key in the lock, you opened the door and shoved at him gently. "Get in there, goofball."

Shuffling inside, Frank beelined for the couch, collapsing onto it with his boots still on. Rolling your eyes, you followed him in, crouching by his feet to start unlacing his shoes.

Wriggling on his stomach, he craned his neck to look at you. “Whattya doin'?”

“Taking your shoes off, Frankie.” You explained without stopping your actions.

Grumbling, he flapped an arm at you clumsily. “Leave 'em.”

Huffing with exasperated affection, you ignored him. "You'll be more comfortable if I take them off, Frank."

You received a disgruntled noise in response, but his arm stopped moving. Face squashed against a throw pillow, his eyes were closed and his pink lips were parted--soft breaths slipping in and out of them every so often.

Finally pulling his second boot off, you sat back on your heels with a satisfied sigh. Standing as quietly as you could, you strode to the tidy kitchen.

Given that you were well-acquainted with Frank's place, you moved around the apartment with ease, finding the sparse first aid kit that he possessed and making a mental note to bring some supplies by soon. Sure, Frank would manage—he was the most capable man you'd ever met—but you wanted to make his life easier in any way you could.

Which is why you grabbed a few individually wrapped pain pills and placed them on the coffee table, along with a glass of water. Now for the difficult part.

"Frank, I know you're comfy like this but you have to turn to your side for me." You spoke softly, running a hand up his arm and pushing in the direction he needed to turn.

"Hngh..." Frank protested sleepily. "Why?"

Stifling a smile at the grumpy face he made, you continued to push. "C'mon, you big baby. On your side, so you don't choke and die overnight."

Huffing frustratedly, Frank flopped onto his side, glaring at you.

“Thank you. Do you need a blanket?” You asked, laughing indignantly when he flipped you off. “That was an actual question, asshole.”

Standing up, you took a step towards the worn armchair on the other side of the coffee table, nearly tumbling over when a force tugged on your wrist. Eyes closed again, Frank was poorly hiding a smile as he yanked your arm towards him with more strength than his inebriated self should have been capable of.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you feeling nice now?” You grumbled, balancing your weight over him precariously as you tried to escape his hold.

Tugging your arm again, Frank muttered a jumble of grouchy nonsense.

“Christ, Frank.” You snorted, rolling your eyes to the ceiling before sliding your palms underneath his shoulders to shift him over. Squishing onto the couch next to his head, you found yourself smiling as he wriggled towards you, settling his head into your lap with a relieved exhale. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a piece of work when you’re drunk?”

Your murmur was more for yourself than for him, but he responded nonetheless. “M’ria.”

It was far from the first time he’d spoken to you about his late wife, but hearing her name fall from his lips when he was in such a vulnerable state felt like a swift punch to the gut. Regaining your composure, you threaded your fingers into his hair. “Go to sleep, Frankie.”

As your nails softly scratched at his scalp, darkness crept into the corners of his vision, his eyes fluttering closed again.

The next few hours passed like fractions of a dream. A warm pliant surface beneath his cheek, a cool hand running through his hair. A whispered conversation and hushed groans. A loss of contact.

Somewhere in the haze of alcohol-induced fatigue, Curtis appeared, taking over your role as his babysitter. Curt was good at taking care of him...he was a lot less pretty than you were, though.

“Christ, I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that.” Curtis griped, insulted by comment Frank hadn't intended to share, shoving a bottle of some form of sports drink at him. “Drink this.”

Scowling, Frank took a long swig. As he was gulping down the sugary liquid, his eyes locked on a piece of fabric draped over the back of the couch. Setting the drink down, and nearly spilling it all over himself in the process, he grabbed clumsily for the coat, clutching it to his chest when his fingers finally landed around it. ”She forgot it.“

”What?“ Curtis, rubbing a knuckle between his brows, looked unamused.

”Her coat, Curt.“ Frank whispered, holding it out to show the other man. ”We gotta find her. She forgot it. It's winter.“

Shaking his head with a huff, Curtis dropped his head into his hands. ”I'm sure she'll be fine without it for a night. Go to sleep, Frank.“

Frank frowned, still focused on the piece of plastic in his hands.

Grappling his pocket, he eventually pulled out his phone and flipped it open, squinting at the bright screen as it powered on. Scrolling through the list of contacts, he found the one he wanted and dialed.

”Frank,“ Curtis sighed, but didn't stop him from calling you.

Receiving your voicemail, Frank groaned. “Sweetheart, you better not be frozen to death out there somewhere. You left your coat here. You gotta come and get it, ok? I don't want you to be cold.”

”Hang up and sleep, Castle.“ Called the medic from Frank's bedroom. When had he gone in there?

Ignoring his friend's explicit instructions, Frank sighed. “Please come back. I like having you here. You just...you take such good care of me, and I really don't deserve it, but you do it anyways, and--” The phone was snatched out of his hand.

“Frank says goodnight.” Curtis snapped into the phone before ending the call.

“Hey!” Frank glowered, fumbling for Curtis's hand to take the device back.

“Go to sleep, Frank. You can talk to her tomorrow. Trust me, you'll be grateful I took this away when you've sobered up. You don't need to be spilling your secrets to her over voicemail.“ Spreading a blanket over Frank, Curtis glared at him. ”Close your eyes, Marine. I am not playing games with you tonight.“

Rolling to his other side so that Curtis couldn't see him, he smirked at the other man's final snort. ”Real mature, Frank. I'm taking your bed. I'll be out to check on you every once in a while.“

As Curtis retreated into the other room, Frank waited impatiently, staring at the back of the couch until he heard a door close. Grinning in satisfaction, he withdrew his burner phone from his other pocket, opening it up and inputting your number.

“Sorry, Curt hung up the phone. I wasn't done talking to ya. I like talkin' to ya, it makes me feel...god, I'm bad at this. I dunno, sweetheart, you make me feel good...special. I haven't felt that way in a long damn time. But you just make it seem so easy. You make everything seem so easy...”

The intense rolling of his stomach is what ruptured his unconsciousness, igniting a spark of adrenaline powerful enough to carry him to the bathroom so he could collapse in front of the toilet.

God, he felt fucking awful. His head was pulsing with the beginnings of a migraine, his throat burned with acid as he emptied his stomach repeatedly. Moaning with regret, he slapped the lever to flush the toilet, sinking back against the cool porcelain of the bathtub behind him.

“Was wondering when that would happen. David owes me 20 bucks.” Curtis leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom with his arms crossed, smirking at Frank's evident misery.

“Glad I could help.” Frank muttered, digging the heel of his hand into one of his eyes in an attempt to offset some of the building pressure in his skull.

“You look like shit.” Curtis chuckled, passing him a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers.

“Fuck off.” Frank grumbled, rinsing out his mouth before throwing back a few pills.

“Well, clearly you're feeling more like yourself. Christ.” Curtis snorted.

“God, Curt, what happened last night?” Frank grimaced.

“Besides you drinking enough to kill a racehorse? Not much. Unless you count me discovering your collection of burner phones as ‘interesting’.”

Curtis’s words were innocuous, but Frank felt a wave of dread crash over him at the implications.

“What collection?“ He asked mournfully, hoping fiercely that Curt didn’t mean–

“The one you were using to call your girl.” Fuck. “Every time I turned around, there was a new phone in your hands. Can't say I didn't try to stop you from making an ass of yourself, you just managed to do it anyway.”

“Fuck!” Frank cursed. That was exactly what he was hoping to avoid. “Please tell me you're jokin'.”

“Unfortunately not, Frank.“ The other man laughed, but his brow pinched in sympathy. “You're gonna have some explaining to do, I expect.”

“Fuck me. What did I say?” He looked to his friend pleadingly, feeling like his impending doom was perched just over his shoulders.

“I didn't catch all of it, but the parts I heard were pretty damning.” Curtis rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Frank’s intense eyes.

Mustering the dwindling energy he had, Frank lurched to his feet, stumbling towards the door. Thankfully, Curtis caught him when his balance faltered after a few steps.

“Woah, shit, Frank! Where are you goin'?” Curtis chastised preemptively, letting Frank lean against him as he ambled to the foyer.

“To apologize, or delete that message. Whatever needs to be done.” Frank’s jaw was stiff, his voice gruff with fear and discomfort. Undraping his arm from Curt’s shoulders, Frank bent down to grab his boots, halting as the motion caused a spike of pain to shoot through his brain. Clenching his fingers around his thighs, he bit his tongue to keep from hurling again.

“Jesus, Frank. This isn't a goddamn military operation.” Curt scoffed, kicking Frank’s shoes closer to him with a grunt.

Frank huffed a bitter laugh. “You're right, that would be easier.” Squatting down, Frank shoved his boots on and laced them up.

“You need serious help, you know that?” Curtis sighed, only waiting a moment before slipping his own shoes on. “C'mon. I'll drive you.”

Tipping your chin up, you let the final dregs of your latte trickle across your tongue, silently begging for those few drops to contain the caffeine you'd need for the rest of the day. You were practically giddy with lack of sleep and the immense amount of sugar you'd dumped into the coffee to make it palatable–you weren't used to so many extra espresso shots.

After looking out for Frank at the bar, wrangling him on the journey home, leaving abruptly to accompany your distraught roommate and her accident-prone boyfriend to the hospital, and then staying with said roommate all night while her boyfriend got a cast put over his broken arm–you were understandably exhausted. And, if you were honest with yourself, a bit aggravated that you'd been ripped away from Frank when he was so unusually receptive to your affection.

It wasn't as if you could just call Curtis and ask to switch roles again, it was almost noon. Frank would probably be up and hungover by now–far grouchier than the cuddly lump he'd become last night when he passed out on your lap. No use to mourn that loss any further, you supposed. It wouldn't be that hard to make him agree to another bet, after all.

Lounging on the couch, your eyes slipped shut for a moment, flying open in shock when you heard a knock at the door. Of course someone would show up right after you sat down. Inhaling deeply to keep from groaning, you dragged yourself off of the couch and to the door. Huh, speak of the devil.

Unlatching the door, you rested a hand on your hip as you took in the posture of the man before you. Frank looked awful, a perfect example of the saying “green around the gills”. He was slouched forward, barely meeting your gaze, and his complexion was so alarmingly pale that it was more translucent. Before you could ask what the hell he was doing on your doorstep, he spoke.

“I need to see your phone.” His tone was pained and especially gravelly, which made sense given how hungover he must be right now.

“Damn, Castle. Hello to you too.” You laughed, the humor of it not fully reaching your eyes as concern churned in your gut. Stepping out of the way, you allowed him to stride past you into the apartment.

Looking over his shoulder at you sheepishly, he cringed. “Sorry, hi. Your phone?”

Well he’s clearly on a mission. You had to admit, you were curious what he was so riled up about.

Your eyes narrowing, you gestured to where it sat on the counter, anchored by its designated cord. “It's charging. It died while I was running around last night and I just got home, so.” Frowning in confusion, you picked it up to show him.

“Thank god.” Frank let his face fall into his palms, collapsing onto your couch.

“Why do you need my phone, Frank?” Intrigue still piqued, you flicked a thumb across the screen to activate your phone.

Realizing he’d made a fatal error in his anguished haze, Frank swiveling in his seat, craning his neck just in time to see a massive grin break out across your face. “Shit wait–”

“Jesus Frank, are you ok? Why did you call me so many times?” You laughed, scrolling through the myriad of notifications you’d apparently missed from him.

“Sweetheart I'm begging you–” Standing on his wobbly legs, he hurried to remove the device from your hands, but it was too late.

“You left multiple voicemails?” You looked at him with an almost pompous smile, clearly taking satisfaction in his downfall.

“Please don’t–” He made for your phone, but his reflexes were lacking. Spinning just out of his reach, you raised the phone above your head victoriously.

“Voicemail number one!” You announced proudly, pressing play on the recording.

Frank’s voice sounded tinny through the small speakers, or maybe it was just being drowned out by the ringing in his ears. “You forgot your coat…”

“Aw, Frank, that's so sweet!” You spoke over the short message, your lip sticking out slightly as you looked at him with gratitude.

Stepping towards you with his palms displayed, he tried for a placating tone. “Yup. That was all, no need to listen to any more of–”

“Voicemail number 2!” You crowed, darting out of the kitchen as he grabbed wildly for the offending phone once more.

“Sorry, Curt hung up the phone...”

“This ain't funny.” Frank growled, scurrying after you into the living room “Turn those off!”

“You left them for me!” You giggled, holding the phone to your ear and squealing with delight at his first confession.

“You make everything seem so easy–”

“Aw, Frank–”

“It's so hard for me to focus when you're around–”

By the grace of some higher power, his drunk rambling cut off. Nearly keeling over, he leaned heavily against the back of your couch. “Thank Christ.”

“VOICEMAIL NUMBER 3!” You said gleefully, practically dancing with joy as Frank resumed chasing you.

“Goddamn it.” He muttered. He should have known he wasn’t that lucky.

“I can't stop thinkin' about ya–”

His words were coming back to him now, and it was crystal clear that he had very limited time to retrieve the phone before your relationship with him was irreparably damaged. Nearly bowling your coffee table over, he managed to snatch the hem of your sweatshirt, but you simply slipped out of it and resumed your lap of the space.

“I can never stop thinkin about ya–”

You leapt onto the couch and over the arm, making for your bedroom. How on earth were you this agile after last night? He was pretty sure this would be the last thing he ever did.

“I hope you made it home safe–”

You stumbled around your bed frame and Frank saw an opening.

“You shoulda stayed here with me–”

His eyes narrowed, vision tunneling like a predator’s. Frank bounded forward and your eyes widened as you realized he had you cornered.

“I'll always keep you safe–”

Finally, he arrived within the distance he needed, snatching you by the waist and spinning you into him. Your chests were pressed together, quivering with the force of labored breaths, but before he could hit the power button–

“Cause, I dunno, I just love ya, sweetheart. I'd never let anythin' happen to ya.”

His world blurred, his heart pounding so aggressively it felt like it was creeping out of his rib cage. It was done. It was over.

Panting, you looked up at him with a furrowed brow. His heart sank as he watched the realization crawl across your face.

“You...you love me?” You asked meekly as Frank took a step away from you.

His entire body felt like it was on fire, he couldn’t decide whether he needed to scream or be sick. An apology roosted on his tongue, but his mouth was too dry for the words to come out.

“You love me.” You murmured, looking at the phone as if it would explain his words for you.

“I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinkin'–” He choked out, scrambling backwards sloppily so that he wouldn’t witness your pity.

“Frank–” You spoke softly, the sympathetic edge to your words cutting his composure like a blade.

“Christ, I'll just go, I'm sorry–” He whispered, his throat tightening with immense regret.

“Frank” Your fingers suddenly wrapped around his wrist, turning him back to face you. He inhaled deeply, bracing himself for the rejection and subsequent loss of connection that he’d stupidly caused. But it never came.

Instead, your free hand cupped his neck, pulling his lips to meet yours. His knees wavered, nearly giving out as your soft lips met his. He was bombarded with surprise and affection and relief. Pulling back from him, you rubbed a finger over his nape and smiled softly.

“I love you too.”

“You–” He was too shocked to even ask a full question. His knees finally gave out and he fell against you.

“Woah, careful there, tough guy.” You chuckled, nudging him backwards so that he crumbled onto your mattress instead of taking you both to the ground.

Listing sideways onto your mattress, he let you prod at his limbs until he was fully seated. Bile was swiftly rising in his throat, but whether it was from the chase or the resulting emotions, he was unsure. Swallowing roughly, he grimaced.

Biting your lip, you let go of his wrist to stroke your blissfully cool fingers along his cheek. “Let me get you some water, ok? I’ll be right back.”

Eyes falling closed, Frank took a handful of measured breaths, lips twitching with a small smile despite his current agony. You loved him too. He had a feeling that he should be skeptical, but he was experiencing too much to consider that at the moment. For now, he would just accept this outcome, however miraculous it might seem.

Hearing your soft footsteps back into the room, he opened his eyes–immediately regretting it when his head convulsed with a renewed stab of pain. Moaning softly, he scrunched his eyes shut, bringing his thumbs up to his brows to knead them in the hope it would lessen the ache.

“Head bothering you?” Your voice was impossibly soft as you knelt by his side, gently prying one of his hands away from his face and pressed a cold glass into it.

“Yah. Sorry sweetheart, didn’t mean to crash here.”

“Don’t you dare apologize. I already texted Curt and told him you’d be staying here for a bit.” Pulling back your sheets on the other side of the bed, you propped yourself up next to him. “Tired?”

Grumbling affirmatively, Frank tilted his head into your shoulder, rolling as far into you as he could stomach. “But we should probably–”

“We got all the time in the world, sweetheart.” You stroked his stubbled chin languidly, smirking as his expression relaxed beneath your touch. “Just sleep. After last night, we both need it.”

“God, I love you.” He murmured, throwing an arm over your hips and letting you nestle in close.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too, Frank.”

Frank made a mental reminder to buy Lieberman a beer the next time they went out. He’d never admit it to David, but he was beyond grateful that his uninhibited self had finally made a move.

Feeling more content than he had in months, he let himself drift off to the sound of your soft breathing.

Thanks for reading!!

#frank castle #my writing #frank castle x reader #the punisher #marvel #nmcu #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle imagine #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x you #the punisher x reader #the punisher imagine #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction #fc

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boy-cow000 · 2 months

Text

Drained

Spencer x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Mostly Fluff, Mention of a case, Spencer feeling rough

Summary: After a particularly long case Spencer happens to lock himself out of his apartment. In need of help, he stumbles into the home of the only non-bau friend he has left. However, he finds himself much more comfortable with you than he originally thought.

Word Count: about 890

A/N: Pretty short blurb because I’ve been dying to write again but I’ve been too lazy to rub my two brain cells together and produce something :,D btw IDK what season this is in so use your imagination

_______________________________________

Spencer couldn't be more thankful for his job. Knowing the lives he saved and the people he helped was enough to get him through most of the especially rough cases. However, this most recent one had been particularly troubling. The random small American town they had been flown to was not known for their technological advancements, to say the least, and the lack of documentation had made Garcia's job almost impossible. On top of that, the intrusive and misguided opinion of the head chief of police had completely skewed the case in the wrong direction. Needless to say, Spencer was rightfully exhausted, along with the rest of the members of the BAU.

After landing and leaving the jet, he told himself that all he had to do was head home so he could finally sleep. Truth be told, it wasn’t even that late; the plane had landed around 8:20 PM. Yet, sleep was the only thing on Spencer's mind after that 48-hour case.

It took him some time to get home, but at this point, nothing but the sweet relief of his bed mattered. Except, much to his dismay, he seemed to have a little trouble finding his keys. Unfortunately for him, that “little trouble” turned into a full-blown panic very quickly. Spencer tried to remember where he had put it. Mentally swatting away the thick fog laying over his mind, he let his head smack against his front door in defeat when he realized that his keys were left on the jet. Calculating his options, it became apparent there weren’t many. His coworkers were probably already sleeping, and it's not like Spencer had a history of having an extensive list of friends. Well, except you, that is. Spencer didn’t feel like paying upwards of 65 to 120 dollars for some locksmith to come in the middle of the night, so you were starting to seem like the best option. Knowing you didn’t live far away, he grabbed his things and started to text you. On the drive over, he began feeling a little nervous. He wondered if the reason you weren’t answering was because you were asleep and if he was going to bother you.

Upon arriving, he felt at ease seeing the lights in your apartment on. He fumbled with his bags but managed to get to your front door without dropping anything. He was so tired. Blinded by the light of the inside of your apartment, he resorted to a curt “hi” once you opened the door. You let him in a bit panicked; to be frank, you didn't know why he had suddenly asked you if you could crash. You were still happy to see him, however.

After explaining the situation, you let out a sigh, knowing nothing serious had happened. You told him to make himself at home while you figured out where your extra covers were. He took off his shoes and sat himself on your couch, awaiting further instruction.

When you came back, you saw Spencer, palming the socket of his eyes. Your heart stopped for a second, worry took over, and you wondered if maybe the case was weighing on him more than he’d like to admit. You rushed over.

“ Spence! Are you okay?” You laid the covers on the edge of the couch and rested a hand on Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer peeked into your eyes for what seemed like forever—a breathless moment between his answers. You felt your heart form a lump in your throat; your cheeks flushed, and you suddenly felt guilty. What if Spencer was actually doing terrible and you couldn’t help him because you were too busy wrestling with the effect he had on you? Eventually, you broke the intense eye contact, and Spencer sighed in return.

”I’m fine, really. It’s just… I was exhausted a minute ago, and now”

”Not so much.” You finished his sentence for him. He let out a light chuckle and bumped shoulders with you. He must’ve been delirious, because you couldn’t think of another reason why he would’ve been comfortable enough for all that physical contact. Your torso stiffened, and while still trying to calm yourself down, he let his head roll onto your shoulder and nudge itself into your neck. Spencer was going to kill you if he kept this up.

Spencer snaked his arms around you, entrapping you and making you fall back into the couch a little. You grabbed his opposite shoulder, hoping to lay him back, but his head bobbled a little lower, and it was clear he was no longer awake. Spencer kept snuggling, and it was making it increasingly harder to get yourself out of his grasp. An incoherent thank you left his lips before he fully fell asleep. So you sat there, absolutely surrounded by Spencer. Glaring at his slumbering state. Overtly aware of his faint sent, of his hair brushing against your face, of his slowed breath on your neck, of his hand grasping your waist, of him.

Your own exhaustion was catching up to you at an alarming pace. Despite your brain and dignity screaming at you not to fall asleep in his arms, your thoughts were starting to blur. Eventually, you fell asleep, caged in, breathing to the sound of his heartbeat. With that, tomorrow promised itself to be interesting.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid moodboard #spencer reid angst #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine

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chvoswxtch · 2 months

Text

a favor

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: frank's true intentions behind getting you a lawyer are revealed.

warnings: swearing, a lil angst, sassy lawyer matty, instigating frankie

word count: 5.7k

a/n: happy one year of the bodyguard! again, I can't thank y'all enough for the love and support y'all have shown this series for the past year. i'm eternally grateful. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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“Frank.”

“Red.”

The two men exchanged curt nods in greeting while the nickname Frank used for the man who had introduced himself as Matthew further added to your growing puzzlement. There was clearly a history between the two of them that you weren’t aware of. Frank hadn’t been lying when he said he had a lawyer, but it only fanned the flame of curiosity burning within you.

What could Frank have possibly needed a lawyer for?

Frank had assured you that according to Madani, Steven didn’t have anything on you, but Matthew’s presence had a wave of newfound anxiety beginning to crest steadily. If Steven didn’t have anything, why did you need a lawyer? Turning your attention towards Frank, you lightly clenched your fists at your sides to keep them from betraying how nervous you actually were in that moment.

“I thought you said he didn’t have a case?”

“He don’t.”

Frank said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders, but it didn’t put you at ease. Behind you, Matthew cleared his throat to capture your attention, and when you turned around to face him, you noticed he had taken a step towards you. His plump lips were stretched into a charming smile that had your nerves suddenly calming of their own accord.

“Miss Y/L/N, you have nothing to worry about. I’m here as a formality more than anything, and a favor to Frank. I’m familiar with men like Price. He’s going to try and scare you, like he did with the letter of intent, and try to manipulate you to get his way. I’m not gonna let that happen.”

Matthew spoke with such conviction that it was hard for you not to believe him. You didn’t know how good of a lawyer Matthew was, or if he was a match for Steven, but Frank clearly trusted him enough to involve him, and you trusted Frank with your life.

“He’s a real asshole.”

Matthew’s thick brows lifted slightly above the rim of his crimson tinted glasses when you suddenly blurted that out, and an amused chuckle quickly sounded from deep within his chest. His lips parted to reveal a dazzling row of teeth complimented by deep indentations in each of his cheeks.

“So I’ve been told. Shall we?”

Glancing at Frank over your shoulder, he motioned towards the room with his head, an expression of pure annoyance painted on his sharp features. If his face didn’t give away how he felt about the current situation, the dissatisfied grunt that preceded Frank’s gruff voice certainly did.

“Let’s get this over with.”

»»———　　———««

Orange was not Steven’s color. It contrasted sharply against his stupid blonde hair that had grown shaggy and appeared unkempt, much to your satisfaction. He was the only guy you ever dated that took more time getting ready than you, and knowing how meticulous he was about his looks, it filled you with a sense of enjoyment seeing his golden tan faded to pasty ivory, darkness blooming under his dull blue eyes, and a sour scowl on his mouth.

He wasn’t considered a violent threat, so he wasn’t handcuffed to the table. Steven had chosen to “represent himself” in his make believe case, so there wasn’t anyone else in the room but him. A guard was stationed outside the door, not so much for protection, but to let all of you in and out.

The whole thing made you almost laugh.

Steven had handcrafted one of the most violent homegrown terrorist groups that had been the biggest threat New York had seen in decades, and the prison still didn’t consider him a danger. Surely that had to be a huge blow to his ego.

As soon as the three of you stepped through the door of the meeting room, Steven was quick to let out a dry scoff, crossing his arms over his chest in visible disapproval.

“Well that’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Confusion weaved between your brows at his statement.

“What?”

“Two bodyguards? You’re not in any ‘danger’ anymore.”

The way he spit out the word danger had your blood already simmering in your bloodstream, like he was implying that you never truly were. To him, you had been overreacting; playing the part of a victim instead of actually being one. It was bad enough he invalidated your feelings throughout your entire previous relationship, but eight years later, you were still dealing with his bullshit.

The mention of two bodyguards only muddled your confusion further. Glancing up at Frank, you were met with the familiar sight of him standing as still as a statue right by your side, his right hand clasped over his left wrist, and an intense broody expression on his features. Steven knew that Frank was your bodyguard, but why did he think that Matthew was also? Turning your attention to Matthew, your brows raised slightly in surprise.

Matthew was standing just as close to you as Frank was, and in a similar protective stature. His full lips were pressed together in a firm line that highlighted his sharp jawline. You hadn’t realized just how large he was before when he introduced himself, mainly because he didn’t look as menacing as Frank normally did. He wasn’t quite as big and bulky as Frank was. He had more of a slim and lean build, and appeared to be maybe an inch or two shorter than Frank, but your eyes caught the way his suit jacket seemed to be straining around his shoulders and arms. From an outsider perspective, he did look like a second bodyguard.

“Or, one and a half I guess. Is Russo struggling that bad he has to hire a blind guy?”

That comment completely caught you off guard. You’d briefly noticed the crimson tinted glasses that Matthew wore, but for some reason you had immediately assumed that they were transition lenses adjusting from being out in the sunlight. It was only when you glanced down at the red and white cane he held in his left hand that it all of a sudden clicked in your brain, and you realized for the first time that Matthew was blind.

Before you could think too hard about how you had missed that, Steven’s abrasive comment echoed in your ears, and your blood went from simmering to scorching as you whipped your head in his direction. Taking a bold step forward, your features were twisted up in raw outrage as you prepared to hurl verbal assaults in his direction.

“You fucking-”

Abruptly, two arms shot out to stop your rampage before it could begin. Dropping your gaze downward, you saw Frank’s arm was flush against your ribcage, while Matthew’s was directly underneath, hovering a respectful inch away from your lower stomach. Flickering your eyes upwards to look at Matthew, a mixture of perplexity and curiosity lingered in your stare as you wondered how he had known that you’d taken a step forward. But before you could ask, he cleared his throat and moved his arm away, beginning to fold up his cane with both of his hands.

“Mr. Price, my name is Matthew Murdock. I’m Miss Y/L/N’s attorney.”

“And what firm do you work for?”

“My own. Nelson, Murdock, and Page.”

Steven narrowed his eyes while he sized Matthew up and down, making it obvious he clearly was not impressed, which was incredibly stupid on his part now that you were aware Matthew couldn’t see it. Smacking his lips, Steven shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in the metal chair he sat in.

“Never heard of you.”

“You follow the Kingpin trial?”

Frank had been silent up until that point, which made you nervous. You weren’t used to men that were quiet about their rage, and it felt as if you had only seen a fraction of what Frank was capable of when he was angry. But the mention of the Fisk case caught your attention. What did that have to do with anything?

“Of course I did. That was one of the biggest criminal cases this city has seen in years.”

Steven made it sound like Frank had asked the most ignorant question in the world. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. That case was huge. The only part of it that left a sour taste in your mouth was the fact that Fisk was never charged for Ben’s murder. Deep down you knew it couldn’t be proven, there simply wasn’t any evidence, and you should’ve been happy Fisk would never get out with everything he had been charged with, but it wasn’t enough. Not for you, and not for Ben.

“Then you’re not only a dumbass, you’re a fuckin’ liar too. His firm was the one that put that shitbag away.”

That piece of information had your head swiveling to stare at Matthew almost in awe. You had been so focused on the charges of the case that you hadn’t actually paid attention to who was running the case against Fisk. It made you wonder if he had known about Ben.

“Anyone could’ve won that case. That devil guy practically handed Fisk over to the police wrapped neatly in a bow.”

You could’ve sworn you saw Matthew stiffen at the mention of Daredevil, but he swiftly recovered. Tossing his folded cane onto the table with surprising accuracy, he adjusted his glasses on the bride of his nose and slipped his hands into his pockets nonchalantly.

“That’s true. But unlike you, I don’t have to tamper with evidence, threaten witnesses, or buy off judges and juries to win my cases. Now, do you want to discuss the multiple charges that are currently pending against you for malpractice and wrongful conviction on top of domestic terrorism, or can we skip the pleasantries and get to the point of this meeting.”

Steven was not at all prepared for Matthew’s sharp retort, and you couldn’t stop the way your jaw dropped in astonishment at how smoothly he had called him out. Steven was the only lawyer you really had any experience with, but in the five minutes you’d known Matthew, he made one fact abundantly clear; Steven had been pretending to be a skilled lawyer. Matthew actually was one.

You could always tell when Steven was flustered or upset by how red his face became. He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable but trying to play it off like he wasn’t, while a faint flush of scarlet was beginning to creep up along the column of his throat.

“Fine. Let’s discuss the case. My demands were-”

“You have no authority to make demands, because you have no case. Now you’re ridiculously ignorant, but you aren’t that stupid. So, why don’t we discuss why you really asked my client here.”

“Excuse me? You can’t talk to me like that. Do you have any idea who I am?”

Matthew let out a slow and deep exhale through his nose and took a step further towards the table, his hands still nestled comfortably in his pockets, a layer of boredom coveted on his features.

“Yeah, you’re the guy facing twenty-five to life without the possibility of parole. I didn’t think we needed to state the obvious.”

Frank let out a quiet snicker beside you, and when you snuck a glance up at him, you noticed he had the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. His deep brown eyes seemed to be almost shining with merriment under the harsh fluorescents of the lights above.

He was enjoying this.

It hadn’t occurred to you before that Frank might have invited Matthew simply just to humiliate Steven and intellectually torment him for the hell of it. Narrowing your eyes in half-hearted suspicion, you leaned closer and whispered lowly to him.

“Did you do this on purpose?”

Turning his head to look down at you, Frank didn’t even bother trying to play innocent. He flashed you a playful wink before turning his attention back to Matthew and Steven, crossing his arms over his chest in a relaxed manner. A bubble of childlike laughter almost escaped from your mouth at the sudden epiphany.

Frank had asked Matthew to come strictly to fuck with your ex-boyfriend.

Steven’s “case” was bullshit. Frank knew that Steven was afraid of him because Steven couldn’t take him physically, and Frank had proved on several occasions that Steven wasn’t as untouchable as he thought he was. But Steven always thought he was the smartest person in the room, and he probably thought he had outsmarted you and Frank with the letter of intent.

Until Frank had purposefully brought someone that he knew could talk circles around Steven and make him feel as small as he had made you feel.

That thought brought a grin to your lips, and it made you wonder if Matthew was in on it.

“Clearly you aren’t as good of a lawyer as you think you are, or maybe you just didn’t do your homework, but I am getting out of here. Do you know who my father is? I can-”

“Yes, Mr. Price, I’m well aware of who your family is, and I’m sure your father’s status is what gives you the luxury of ignorance to think that you’re invincible, but if that were case then you wouldn’t be sitting here in federal prison, would you?”

Steven immediately clenched his jaw tightly and his chest started to rise and fall a little faster while his nostrils angrily flared. His irritation was written clearly across his face. He wasn’t used to not being the most intelligent and powerful person in the room. He wasn’t used to people not kissing his ass just because of who he thought he was and the family name he carried. He wasn’t used to being challenged, and that’s exactly what Matthew was.

A challenge.

Matthew was getting to Steven, and it seemed like he knew it. Matthew took another casual step forward and reached for the metal chair, pulling it out slowly and stepping around to leisurely take a seat in front of Steven. He clasped his hands together and rested them on the metal table. While there was a look of neutrality on his face, the low voice he spoke in and his razor sharp words betrayed his true feelings towards Steven.

“Daddy’s money can’t buy you out of this one. You have nothing, you’re grasping at straws, and you’re wasting everyone’s time. Now I realize that you have plenty of that here considering you’re facing at least twenty five years on the domestic terrorism charges alone, but the rest of us have lives to return to outside of this room. So, did you call us here just to throw an entitled tantrum? Or is there something of value you’d like to discuss?”

“I want her to pay for what she’s done!”

“What I’ve done?”

A look of incredulity and anger was painted across your face at Steven’s outburst. His blue eyes snapped up to meet yours, wild with rage, and he glared at you while pointing his index finger stiffly in your direction.

“You ruined my life.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Frank attempted to pull you back when you took a frustrated step forward, but you yanked your wrist away forcefully from his large hand.

“You lazy, arrogant, selfish dick! You hired a bunch of psychos to blow up New York because you weren’t good enough to win an election and that’s my fault? Fuck you!”

“Sweetheart, let’s take it easy.”

Frank was standing right behind you, his large hand splayed on your lower back as he attempted to rein you in. Matthew was supposed to be the one handling Steven, that’s why he was here. But you couldn’t handle listening to another second of his privileged pity party while he still refused to take some goddamn accountability for what he did.

Stepping forward until you were directly in front of the table, you gripped onto the edge of it tightly until the blood flow around your knuckles was restricted. Wrath was burning vividly in your eyes and Steven abruptly backed away in his chair as if he were afraid of you. Even though you were seething, you kept your voice low and calm, wanting him to hear every venomous syllable that had been building on your tongue for the past ten years.

“You are fucking pathetic. You had every privilege at your fingertips and you still couldn’t make something real of yourself. You chose to cut corners, buy your way in and out of everything, and even resorted to murder just to get ahead because deep down, you knew you couldn’t fucking cut it. Daddy didn’t love his fucked up protege enough so the rest of us had to suffer your waste of an existence. The only reason you sent me that ridiculous letter is because for whatever idiotic reason, you think you still own me-”

Leaning in across the table, your face was mere inches away from Steven’s as you spoke in an even more merciless tone.

“-even though the moment I held a gun to your head should’ve made it very fucking clear that you never did.”

Steven’s eyes went wide, and his mouth hung open in shock before he snapped his head to look at Matthew in bewilderment, stammering over his words.

“She admitted it!”

“That’s hearsay.”

“Bullshit! She just confessed-”

“Technically she didn’t explicitly state when or where she held you at gunpoint, and as her lawyer, anything my client says in my presence is protected under client confidentiality, so I can’t act as a witness. Good luck getting Frank on your side.”

“Looks like you still got nothin’ asshole.”

Steven was frantically looking between the three of you in complete disbelief like a gaping fish out of water flopping around on a dock.

“This…this is insane! You can’t do this! I made a statement-”

“Neither Frank nor Mr. Russo corroborated that claim.”

“Of course they didn’t! Russo tried to get her to shoot me, for Christ’s sake! She assaulted me, and so did he.”

Steven was getting hysterical, his face nearly ripening to the shade of a freshly grown tomato, his desperate glare fixated on Frank. But Frank and Matthew didn’t visibly react at all, which only set Steven off even further.

“Frank’s job was to protect Y/N from any and all threats. You presented yourself as a threat, which resulted in him taking action.”

Matthew lightly shrugged his shoulders, speaking as if he were explaining a simple concept to a child.

“He broke my nose! And that slimy bastard Russo recorded me without my consent. That’s illegal! I was coerced-”

“Actually, it wasn’t illegal. Mr. Russo’s company was hired by Homeland Security to keep Y/N safe, thus by extension, Mr. Russo and Frank were acting as employees of Homeland. They had the right to record any and all conversations involving a person of interest, and due to Y/N being clever enough to get your men to confess and mention you by name on tape, you became a person of interest. That recording was perfectly legal, and even if it had been coerced, you were arrested with evidence in your pocket linking you directly to the Defenders of Freedom, including proof that it was your operation. Now Mr. Price, I don't enjoy repeating myself, but since you seem to be struggling to comprehend just how fucked you are, let me simplify this: you are staying in prison. There is no negotiating, no price tag, and no favor that can prevent it. So get to the goddamn point. Why are we here?”

“He’s mad.”

Looking up at Frank, one of your brows raised in curiosity as you noticed that he was grinning from ear to ear. Matthew’s head perked up, slightly cocking to the side. Steven focused his incessant glare on Frank, letting out a dry scoff.

“And what am I mad about, Frank? I could own this prison with the change in my pocket. Might even turn into a kingpin myself in here.”

Frank instantly let out a deep howl of laughter, which only pissed Steven off that much more.

“I doubt that. Money don’t make you a man, and that ain’t the currency in here. Respect is, and you’re too much of a pussy to fight for it. I bet you’re already someone’s bitch, ain’t ya? That why you sent the letter? You hoped she’d feel sorry for your ass, yeah? Help you outta here? Cause you’re still fuckin’ stupid enough to think she would lift a goddamn finger in your favor.”

You didn’t notice when Matthew had silently slipped out of the chair in front of the table, but as Frank took a few bold steps towards Steven, suddenly Matthew had extended his arm across your stomach and was gently guiding you behind himself. Grabbing onto Matthew’s bicep lightly with both hands, you peered around him to see what was happening. Steven had leaned all the way back in his seat, and when Frank started to round the table, pure fear shined in the baby blue of his irises.

“You’re mad she didn’t come alone. You’re mad she ain’t helpin’ you. You’re mad Red’s right, and you are fucked. You’re mad you’re a fuckin’ embarrassment to daddy and your entire goddamn stuck up family. I bet he ain’t called you once, huh? Ain’t checked on ya? Cause he don’t wanna be associated with such a fuckin’ disappointment of a son, yeah? You dug your fuckin’ grave, and instead of helpin’ you outta it, he’s shovelin’ that dirt right on top to bury you.”

The closer Frank got to Steven, the louder the alarms started going off in your head. You tightened your grip on Matthew’s arm, feeling more and more nervous about what Frank was about to do. It wasn’t beneath him to start a fight in a Federal prison if he thought it was warranted. But if he started swinging, would Matthew be able to step in? Would Frank go to prison because of it? You weren’t sure what the law was, but you were pretty sure there were serious repercussions that would follow what Frank was about to do.

As if he could somehow sense your growing anxiety, Matthew subtly reached behind himself and placed his hand on your hip, giving it a light squeeze. He turned his head faintly in your direction and whispered only loud enough for you to hear.

“Relax. He won’t hurt him.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Matthew’s lips parted, and then abruptly closed. After a moment, he gave your hip another light squeeze and whispered lowly again with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Mostly.”

Before you could explain how Frank nearly beat the life out of Steven last time they were in the same room together, Frank’s deep voice captured your attention.

“But that ain’t the biggest reason why you’re mad, is it?”

When you looked around Matthew again to stare at Frank, you saw that he had grabbed the arms of Steven’s chair and had leaned down so that they were face to face. Something about Frank’s expression in that moment had you completely puzzled. He didn’t look as angry as he sounded.

He was smirking.

“You’re jealous.”

Steven was trying hard to hide how terrified he was of Frank. His hands were clenched into tight fists in his lap, the skin so taught over his knuckles they turned stark white, and they were visibly trembling. But not because he was mad; because he was scared. He attempted to look unimpressed as he let out a dry laugh that shook as much as his hands.

“Jealous of what?”

“That I’m the one fuckin’ her now.”

As soon as those words left Frank’s lips, your eyes widened to the size of moons and your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Steven appeared to be just as shocked by Frank’s shameless boast as you were, while Matthew on the other hand had a devilish grin stretching over his full lips that was accompanied by a dark chuckle.

“Oh, so that’s why he’s so pissed off.”

Matthew wasn’t at all uncomfortable by Frank’s admission. He seemed to be completely amused by it which was evident by the taunting tone dripping from his velvet voice. Swallowing thickly, heat burned in your cheeks as you snuck a glance up at Matthew. You still had a vice grip on his arm, and his hand was still resting comfortably on your hip. You weren’t sure if he could feel you looking at him, but he subtly turned his head in your direction and arched one of his thick brows while his smirk stretched further across his lips to display his dimples. Meanwhile, Steven was glaring across the room at you in a concoction of betrayal and resentment.

“Do you really have no self respect that you’d whore yourself out for your bodyguard? What, you let him and Russo take turns? You gonna slut yourself out to Murdock, next?”

For some reason that comment set you off. Any feelings of embarrassment you might have felt that Frank just revealed to everyone in that room that the two of you were fucking suddenly flew out the window. Finally letting go of Matthew’s arm, he removed his hand from your hip when you stepped forward towards the table.

“That’s not really any of your business, but if you’re lacking entertainment in here, feel free to picture me sharing a bed with all three of them tonight when you’re sleeping in your cell.”

The bold confidence you spoke with surprised you and everyone else in that room. A dusty layer of pink instantly covered Matthew’s cheeks, and he quickly cleared his throat while trying to hide the playful smile that threatened to take over his entire mouth. Frank was clearly caught off guard by your response, his thick brows lifting considerably up his forehead. When he caught the smile on Matthew’s lips however, he rose to his full height and squared his shoulders, tapering his gaze in Matthew’s direction with a deep scowl. Steven looked completely dumbfounded and horrified, and that filled you with an intense feeling of satisfaction.

Standing up a little straighter, you crossed your arms over your chest and let out an exasperated sigh.

“If you’re finished throwing your fit, I’d like to take my boyfriend and Matt to lunch. Matt, you don’t have any plans, do you?”

“He does.”

Frank grumbled as he walked around the table to stand next to you, wrapping one of his arms around your waist in a possessive manner, leaving Steven behind to watch the display of affection in clear anguish and disgust. Reaching for his folded cane on the table, Matthew’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip before his mouth stretched into a satisfied grin.

“I can spare an hour for good company.”

Frank glowered at Matthew as he unfolded his cane and walked towards the door, knocking twice against it to signal for the guard to open it. You couldn’t help but laugh at the look on his face, and you leaned up to press a gentle kiss to his jaw, which immediately softened his hardened features.

“Come on, big guy. Let me treat you to some Italian.”

“I’d rather take you to the parkin’ lot and treat you to somethin’ else.”

Frank reached down and grabbed a large handful of your ass, speaking loudly enough for Steven to hear. A noise of surprise left your lips at the sudden gesture, and you laughed while looking up at him with widened eyes.

“Frank!”

A boyish grin split across Frank’s lips as he snickered, wrapping his arm around your waist to guide you towards the open door. Neither of you spared so much as a final glance back in Steven’s direction.

Once you were out in the hallway, Frank gently grabbed your arm to pull you aside while Matt walked ahead. He cocked his head to the side while looking down at you with a pensive look melting in his warm brown eyes.

“Boyfriend, huh?”

The question made your confidence falter slightly, but you tried not to let it show. Instead, you crossed your arms over your chest in a defensive manner and arched one of your brows in a silent challenge.

“Did you want to be demoted back to bodyguard?”

“Hell no.”

Frank almost looked offended by the question, and it caused an amused laugh to quickly escape your mouth. Reaching out to cradle your face in both of his large hands, Frank leaned in and planted a soft kiss on your lips that nearly took your breath away. When he reluctantly pulled away, his thumbs were delicately brushing over your cheekbones.

“You know I always will be though, right?”

“Always be what?”

“Your bodyguard.”

A content smile covered your lips as you nodded, staring up into his eyes lovingly.

“I can live with that.”

Frank tore his gaze away from you for a moment. When he looked to his left, a furrow formed between his thick brows and a faint pout pursed on his soft lips.

“Does he have to come?”

You didn’t have to turn around to know who he was talking about. Rolling your eyes playfully, you gave him a pointed look.

“Frank.”

Letting out a grunt, he reached down to take one of your hands, lacing your fingers together.

“Fine. But if he gets handsy with you again, I’m gonna throw his ass in the Hudson.”

A look of shock crossed your features at that, and when he began to tug you towards the exit, you smacked your hand against his chest.

“Frank!”

Without missing a beat, Matt quickly retorted over his shoulder.

“I can swim, Frank.”

“Yeah? See how good you do with cinder blocks chained to your ankles.”

“You’d try to drown a blind man?”

“Don’t start your shit, Red.”

»»———　　———««

Matt and Frank argued like an old married couple, and it was extremely entertaining to witness. The only friend you had ever seen Frank interact with was Billy, and their dynamic was far different than his was with Matt. It was intriguing to watch them go back and forth with one another so effortlessly. Matt had a naturally sharp wit, one that Steven had been no match for, but Frank easily kept up with him. It made you wonder how long they had known each other.

“Ain’t you got somewhere else to be other than here bustin’ my balls?”

“Nope.”

“Bullshit. I heard you swear at least four times earlier. Ain’t that grounds for confession, altar boy?”

“It’s Wednesday, not Sunday. But while we’re on the topic of confession-”

“Ah, kiss my ass.”

A laugh erupted from your mouth at the way Frank waved his hand dismissively in Matt’s direction, leaning back in his seat while turning his head to glance out the window he was sitting next to. The spot the three of you had come to for lunch was a cozy little family owned Italian place that made the best pizza in all of New York, in your humble opinion.

Looking across the table at Matt curiously, you tilted your head to the side with a soft smile.

“Are you Catholic?”

That signature charming grin stretched over his lips as he gave a nod of his head.

“Guilt and all.”

Before you could speak again, a thought unexpectedly popped into your head. When Frank was teaching you how to shoot a few weeks ago, he had joked that he knew a blind man that had better aim than you, only he hadn’t been joking. He hadn’t said anything else about the mysterious blind man with good aim other than that he was Catholic. Your brain was slowly putting two and two together, and you suddenly realized Frank had been talking about Matt.

Your eyes immediately lit up with excitement and your lips subsequently stretched into an enraptured grin. When you’d asked Frank how a blind man had such good aim, he’d told you to ask him yourself, which was exactly what you were about to do.

“So, I hear you have good aim.”

Matt nearly choked on his drink, covering his mouth with his palm and coughing while he set his glass of water down. His thick brows shot up above the rim of his glasses when he attempted to compose himself.

“I’m sorry?”

“Frank was teaching me how to shoot recently, and he said he knew a blind guy with better aim than me. I’m assuming that’s you. I asked him how you did it, and he said to ask you myself. So, tell me, Matthew. How does a blind man have such good aim?”

While you leaned forward earnestly and rested your chin on the knuckles of your clasped hands, Matt subtly tilted his head in Frank’s direction, a faint look of annoyance on his face. Beside you, Frank was snickering, lifting another slice of pizza to his mouth, his eyes glimmering with mirth.

“Yeah Red, explain it to us.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re the Devil.”

Matt’s full lips pursed into a firm line as he focused his attention in Frank’s direction. He seemed completely unamused by Frank’s comment. Turning your head to look at Frank, you noticed he was giving Matt a knowing look which had confusion settling between your brows as you glanced back at Matt.

“Am I missing something?”

“I’m afraid Frank has overexaggerated. I don’t use guns-”

“Because you’re Catholic?”

Frank busted out laughing at your innocent question, and you could see Matt’s glare of irritation even behind the deep crimson lenses of his glasses.

“Because I don’t believe in them, and also because I’m blind. Frank, what the hell did you tell her, exactly?”

Frank lightly shrugged his broad shoulders as he took another large bite of the slice of pizza in his hand, looking over at Matt with a pleased smirk.

“That you’re a really good lawyer.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawkfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #frank castle series #the bodyguard series #bodyguard!frank castle fic #bodyguard!frank castle series #bodyguard!frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher fic #the punisher series

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pastelvelvett-2nd · 7 months

Note

Hello there I seen your wrote for Harvey from sdv, I’m not sure if what other sdv characters you will write for but I was wondering if I could request yan!sebastian x gn!Willing!reader. Just some stuff on what type of ya deer he is and how he would act with a so who is ok with his yandere tendencies. Sorry if this sounds confusing at all

Hello! Thank you for reading my Harvey fic!!

It doesn't sound confusing at all, don't worry about it. ^^ I present to you: ✨the yandere emo boy✨

Trigger warnings are, as always, in the tags!

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Yandere!Sebastian x GN!Willing!Reader

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Sebastian would be the type to take a while to warm up to you.

At first, Sebastian didn't think too much of you. He had absolutely no clue why you would decide to move here of all places when you already lived in a place he dreamed to live in. He was a bit jealous, to be frank.

Surprisingly enough, you kept visiting and talking to him, despite his aloof behavior the first time you spoke. The more you'd chat, the more he'd understand your perspective and what drove you to leave the hubub of the city. He began to get to know you better, and you seemed to want to do the same in turn.

Sebastian started awaiting your visits with bated breath, and when you did arrive, he acted a lot less cold than he initially did. He started being more open, and the two of you even shared some of his geeky interests. Your hangout sessions became his favorite part of the day.

With you, he was open and friendly. There was nothing he wouldn't share.

He realized something. How open he was... It's wasn't the norm. A person only shows certain facets of themselves to another. That's the way he used to function, and everyone else seemed to tick the same way. Surely, other people must know other sides of you that he wasn't familiar with.

There were many things he wouldn't find out about you. The thought made him feel sick to his stomach like little else did.

Sebastian would be the type to eventually begin stalking you.

This way, he'd get to know you in a deeper way he ever could just by listening to information you'd offer him. He'd follow you around town, watching as you'd go shopping or talk to the villagers. Sometimes you'd even go drinking on fridays and play videogames on the arcade machines with Sam.

You seemed close to Sam.

Sebastian would be the type to cut anyone off without a second thought, anyone that isn't you.

As much of a loner as Sebastian already was, he gradually talked to Abigail less and less, and Sam... He stopped talking to him alltogether.

Sebastian would be the type to want to do awful things to someone he once called a close friend, all because of you.

He couldn't stand the sight of him anymore, which was a shame, because it seemed like the two of you spent more and more time together.

Sam obviously noticed his change of behavior, and so did you. Sam first tried talking to Sebastian about it, but a curt "I'm busy right now" and a dirty look from him made it clear that he wasn't quite as willing to talk.

When Sam saw Sebastian following you around town, he obviously went and told you about it. You seemed to react... A lot less scared than he expected you to?

"I'll talk to him about it. Don't worry." You told Sam, though he didn't think you talking to him would ease his worries any bit. He practically begged you to talk to tell the police, but you assured him you would take care of it. Sam eventually gave in, albeit reluctantly.

You visited Sebastian like you usually would, acting completely normal as if you never found out he had been stalking to you. If you didn't bring the topic up, then he would've never known that you knew, but you did exactly that.

You confronted him about it.

In such a calm and casual way, Sebastian thought he was dreaming or hallucinating.

You explained that you knew everything. You left out who told you and just said you caught on to it on your own, just to be safe.

You explained you had no problem with it. Sebastian didn't believe you at first. He was upset that you would lie to him.

But you assured him of your honesty. You truly didn't mind. Sebastian's eyes widened, now believing you.

He loved you before this an abnormal amount, but somehow, hearing this made him love you even more.

Sebastian would be the type to build a shrine to you.

He adored you. So much. He felt so grateful that you would accept even this... Intense side of him, so grateful that you treated him with so much love. So happy that you apparently liked him enough to ask him out.

Yes, despite him being head over heels for you, he was too shy to ask. Eventually he would, of course, but you made this so much easier for him.

And you, on the inside, didn't just tolerate his obsessive attention, but you were even pretty flattered about it. Not something you'd directly admit to him, of course.

Neighbors would urge you to not involve yourself with him, but you didn't listen.

Sebastian would be the type to only kill if he considered it necessary.

It wouldn't be out of guilt. Murder came with a lot of complications. Sebastian, being a calculated person that always thinks before he acts wouldn't give in to his violent urges. Except for when he had to, of course.

He just hoped there would be no need for it.

#a bite🍰#tw: stalking #tw: obsessive behavior #tw: thoughts of violence #tw: yandere #yandere stardew valley #stardew valley #yandere sdv #yandere sdv x reader #yandere sdv imagines #yandere sebastian sdv #yandere sebastian imagines #yandere sebastian x reader #yandere sebastian sdv imagines #yandere x willing reader

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arabaka · 1 year

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ hayakawa aki x fem!devil-reader. CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ !!! reader is a SEX DEVIL (aka succubus). m!receiving oral. ride 'im like a cowgirl baby!! aki bites 'n draws blood. WORD COUNT: 5.1k PSD CREDIT !!!

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI or I WILL SPOIL YOUR CROPS（ ꐦꉺωꉺ)つ

( ˊᵕˋ )♡.°⑅ dedicated to the aki queen, @meownotgood

*₊˚💬୧ more than likely will be a series hehe <;33

A devil so powerful, there’s a waiting list for contracts. A devil so desirable, contracts are cherry picked. Where other devils are flippant about who they loan their power to, you are meticulous. Not a hair out of place, some might say. You have your reasons. For as much as you give, you receive so little in return. A caveat to your power is your crutch for staying alive.

Because blood is easy to come by. Cum? That takes work.

It’s deplorable, the levels you have to sink to for a meager helping of your life source. Unbecoming of a devil your size, of your stature even. Yet the irony of being the Sex Devil is that you enjoy it.

You crave it. You wish you didn’t sometimes. But a life of debauchery on Earth is better than contending in Hell and you’ll prolong your inevitable return for as long as you’re able; you’ll just be picky about your participating party.

So when a hunter started to haunt the whispers of lower-grade devils, you took notice. Delighted even when you saw what this Hayakawa Aki looked like. Devil hunters are a dime a dozen. Handsome devil hunters with brains? He’s so delectable, you can eat him alive.

You chose to wait. Your modus operandi: you will not beg for a contract.

You keep Public Safety just under your heel; close enough to be mutually beneficial, but not enough to lose your agency. So when his name came up, you needn’t hear more because your contract with him was signed the moment you laid eyes on him. “You know where to send him.” Your voice curt, you hear the click on the phone line. And once again, you wait.

The rumble of his engine is unmistakable in the dead of night. He pulls up to your residence, car humming before subtly giving way to weighted silence. His knuckles flex pensively around the steering wheel, his skin illuminated by the moonlight cascading from above. Makima’s voice, ever beguiling, plays on repeat in his head. I’m sure you’ll find her to be very helpful.

You’re unlike any devil he’s heard of, much less made contracts with. He’s signed away much more for a lot less. Yet what you ask of him has him giving a cursory look in the vanity mirror, brushing away his fringe until it’s falling over his forehead just right. His reflection stares back, mimicking his expression as it goes from dispassionate to frustrated, brows knitting tight as he chides himself with the click of his tongue.

This whole arrangement– It’s demeaning. Sex with a devil. Fraternization with the like is off-putting enough. Necessary but revolting all the same. This, however? Is far removed from those arrangements. Offering up his flesh to satiate a devil’s voracious appetite is a superficial sacrifice. You require something much more consequential: vulnerability. And to be frank, no Devil deserves that.

From your bedroom, you watch him with a huff. What’s he waiting for? You can’t help but roll your eyes at his hesitation. Humans are all the same. They kid themselves, paying reverence to baseless morals but fold under duress. You’ve seen this before from devil hunters like him. They hold sex in a high regard, thinking it’s beneath them to cavort with a devil but their first step in your door and they’re clamoring for your affection, for you. So you find it pointless that Aki’s still lingering by his car, taking a smoke break while you stew in the delay. He’s lucky he’s hot.

Nicotine in his veins and senses dulled a smidge, Aki’s come to a resolution. He’s not leaving empty-handed and he’s wasted enough time. He snuffs his cigarette out, chucks it in the car’s ashtray and adjusts his tie. Force of habit.

When you find Aki at your door, he has that same glowering mug you’ve seen him with before. He looks at you like you’re another devil to exterminate. You’d be lying if you said disdain didn’t look good on him.

His eyes, tired and narrowed, drink in your appearance and you watch as his expression starts to soften; a symptom of your pheromones at work. You follow his gaze as it trickles downward, intrigued sensuality marbling his azure eyes because of your body, what you’re wearing. You could be completely bare and still bring a person to their knees but that’s hardly any fun.

“You like it?” Your purring should be grating on his ears but it sounds like a song, a siren’s song. His leg muscles tense up, hesitating to take a step further. That just won’t do, so you gingerly walk your fingers up his tie, tugging at the knot as if to say you’ll drag him the whole way if you have to. You peer up at him, thick lashes batting alluringly but you can see his vision is still focused on your body, on the babydoll lingerie that follows the curves of your body and hugs your breasts with sheer lace. You glow under his watch, glossy lips curling to a smile as he starts to buckle under the pressure of your power.

You look… Enticing. True to your name. It’s utterly humiliating how his defenses are lowering so easily, to a devil no less, but fighting it is futile. Maybe it’s better if he lends himself to the lush feeling flooding his brain, the tension building in the crosspoint of his slacks. He gulps, perhaps swallowing the last of his pride, as careful fingers reach out to touch the lace bodice that stretches down your abdomen. “Let’s get this over with.” He tries to say with a sullen attitude but chokes on his attempt at a stern tone. God, you’re evil. He thinks as he watches those pretty lips of yours contort to a smirk.

“Be nice or I’ll leash you.” You’re teasing… Are you? Your aura is starting to overtake him because now there’s an uncomfortable stretch between his legs, cock starting to stiffen as he imagines you, chain in hand and collar round his neck. He can physically feel the last strands of sanity leave his body the longer he loiters around you. There’s a voice in his head still decrying the very nature of what he’s about to do but the longer his eyes cling to you, the quieter that sound gets. He’s finding himself to be particularly attached to your breasts and the fanciful way the lacy shelf cups frame them, just barely tucking your nipples out of sight. At least you’re nice to look at…

You start to roll the length of his black silk tie around your palm, giving it a once over, gaze briefly flitting over to your suitor for the night. Dusting his cheekbones is the most satisfying shade of pink, so pretty in fact you wish you could swatch it. He looks even better like this, a little bothered with only a small helping of shame remaining. You can’t wait to wring him dry, see him sweat and pant in trying to keep up with you.

You’re making his skin prickle with goosebumps and a surge of heat swells in his body, steam practically fogging up his brain. “Oh,” You coo, finally giving him full recognition, “Let’s get you out of those clothes, hm?”

Aki trails behind you, a curve to his back as you keep him close, using his tie as a tether. Like a dog. Utterly demoralizing, the way you have him ogling your body like a wretched fool but the delicious sight of the swell of your ass, hugged so tightly by the hemline of your lingerie, goes right to the budding erection in his pants and he’s starting to like it.

Your room is large and far too lavish for a Devil, but oh so fitting for you. Catching his attention, more than anything, is your bed; round in shape and massive in size, it sits raised on a circular platform and comes complete with silk sheets, as well as a few haphazardly tossed cushions. You live far beyond any means Aki is used to, it’s almost too overwhelming for him to process all the furniture and embellishments. His brain can’t help but wander, if only for a moment. Were your furnishings gifts? Supplied and paid for by Public Safety, for your services? He should feel disgust at this, logic still tells him as much, but he can’t find it in him to even broach that emotion. What he can feel, however, is his entire body and mind start to sink down, down, down under the weight of your influence.

You walk him to your bed, tie still in hand, gingerly motioning him to sit against the headboard with your palm now at his chest. He caves under your persuasion, watching with bated breath as you climb on top of him, your legs split as you take a seat on his lap.

Oh, you croon to yourself as you come to graze the thick outline of his dick bobbing in his slacks, he’s perfect. Your tail, long and crimson with an arrowed tip, flicks about enthusiastically. “Where have you been hiding?” You mumble, just loud enough for Aki to hear but you’re not exactly wanting an answer. He’s pliant in your hands, letting you cup his face as if to examine him closely. “Open.” You order and much to his surprise…

He listens. Now it’s not fully unexpected, your wiles have already wrecked havoc on his system after all, but it almost feels like he’s a foreigner in his own body. He parts his lips for you and you giggle. “See, not so bad now right? You humans get so hung up on the littlest of things.” When you talk, you have a lilt to your voice that’s a little mean, a little mocking, and his cock twitches because of it. “You should consider yourself lucky.” Now your thumb is pressing into his tongue, your face glowing with delight as you watch saliva slowly start to pool in Aki’s gaping mouth. “This is as mutually beneficial as it gets.” Your face gets so close, so fast, he can’t register fast enough when you lick into him, replacing your thumb with your tongue in a nasty, wet open kiss.

The groan that comes bubbling from his throat catches him off guard but more importantly, makes Aki realize something. He never stood a chance against you. Even someone with as strong a willpower as he can find all sensibility washed away by your essence. Right now, as far as he is concerned… You’re as powerful as it gets.

Aki’s eyelashes flutter apart, his pupils blown out but under a strong haze. Warmth is shrouding his body once more but now he feels fuzzy, a little lighter even. Your lips on his are irresistibly soft but your kiss is forward, pressing on his so much they already feel sore. God, why do you feel so good? Is this really what you’re capable of? How are you not kept under lock and key? His brain is swimming in these thoughts while he squirms under you, the stiff bulge in his slacks pressing into your clothed cunt as his hips impulsively jerk into you.

Your lips leave his far sooner than he would have liked but you can’t help yourself from taking a gander at your handiwork. He’s always been so beautiful with his stoic face and striking blue gaze but seeing him like this, jaw slacked and reduced to a desperate mess? He’s the best he’s ever looked.

“Pretty, pretty, pretty.” You murmur as you start to litter kisses from his jawline to his neck, hands fanning over his chest as you start to push back his suit jacket. He seems to follow your suggestion, rolling the shoulders off and you complete the circuit, dragging the sleeves off his arms and tossing it aside with little regard. Aki can’t be bothered to care. With his coat off, he faces the reality of how fever hot his skin feels, how you’re the only one who can provide some relief so with a crackling voice, he breathes, “Please.”

He’s begging you. He’s begging a Devil.

And he loves it.

Why was he ever fighting this?

Pop, pop, pop. One after the other, the buttons on Aki’s dress shirt come undone and he hisses at the sudden contact of cool air brushing over his skin. You draw savory sounds from him, first his breath hitching and then a subdued moan, as you lick a stripe up his abdomen and pucker your lips around the plane of his pec. You revel in the taste, in the way his skin squishes in your mouth. The more you suck at the skin, the more he writhes underneath you and now is when he finally has his hands on you, gripping tight on your hips. You wriggle your ass, giving one last nibble to his chest and feeling a surge of pride when you see how his pretty pale skin is now bruised. Marked.

You sigh like a dream when you look at Aki, flushed and bothered under you, but he’s only down a shirt. You need to see him stripped down, to satisfy the curiosity that’s been swimming in your brain since you first learned of the rather handsome hunter. Struggling to inhale, Aki lets out a hoarse, “C-Come on.” But he doesn’t speak with the same reason for his urgency as before - to get it over with - now he is pleading because he so badly needs to feel the rush of pleasure you’ll no doubt give him.

Aki tracks your finger as it glides up his torso until it’s crooked around his chin, giving him no other choice but to meet your slit gaze when you tell him plain and simple, “Get up then.”

To be honest, you crave him just as badly so you’re on your knees and on the floor in an ardent rush, meeting his clothed erection and nursing it through his slacks with a palm that opens and closes almost tauntingly… Because at the end of the day, you’re a Devil and you love playing with your food.

Painstakingly slow, you start to undo his belt. His heart is pounding. Then down goes the zipper. He struggles to breathe. Your fingers, ginger and lithe, bundle the waistbands of his slacks and underwear together and with one downward tug, his cock is freed, springing out and it looks… So much better than you could have ever imagined.

He’s long, his length having the slightest upward curve to it with a fat and pinkened tip at the end, and he’s thick with veins overlaid on and around his girth. A fine meal for a hard working succubus like yourself. You squeeze an exquisite whine from Aki when your fingers finally come to circle around the base of his member and a greater moan when your tongue, hungry and flat, draws a line on its undershaft until you get to the pre-cum bubbling at the tip. You ground the head of his cock along your tastebuds, committing to memory his personal flavor as you lick him clean. Oh, you’re going to want seconds for the rest of this poor soul’s life.

“Fuck.” The word is heavy, riding off an exhale as you flood Ak with heightened pleasure, far sharper and stronger than anything he’s ever felt before, just with your tongue on his cockhead. You smile around the tip, parting your mouth with the pressure of his cock as he finally starts to sink into your wet and hot mouth. The groan he releases is guttural and carnal as you suck all around him, smoothly swallowing his length to the base and never breaking eye contact. You’re so delighted watching him fold in your hands that you get right to it, pumping his shaft with a rolling wrist, your mouth never far behind as you coat him in your drool.

“G-God.” How can you make your mouth so tight, it feels like he’s fucking into you already? And the way you look at him, with shallow adoration, has his stomach flipping and his heart bumping. He knows you’ll eat him alive and he feels like he’ll let you at this rate. His lips twist but it’s no use, a string of moans keeps his mouth at a constant gape as you pamper him with your tongue swirling, dashing, and criss-crossing all over his cock. You dip your head low, humming around him with a mewl of your own when he reflexively jerks into you, pressing his cockhead to the back of your mouth but you keep on. As if that would stop you.

Every slope down his cock, Aki is treated to the sight of your tits, caged by the satin straps of your babydoll ensemble, bouncing with your nipples slipping out a little more each time. His fingers twitch, eager to find out how they would feel cupped in his hands. “You’re unbelievable.” You have him grunting and cursing. It felt like just a minute ago, he was looking at you like you were scum of the earth. Now he’s revering you like a god.

Digits still shuddering, his hands come to the sides of your head for some relief. Your hair is so soft, he can’t help but dig in, fingernails curling into your scalp with little regard for any pain he may cause you. You don’t stop so neither does he. He can’t take his eyes off you, never wanting to forget how you look with his length completely disappeared inside you, your cheeks hollowed out and all because of him. You’re perfect just like this, he thinks.

You start to gag, but not because he’s too much. You gag to gauge his reaction. His cock bobs in your mouth and you swear you feel him get harder as you sputter and choke around his shaft and now with a hand at the crown of your head, you know you’ve hit the spot. So he’s one of those. You note as you continue to amplify those juicy sounds of yours, rubbing your thighs in anticipation as he starts to meet you halfway with jutted hips. The closer he gets, the sloppier he is you can’t help but notice as his movements start to become ragged in pursuit of his climax.

Ecstasy building, Aki’s head lulls back and his lids shudder shut as he feels your fist clutch him harder, tighter, dragging his foreskin into your mouth with your tongue poking in and lapping up any spare pearls of pre-cum. You moan, on your own, at his intoxicating flavor, eagerly awaiting for the rest to come filling your mouth until you’re filled with his taste. You lose yourself so much in lavishing his cock that you don’t see it coming when his hand digs into your fringe, pulling your head back so he can get a better look while he face-fucks you.

You’re actually glad he did because now you can see him truly at his lowest point. His raven locks are sticking to his face and temples with a layer of sweat making him glow under the dimmed lights in the room. You can no longer see the cerulean blues in his eyes; all you can see are his pupils, wide with lust, sizing you up as he starts to roll his hips into you, following the rhythm you’d already set. “Fuck,” He spits, “Feel so good. Gonna cum soon.”

Soon was an understatement. At the pace you were going, he could cum any moment. Your mouth was a cavern for him to exploit and you clearly were letting him, allowing him to start fisting your hair for some stability while he rocks into you. The force of his orgasm starts to build fast, his balls tightening as the rush comes like a flood. His cum shoots in dense strings, filling your mouth until the salty taste is all your senses can register. He shudders into you, groans dying out as he finishes emptying his load inside of you.

Seeing you swallow his climax has his adam’s apple bobbing with a gulp. Your eyes seem to brighten, the color of your irises glowing with the ingestion of Aki’s semen, and your tail swats in the air in a clear display of elation. His cum goes right to the core of your being, lighting your flame and making you feel full… But you’re not satisfied. Not yet.

Your lips run down the measure of his cock until you’ve finally parted, with Aki fixated on you the entire time. His member, drenched in your saliva and still swollen, trembles in the cooled air and the only noise in the room is Aki’s soft panting. You’ve only been off him for a few seconds but he already needs to be inside you again, that much he’s certain of.

"Is that…" His voice whines down so he tries to repeat himself, taking a breath this time beforehand, "Is that it?"

The poor thing. He thinks it's over. He thinks he's already wrapped up his end of the bargain. "Mmh-nn." You hum, lips back on the tip of his cock while your tail bats in the air with interest. You hear him sharply inhale, his eyes instantly shutting again as you lick quick lines on the surface, poking into his still leaking slit a couple of times. “That was just the appetizer. The first load is always the tastiest.”

Aki watches you rise to your feet, body moving so gracefully and sensually you have him captivated. It’s twisted, how he follows your every movement, bewitched by how you toy with the strap hanging on your shoulder. You invite him with the curl of your finger to take over and that he does, hands much larger than yours plucking the lingerie straps and slipping them down and off your arms. The fancy night dress you’d been wearing joins the rest of Aki’s clothes in a rush, neither of you wanting to be apart for any longer than you had to.

Now nude, you direct Aki to the bed, where the real show will begin.

With Aki on the bed, you crawl on top and there he’s able to fully appreciate the form you’ve taken, ogling your body like a debased pervert. You’re a tease, lowering enough to hover right above the bulge of his cockhead but never dipping any more than that. His hand, albeit shaky, comes to land on your waist, a calloused thumb pushing into your smooth skin and rubbing circles just to feel you. “Please.” The word leaves his mouth faster than his brain can process and you just adore the way you can visibly see him melt for you.

“Please what?”

“Please,” Now he has both hands on you, “Sit on my cock.”

Now that makes you smile wide. “Yes sir.” There’s a snide intonation of your voice when you address him but he doesn’t give a fuck. All he can think about is you, you, you.

Your hips sink, the tip of his dick smoothing along your folds and pressing into your entrance until the pressure is enough to break through and he’s in. And god, you’re already so tight, you have his lungs struggling to get a single breath in. Your walls crease and mold to his girth and for all the trouble you’ve caused him, you’re making up for it and he hasn’t even filled you to the hilt yet.

“S-Shit.” You were starting to think you’d never see the day when Hayakawa Aki, one of the most highly regarded members of Public Safety, would fall prey to your lascivious spell but here he is, hissing as he’s pulling you down on his cock with depraved hunger. Grunting, Aki digs his head back into your pillow but he forces his eyes open, needing to see you take him all the way and when you do, you’re such a sight to behold. Your lips, swollen from sucking him off, part in delicious rapture and you see stars having him all the way inside you. The corners of your mouth turn upward, a smile coming over your features as you feel the slightest hint of trembling in Aki’s thighs as you come to a full seat on his member.

The way he feels inside you is unlike anything you’ve had before, and you’ve definitely charmed your fair share of characters but this Aki… He’s more special than you took him for. Your walls flutter around him, hugging his cock nice and snug so that you feel every twitch, every throb he helplessly gives you. “You ready?” You ask but it’s not up for debate. You grind your clit against his pelvis on your way up, following the curve of Aki’s shaft before bouncing back down on his length.

He’s so dense, thick inside you that you could imagine him easily breaking you, if you let him. But you’re in control here and he seems game for it, what with how wanton his gaze on you is and how sternly he’s gripping your waist. He’s so deep in you, you feel him poking against your core and that has your heart drumming so vigorously, you can hear your heartbeat so clearly in your ears along with Aki’s moans and the erotic sounds of wet skin smacking together.

Your pace starts slow enough, giving you time to relish how he stuffs your gummy walls on every swing up but you’re both in agreement that it’s not enough. You both need more and as though you’re in sync, he starts to jerk his hips into you, cramming further inside you while you dig down just as harshly. The way you’re rubbing down on him has you coating him in your slick, the mass of your juices, and it’s so much that it’s spilling down his balls and lap. That only makes it easier for him to thrust into you, forcing your body to roll along his shaft and bend to the new rhythm he’s setting.

How can one human feel this good? He has you feeling so high, so overwhelmed with the weight of his cock inside your cunt, that you don’t even notice his hand reaching out to your forearm and unexpectedly forcing you down so your chest is flush against his and your lips are just mere inches from each other. That certainly isn’t the case for long, as Aki immediately forces his lips on you in a rough and needy kiss. Your tongue is still coated in his essence, his taste, and he laps it up in a frenzy. Your own sweetness tingles in his mouth, sending a hypnotizing rush to his brain that has him feeling like he’ll never recover from this. Like he’ll never recover from you.

Your pussy still swallowing his cock, Aki’s hands land squarely on your ass and start to firmly squeeze your plush flesh, nails sharply piercing your skin until he knows he’s drawing blood. You whine and moan into his mouth, all muffled because there’s no way in hell he’s letting you break the kiss. “Don’t you dare pull away.” Aki growls and for once, you’re listening to a Devil Hunter as he starts to mercilessly buck his hips, thrusting harshly into you like you’re just a toy for him to abuse. Anyone else would be screaming, crying for a reprieve but not you.

His length penetrates you so roughly while the thickness of his cock has you full to the brim and the combination of both is sure to be a new addiction of yours. Now you’re thinking crazy, wondering if you should just drop all your other contracts if this Aki will keep business with you. Any sensible thought is pounded out of you soon enough, Aki’s hips crashing against your bottom fast and hard. Your kiss with him is just as cruel, his teeth capturing your puffy bottom lip and sharply biting down until the vulgar taste of blood is dripping into his mouth. You whimper but never tell him to stop. Why would you when he feels so good?

Too good, in fact. He told you to stay put but you can’t help it, you come to rise, still with his length fully inside you and resume your earlier position of bobbing up and down on his cock but now with a more reckless flair. As you do, as you near your climax, a script starts to sear itself into your pelvis. “The–” Oh now you’re the stuttering fool, “t-the contract.” You choke out, the outline of the brand charred in your skin.

Aki’s mystified by you, by what’s happening before him. Still ramming into your tight pussy, his hands move from your wiggling ass to digging his nails harshly into the design scorching itself on your supple flesh. You yelp, face glimmering with a layer of sweat, but your cries hit a new pitch when one hand dives down towards your cunt, thumb messily running circles around your clit. “Fucking cum for me then. I’m gonna fill you up.” Where did this man find his grounding? Your head rolls back, lips quivering with a never ending string of lewd noises as your thighs begin to give out– no, give way to Aki’s domination.

Now on a firm seat on Aki’s lap, his hips thrash against you until he feels his member swelling and pulsating inside you, against your narrowing walls that dare to swallow him whole. As he does, an inscription he can’t totally make out starts to appear on your pelvis but one thing’s for sure; you look good with his name in kanji branded on you.

“Cumming– fucking take it, devil.” You crumble all around him, your sopping wet cunt fluttering all around him as you too, start to feel your release bubble up until spilling over. He pumps into you every last drop of his cum but you still feel yourself trembling long after he’s finished.

Your pants of recovery cut through the silence in the room. What the hell was that? This man… He’s not human. Not with the way he just fucked you. You’re going to keep this one, even if it takes all your power. You’ll keep him safe, you promise to yourself… So long as he keeps up his end of the deal.

You feel empty when his cock finally leaves you and even more so when Aki gets himself dressed and ready to go. If you had it your way, you’d keep him there all night and all day… Though you guess humans need more than sex to refuel. A pity.

“Guess this is it.” Aki mumbles at your front door but you stop him from taking a step further, dainty little nails curling around the sleeve of his jacket as you look up at him with ravenous glint in your eyes, “Oh, didn’t Makima tell you? This contract is ongoing. I’ll ring you up when I need more.”

Shit. What did he get himself into?

#aki hayakawa x you #aki hayakawa x reader #aki x you #aki x reader #aki hayakawa #csm imagine #csm x you #csm x reader #aki #aki hayakawa x y/n #aki x y/n #aki hayakawa smut #csm smut #x f reader #x fem!reader #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for aki. ꒱

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bellaxgiornata · 8 months

Text

You're Safe With Me [Chapter Five]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of chapters for You're Safe With Me here.]

Warnings: 18+; series contains violence, mentions of mass shootings, angst and comfort, slow burn romance, enemies to lovers, eventual smut

Word Count:6.4k

a/n: A little sexual tension presents itself in this chapter, and Reader and Frank bond a little more. You also get a brief Frank POV at the end! Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @lunaticgurly @allaboardthereadingrailroad @linamarr @hollandorks @sleeperthelazy @marcysbear @mattkinsella @mattmurdocksstarlight @xxdrixx @v4leoftears @aoi-targaryen @danzer8705 @anon-cat-posts @heimtathurs @kmc1989 @thepunisherfrankcastle @agirlcandream84 @americaarse

The young woman behind the Happy Lodger Motel's front desk warily eyed the folded stack of cash Frank had handed her. Gradually her focus drifted up towards you, silently eyeing you up and down for a moment. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that she was taking in your disheveled appearance and dirty hair. You shifted your weight back and forth on your feet, becoming uncomfortable under her scrutiny as you sent her a tense smile. You figured she was wondering if Frank had abducted you–truthfully that look was a look you'd gotten often with his gruff appearance at your side. Or maybe she was just making sure you weren't a prostitute.

"So, two queen beds, was it?" she asked.

The woman’s attention finally returned back to the computer monitor before her, her fingers slowly tapping at the keyboard.

"Yes, ma'am," Frank replied.

At his curt and polite reply, her hand’s stopped their typing and hovered above the keyboard. One of her dark brows rose up onto her forehead as she scanned Frank over the top of her monitor. You saw the moment something shifted in the way her eyes lingered on him, her head tilting a bit to the side as her gaze openly surveyed his face with interest. Your own eyes fell down towards your feet, an uncomfortable feeling unfurling in your gut at her flirtatious stare. Beside you, Frank loudly cleared his throat.

"Room seven is open," she told him. "As long as this really is sixty-five dollars."

You glanced back up, watching as the woman unfolded the stack of cash in her hand and began counting it, intentionally taking her time. From its place along the edge of the desk, you noticed Frank's finger tapping rapidly in barely contained irritation while she did. You bit back the smile threatening to form on your mouth, enjoying his frustration.

When she finally finished counting the bills twice , she spun her chair around, scooting it back before grabbing a key from the wall behind her, the number seven clearly written on the tag. She wheeled her chair back over to the pair of you, holding the key out to Frank. He snatched it quickly, shooting her a tight lipped smile. After, he turned to face you, gesturing his head towards the door behind himself.

“C’mon,” he muttered.

With a sigh you followed obediently after him, readjusting the strap of your duffle bag on your shoulder as you walked. Frank pushed the door of the motel’s office open, stepping outside before he stopped to hold it open for you. Hesitating for a moment just before the doorway, you were caught off guard by the unexpected display of politeness from him. But the second the muscle in his cheek jumped, you ducked your head and slipped past him, making your way to your left towards the line of motel room doors.

“Looks like we’re at the end,” Frank said from just behind you.

Wordlessly you made your way all the way down the sidewalk to the last door, stopping in front of the one with a large seven hanging unevenly along it. Moving to the side, you leant up against the building as Frank stepped over to the door and placed the key into the lock. Your eyes drifted across the street to where you spotted a gas station situated next to a bar. Reading the sign atop the bar with its name vibrantly displayed, an amused snort of laughter slipped out of you. Frank opened the motel door, shooting you a curious look at the sound as he pulled the key from the lock.

“What?” he asked.

You pointed across the street to the bar with the obnoxious neon sign flashing on top of it. Frank turned, his eyes following the direction of your finger.

“The Flaming Rose?” you pointed out.

Frank focused back on you, his face emotionless. “Yeah?” he asked. “That supposed to mean somethin’?”

“No, I mean it just–” you paused, shaking your head as you pushed off of the building, “–seems like such a stereotypical biker bar in a small town,” you finished lamely.

Frank grunted in response, whether it was in agreement or annoyance was undecipherable to you. Ignoring his stony expression, you stepped past him and into the motel room–and then you laughed again when you actually saw the room.

The carpet, though very noticeably discolored and stained, was leopard print. The wallpaper on the walls was torn in many places, but they were also covered in a leopard print that had clearly faded over the years from the sun. And on both beds were leopard print comforters and pillows.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much animal print in one place,” you said in amazement, heading over to the furthest bed as Frank closed the door behind himself. “I mean it’s–it’s on the walls, the floor, and the bedsheets. They definitely committed to the theme here.”

“It’s a bed at least,” Frank muttered.

“One I definitely wouldn’t want to see under a black light,” you said under your breath.

As you dropped your duffle bag on the end of the mattress, you heard Frank let out a chuckle behind you. You instantly froze at the mirthful sound coming from the man who barely expressed emotion. Looking over your shoulder at him behind you, you spotted Frank slipping out of his thick jacket, an amused smirk on his face as he tossed his coat on his bed. When he realized you were watching him he looked up, his eyes studying you.

“Did you just…laugh?” you asked him in awe.

“‘Bout as surprised that you can make a joke, Spunky,” he shot back.

Your face fell at the irksome nickname he’d given you. It had seemed to stick for the past couple of days now and it grated on your nerves every time he called you that. Sighing in irritation, you sunk down on the edge of the bed, your eyes scanning around the room as one of your hands reached up, pushing your dirty hair from off your face.

Truthfully you’d love a chance to shower right now. It was going on almost three days since you’d last had one and you were positive you didn’t smell pleasant at this point. Even a fresh change of clothing would be welcomed right about now. But with the way Frank had kept you tied up in his van, then tied up in the previous motel room before you’d both had to run, and then stuck in his van all day today until right now, you hadn’t had much of an opportunity.

As your attention returned to Frank where he was currently surveying the parking lot outside the window, you nervously began to chew your lip. Would he even let you shower? Or was he planning to tie you back up now that you weren’t on the road? Even though the pair of you had fallen into a more comfortable silence with each other after your stop at Denny’s earlier today, you still hadn’t gotten a good read on Frank. Most of the time he seemed focused and detached, barely paying you any attention, though on occasion he’d been almost comforting–in his own way.

Figuring Frank would never break the silence if you didn’t, probably content to be quiet the rest of the night, you cleared your throat and decided to be the one to break it. At the noise, he half-turned towards you, that impassive look on his face.

“You’re not uh…planning to, you know, tie me to the headboard again, are you?” you asked him cautiously. “Now that we’re not on the road?”

“Do I need to?” he asked back.

Pressing your lips together, you slowly shook your head. “No,” you answered. “I’m not–not going to run anywhere, I swear.” Your shoulders drooped as you glanced down, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. “I wouldn’t have anywhere to go, anyway. I don’t even have a phone since you smashed it on the side of the road.”

"Just don't leave the room," he said. "'S'all I ask."

"So you don't–don't mind if I actually shower then, do you?" you asked in a small voice, peering up at him from under your lashes. Some unknown emotion flashed across his face and you quickly added in a rush, "It's just been a few days and I don't know when I'll get a chance again and–"

"Go on and shower,” he cut you off, something akin to guilt in his tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–” he stopped mid-sentence, his focus dropping down to the floor as he hung his head. One of his hands reached up, rubbing awkwardly over the top of his head. “Go shower. Use the bathroom,” he urged, still avoiding looking at you. “I ain’t–ain’t tryin’ to stop you from taking care of yourself.”

For a second you sat on the edge of the mattress, curiously watching him. It was indeed guilt that you saw on full display from him right now. Bottom lip slowly slipping between your teeth, you slid off the edge of the bed and picked up your duffle bag before shuffling through the motel room towards the bathroom. You pushed the door open wider before reaching a hand in, flipping on the lightswitch. Stepping inside, you set your duffle bag onto the floor and then turned, focusing on your disheveled state in the bathroom mirror. Though you promptly shrieked at what you spotted on the wall behind you.

Darting backwards in fright, you nearly tripped over your own feet as you tried to place as much distance between yourself and the giant spider on the bathroom wall. You had barely taken two steps back before you bumped into something solid directly behind you, blocking your path. Startled, you spun on your heel and saw Frank behind you with a serious look on his face, his gun drawn and at the ready. The sight of the weapon in his hands had your heart thundering loud in your ears, your eyes wide as you saw him push past you and sweep the small space from left to right, ready to shoot an intruder. Though he quickly realized there was none.

Lowering his gun, he turned back towards you from his place in the middle of the bathroom, a dark expression on his face. You shrank back from his furious glare instinctively.

"You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?" he snapped.

"There was a–a spider," you admitted sheepishly.

Pointing a trembling hand at the giant black insect still clinging to the wall, embarrassment flooded you. Frank’s hardened stare followed your movement, his eyes landing on the spider. He scoffed loudly, shaking his head and running a hand down his face.

"You kiddin' me?" he shot out, his glare piercing through you. "Don't you ever scream like that for a goddamn spider again. Is that clear?"

You nodded swiftly in response. Frank curled his large hand into a fist before he swung it with precision at the wall. You flinched at the resounding thud as he smashed the insect in one swift movement, his glare never leaving you.

"Here I was thinkin’ someone was in here," he continued to rage, taking an intimidating step towards you which only caused you to take an involuntary step back, cowering against the wall, "and it’s just you terrified of a spider. I think you need to take a moment and reevaluate what an actual threat is here, sweetheart."

The burn of tears was in your eyes as he towered above you, his nostrils flaring with each of his sharp, enraged exhales. His dark eyes were practically on fire as they bore down on you. Under that furious stare of his you weren’t even sure if you were breathing anymore.

Truthfully you hadn't meant to scream; it had been a gut reaction. You hated spiders and weren't expecting to find such a large one just out in the open here. And you'd been so on edge ever since those men had broken into your house that you'd been unable to stop the scream from flying out of you when you'd spotted it.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, wiping a hand at your watery eyes. "I didn't mean to. Didn't think you'd–you'd come in here like that. I just–it just–just startled me. I won't–"

You broke off mid-sentence, eyes focusing on the dead spider on the wall as your teeth clamped together, struggling to fight back a sob. You would not break down in front of Frank.

A moment later you heard him release a rough exhale, the sound drawing your blurry vision back up towards him. The tension had visibly eased from his muscles as his hand rose up, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Just don't scream unless someone is actually tryin' to kill you, alright?" he growled, annoyed.

"Okay," you breathed out.

Without another word, Frank stalked off out of the bathroom, closing the door behind himself as he went. It was a few seconds before you released the breath you'd been holding, leaning up against the bathroom counter and trying to calm down. That man was absolutely terrifying when he was angry and you did not want to be on the other side of that anger ever again.

You took a minute to collect yourself after that encounter with Frank before you headed over to the shower, turning it on and letting the water warm up. Not wanting to risk losing your chance to finally get clean, you decided to push aside whatever that moment with Frank had been and focus solely on the shower right now.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Curled up on top of the obnoxious and scratchy leopard print comforter, you’d long ago let your eyes drift closed as you rested your head on the matching lumpy leopard print pillow. Listening to the shower running in the other room, you had slowly begun to relax as you lay there. Thankfully Frank hadn’t decided to zip tie your hands to the headboard again while he washed up in the bathroom, displaying a show of trust on his part that you weren’t about to just run while he was indisposed. Though as you told him earlier, you had nowhere to go. Especially not with the dangerous people out there who were looking for you.

Before heading into the bathroom to shower, Frank had told you that he planned to figure out something for the both of you to eat for dinner when he was finished. And you were grateful for that considering how your stomach had been incessantly growling for a while now. Since Frank wouldn't let you leave the room, it wasn’t like you could exactly go out and find something to eat yourself. It didn’t help that you hadn’t eaten much today other than a beef jerky stick from a gas station a few hours ago and those eggs you’d picked at over lunch earlier when he’d stopped at that Denny’s.

At least things between you and Frank seemed to be moving in a better direction today, though. Despite the fact that he’d just reprimanded you in the bathroom for screaming over a spider, it seemed like he was beginning to trust you a bit more. And you were admittedly beginning to trust him just a little bit in return, especially after what had happened at the previous motel you’d stayed at. He had, after all, saved your life–even if you weren’t ecstatic about the way in which he had. Though he’d had a point, one you were trying hard to come to terms with. Right now, it really was you or these militia members, and if you were forced to choose, you’d rather be the one still breathing over any of the members of that terrorist group.

But Frank remained a confusing mystery to you. The media had painted the Punisher as someone who wasn’t quite right in the head after having witnessed his family murdered right in front of him. And then he’d gone on multiple killing sprees afterwards–as the news portrayed it–seeking revenge on the people responsible for killing his family. And while that wasn’t how things were supposed to be done when it came to justice, all of the people Frank had killed had been criminals. And admittedly what Frank had been through was horrible, something you couldn’t even possibly imagine living through and not wanting to seek revenge yourself. There was a part of you that had begun to understand that Frank wasn’t crazy and overtly murderous because of his actions.

You still remembered hearing all of the stories about Frank in the news and hearing the chatter about him at WGN’s news station back in the day. Everyone had thought he was insane and a mass murderer. Truthfully, at the time, he had sounded like a terrifying nightmare to you, too. You had been grateful that he was New York City’s problem and not Chicago’s. But now you were beginning to wonder just how accurate the media portrayal of him had been.

Despite his violent tendencies and rough exterior, Madani had trusted him to protect you. She was a federal agent after all, one who would surely not have done that if she’d thought he was an absolute untrustworthy monster. On top of that, he had risked his life for you and attempted to offer you comfort afterwards. He could have just let you walk out of that motel room and see all those dead bodies lying in the parking lot–but he hadn’t. And he’d been adamant earlier today that you understood how serious he was about keeping you safe when he’d noticed you getting upset at lunch. And just a bit ago he had even seemed guilty about how he’d been treating you, even if it was just a hint of guilt that you’d seen on him.

That all had to mean something, right? Because to you, he didn’t quite seem as heartless and monstrous as the media had portrayed him. Angry and violent, yes, but not crazy and certainly not a ruthless mass murderer. He was nothing like those people that were part of the Patriot Militia that were actually opening fire on innocent people just to push their agenda, the same ones then chasing after you to make sure that truth didn’t see the light of day.

No, maybe Frank Castle wasn’t as dangerous as he’d initially seemed. Or at least, not as dangerous to you as you’d first thought.

“Thinkin’ about making a quick run for food,” Frank’s gravelly voice said, breaking through your thoughts. “Maybe to a fast food joint close by.”

Eyes opening at the sound of his voice, you figured you'd try to pitch the idea you'd had earlier when he'd first gone to shower.

“I was actually thinking,” you began, gradually pushing yourself upright on the bed, “that we could hit up that bar across the street. I’m sure they’ve got–”

Your sentence died in your throat when Frank came into your line of sight, bending over and digging through the opened duffle bag on his bed. He was wearing a pair of dark jeans but no shirt, his hair still a bit damp as he ran a hand through it. You could see a few beads of water slowly making their way down the vast, muscular expanse of his back, your eyes mesmerized by their slow descent as they trailed down his skin.

“Sure they got what?” Frank asked.

Blinking hard a few times, you realized you hadn’t finished your thought, having been distracted by his muscular upper body currently on full display. It was even more on display when he turned towards you, holding a black long sleeve shirt in his hands as he eyed you curiously through narrowed eyes. You had to force your focus back up to his face, your cheeks flaming at the possibility that you’d just been caught checking him out. You hoped he hadn’t realized that’s what you had been doing, though you’d surprised even yourself that you had been. But you hadn’t expected Frank to have such very defined abdominal muscles and surprisingly large pectorals on that broad chest of his. The loose-fitting shirt and thick jacket he’d been wearing the past two days had certainly hidden all that brawn from you.

“Food,” you finished awkwardly, your face still burning. “I’m sure they’ve got food there. And I personally could uh, use a beer,” you continued, noticing the way the muscles on his upper body flexed as he slipped the shirt up and over his head. “After–after all of…this.”

His hands tugged the hem of his shirt all the way down, covering his bare chest from your view. Though you couldn’t help but notice that the shirt he’d just put on was vastly tighter than the previous one he’d been wearing. You also couldn’t help but notice how thick his arms were or how the material of this shirt clung to those large pectorals of his.

“You want to go to a bar?” Frank repeated slowly, his dark brows knitting together. “To drink? Right now?”

“Well we need food,” you pointed out, trying hard to focus on the argument you’d planned out in your head a bit ago and not the way Frank shirtless had suddenly made you feel a little shy. “And we’re stuck here for the night anyway. If we’re across the street you can keep an eye on the motel. See if we were followed. No one would expect us to be at a bar, right? They'd expect us to be in this room.”

Frank grunted in response as he ran a hand over his mouth, clearly thinking about it. Your nails plucked at the material of your jeans as you waited for his response. Inevitably the image of him shirtless raced through your mind and you averted your gaze from him, chewing the inside of your cheek. Why the hell were you thinking about Frank Castle like that?

“I suppose,” he finally answered, his hand dropping from his face before he pointed a firm finger at you. “Just as long as you don’t go gettin’ piss drunk on me. I ain’t carryin’ your ass anywhere and I don’t need you hungover and pukin’ in my van tomorrow.”

“Fair,” you replied, tossing your legs over the side of the bed and rising to your feet. “I don’t want to get wasted, I just want a drink.”

Frank grunted again before he turned, reaching across the bed to grab his jacket. He slung it on before he glanced back at you, his eyes scanning you up and down for a moment.

“Don’t you have a coat or somethin’? It’s cold outside,” he said.

You shrugged, crossing your arms over your chest. “I didn’t have a chance to grab one when I jumped out of my bedroom window,” you told him. “I only have a few things.”

“Gonna have to get you a coat then, Spunky,” Frank muttered, turning and making his way towards the door. “Can’t have you freezin’ to death on me.”

You followed after him, frowning at the nickname. “Why do you keep calling me that?” you blurted.

Frank swung the door open, stepping outside before he glanced back at you. “‘Cause you’re a pain in the ass,” he stated.

Frown deepening, you stepped out onto the sidewalk beside him, hugging your arms tighter around yourself in the cold. “And you’re a ray of sunshine yourself,” you snapped back. “I don’t like the name.”

“Good, that’s why I keep usin’ it,” he told you as he locked the door behind you.

Turning around, he began to make his way through the motel parking lot, depositing the room key into his jacket pocket as he walked. For a moment you just stood there in front of room seven, openly gaping at him. He had been calling you that to purposely irritate you?

“Get moving before I change my mind,” Frank called over his shoulder at you. “ Spunky .”

Eyes narrowing at his back, you began to follow after him in a huff. If he wanted to give you an irritating nickname, you’d give him one, too.

“Right behind you, Sunshine ,” you shot back.

A bark of a laugh flew out of Frank, his head turning over his shoulder. There was an amused grin on his face, one that actually reached his eyes as he slowed his pace, allowing you to catch up to him. Eventually you fell in step beside him, unable to hide the triumphant smile growing on your face at having managed to make him genuinely laugh.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to be funny,” Frank commented.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to have a sense of humor,” you shot back.

A light chuckle fell out of him next, the sound keeping that pleased smile on your lips. Out of the corner of your eye you saw his grin had morphed into a smile. He looked vastly less intimidating when he smiled like that.

“Keep it up,” Frank began, “and maybe you won’t be so goddamn irritating to be stuck with all day.”

“And what does that get me?” you asked him curiously as you both crossed the street. “Radio privileges?”

“Nah,” Frank said with a definitive shake of his head. “You’re not putting on some pop bullshit in my van.”

“Who says I listen to pop bullshit?”

The pair of you headed up towards the bar and you weren’t remotely surprised to see the line of motorcycles peeking out from around the side of it. The Flaming Rose was a stereotypical biker bar, just as you’d expected.

“Guess I don’t know what you listen to,” Frank mused as he reached a hand out, opening the bar door and holding it open for you. “But you aren’t playing your shit in my van," he repeated, shooting you a pointed look. "I’ll tell you that right now. Road trip rule number one, Spunky–driver picks the music.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping past him and into the poorly lit little dive bar. The sound of billiard balls clacking together met your ears, a Jimi Hendrix song playing just loud enough over the speakers. There were a couple of televisions above the bar currently airing the news. As your eyes continued to scan the room, Frank came to a stop just at your side. You noticed the bar wasn’t very full this evening; there were a few bikers in leather cuts situated at a couple of tables and you spotted what you assumed to be the ‘regulars’ who were half bent over the bar counter, hands clutching a glass or a bottle of beer as their eyes blankly stared at the news channels.

Frank’s arm nudged yours, drawing your attention back to him at your side. You looked up at him, your brows rising onto your forehead in a silent question. He was currently scanning the bar himself, clearly looking for threats.

“Why don’t you grab a table?” he suggested. “I’ll grab us some beers and somethin’ to eat. I’m guessin’ you eat pizza, right? ‘Cause it looks like they got pizza.”

“I’d eat a shoe right now,” you joked.

At that, Frank glanced down at you, a hint of amusement in his eye. Then he gestured his chin away from the bar, the glint in his eye disappearing as quick as it had appeared.

“Go on. Grab a table,” he ordered.

“Sure thing, Sunshine,” you replied.

You caught the amused huff he emitted with a shake of his head before you turned, making your way across the bar to an empty table. At least he wasn't being a surly asshole to you tonight. That was progress.

Climbing up into the tall and unsteady chair, you glanced out the window to your left. You'd intentionally grabbed a table with a view of the motel across the street so Frank could keep an eye on it. Resting your chin in your hand, you stared out the window in silence, your mind blissfully blank for once. Though you could feel the exhaustion of the past few days settling in on you like a heavy weight on your shoulders. Hopefully you could manage a decent sleep tonight without waking up to people trying to kill you. The memory of what had happened not quite twenty-four hours ago still sent a chill down your spine.

It was a few minutes before Frank appeared, sitting down in the chair across from you as he set two beers on the table, sliding one towards you. Head turning in his direction, you reached out a hand and grabbed the cold bottle, softly muttering a thanks. Frank nodded once, shrugging out of his thick jacket before pulling his own bottle to his lips for a deep drink.

You drew your own beer up to your lips, your eyes scanning the bar as you quickly began to drink it down. The energy of the Flaming Rose seemed surprisingly flat except for the two men playing pool in the far corner. Your eyes eventually slid to the wall behind them, spotting the dart board hanging on the wood paneled wall. For a moment you remembered the times you’d hit up the bars with your friends in Chicago, throwing back a few drinks and playing a few games of darts. Right now, that felt like another lifetime ago.

“What?”

Your head spun back towards Frank at the sound of his voice, taking in the way he was slouched back in his chair looking entirely at ease. One of his hands was absently twirling his beer bottle along the table, his dark eyes watching you. A sudden nervousness washed over you under his stare.

“You just sighed and looked all forlorn,” he observed. “What’s that about?”

Eyes flickering back towards the dart board, you shook your head. But Frank had caught your gaze, turning his head to follow it. He hummed out a noise before he focused back on you.

“You play darts?” he asked.

You shrugged a shoulder, your eyes dropping back down to the beer in front of you. “A little,” you told him. “Just something my friends and I used to do some nights.”

“Bet I’d kick your ass,” he challenged, sitting forward in his chair. “You look like you can’t aim worth a damn.”

Eyes making their way up towards his face, you spotted the smug smirk stretched across his lips. For a moment your eyes lingered on his mouth, the image of him standing beside his bed shirtless flashing through your mind. Goosebumps rose along your arms beneath your shirt as you began to wonder just how solid that chest of his would actually feel beneath your hands.

Clearing your throat, you tried to ignore the heat once again rising to your cheeks. You weren’t sure why you were thinking about Frank like that, but it needed to stop. Especially before he noticed.

“You’re probably right,” you agreed. “Not all of us were blessed with your good aim.”

“What?” he asked in shock, his eyebrows shooting up onto his forehead. “No smartass comeback from you? I’m surprised and a little disappointed, Spunky.”

Rolling your eyes, you raised your beer to your lips. If you hadn’t known better you’d have wondered if he was trying to flirt with you this evening. But you did, in fact, know better. The two of you clearly needed a chance to bond and break the weird tension that had only grown ever since he’d thrown you into the back of his van. After all, you were going to be stuck together for a while. He was just trying to be his version of friendly, that was all.

Frank’s attention abruptly turned towards the bar, lowering his beer back to the table. His other hand patted the tabletop twice before he slipped out of his chair.

“Pizza’s ready,” he told you. “Stay put.”

Your stomach let out a grumble at the prospect of food as you watched him head over to the bar with that swagger in his step you’d started to notice he often had. Eyes following his form as he made his way around a few tables, you couldn’t help but stare at his back and the muscles noticeable beneath his shirt.

°•°•°•°•°•°

“So what else are the road trip rules?”

Frank’s attention remained focused on the window to his right where he had been quietly watching the motel the entire time he had been eating. So far nothing out of the ordinary had caught his attention since you’d both been here; it seemed like tonight might be more uneventful than last night. Which was good. He hated to admit it, but your idea of coming here for a bit to scope out the motel had been a good one. Though he’d deny it if you asked.

But your voice had cut through his focus, drawing him back to the present with you here in the bar. He’d noticed you’d been less chatty once he’d brought the pizza to the table. And then when he’d seen how quickly you’d put down the food, he’d felt guilty realizing just how hungry you had been. While he might be able to focus on his mission, managing to get by with eating the occasional bite of food and thriving on gas station coffees, he mentally noted that he needed to pay more attention to your needs. Especially when it came to making sure you’d had a chance to fucking shower. Fuck , he still felt like a massive asshole with how small you’d sounded just asking if it was okay for you to wash up. How could he have been such a dick?

But now that you’d both finished eating, Frank assumed you were trying to strike up a conversation with him again. He figured it was so you could get to know him better, maybe to feel less like he’d abducted you outside of Ruby’s Diner a few days ago. He’d been trying his best to be a little less closed off with you, opening up just a bit. If he was going to be stuck with you for a bit, he might as well try to ease your fears of him.

Plus, he really didn’t like when you looked at him with those wide, terrified doe-eyes of yours. Or the way you’d duck your head and speak softly, like you were afraid he’d go off on you. He wanted you to feel safe around him. Wanted you to understand he wasn’t going to hurt you, even if you irritated him sometimes. Like when you’d shrieked over that goddamn spider in the bathroom tonight. He’d grabbed his gun instantly, assuming someone had been lying in wait in the bathroom somehow, and rushed straight to you in a panic, terrified you’d been hurt. But no, you’d gotten worked up over a bug .

He’d done his best to rein in his temper then, too. But still–you’d had those terrified doe-eyes of yours again and spoken in that soft voice. Afraid of him. Clearly on the verge of tears. So when you’d loosened up with him a bit on the way over to the bar, actually cracking some jokes, he’d done his best to drop his guard a bit. Which he figured he should probably try to do with you again now, just a bit.

Just to ease your fears around him, that was the only reason.

“Don’t touch my radio,” Frank answered you.

“Okay, we’ve established that,” you pointed out. “What else?”

Frank’s attention shifted away from the window and over towards where you were sitting across the table from him. His eyes followed the beer in your hand as you drew it to your mouth, wrapping your lips around the bottle before throwing the last of it back.

“No leaving motel rooms or the van without my permission,” he added. “Don’t need you disappearing on me if trouble is around.”

You nodded once, setting your beer back onto the table. “No unsanctioned bathroom trips without a hall pass, got it.”

He couldn’t fight the grin that pulled the corner of his lips upwards. You really were funny. It was a welcome surprise to him.

“No stupid road trip games, either,” he told you.

He saw the way you rolled your eyes at him before you spoke.

“Why would you even need to make that a rule?” you asked.

Frank shrugged, enjoying the way you seemed lighter than you had since he’d met you. It made him feel good knowing that he had been able to distract you from your situation, even if for a little bit. You’d seemed to really be struggling with that all day, silently lost in your mind as he drove. You probably figured he hadn’t noticed, but he had.

“Seem like the kinda person who’d play I Spy or some other equally stupid ass game,” Frank replied. “Not my sorta thing.”

“I get the impression not much is,” you muttered, glancing over at the bar.

Frank laughed, shaking his head. You were at least feeling comfortable enough to give him shit. He liked that. Though his laughter quickly subsided when he saw you stiffen in your chair, your back straightening as you focused on the television above the bar. He turned, his eyes squinting as he quickly read the closed caption on the screen. There’d been a shooting at a grocery store in Glen Allen, Virginia. Three were dead, seven injured.

Frank’s attention returned to you, his eyes narrowing further as he studied your abrupt shift in demeanor closely. You looked like you were about to be sick and your hands had a death grip on the bar table. Something about that story had upset you, and he had a feeling it was somehow linked to whatever it was you were involved in with the Patriot Militia. Madani hadn’t been too forthright with the details.

“I want to go,” you said, abruptly sliding out of the chair.

Frank’s brow furrowed at your sudden desire to leave. Wordlessly he rose from his chair, watching your body language as you wrapped your arms around yourself, hunching forward and focusing on your feet. Something was clearly bothering you, but you’d quickly just closed yourself off to him. He’d have to pry for answers later.

“Alright,” he assented, pulling on his jacket. “Let’s go.”

Without waiting, you spun on your heel and headed towards the exit. Your head remained ducked down as you made your way out of the bar and Frank couldn’t help but wonder what had affected your mood so drastically from that news story.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle angst #frank castle #the punisher

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major-mads · 2 months

Text

Chapter 5: The Dangerous Sky

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: We've been planning this chapter for months now, and it's so exciting to finally post it! It's another long one lol! Please comment or reblog and tell us what you think!! Thanks for reading!! <3

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 12.7k

Monday, August 23, 1943: Thorpe Abbotts AAF Base, Norwich

Regensburg, Germany…the mission that earned the Hundredth its nickname was finally over.

Nine forts lost.

Ninety men gone…just like that.

Ninety boys who would not return to their families.

Among these ninety men was Curt. Buck and John were still in shock when their small group of officers tiredly pushed through the doors into their nissen hut. A few beds were made with fresh sheets, all remnants of their previous owners long gone.

The nightstands and walls that held the pictures Ruth had admired the week before were bare, a fresh slate for a fresh face that would be arriving soon.

As he walked by Biddick’s bunk, Bucky couldn’t bear to look at it. The wound was still too fresh.

“Knowing Biddick,” he had told Buck in the Algerian desert,” He’s probably sipping on a bottle of schnapps right about now.”

Oh, how he wished he was right.

“Looks like you’ve got mail, Bucky,” Jack spoke up, pointing at the man’s bed that had a few letters thrown on the mattress.

Dropping off his bag with a thud, John sat on the edge of his bed and collected the letters silently, immediately recognizing the neat cursive handwriting on the front.

He let out a gentle sigh and smiled to himself, the corners of his lips curling just slightly. Flipping through the letters, he discovered that all three of them were from Ruth.

August 17th, August 19th, and August 21st

John opened the first one, carefully unfolding the precious letter, and began to read.

John, Hope and I were barely able to sleep last night. Our worry for you both ate away at us, keeping us awake until the early hours of the morning. Based on what we’ve heard from Frank, that is around the time you were probably waking up in preparation for the mission. I pray for you constantly, John. I pray that God will look out for you, that He’ll protect you, and that He’ll allow you to come back to me. I also pray that Granny’s necklace does its job. Keep it close. I like to think that it’s a little piece of me with you. I don’t think I could imagine not seeing you again. My heart couldn’t take it. I’m afraid I have become very attached to you and your mustache, Major, so I am pushing this thought as far from my mind as I can. It has been difficult. As I sit writing this in the loud mess hall of our base, I can’t help but think back on the dance. That first night we shared with the buzzing crowd surrounding us…the way you calmed my nerves without a word, made me smile, made me laugh. You are unlike anyone I’ve ever known, John Egan, and I worry that you may never be rid of me if you continue to treat me so. I hold every second we’ve shared very near to my heart, and I can’t wait to see your handsome face again. If by some miracle you are back to base by the time this letter arrives, send me a response as soon as possible. I need to know you’re safe, Johnny. I’ll be waiting for you and your letter. Yours, Ruth Morgan

John could almost hear the nurse’s voice in his head reading her words, and his chest filled with warmth as he traced her name lightly with his finger. If he was being honest with himself, he was taken aback by her sincerity. No woman had ever expressed feelings like these to him before.

His relationships with women had always been about a night of pleasure, physical attraction with not much feeling behind it.

But her words…

‘I worry that you may never be rid of me…’

Ruth was different in every way possible, and when he told her that first night, he had no idea just how much. Placing the letter onto his nightstand, he opened the second one from the 19th, his grin widening when he saw the first line.

Dear Hotshot, I wanted to be the first to inform you of the Yankees’ seven-to-five loss to the Indians today. Yes, I remember our truce, but seeing that you got one last jab on Monday before we parted, I decided that I had one left myself. This makes us even now. Now that that’s out of the way, I can revert to the loving sweetheart who is worried sick for your safe return. I really do mean it when I say you are always on my mind, John. I’ve managed to make it one singular day without seeing or writing to you before giving in and penning this letter. I simply need to get out my nerves and anxieties, thoughts and feelings, and this is the best way to do that. Hope and I went on an evacuation run yesterday, and as we were flying, we wondered if we were near the two of you. Did Buck tell you he proposed? Well, he didn’t technically, but he told Hope he wanted to marry her after the war. Needless to say, she’s been worried sick just as I have, maybe even more with Hugh gone as well (if that’s possible).

Eyes widening, John’s gaze rose from the letter and shot across the room to Gale, who was quietly talking with Hugh at his bunk as he unpacked his bag.

Why did he not tell him?

“Got any big news you wanna share with the class, Buck?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at him while holding up Ruth’s letter.

Gale confusedly looked over at him. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Rolling his eyes at Hugh, Buck sauntered over to John, standing over him with hands on his hips. “What are you talking about?”

“Mrs. Hope Cleven,” the older man grinned. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

A bashful smile appeared on Gale’s face. “I’ve got a ring and everything, now. It’ll be after all this is over.”

Standing to his feet, Bucky pulled him into a tight hug and lifted him off the ground. “Whenever it happens, I better be the best man! That’s all I’m sayin’.”

“Yeah, yeah, you will be,” Buck chuckled as John put him down, releasing him from his grip. “Just don’t tell Hugh that.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Hugh shouted across the officer's hut causing Gale to groan.

“Well, it makes sense. I am Buck’s best friend,” John retorted, sending a sly smirk Hugh’s way which only riled the man up further.

“Yeah, and Hope’s my sister. I’m his future brother-in-law.”

Gale stepped back as Hugh stomped over to them, coming chest to chest with John who just continued to playfully glare down at him.

“So what? You're a St. Louis fan,” Bucky pointed at him, a grin tugging at his lips. “That instantly makes you not best man material.”

Hugh snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and I suppose you being a great Yankees fan makes you the right choice, huh?”

“Absolutely,” John replied matter of factly. “How can you cheer for a team who lost 11-3 to the Pirates? The Pirates.”

“At least we didn’t get shut out by the Indians.”

Gale knew this wasn’t going to end well. No one could insult the Yankees to Johnny’s face and get away with it...except Ruth, of course. Before John could find a comeback, Gale stepped up, moving to stand between the two men.

“Now, now. I’m not having you two fighting over being my best man. If it’s that much of a problem, I’ll make Demarco my best man and Meatball can be the ring bearer.”

Neither of the men seemed too pleased with that outcome.

“Not Demarco!”

“Yes, Demarco.”

John groaned, pursing his lips, and Hugh remained silent, looking at the ground solemnly at their childish behavior.

“You should choose whoever you want to be your best man, but-” John began with a nod before Hugh interrupted.

“Yeah pick who you want, Gale. Hope will probably want me to walk her down the aisle anyway so I’ll probably be in the bridal party instead.”

John snickered with raised brows as he imagined Hugh in a bridesmaid’s dress, but he fell silent when Gale elbowed him in the ribs, shooting him a glare..

“Come here,” Bucky pulled Gale into another hug and slapped his friend’s back, “Congratulations, Buck! You’re a helluva guy.”

“The best,” Hugh added.

As they stood there celebrating Buck’s life-changing news, the trio couldn’t help but think of their close friend who wasn’t. Their group got even smaller…

“Curt…he would,” John cleared his throat and nodded, forcing down the emotion that threatened to creep up his throat. “He would be happy for you, Buck.”

Gale’s eyes met Bucky’s and they mirrored the same emotions…hurt, regret, sadness. The men who came back never talked about those who didn’t, and both of them knew this was the one time they would.

“Yeah, he would,” Buck breathed, one side of his lips barely turning up into a mournful smile.

Silence filled the air around them there for a few moments, all three stuck in their minds until Gale spoke up.

“That from Ruth?” Buck asked, gesturing to the letter in Johnny’s hand.

He nodded once and sat down on his bunk with a soft smile, suddenly remembering the last half of Ruth’s letter he still had to read. “I’ve got another one to read after this one. Then I’ve gotta write her back.”

As Gale looked down at his friend’s lovesick gaze, he smiled to himself and shook his head. If someone had asked him if John Egan would be rushing to read love letters and send a response to a woman, one woman, whom he’d been seeing over a month, Buck Cleven would’ve told them they were crazy.

“Tell her I said hello,” Gale said quietly, patting Johnny’s shoulder before returning to his bunk.

He muttered, “Yeah, sure,” before his eyes found the paragraph he left off on. The major’s aching heart was soothed by her words as he continued to read them.

We have been busying ourselves around the base, finding things to keep our mind off the fact that we don’t know where you are…if you’re safe. I’d like to think I’d know in my heart if you were gone. I pray I don’t ever have to face that feeling. Take care of each other wherever you are, alright? I know you watch Buck’s back like he watches yours, Johnny. Keep an eye on Hugh, as well. We both know he can be a troublemaker…like someone else I know. He, however, doesn’t have someone to reel him back in when he gets a little too crazy like you do. I know I’m writing this like you will receive it where you are right now, and not when you return to base, but I’m doing so because it’s the closest thing I have to talking to you. I miss you, John. Please write when you get this. Praying for your safe return, Your Ruthie

Scooting onto his bunk more comfortably, Bucky leaned back against the wall and opened the last letter. It was dated just two days prior, so at her current rate, another would be sent before his could reach her.

My Hotshot, Please come home soon. The past five days have been torture. I go to see if I’ve gotten mail every single day, and each time, I leave a little more disheartened than I came. I feel my heart can’t beat inside my chest until I know you’re safe. I know you’re doing your job…a job that has to be done…but it doesn’t make it any easier. I’m sorry, John, but I don’t have too much time to write. We’re about to leave on an evac run. I long to hear your voice and feel your warm touch. Don’t forget your promise, hon. Come back to me…sooner rather than later. I can’t handle two boyfriends, remember? Missing you, Your Girl

Johnny swallowed thickly, lowering the letter to his lap as his mind raced. He knew that it very easily could’ve been him that went down that fateful day over Regensburg…it was all luck.

There was a bigger chance than he’d like to admit that he’d go down, that they’d all go down, and the thought of never seeing Ruth again brought a burning to his chest. Reaching up, he grasped the necklace around his neck beside his dog tags, feeling the coolness under his fingers.

Her Granny’s necklace sure did its job.

John brought the cross to his lips, kissing it softly as he silently thanked Virginia Morgan up above for the good luck.

Once the letters were carefully stored in the growing bundle of her correspondences he kept in his nightstand, he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and a pen. Using his book as a backer, he began to write.

Ruthie, Hey, sweetheart. I’m glad that you kept your promise about the letters, and I’m also glad to say that I’ve managed to come back to you in one piece. By now, you’ve probably read about the raid in the papers. It was a tough one, and reading your letters helped more than you’ll ever know. Thanks for telling me of Buck’s “proposal.” The chump hadn’t even told me about it! So much for a best friend, right? He says ‘hello,’ by the way. Hugh thinks he has a chance at best man, but we all know that’s not gonna happen. You’ll be the maid of honor and I’ll be the best man…I can see it now: Buck crying like a baby and you looking like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve missed you, Ruthie. I still can’t believe that a wonderful woman like yourself would ever spare a poor sucker like me the time of day. Each time we part, I find myself replaying our every moment spent together. When we were stuck in the Algerian desert under the scorching sun, my thoughts always wandered back to you. Your skin, your hair, your smile, your lips…the way you make me laugh. You are unlike any woman I’ve ever known, Ruth Morgan, and if I am never rid of you (as you wrote), I would consider myself the luckiest man in the world. Stay safe up there on your runs for me. Your Hotshot, John Egan P.S. Tell your other boyfriend that I’m back and not willing to share.

Saturday, August 28, 1944: Thorpe Abbotts AAF Base

John, Gale, and Hugh were riding from their nissen huts to the mess hall when the familiar roar of a C-47 filled the air. The sound meant their girls were on base, and it filled them with excitement as they peddled faster towards the landing strip.

“Did you know they were coming today?” Buck asked, quickly glancing over at Johnny and Hugh.

John shook his head, a lazy grin curving his lips. “No, Ruth didn’t mention it in her last letter.”

Gale nodded to himself but couldn’t shake the feeling deep down that something was wrong. As they approached the airstrip, Colonel Harding appeared, calling out to John.

“Bucky! I need to talk to you,” he yelled from the balcony of the nearby flight tower.

Holding in a groan, Johnny nodded at Hugh and turned his bike toward the tower. “Tell Ruth I’ll see her in a minute.”

It all happened so quickly.

The flight had been uneventful.

All their patients were stable, and Frank and his fellow pilot were singing together in the cockpit. Hope and Ruth had taken their seats and were enjoying resting their legs for a while.

That was until the Ack-Ack’s had started firing.

Hope hissed, resting her palm against her injured thigh as she slid out of the plane. The bloodied bandage did nothing to stem the steady flow of thick blood. It hadn't been gushing with a constant flow but seemed to increase as her heart pounded faster and faster in her chest.

Memories of the shrapnel piercing her thigh, having pranged around the aircraft before embedding itself into her, flashed in her mind. Looking back, she shouldn’t have pulled it out, but despite Ruth’s protests, she was stubborn, and without the blonde’s quick thinking at applying pressure and a tourniquet, she wondered if this would have been a different situation. Hope hated feeling weak and not being in control, but her stubbornness could have cost her life.

“You need to get that leg checked out, Hope,” Ruth glanced over, her usually soft features etched with fear and concern, but Hope, still being her stubborn self, shook her head.

“Ruth’s right, Hope. It’s a bad wound and we’d all feel a lot better if you got it checked out,” Frank added, helping the blonde with getting a stretcher into the ambulance.

“We need to tend to our patients first,” Hope shuffled over to the nearest man on a stretcher, quickly informing the stretcher-bearers of his condition before they carted him towards the ambulance.

Glancing at his watch quickly, the pilot cursed under his breath. “I’ve gotta go radio the base and let them know what happened.” He pointed at Hope as he hurried off. “Get it checked.”

“Do you need that leg looked at, Miss?” One of the young men asked, “There’s room in the ambulance.”

Hope shook her head, politely declining any assistance. That was until two familiar faces came rushing over, a mixture of fear, anger, and horror on their faces as they noticed the side of their C-47.

“What the hell happened, Girls?” Hugh asked, glancing between his sister, then Ruth, then back to Hope. “Shit! You’re bleeding.” He reached forward but Hope pulled away, shrugging him off.

“I'm fine, Hugh. It's just a scratch. I'll get it looked at later,” she dismissed him.

By now she could feel Gale’s eyes boring into her, his sharp blues missing nothing. He felt her discomfort as she hobbled along, trying to avoid resting her hand against the wound to draw attention to it.

“That looks a hell of a lot more than a scratch, Hope,” Gale stepped forward to stand beside Hugh, his movements stiff and mechanical, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to act. “You’re covered in blood.”

Hope looked down at her uniform, noticing that from her waist down both her legs were soaked in blood and she was beginning to feel lightheaded. “I said I'm fine,” Hope snapped, exasperated and in pain.

She just wanted to do her job, why couldn't they understand that?

“What happened, Hope?” Gale’s eyes were dead serious as they watched her, clearly annoyed but wracked with concern. Hope just looked back at him, unable to move or speak for fear she might cry.

“It was the Ack-Ack’s,” Ruth quietly spoke up, and the men turned to see her own blood-soaked uniform, her hands still shaking at her side. “The plane was hit by flak fire. A chunk of shrapnel went flying around… got Hope in the thigh,” Ruth sighed and let her gaze fall to the ground, knowing that Hope might not forgive her for the next part. “She pulled it out herself. We applied pressure and a dressing but she needs to see a doctor.”

If looks could kill, Ruth would be six feet under the airbase by now.

“YOU DID WHAT?” Gale cried out, his face white with horror but his sharp eyes burning in a way none of them had ever seen before. “Are you some sort of idiot? Everyone knows not to pull things out of a wound. You could have bled out.” Gale’s chest was heaving as he fought the anger that built up within him. His hands clenched in fists at his side as he continued. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

Hugh reached out to him, trying to cool the situation down but Hope intervened.

“I had patients on board. I'm no good to them if I bleed out everywhere. I thought quickly and went with the best possible outcome.”

Gale snorted, waving his hands out in front of him, “Of course you did. You thought of the best possible outcome for you. What about the rest of us, Hope? What would happen if you had died?”

Hope sent him a hostile glare, jaw clenched and her lip curling slightly as she spoke, “Do you realize how selfish you sound?”

Gale scoffed, “I’m selfish. Did you for one-second think of what we'd have done if you had died?”

Despite being outside surrounded by wounded soldiers, you could have heard a pin drop.

Hope’s eyes scanned over the group, looking into the faces of her friends and seeing the same hurt looks. Ruth’s face was still tilted toward the ground with closed eyes as she listened to the bickering. The fear, the explosions, and the sound of Hope’s pained scream replayed in the woman’s mind, and she felt like her heart was going to explode inside her chest.

It was too much. It was all too much.

Ruth was vaguely aware of the rest of the group leaving the airfield, Buck trailing off after Hope as she stormed away, and Hugh marching off as well. She stood there silently, trying to keep herself from falling apart…

The second Bucky was dismissed by Colonel Harding, he jogged down the stairs to his bike outside. Pedaling to the airstrip, he could only think of Ruth’s smiling face that he would soon be seeing. The hum of engines reached his ears as he turned around the corner of a shortcut, and the sight of her familiar figure standing before the C-47 sparked even more excitement within him. A grin formed on his face and he pedaled faster, eager to greet her.

As the plane came into better view, his smirk fell as he noticed a giant hole in its fuselage. Johnny’s gaze snapped back to Ruth, and when he looked closer, his initial excitement transformed into horror. The world seemed to blur when his eyes focused on the blood-soaked flight uniform that clung to her. Panic seized him, and without a second thought, he leaped off the still-moving bicycle, letting it clatter to the concrete behind him as he sprinted toward Ruth, his boots pounding against the hard ground.

“Ruth! Ruth, what happened?” he cried desperately, his voice echoing off the nearby buildings.

Johnny reached her in a whirlwind, taking her face in his hands, his panicked blue eyes inspecting her face intensely, scanning for any sign of injury. He then moved to her torso, his hands running over her body frantically.

As his hands desperately searched Ruth’s uniform, his voice trembled with fear. “You hurt?”

For a moment, she didn’t respond, and then suddenly, her tear-filled eyes met his. The Major’s hands, once frantic in their search, were now pleading. "Ruthie, come on. Talk to me. I need to know you’re okay."

She gently placed her hands over his, stopping him. “It’s not mine,” she finally whispered, her voice strained. “We flew into a flack field, and, uh, Hope. She got hit in the leg. Buck’s with her now.”

‘Ruth’s okay,’ John repeated in his frazzled mind. “She’s okay.

A relieved sigh escaped his lips and John wrapped his arms around her, pulling the woman into him tightly. Her head was tucked into his chest as uncontrollable tremors ran through her body.

“You’re okay, doll. I’ve got you,” he murmured against her temple. “I’m here.”

His heart broke as he felt a sob rack through her body, her weak cries reaching his ears. “I-I was so scared, John. I thought we were gonna die.”

Bucky pulled back slightly and moved his hands to grasp her tear-streaked cheeks gently, her pain-filled blue eyes nearly tearing him apart.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered, leaning down to meet her gaze as he wiped her tears softly with the pad of his thumbs. “You didn’t, okay? It’s over now. You’re safe, Ruth. It’s over.”

She took a shaky deep breath, trying to calm herself, but another cry fought its way up her throat and the nurse let out a choked sob. With each breathless gasp that left her lips, Ruth’s heart pounded faster and she suddenly felt her chest tightening.

John knew what the startings of a panic attack looked like, and he tried to recall how Franny had taught him to calm Lena down all those years ago when they were teenagers. Seeing Ruth’s usually bright and loving personality in such a fearful and panicked state sent his mind into overdrive.

“Ruth,” he urged, his hands still cradling her face. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

Her watery gaze met his, her breaths coming out in short uneven gasps.

“I need you to breathe.”

Taking a deep breath through his nose, John nodded at her with raised brows, worry etching his face. “With me, now.”

Ruth shook her head. “I-I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” the Major asserted firmly, reaching for her hand and holding it against his chest. “Feel that? Breathe with me. In…” he breathed through his nose. “And out.”

After a moment, she shakily followed suit, her eyes never leaving his. The warmth of John’s hand enveloping hers and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her touch grounded her in the moment. Gradually, her breathing began to regulate, the erratic gasps giving way to steady inhales and exhales. Johnny watched her closely, his eyes searching for any signs that the attack might return.

“There you go,” he murmured. “Just keep breathing with me, doll.”

With each measured breath, Ruth felt the tightness of her chest gradually ease, the weight of her fear lifting. After a few minutes, her breath completely steadied, and the panic attack passed, leaving her drained but calmer.

Ruth leaned into John’s comforting embrace, her forehead moving to rest against his chest as she let out a shuddering sigh.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper. “I-I’m sorry you had to see me like this, covered in blood and…and a mess.”

John placed a soft kiss to her temple. “None of that. You’re okay. That’s all I care about.”

As she stepped back into his arms, her eyes welled up with tears once more. “But look at you,” she protested weakly, gesturing to the smears of blood that marred his brown button-up undershirt. “I’ve ruined your shirt.”

Bucky shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “This old thing? I’ve got a million of ‘em anyways, Ruthie. It’s just a shirt. Wasn’t even my Sunday’s best,” he reassured her gently. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t wear my lucky jacket today.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded. “Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and slowly led her toward the nearby operations building, still feeling her body shaking beneath his touch. As they turned the corner, they were met with Bubbles walking past a jeep. His face scrunched in concern and the usual smile fell from his lips at the sight of the bloodied woman.

“Shit! What happened, Bucky?” he asked, quickly approaching them. “Do I need to go get Doc Stover?”

“No,” Ruth piped up, mustering the best smile she could. Even Bubbles could see straight through it.

John shook his head. “We’re alright, but I’ve gotta take your ride, Bubbles. Sorry.”

“Oh, that’s not mine. It’s Kidd’s.”

“Even better,” he smirked, opening the passenger door for Ruth before climbing behind the wheel. “Tell him I owe him one.”

Bubbles raised a brow with a barely concealed grin. “He’s gonna be pissed, sir.”

“Ehh, he’ll get over it.”

Nodding, the lieutenant turned to enter the building, but Bucky called out to him. “Oh! Bubbles, could you grab my bike? It’s somewhere near the ‘47 back there. Tell Jack it’s his for the day! Thanks!”

As the jeep roared to life, John tucked Ruth under his arm much like he did the night of the dance, and then they were off. She laid her head on his shoulder and her eyes slowly fluttered shut, sleep calling to her after the day’s events.

John peered down at her with a saddened smile as he took in her splotchy face and the blood that seemed to coat the bottom half of her uniform. Some of it even clung to her hair, the light blonde strands covered by the sticky, maroon substance.

As he felt her finally relax in his hold, he let out a shaky breath, his heart finally beating regularly in his chest again. The Major knew how terrifying flack encounters were, and he was trained in how to handle it…well, he was used to it. Ruth, on the other hand, was not. It was her job to keep men alive while in the air, not worrying about being shot out of the sky by some German on an anti-aircraft gun.

Rage bubbled from within him at the thought. If the blast was just a little closer, there was a chance that he wouldn’t be holding her in his arms. If one more-

“I missed you,” she murmured, breaking Bucky from his thoughts as she nuzzled into his shoulder. “I was so worried about you, John.”

He took a steadying breath, pushing down his anger as he ran his hand along Ruth’s arm softly. “I missed you, too, doll. And I guess we’re even now, ‘cause I think I just lost ten years of my life back there.”

A tired laugh escaped her lips. “Imagine feeling that way for 9 days.”

Johnny could hear the exhaustion in her voice, and he squeezed her shoulder, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her hairline.

“Get some shut-eye, alright? We’ve got a stop to make before we go back to my hut.”

She nodded against him as her eyes fluttered closed again, sleep quickly overtaking her.

As she slept soundly under his arm, he pulled up to a hut with a familiar figure smoking outside. “Miss Tatty,” John whisper-shouted, careful not to wake up Ruth. “Could you do me a favor?”

Raising a brow, she took a drag of her cigarette and approached the jeep, her smile falling when she saw the nurse’s bloody figure beside him. “She alright?”

“Flack hit her stick,” He sighed, running his free hand down his face. “She’s alright, but Hope got pinked in the thigh. Scared her half to death.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Could you find some extra clothes for her? She’s gonna need some fresh ones.”

Tatty nodded at him, a determined expression gracing her face. “I’ll get some now.”

It only took the woman a few minutes to emerge from the hut with a small bundle in her hand. “This should be enough,” she said, placing the bag into the back of the jeep. “But please stop by again if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Tatty. I owe ‘ya one.”

A tiny chuckle left her lips as she pointed her finger between Ruth and John. “Just don’t screw this one up, John, and we can call it even.”

“I don’t plan on it,” he grinned toothily, putting the jeep back in drive and starting down the road again. John’s hut was across the base, and he spent the short drive tapping the steering wheel to the tune of One O’Clock Jump while stealing glances at the sleeping woman in his arms.

When the jeep rumbled to a stop outside the officer’s hut, Johnny rubbed Ruth’s shoulder. “Wake up, doll. We’re here,” he said gently, a soft smile playing at his lips as she lazily sat up, blinking away the sleep in her swollen eyes. “You need to get washed up.”

Ruth lazily looked around them and realized where they were. “How long was I out?”

“Not long. Only about half an hour.”

Her eyes fell to her lap, the slick blood still staining the uniform. She was suddenly aware of how terrible she felt. It was everywhere. On her skin, in her hair…

“I feel disgusting,” she whispered, holding up her red-stained hands.

“I know, doll. Here are some clothes you can change into after you shower.” Bucky reached back and grabbed the small bag that Tatty had given him, squeezing her shoulder before getting out of the jeep. “Let me go grab my kit for you and I’ll be right back.”

The second the door shut behind him, Ruth’s gaze fell back down to her hands, on the crusted blood under her nails, on Hope’s blood. At the thought, a strike of anxiety coursed through her, and the nurse could feel her heartbeat speed up. The shaking of the plane and the sound of the hot metal flying through the cabin rang in her ears as she closed her eyes tightly.

Among the chaos in her mind, she heard Johnny’s calming words.

‘I need you to breathe…in and out.’

Following his voice, she took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to calm her racing heart. Ruth repeated the action and ached for his comforting presence beside her.

‘Breathe. In and out.’

Inside his hut, Johnny was strutting to his bunk when he heard a soft snore from his left. His eyes followed the sound to a bed across the room, a smile growing on his face when he realized it was Buck and Hope. Her dark hair was splayed on his chest, and Gale had an arm around her waist as the couple peacefully slept, their faces free from worry.

It was the most peaceful slumber Bucky had ever seen Gale have throughout their three-year friendship.

He let out a chuckle under his breath and quietly gathered his shower pack, sparing them one last glance before closing the door behind him. As John emerged from the hut, Ruth’s eyes rose to his figure. His gaze locked with hers and he could once again see the worry in her blue eyes. He quickly approached the jeep but was stopped when someone called out to him.

“Bucky?”

Johnny turned to his left, seeing Majors Dye and Veal jogging toward him with wide eyes.

“You good?” Dye asked, eyeing the smears of blood on his shirt. Bill just stared at him warily, the only emotion on his face visible by the slight crease in his brow.

“I’m fine, boys,” Bucky replied with a smirk, his eyes floating to Ruth over their shoulder. “Thanks for the concern, but you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”

The pair followed his gaze, sharing a silent look when they saw Ruth in the jeep.

“Wait,” Bill spoke up gravelly, nodding towards John’s shirt. “Is that her blood?”

Scratching his mustache, John glanced at Ruth before lowering his voice and leaning closer to them. “No, but it’s Hope’s. Buck’s in there with her. They’ve both had a real shitty day.”

Dye nodded and sent her a sympathetic smile which she shakily returned. “We’ll tell the guys to steer clear for a little while.”

John could tell Ruth was teetering again, and he clapped Glen’s back, throwing a quick ‘thanks’ over his shoulder as he walked back to the jeep, his attention completely on his girl. He rounded the bumper to lean against the passenger side, offering her his hand. “Come on, let’s go get you squeaky clean again, Ruthie.”

Nodding silently, she let him lead her to the bathhouse. Ruth stood in the corner while he turned on the shower, the hot steam already fogging up the mirrors when he stepped back and held his shower pack out to her. “I-uh don’t know how hot you like it, so I just-”

“I’m sure it’s perfect,” she replied softly, taking the pack. ”Thank you.”

He stared at her for a few moments and took in the pure exhaustion on her features, his hand instinctively reaching up to push some hair behind her ear as he spoke softly. “I’ll be right outside. Gotta make sure no one sneaks a peek of my girl.”

Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss against her lips before backing toward the door. Just as he reached for the handle, her voice stopped him in his tracks.

“John?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

“Can, um, can you stay?” she asked nervously, her eyes trained on the floor. “I don’t want to be alone.”

As Ruth’s request hung in the air, John’s mind went into overdrive. He felt a rush of heat flood his cheeks and his heart pounded in his chest. Swallowing hard, he struggled to find the right words.

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” he finally replied softly.

Even as he spoke the words, his mind was in turmoil and his thoughts spiraled out of control. John was unable to tear his gaze from her as she slowly began to unzip her flight uniform, revealing her red-tinged tank top underneath. When Ruth caught his stare, her cheeks flushed.

“Um, John,” her voice broke through the silence, her tone hesitant. “Could you…could you look away please?”

“Right,” Bucky muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the running water as he snapped out of his trance and spun to face the door. “Sorry.”

As she continued to undress, John tried to focus on anything other than what was happening behind him. He stared at the cracked cement floor, willing himself to remain composed, to keep his thoughts in check. When he heard the rustle of the curtain opening and closing, he let out a shaky breath as relief flooded through him.

Despite his efforts to focus on anything else, his thoughts kept drifting back to the woman on the other side of the curtain, her presence a constant in his mind. Bucky knew he should respect her privacy and give her a moment to decompress after the day’s stressful events, but the temptation proved too strong and before he could stop himself, he found his gaze drifting back to the shower.

John stole a glance through the opaque shower curtain, his body heating up at the sight of Ruth's silhouette moving gracefully beneath the spray of water. But as quickly as the temptation came, a wave of shame washed over him, and he quickly averted his gaze, chastising himself for his lack of self-control.

He traced the outline of her body in his mind, and then the shame came rolling right back again. Bucky knew he had to take his mind off of the woman…or at least try to…so he began to sing under his breath.

“Never saw the sun shining so bright,

Never saw things looking so right.

Watching the days hurrying by,

When you’re in love, my how they fly,

Blue days, all of ‘em gone,

Nothin’ but blue skies from now on…”

Ruth stood beneath the warm spray of water, letting it cascade over her weary body, washing away the dirt and grime of the day. The hot water soothed her aching muscles and eased the tension that had settled deep within her bones. Closing her eyes, she let out a sigh of relief, allowing herself a moment of rest.

As John’s soft singing filled the air, Ruth couldn’t help but smile. His voice, though not the most melodic, calmed her frayed nerves and eased the knot of fear that had lodged itself in her chest.

“John,” she called out over the sound of the water.

“Yeah?” Came his muffled reply.

“Could you sing a little louder?”

Bucky ducked his head with a grin and raised his voice, switching to a new song.

“And when I told them how beautiful you are,

They didn’t believe me. They didn’t believe me.

Your lips, your eyes, your curly hair,

Are in a class beyond compare,

You’re the loveliest girl that one could see…”

Ruth closed her eyes and let his deep voice wash over her, allowing herself to get lost in the rhythm of the song.

“And when I tell them,

And I’m cert’nly gonna tell them,

That I’m the man whose wife one day you’ll be.

They’ll never believe me. They’ll never believe me.

That from this great big world you’ve chosen me!”

As she listened to him, she began to scrub the blood from her skin, feeling a wave of emotion course through her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as the memories of the day flooded her mind, but John’s voice calmed her, and she rapidly blinked them away. She knew that she wasn’t alone…that she had someone to stay by her side…someone to take care of her.

It took her a few washes to get the dried blood from her hair, and she sighed in relief when she could run her fingers through the strands without getting caught in a tangle. The water turned off with a click, and she stuck her head out the curtain, making sure only her face was visible.

“Could you pass me my towel?”

Johnny turned back towards her and quickly averted his gaze as reached for her towel hanging nearby. “Here,” he said, extending it towards her without making eye contact before facing the door once again.

“Thanks,” she replied, accepting the towel and beginning to dry herself off.

Ruth quickly got dressed, making a mental note to thank Tatty later, and ran the towel over her sopping wet hair. Once fully ready, she spoke up, her voice breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. “Okay, you can turn around now.”

Turning towards her slowly, John’s breath caught in his throat as he took her in. Her short blonde hair was slightly tousled from the shower, its natural waves making an appearance, and her cheeks flushed from the heat of the water. Ruth wore some navy pants that fit her perfectly with a dark, oversized wine colored sweater. Despite the exhaustion that lingered in her eyes, Johnny’d never seen something as beautiful in his 27 years.

“Wow,” John chuckled, approaching her slowly and cupping her cheek. “Would you look at that. Damn gorgeous.”

Her cheeks flushed even deeper at his words, a shy smile tugging the corners of her lips as she leaned into his touch. “You’re such a flirt,” she murmured.

Without hesitation, Johnny leaned in and pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss, his hand weaving into her blonde waves. As they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the bathhouse.

As he slowly leaned back, Ruth’s eyes caught sight of the raised scabs on his nose, cheekbone, and forehead. She reached up tentatively, barely touching them as she inspected his face.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice laced with concern. “I didn’t even notice before.”

John’s gaze softened as he met her worried eyes. “Just a few scratches, Ruthie. Nothing to worry about.”

She nodded, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Was it from Regensburg?”

The Major hesitated for a moment, the mental image of Curt’s plane exploding flashing in his mind before he could stop the thought. He nodded once and forced his face to remain neutral. “Yeah.”

Little did he know that the blonde could see the pain in his blue eyes.

Ruth shook her head, a frown tugging at her lips. “You’ve been taking care of me all day, and I-I should have noticed sooner. I’m sorry.”

He reached out, gently taking her hand. “Hey, it’s okay,” he reassured her, giving her hand a comforting squeeze. “I’m really fine, doll. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

He forced all thoughts of the mission from his mind, focusing on the present.

“You’re lucky,” he smirked down at her, mischief floating in his eyes. “I don’t give free concerts to just anyone.”

Ruth couldn’t hold in a laugh at his remark and the soft sound echoed through the small room. “Well, lucky for you,” she teased back. “If you gave out tickets for free, nobody would show up anyway.”

John rolled his eyes playfully, his heart swelling with relief as he listened to Ruth’s laughter, even her small smile warming him from the inside out. It eased the tension and guilt in his chest and filled him with a sense of happiness that he couldn’t quite put into words. He leaned in to kiss her forehead gently, savoring the feeling of her soft skin against his lips.

“You feeling any better?”

“I feel clean,” Ruth sighed wistfully. “Tired but clean.”

Gathering all her used items from the bathroom, she threw them into the dirty bin in the corner of the room. Bucky took her hand and brought them to his hut’s door, holding a finger to his lips.

“What?” she yawned as he opened the door for her. “What are-”

She cut herself off when she spotted them. Buck and Hope were still sleeping in each other’s arms, and a wide smile formed on her face when she looked up at Johnny who was already peering down at her.

‘Hope’s fine,’ she thought. ‘They must have made up.’

Ruth had to throw a hand over her mouth to keep in the excited giggle that threatened to escape her lips, and John shook his head, tugging her away from the couple to his bunk.

She sank into his bed and inhaled deeply. Ruth closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the scent of his pillow, a mixture of his cologne and the army-issue shampoo they all used. It was a comforting smell, one that made her feel at ease.

As Ruth settled onto the bed, John made his way to the footlocker at the foot of the bunk, rummaging around for a clean shirt. Turning onto her back, she stared up at him as his fingers loosened the knot of his tie, pulling it free from around his neck. He tossed it into his footlocker before moving on to the buttons of his brown uniform shirt, revealing the pink-splotched tank top beneath.

Ruth couldn’t tear her gaze away if she tried.

She watched in silence, her face burning as he shrugged off the shirt, exposing his broad shoulders and muscular arms. When he finally pulled off the tank top, leaving him shirtless, a lump formed in her throat and heat surged through her.

‘Get it together, Ruth,’ she thought.

John caught her gaze and smirked, raising an eyebrow as he placed his hands on his hips. ��So you can look, but I can’t?”

Ruth sputtered for a moment, her cheeks turning an impossibly deeper shade of red, but John chuckled softly. “I’m just joking, doll. Look all you want.“

She couldn’t help but admire him openly, her eyes tracing the lines of his chest and the curve of his shoulders. He was undeniably handsome…she knew that. But seeing him like this took her attraction to a whole new level and her heart fluttered in her chest.

Ruth eyed the few things that dangled from his neck: his dog tags, a small Virgin Mary pendant, and her Granny’s cross.

Ruth silently thanked her Grandmother for bringing him back to her.

Grabbing a fresh shirt from his footlocker, John slipped it on and kicked off his shoes before settling onto the bed, sliding back to sit against the wall. Ruth shifted to make herself comfortable and rested her head on his lap as Johnny’s fingers brushed over her damp hair.

They talked quietly for a few minutes, their conversation meandering aimlessly as they both enjoyed the other’s company. Soon, Ruth’s eyelids grew heavy, and her words began to drift off mid-sentence. Bucky watched her fondly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as she slipped into sleep, her warm breaths against his thigh.

Sighing, he carefully reached for his beat-up copy of Guys and Dolls on his nightstand and began to read, holding it up with one hand. His other hand rested on Ruth’s head as he absentmindedly stroked her hair as he read, only lifting it to flip the page.

‘Only a rank sucker will think of taking two peeks at Dave the Dude’s doll, because while Dave may stand for the first peek, figuring it is a mistake, it is a sure thing he will get sored up at the second peek, and Dave the Dude is certainly not a man to have sored up on you. But this Waldo Winchester is one hundred percent sucker…’

The only sounds filling the room were each of the four’s quiet breaths, and John was able to read a few chapters before he heard rustling across from him. He lowered his book to see Buck sitting up slightly, rubbing his eyes with a yawn.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty,” John grinned, his voice hushed.

Gale’s head lifted to get a look at his friend and a chuckle escaped him seeing Johnny with a wide-mouthed Ruth lying in his lap, her blonde hair covering his thighs. “Look at us.”

“Yeah. Who would’ve thought.”

Silence filled the air again as each thought of the woman beside them. A few moments later, John broke the stillness of the nissen hut. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s…She’s good,” Gale replied as he fought to keep a blush from his cheeks at the memory of their confession and what came after. “How’s Ruth?”

Johnny shook his head with a saddened sigh. “Real shaken up, Buck. You should’ve seen her earlier. I was…I was worried.”

“I know the feeling. She doin’ any better now?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Finally cracked a smile and seemed herself when she saw you two.”

A gentle smile tugged at Buck’s lips as his gaze drifted down to Hope who continued to sleep soundly. Her breathing was shallow and her nose wrinkled occasionally as she dreamed. At some point, she had moved her left hand to clutch onto his shirt and he could see the ring glisten in the dim light. “I popped the question.”

“So it’s official?”

“Yep.

“Congratulations, Buck,” Johnny smiled, a brow raising a few seconds later. “I am gonna be your best man, right?”

With an eye roll, Gale nodded at him. “Of course, you are, lardass.”

“Good.”

“As if I could watch Hope walk down the aisle without you by my side.”

“Exactly. You'll be crying like a baby anyway. I’ll have to bring plenty of tissues,” John chuckled, pleased that a sleeping Hope was keeping Gale anchored to the bed. Otherwise, he thought something would have been thrown his way.

“I can’t say you’re much better,” Gale pointed out, nodding his head toward them. “Look at you. Never thought I’d see the day that John Egan wrote love letters, much less something like this.”

John chuckled and thought about how different his life had been since that day in July. “Well, I finally found one worth writing to. Ruth…she’s uh, she-”

As if she had heard her name, the blonde stirred on his lap, stretching and yawning loudly before her eyes made contact with Gale who smiled at her.

“Good morning, Gale greeted her, causing Ruth to blush. She hadn’t realized she had an audience watching her wake up and only hoped she hadn’t been snoring loudly.

She rolled onto her back to face John and was met with a gentle smile and loving blue eyes gazing down at her. “Hey there. Feeling better?”

“Still tired,” Ruth sighed and sat up, rubbing away the sleepers that had accumulated in her swollen eyes. “But I don’t think I can sleep anymore.”

John had to hold in a laugh at the way her blonde waves stuck up in all different directions from where they had dried on his lap. “Well, your wish is my command, doll, so what do you wanna do?”

“What is there to do?”

“Have you seen the hard stands yet?” Gale spoke up. “Lemmons might even have Billy and Sammy over there.”

“Billy and Sammy?”

“Two little squirts that Kenny’s taken under his wing,” John answered with a nod.

At the mention of the kids, Ruth’s face lit up, and a wide grin grew on her lips. All evidence of sleep disappeared from her features as she excitedly clambered off the major’s lap and stood to her feet, brushing her fingers through her hair to tame the wild locks.

As he watched her, Johnny felt a pang of sadness at the sight of Ruth’s sudden enthusiasm. It hit him then, that she probably hadn’t seen many kids since becoming a nurse. As a teacher, she was surrounded by them every day, and now, their innocent faces were likely a distant memory in her mind.

“They’re a handful, those two,” Bucky chuckled, rising to his feet beside her. “But they’re good kids. Come on, let’s go see if Kenny’s putting em’ to work over at the hard stands.”

Walking out of the hut, the couple sent Buck a “thanks” as they walked by him. Ruth’s eyes fell on Hope’s still sleeping figure, her heart twinging at the memories of the morning, but she didn’t worry. Gale was there to take care of her.

John and Ruth spent the short ride to the hard stands talking about their weeks, and he almost let the news of Gale and Hope’s engagement slip a few times before they rumbled to a stop in front of Muggs’ hardstand.

He was determined to keep his mouth shut for once. Bucky knew Hope should be the one to tell Ruth about her engagement, and he didn’t want to be the one to ruin the surprise.

Hopping out of the jeep, John’s eyes searched for Lemmons. “Kenny?”

Ruth glanced over at him skeptically. “He here?”

“Should be. He said he’d fix the old girl up today.”

They approached the fort, and Ruth was shocked by its sheer size. Yes, her C-47 was big, but the B-17 was different. Her plane carried supplies, people, almost anything…but this was a weapon. A weapon that took the fight to Hitler’s doorstep.

It really did look like a fortress.

Ruth reached up and trailed her fingers along its yellow nose paint, the metal rivets cool from the chilly English air as she followed John to the small hatch just in front of the right wing. Before he could stick his head into the hatch, a small boy’s face appeared sideways out the hole.

“Boo!”

Both the adults jumped, Ruth more so than Bucky, and the man jokingly groaned. “Billy! I thought Lemmons was supposed to be keeping you out of trouble?”

“Did I scare you, Major?”

John raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you think?”

“Yes,” he giggled as another boy stuck his head out the hole.

Sammy.

“Whatcha think, Ruthie?” Bucky looked over at her with his hands on his hips. “They get me?”

She grimaced playfully and nodded. “He about jumped out of his boots, boys.”

They shared a shocked look, then broke out into cheers, their faces disappearing from the hatch. “Lemmons! We got him! We finally got him!”

“They’ve been trying to scare me for weeks,” he explained, a fond grin tugging at his lips. “Finally got me.”

Before Ruth could respond, a pair of feet dangled from the hatch, and John helped each of the boys to the ground, setting them down in front of the couple. They went running off toward the tail, and then a few seconds later, a ground crewman hopped out of the hatch, his dark curls peeking out from under his beanie.

“So they finally got ya, huh, Bucky?” he asked.

“Looks like it,” he replied.

Ken’s eyes fell to Ruth beside John and he smiled, wiping his oily hands on a rag. “You must be Ruth! I’ve heard a lot about you.” He held out a hand, “I’m Ken Lemmons, but you can call me Kenny. I’m one of the ground crew chiefs.”

“Nice to meet you, Kenny. I hope you’ve heard good things,” Ruth answered, cheeks flushing at the notion that John had talked about her. She glanced up at him with narrowed eyes before shaking Ken’s hand. “There’s no telling what this one’s said.”

“Don’t worry,” Lemmons chuckled. “Only good things. I promise.”

Giggles sounded from the back of the plane, and Ruth leaned to see them, her gaze instantly drawn to the boys. Following her eyes, Ken called them over. “Come here! The Major’s got someone he wants y’all to meet!”

They bounded over, just noticing her presence even though she had spoken to them minutes before.

John grinned and wrapped an arm around Ruth's shoulders as he introduced her to the boys. "Boys, this is Ruth. She's my girl."

The boys' eyes widened in disbelief, and Billy blurted out, "No way! You're way too pretty!"

Ruth busted out laughing at their innocence. "Ohhh, he’s not so bad once you get past the mustache…and the jacket…and the bad jokes…and-"

“Alright, alright. We get your point,” he groaned, pretending to be offended by dramatically clutching his heart. "Way to kick a man when he’s down. Besides, that’s a lie about the mustache."

She shrugged and ignored his question. “Nice to meet you, boys.”

They exchanged mischievous grins, clearly enjoying the banter. "Miss Ruth," Sammy said, using his hand to hide his words from John. "You’re way out of his league."

John still heard the comment and raised an eyebrow, playing along. "You think so? Well, I guess I'll just have to keep her around to make me look good."

Ruth nudged him playfully. "Smooth recovery, Major."

The boys shared another toothy and excited glance before launching into a barrage of questions. “Do you live on base? Are you a nurse? Do you fly planes? Have you ever shot down a Jerry plane?”

Ruth laughed at their enthusiasm, sparing John a blissful look as she felt almost at home in the kids' presence. “I’m a flight nurse, and no, I don’t live at Thorpe Abbotts. I fly in planes but leave the actual flying to the pilots. I just take care of my patients and leave the rest to them.”

Billy and Sammy listened intently, hanging on her every word. “Do you ever see any action?” Billy asked.

Ruth hesitated, the day’s events flashing in her mind, but a warm, reassuring hand on her back brought her back to the present. “Sometimes,” she replied carefully. “But most of the time, my friend Hope and I are too busy taking care of the wounded soldiers and getting them safely back home to notice.”

“Wow,” they marveled.

“So what do y’all do around here?”

Out of the blue, Sammy grabbed Ruth’s hand, tugging her from the men. “Come on, Miss Ruth! We have to show you the plane!”

“Yeah, you gotta see the tail gun up close!” Billy added eagerly, his toothy grin stretching ear to ear. “And the ball turret!”

Ruth glanced back at John before allowing herself to be led away by the boys. As he watched them go, he shook his head at how Ruth affected everyone she met…she was captivating.

Ken and Johnny began conversing about the Muggs’ repairs from the previous day, but the Major’s attention kept drifting back to Ruth. After the boys gave her a plane tour, the trio moved to a grassy patch nearby, plopping onto the ground with Ruth sandwiched between the two boys. They continued their animated conversation, and their laughter filled the air as she told a story of a soldier who got airsick and threw up on her shoes.

As he watched them, a thought crossed John Egan’s mind. A thought so unexpected that it caught him off guard.

She’d make a great mom.

The realization startled him. He’d never entertained thoughts of a future like that before, never met a woman who made him long to settle down and raise a family. But there he was, watching Ruth with Billy and Sammy, and the idea didn’t seem as far-fetched as before.

Ken noticed Bucky’s distraction and nudged him gently. “She’s great with ‘em.”

“She is,” he breathed, grinning as the boys broke into another fit of giggles across the hard stand. “Ruth was a teacher before she became a nurse.”

“A teacher?”

“Yeah.”

Lemmons nodded. “Makes sense. What age?”

“Junior high.”

“Well, that’s how she can handle you, then,” Kenny laughed. “She’s used to wranglin’ 13-year-olds all day!”

John threw an arm over the younger man’s shoulders, jostling him lightly. “You know, you’re probably right,” he cackled, his eyebrows raised. “You’re wise beyond your years. Sometimes I forget you’re still a squirt yourself.”

Once Billy and Sammy had to go home for supper, the couple drove back to the Officer’s Hut to catch up with Gale and Hope. Later that evening, Hugh arrived with food for the two couples, Meatball following at his heels. The large husky made a beeline for Hope, greeting her at the side of the bed.

“Hey, Meatball,” Hope mumbled, leaning as far as she could to ruffle the dog’s fur. Meatball groaned when she began scratching his ear, and he closed his eyes and tilted his head, expressing his enjoyment. “Who's a good boy?” Meatball hopped up on the bed, snuggling into Hope’s side.

“You can keep him if you want. The damn thing keeps howling. It’s driving me insane,” Hugh complained, passing Hope a bowl of steaming soup. “When Demarco gets back, I’m giving him a piece of my mind, leaving me to watch his dog all afternoon.”

Hope accepted the soup gratefully but could only manage a few mouthfuls until the wave of nausea washed over her once more, and she placed the bowl down.

“Ugh, I feel so sick.”

Gale was at her side in an instant, his hand resting on the small of her back as she bent over, head in her hands. Ruth looked anxiously at John from their seats on his bed and started to put down her bowl to help when Hope spoke up.

“It’s okay, Gale, it’s just the morphine,” she reassured him, squeezing his hand, to which he pressed his lips to her shoulder blade.

Hugh snickered, “He didn’t get you pregnant while I was away, did he?”

“With us in here? Sounds like a nightmare,” John retorted, rolling his eyes at the same time Ruth grimaced from beside him. She knew a signature Hope Armstrong comeback was incoming.

Hope glared at her brother, ”The fact that you have so little knowledge on pregnancy concerns me for your future wife.”

Hugh stuck his tongue out in response, “That’s not a no, though.”

The pillow from Gale’s bed was a near miss as it sailed past Hugh’s head, and he dodged it dramatically, glaring at his sister.

“Come on, with all the ‘Dear John’ letters Sparky gets, I’d be surprised if he ever settles down,” John joined in.

“Look who’s talking, Bucky,” Hugh retorted, pointing at Ruth with his spoon. “At least I got letters. You didn’t get a single one before Ruth came along.”

“Really?” Ruth asked quietly, surprise etched on her face.

The Major nodded with pursed lips, pushing the vegetables around his bowl before looking over at her with a small smile. “There was no one worth writing to.”

The blonde’s cheeks heated at his words, and she got caught in his gaze.

From their position across the room, Gale and Hope watched the interaction with fond smiles, both happy to see their friends with someone who so clearly adored them. The moment was interrupted when Hugh burst out laughing.

“Well, that didn’t stop you from-”

He was cut off when a pillow came sailing into the side of his face, knocking some of his soup onto his pants as the pillow fell to the bed. Hugh’s gaze flicked towards the cot the projectile came from, ready to yell at Hope, but he wasn’t expecting to see her wide eyes as she stared up at Buck in awe.

“Sorry, Charlie,” he shrugged. “It just slipped.”

Ruth and Hope broke into chuckles, but John just sent Gale a thankful glance. Bucky then turned his attention to Hugh, and the two pilots glared at each other. John was frustrated about the cheap, low-blow comment, and Hugh was still clearly sour over the best man situation. They soon gave up and went back to their soup. John’s mind, however, got stuck on Hugh’s words.

Once they’d finished their supper, a knock sounded at the door. “Everyone decent in there? Girls?”

Frank.

“Uh, yeah,” John called, lifting an eyebrow at Ruth.

The door swung open, and the Captain walked in with his lips in a straight line. “Thought you two’d be in here,” he nodded before turning to Hope. “How’s the leg?”

“I’m okay. Still hurts like a bitch, though.”

“Did you get it checked?”

Her face shifted into a grimace at the question. “I took care of it.”

“You, Hope Armstrong,” he sighed. “Are the reason I drink.”

“You know you love us,” Ruth added, tilting her head with a grin.

Frank’s attention drifted to Ruth’s figure beside John. “And how are you, Ruthie?”

The blonde looked up at John, thinking of how he’d taken care of her throughout the day. “Better now.”

“Alright, enough of the lovey eyes, you two,” he called out to them, taking a deep breath and placing his hands on his hips. “The Angel’s out of commission, and the Grove can’t send anyone tonight with the blackout, so we’re stuck here for the night.”

Both couples perked up at the news, but Hugh just groaned.

“As much as I wish I could make you stay with the Red Cross girls, I know I can’t. So you two,” Frank pointed at Gale and John. “No funny business, okay? None.”

Johnny’s mouth twitched, almost quirking into a smirk, but he was able to hold it in as Buck replied with a “Yes sir.”

“Zero funny business,” Bucky fake saluted from his bunk.

Running a hand down his tired face, Frank scratched his mustache. “Hugh, I’m counting on you to keep an eye on them.”

“Trust me, I will.”

“Alright. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

The door closed behind him with a slam, and they all visibly relaxed. Hope moved to shuffle back onto the bed beside Gale, the wave of nausea having passed when the door flew open again.

A cool breeze filled the hut as five men strolled into the hut, apparently oblivious of the girls until the one at the front of the column spoke up.

“Would you look at that? Major ‘no girls in the hut’ Cleven has a girl on his bed,” he pointed at Hope before the man behind him tapped his shoulder, causing him to turn and notice Ruth. “And Egan, too. Shit, I’m surprised Charlie hasn’t joined in.”

Gale sighed, standing up and placing his hand on Hope’s shoulder, “Hope, Ruth, these are the boys.” Buck took a breath to introduce them, but John beat him to it.

“DEMARCOO!!” John hollered, causing Gale to groan at his friend’s childish antics.

The man at the front just smiled.

“Egan,” he greeted him before motioning towards Ruth, “How did you manage to snag yourself such an attractive broad?”

Ruth’s cheeks flushed under the other man’s gaze but John just chuckled beside her, “Must be my endless charm.”

“Sure thing, Major,” Demarco snorted, his voice lowering to a whisper as he glanced down at Ruth. “Blink twice if you need help.”

With a shove from John, Benny laughed and turned his attention back to Hope and Gale while Bubbles moved over to greet Ruth.

“Hi again,” Bubbles waved at the blonde with a kind smile. “Glad to see you’re feelin’ better, ma’am.”

Ruth nodded from where she was tucked into John’s side. “Me too. And call me Ruth, please.”

“Oh, your bike’s outside, by the way,” Bubbles added, looking over at Bucky and pointing toward the door. A smirk appeared on the lieutenant’s face as he stepped closer to the couple with a hushed tone. “Kidd was, uh, not amused, to say the least.”

“Like I said, he’ll get over it,” John remarked, glancing over Bubbles’ shoulder at the Major in question who was conversing with Bill quietly. “Looks like he’s over it now. Jack!”

“Wait-” Bubbles tried to stop him, but it was too late.

“Thanks for letting me borrow your jeep today.”

Jack scoffed bitterly and sent Johnny a sharp glare. “When you stole my jeep, you mean.”

“Come on, Jack,” John groaned. “I left you my bike.”

“A bike and a jeep are nowhere near the same thing,” Kidd argued, shaking his head with a sigh as his gaze fell on Ruth. “I know today was rough, and I’m glad you two are okay. I saw your skytrain, and you’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Ruth felt the familiar lump of anxiety growing in her throat, and she cleared it quietly, keeping her voice steady. “Thanks.”

“Just don’t do it again, Bucky,” Jack nodded.

“No promises.”

Kidd’s gaze shifted to Ruth with his brows drawn together. “How do you deal with him?”

“I have no idea,” she answered tightly, the anxiety still working its way up her throat. John inspected her face, noticing the way her eyes darted around the room.

“It’s a little stuffy in here, don’t you think?” he asked, meeting her anxious gaze.

Ruth nodded as Bucky waved bye at Jack and ushered her out the door. When the pair exited the hut, they were met by a beautiful sight. The sun was setting over the base and vibrant colors painted the sky above the runways. Silhouettes of B-17s lined the horizon, and the distant rumble of engines, with the occasional chatter of ground crewmen, filled the air.

Ruth took a deep breath and crossed her arms over herself, the warm sunlight on her face helping to calm her racing heart.

“Sorry, I know that was a lot of people,” he said quietly.

“It’s not that. Today’s been a lot,” Ruth sighed, pushing her hair behind her ears as she continued to stare out at the English countryside. “I just needed a second.”

They both silently watched the sun slowly disappear behind fields of wheat as far as the eye could see, each of their minds stuck on the day.

As Johnny stood beside her with his hands on his hips, Hugh’s comment about his past replayed in his head. Before he met Ruth, everyone knew he wasn’t particular about who he spent his nights with or where he spent them, and these women didn’t seem to mind either. But all that changed when Ruth walked into his life.

Despite his pickup lines and physical affection, John wanted to make sure Ruth knew she wasn’t just another of his “floozies” as Hope called them. She had to know that he felt something deeper beyond physical attraction, something real for her...as real as he’d ever felt.

Mustering up his courage, John took a deep breath and broke the silence of the quiet sunset.

“About what Hugh said earlier, or started to say,” Ruth turned to him. “It’s no secret I’ve been around,” he confessed, his eyes falling to the ground. “I’ve been with women-”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she interrupted, placing a hand on his arm.

“Yeah, I do,” he urged, moving a hand over hers. “I’ve done things I’m not too proud of. But I’ve been trying to do better…”

John acted like he wanted to say more, but stopped when a conflicted expression appeared on his face. Sensing his apprehension, Ruth squeezed his arm reassuringly.

After a moment, he decided to keep going, his voice laced with nervousness. “You make me want to be better. You make me feel…something…everything. The other girls were…I don’t know. Distractions, maybe? Something to keep my mind off of what goes on up there.”

As Ruth watched him pour out his closely guarded heart, she saw a glimpse of a man who wasn’t as secure and confident as it seemed. She saw a man who longed to be held, taken care of, and loved but was unsure how to go about it.

“But I like this,” John gestured between them. “I like us…a lot. Today made me realize just how much. And I-I don’t want to mess this up.”

Biting her lip gently, she stepped closer, reducing the already small gap between them. “I like us, too. I meant what I said in my letter, you know. About you not being rid of me.”

“I meant what I said, too,” he replied softly, tilting his head towards her as he gently placed his hands on her hips. “You’re a unicorn, doll. One in a million, one of a kind…however you wanna say it.”

Ruth’s hands slid up John’s chest and looped around his neck, her lips slowly curving into a small grin despite the burning sensation within her stomach. “Yeah?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” John nodded as a line appeared between his brows. “I wanna do this right, and I’ve never-,” he paused, inhaling deeply. “I’ve never done this before…you know? Gone steady. But I care about you. So damn much. And I want that with you.”

“I want it too.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, the setting sun casting a golden hue on John’s face as he held her in his arms.

“Good,” he finally sighed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled down at her. “Cause I didn’t have a plan B if you rejected me.”

Ruth chuckled under her breath and shook her head. “I could never reject you. I’ve been letting you kiss me for almost a month now, remember.”

“Well, you’d be surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

She rolled her eyes, meeting his gaze again to find him searching her face for some answer to a silent question.

“So…what happens now?”

“Well,” Ruth whispered, her eyes flicking to his lips. “I was expecting you to kiss me, Major, but-”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he quickly replied, tugging her flush against him and landing his lips on hers. It was a gentle kiss that confirmed their deep attachment to the other, and their future together.

Pulling away, Ruth answered his question out of breath, her words coming out in shorts pants. “How about we take it slow and see where it goes?”

Shaking his head, John’s hands slid from her waist to her cheeks and gave her another chaste kiss. When he leaned back, he peered down at her blushing face with a wide, toothy grin. “Did you know the unicorn’s my favorite extinct animal?”

As they settled in for the night, John lounged under his covers with one arm behind his head and stared up at Ruth with a mischievous grin. “Looks like the floor’s all yours, doll,” he said, gesturing to the space beside his cot.

“Oh really?” Ruth arched an eyebrow, feigning deep thought as she glanced around the hut. “I'm sure someone else has some room if you’re kicking me out…”

Without missing a beat, Bucky quickly made room for her on the narrow bed, playfully pulling back the covers and throwing his arm out for her. “Oh wow, would you look at that? A vacancy just opened up.”

She rolled her eyes and accepted his invitation, slipping into the bed beside him, immediately feeling the comforting warmth of his body. John wrapped his arm around her, his touch gentle as he settled her close against him.

“Don’t you dare hog the blankets,” she teased, her voice soft as she nestled against his side, her hand finding its place on his chest.

Bucky squeezed her waist slightly, grinning up at the ceiling. “Don’t you worry about me. I don’t think I’ll have any problem staying warm tonight.”

Beside them, Bill grumbled in response, his voice muffled as he turned away. “Bucky, just shut up and go to sleep. Some of us are flying tomorrow.”

“Night, doll,” John whispered, chuckling under his breath before tenderly kissing Ruth’s hair.

Her eyes became heavy with the day’s exhaustion, and she lazily kissed his shoulder. “Sweet dreams.”

“Oh, they will be if-”

“John! Shut the hell up!” Jack hissed through the darkness.

Finally following their request, Bucky stopped talking and instead focused on how Ruth’s small figure fit perfectly into his bulky one like a missing puzzle piece. He let the steady rise and fall of her chest against him lull him into restful sleep that he’d been lacking since they touched down in Algeria.

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wingedhallows · 3 months

Text

traitor - ch. one; sirius black

pairing: sirius black (golden trio era) x fem! oc | 0.9k words warning: dark themes, death, torture plot: Fourteen years ago, Hecate Hunt, a valuable member of the Order and once a Death Eater gave her life for her friends and the man she loved, at least that's what was believed. Now she's done hiding, ready to fight alongside her old friends and her godson. Ready to return to the life she once had, ready to once again be a traitor. authors note: hi there! I've been meaning to write this since it's been wandering around in my head for weeks. Thank you for reading and let me know if you liked it! :) ps.: this is the first work of mine in years, i wrote a lot of fanfics in highschool but somehow this helps with taking my mind off things. thank u <3 btw, things aren't absolutely accurate so don't come for me, let's just vibe, ok? ok.

navigation | chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three

then

"I want you all to meet a new member to the order. I believe her to be trusted, however you might think." from behind the old wizard a young woman emerged. Hair dark and long, a solem look on her face as she stepped infront of him. "Nice to meet you." she spoke, voice deep and firm. Her eyes were dark, almost black in the dim lit kitchen of the Black residence. Sirius felt himself lean forward, determined to catch a glimpse of her face.

"This is Hecate Hunt, a powerful witch and-"a Death Eater." Alastor Moody spoke, his eye skimming from side to side, mouth in a smarl. "Felt it minutes ago." The other members let their shock be known. Gasps and whispers present. She knew the members, of course. How could she not know the legendary Marauders, for one.

"Why would you bring a Death Eater to this place, Albus?" Minerva spoke, voice almost too quiet to hear. Hecate let her gaze wander to Lily and James Potter who held hands, thumbs stroking each others hands. She had known the younger members, as she visited Hogwarts the same years they did. They were hard to miss. Remus Lupin just stared at her, hands in fists. Sirius Black on the other hand had his jaw clenched, mouth in a scowl and his wand in his hand. She knew of the older Black all too well. She had listened to the Dark Lord complain about Walburga and Orions incapability of turning their own son to the dark side multible times.

"Hecate has changed her mind in light of recent events.-"I don't buy it. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater." Sirius interupted Albus, his fist connected with the dark wooden table as he spat the words. Anger rose inside of her, she knew of his temper, had seen it first hand in their school days. "Oh you would know all about it, right? Since your familiy's swamped with'em and all, Black." Hecate spat, hands now crossed over her chest. She stooped low, she knew, but she had to get in, she had to make a change. She wouldn't let Black ruin it.

Sirius was fast to jump to his feet, wand raised and his body shaking with anger. "How dare yo-"Sirius, please." Remus tugged him down to his chair. Hecate didn't back down, ready to take whatever would jump from the purebloods wand. It wouldn't be worse than to stand against the Cruciato curse, which made its way passed Lord Voldemorts lips all too often.

Albus huffed a sigh as he eyed Sirius. "If i could continue what i was about to say." Hecate shifted her weight from one leg to another, uneasy with the mood in the room. "Hecate was the witch who freed Alice and Frank Longbottom from the clutches of Death Eaters." he paused, looking at the woman next to him. "Delivered them right to me. I believe that no real Death Eater would've shown them mercy. Therefore, after careful thinking, i recruit Hecate Hunt to be a member of the Order." she gave him a curt nod before taking a seat. She had freed them, too late though. Barty Crouch Jr had broken their minds when she arrived. She'd just spared them from their death. Her eyes once again connected with those of Sirius.

"The reason why i want to help you, is my sister."

now

Harry made his way passed the table, to the cabinets filled with plates and mugs. Sirius sat at the head of the table, a mug in one hand and the daily prophet in the other. "Morning, Harry." he spoke, a hopeful smile on his bearded face. Remus Lupin sat to his right, a little notebook placed on the table in front of him as he looked up at Padfoots godson. "Morning." he spoke as he saw Harry. He also greeted Lupin with a small smile. "Good Morning." They didn't mind Harry looking around, it was an old and interesting house after all. Harry thanked Kreacher as the house elf scrambled to make the kid a cup of tea. His eyes locked on a picture frame. The only picture frame there was.

There he saw Sirius and a woman he didn't know. Sirius looked younger, twenty maybe, the woman next to him was beautiful. Her dark long hair hung down her shoulders, shimmering in the warm sunlight as a bright smile spread across her pale face. Sirius gave her an adoring look before he smacked his lips on her cheek. The moment repeated, as every foto in the wizard world does.

"Sirus." he spoke, voice quiet. "Who is this?"

He turned around to look at his godfather. His face had frozen up, the shadow of a tear in his eyes. "Harry.." He could hear Remus say, an attempt of pushing the matter away.

"That's.." Sirius had to take a breath, his voice failing him. "Hecate Hunt." he spoke. He took a sip of his mug, the daily prophet long forgotten on the table in front of him. "Your godmother." it was merely a whisper as he spoke. Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing.

He had a godmother, somewhere out there-"She's dead." his voice rang in Harry's head. Harry placed the picture on the table, hand on his hip as he tried again. "How-"That's enough, Harry." Remus said, before Sirius rose to his feet and left, a quiet sob sounded in the distance.

"You-Know-Who killed her, there's nothing more to it." Remus spoke before he walked after his best friend. The boy once more stared at the picture in front of him. The woman, Hecate, once again gave the camera a warm smile. Just as young Sirius planted another forcefull kiss on her cheek he could hear a loud rumble upstairs.

Sirius had just blown something to bits.

#harry potter #harry potter angst #harry potter fanfic #sirius black angst #sirius black imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfic #hp fanfic #the marauders #marauders imagine #marauders era #voldemort #death eaters #remus lupin #lily potter #james potter

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hesbuckcompton-baby · 3 months

Text

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 2

AO3

Summary: Frankie's friendship with the men of the 100th continues to consolidate, even as her work takes its toll

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, language, me having no idea how B-17s work

Word Count: 4k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp

The pub was noisy as ever, a patchwork crowd of blue and green, British and American, filling the low-ceilinged room, the stench of cigarette smoke and stale beer thick in the air. It seemed to Frankie that she only ever managed to get that smell washed out of her uniform in time to come straight back here and acquire it again, but it was the only place they could manage to find some real fun - after all, there were no men and no booze allowed in their Nissen hut. Although both rules had been known to be flouted.

"Stop fiddling with that, you'll make it worse," George tutted, batting at Frankie's arm as she took a sip of her beer. When one of the forts had crashed in a ball of flames earlier that week, she had seared herself helping to clear the debris, a burn mark running across the palm of her right hand. In her moments of absent-mindedness, she often found herself toying with the bandage, which caused the nurses great dismay when the dressings inevitably frayed and needed replacing.

"I can't make it worse, it's already almost healed," She shrugged, plucking a cigarette from her breast pocket. The two women had long since learned that bringing a whole pack led to nothing but strangers begging for a smoke, so they each only ever brought one out with them - besides, a pleasant smile could always swindle a hapless soldier out of another, should the need arise. "Hurt like a bitch, but the nurse lanced all the blisters the other day."

George grimaced, wiping some foam from the corner of her lip. As she let her gaze wander to the next table over, the voices of the men behind them growing more audible by the minute, she sighed. "Oh, here we go."

Craning her neck to have a look, Frankie watched on for a moment, recognising the faces of Egan, Cleven and the others as they chatted with a few RAF airmen in less-than-friendly tones. A crooked grin made its way across her expression, and she wiggled her brow at George as she stood up, taking her pint with her.

"Frank, no," Her companion whispered, tugging at her sleeve.

"Come on," She giggled. The pair burrowed their way through the dense crowds that crammed the pub, breaking free beside the men's table, lingering momentarily behind the three RAF pilots.

"So, let me get this straight," One of them asked. "You're Buck, and he's Bucky?"

"Is there a shortage of nicknames in the 100th?" Another spoke, a smug smirk creasing his cheeks.

Frankie took another sip of her beer and spoke up, the sudden sound drawing the attention of all of the men at the table. "No, but there is a shortage of tossers, I'm sure you could fill the ranks," She said sweetly.

"Wa-hey!" Bucky cheered, a pink tinge on his cheeks indicating that he was already reasonably intoxicated. Wordlessly, he leapt to his feet, scrounging for a pair of extra chairs for the two women.

"Hiya, George," Biddick smiled dreamily, cradling in his in the palm of his hand. "How ya doin'? You look nice."

"I'm doing good, thanks Curt," George smiled, accepting a seat with a quick thanks to Bucky. Frankie let out a snort as she sat down beside her.

"Only thing we're short of is crews, gents," Egan sighed, taking his place between Frankie and Cleven and attempting to drape an arm across the back of her chair before she shoved him off.

"Hm. Pity," One of the RAF men said, condescension dripping in his tone.

"Pity what, exactly?" Frankie urged, getting the distinct feeling that there was a whole argument bubbling under the surface here that she had not been party to.

"Well, they'd have more if they flew their missions at night - as an RAF woman yourself, surely you must know that."

She raised a brow, talking over the rim of her glass as she took another sip of beer. She could feel Bucky tensing beside her. "Yunno, if the RAF paid me a bit more I might feel some loyalty to them, but I'm with the Yanks. You're the prick here, mate." George lifted her glass in a silent toast of agreement, a smirk curling the corner of her lips.

The Englishman's jaw clenched as he peeled his irritated gaze away from her to look at the men. "I think we ought to make some sport of this. Any one of you will do."

"Oh, don't say that, Frankie'll beat your ass," Bucky muttered under his breath, just quiet enough that only she and Cleven could hear, grins spreading across their expressions.

"Sounds like an excellent idea," Cleven rose to his feet to accept the challenge, but before he could, Biddick was up beside him, tugging at his sleeve. He spoke in a low voice, and Frankie couldn't quite make out what he was saying, but she pieced it together when Curt's gaze kept flickering from Cleven to George, who watched on with a frown. He wanted to take the fight - wanted to impress her.

Once it was settled that Curt would be the one to fight, the group moved swiftly outside, half-empty drinks long forgotten at the table as they hurried to watch the spectacle. The alley outside the pub was unlit, the glow from inside casting faint shadows against the cobbles as they formed a tight circle, watching on expectantly. Frankie's cigarette hung from her lips, a cloud of smoke rising in front of her as Curt and the RAF airman began to circle one another, fists raised.

George clung tight to her elbow, grinning in anticipation. The Englishman caught the edge of a wonky paving stone, stumbling slightly, and the two women let out unflattering snorts. Curt winked at them, and Frankie rolled her eyes, although even in the darkness she could tell George was blushing.

"What do I get when I win?" He called over, tearing his gaze from his opponent.

It was George's turn to roll her eyes now. "I'll let you buy me a drink."

His boyish face lit up, and it seemed he had been wholly distracted from the fight. The Englishman lunged forward to take advantage of this, but Biddick didn't miss a beat, knocking him down with a single blow. Frankie let out a raucous cheer of celebration, her friend clapping along as the men whooped and jeered at each other.

"Milady," Curt grinned, holding out his hand to George, who accepted gladly, allowing him to lead her back into the pub for another drink. Frankie let out a huff, smiling as she stomped out her cigarette and watched the other RAF airmen pick their fallen comrade up off the ground. Letting out another laugh, the sound of it erupting into the night air, she began to follow the men of the 100th, finally letting Bucky sling his arm around her shoulders as they wandered back towards the Nissen huts, singing and shouting in celebration of Curt's victory.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was not yet five in the morning as Frankie scrounged to tie her bootlaces in the dark, toothbrush dangling out of her mouth, unbrushed hair tugged back into a messy ponytail. The pilots were taking off shortly after daybreak, and as some of the most senior mechanics at Thorpe Abbotts, the job often fell to her and Lemmons to carry out the last-minute safety checks and refuelling to ensure they'd all make it back in one piece.

None of the other women in her hut were required for duty yet, so Frankie did her best to shuffle about in the darkness as quietly as possible, refusing to turn on her bedside lamp so as not to wake George or any of her other less forgiving bunkmates.

Standing up from the edge of the bed once she'd finished tying her laces, she groped around blindly for her key to the mechanics' hut, accidentally banging her elbow on the corner of her metal bedframe in the process, waves of pain shooting up her arm. Pursing her lips tightly together, her whole body tensed, Frankie managed to find the key, waiting until she'd left the hut so that the cool night air would drown out the sounds of her pain.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She hissed as she scurried for her bike, waving her injured arm around wildly as if the movement could somehow dull the pain. She was so distracted that she'd almost completely forgotten about the burn on her hand - that is, until she clamped the handlebar with her injured palm and let out a yelp.

The sun was already rising as Frankie arrived on the airstrip, breaks squeaking as she wheeled to a stop outside the mechanics' hut, Lemmons already on site as he wrung his palms with one of the dirty rags they used to clean away excess lubricant. "You look like hell," He pointed out as she dismounted her bike, locking it up around the side of the building.

"Thanks, Ken," She replied sarcastically. "Rough wake-up call, beat myself up stumbling around in the dark."

Ken chuckled, handing over her toolkit. The pair had far few hours of sleep between them to chat as they worked, and it was all Frankie could do not to yawn as she checked the fuel tanks and oiled the landing gear. They'd been out for over an hour by the time the flight crews began to show up, the familiar sound of jeep engines pulling up behind her as she declared her job done.

"She ready to roll?" Bucky's voice rang out, and Frankie almost flinched as he clapped her over the shoulder, still reeling from the man's constant lack of volume regulation.

"All good," She confirmed. "Now get her outta my sight, and bring her back in one piece - can you handle that?"

He smirked. "Oh, you know I can."

"The number of wrecks you've given me would say otherwise, dear," Frankie teased, wiping engine grease off of her fingers with a rag as she turned on her heel, heading back towards the mechanics' hut.

"Hey!" Egan called, and she looked back at him. "You ain't gonna watch us take off?"

"The only thing I'm doing now is taking a goddamn nap," She laughed, feeling exhaustion tugging at her eyelids.

"Yeah, fair, you do look like shit," Bucky shrugged, recoiling as her filthy, oily rag smacked him in the shoulder as Frankie lobbed it across the airstrip. "Hey!"

"Respect women, you little bitch," She retorted, raising a middle finger as she wandered off, praying she could make the bike ride back to her bed without dozing off and crashing into a bush somewhere.

Frankie slept through the morning, right past lunch, and would've missed the cacophony of plane engines returning overhead had Lemmons not come to retrieve her, banging on the window above her bed. She peeled her eyes open slowly, waking with a start as she noticed the boyish face staring down at her through the glass.

"What the fuck?!" She asked groggily, voice raised so that he could hear her from outside.

"They're back, come on!"

Letting out a huff, Frankie dragged herself out from under the blankets, running her fingers through the knots in her hair for want of time to properly brush it. Stepping out through the front door as she finished fastening the top few buttons of her coveralls, Ken stood waiting for her, passing his weight impatiently between the balls of his feet.

"How's it lookin'?"

"Uh, all the ones we've got so far look alright. Although..." He trailed off, glancing awkwardly at her as they fetched their bikes.

"Although?"

"Biddick may have... crashed. In, uh... Scotland."

"He what?!"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Once it had been established that Biddick was still, in fact, alive, Frankie had few kind words to say about the pilot's wreckless flying, mourning the loss of a plane and the strings they'd have to pull to find a new one. Fortunately, George had been in an especially persuasive mood that night, and had managed to rope her into attending the party that was being held for the airmen to celebrate the success of their mission.

"Watch what they're calling a success, I'm the one who's gotta figure out how to ship a wrecked plane back from fucking Scotland," Frankie muttered as they approached the building, muffled music coming from inside as she tugged at the shoulders of her jacket, trying to force it to sit comfortably.

"Oh, stop complaining," George scoffed, grabbing her arm and forcing her to stop as she reached up to fix a smudge in her lipstick. "Look on the bright side for once - he didn't die!"

"That's especially good for you with your lovey-dovey eyes, huh? 'Oh hiya George, how ya doin' George, you look real pretty today George'," Frankie teased, putting on an utterly terrible American accent as she attempted to mimick Curt. George punched her in the arm and went inside without a word, a natural pink flush visible through her rouge.

The band was in full swing as Frankie followed her inside, the mingling crowds a mix of uniformed airmen, plainclothed local women, and a few servicewomen she recognised from the neighbouring huts. She was struggling to pretend she had ever wanted to come, nose burrowed in a glass of whiskey as she managed to dodge the flirting of a few slightly intoxicated pilots. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy parties - she just preferred them when there was no mountain of work hanging over her head for the following day. It was just as well she'd slept through lunch, otherwise her mood would've been frightful.

Bucky wanted to sing. He could feel the music running through his body, his toe tapping involuntarily against the polished floor as he sat slumped in a seat beside Buck. His friend had never enjoyed Bucky's singing - and although he pretended not to, he understood why. He couldn't carry a tune to save his life, but dammit if it wasn't fun.

The consensus had been a resounding no. No, he could not sing. But that was no fun - that was no way to celebrate, not in Bucky's book. He had caught Cleven off guard as he bolted from his seat, just quick enough to break away before his friend could grab him by the shoulder and drag him back down again. Approaching the microphone, an excited grin creasing his cheeks, his gaze scanned over the crowd before stopping on an unfamiliar face.

If anything, his performance would only be enhanced by a partner.

Frankie was beginning her second whiskey, lingering by George's shoulder as she made small talk with one of the radar operators from the women's hut next door. Bucky had tried to call her over once, but over the music and the crowd, she hadn't heard. He paused for a moment, wracking his brain for a way to get her attention without giving up the microphone. If he stepped away, he wouldn't have put it past Buck not to have the thing removed so that he couldn't perform.

"Fran!"

She turned to him instantaneously, ears pricked like a hunting dog, expression contorted with the murderous promise to carry out the threat she had issued the last time he'd used the nickname.

"Sing with me," Bucky beamed, holding out his hand. A smirk began to spread across her face, and he could see George patting her shoulder, egging her on. With a grin, Frankie passed her drink to the blonde, crossing the gap between them and meeting him at the mic as he cheered. Cleven's head was in his hands.

"You know the words?" He whispered.

"Well enough," She affirmed.

Never saw the sun shinin' so bright,

Never saw things goin' so right,

His suspicion had been correct. Frankie couldn't carry a tune any better than he could, onlookers grimacing at the complete lack of musical talent the pair possessed. Occasionally the lyrics would collapse into laughter as Bucky noted the way she had to crane her neck to even reach the microphone, but there was not a hint of embarrassment between them.

Watchin' the days hurryin' by,

When you're in love, my how they fly,

She caught his eye for a moment, their grins audible in their voices as they fought to keep up with the quick pace set by the band behind them. Arms outstretched, the curls in her hair bounced with each tap of her foot as she leant into the mic, their cheeks practically pressed together. The whiskey had left her slightly flushed, the tip of her nose blooming pink the way it always did. Anyone looking on probably must have thought there was something deeper between the two - the way they stood so close, their cheeks flushed pink, unable to keep a straight face whenever their eyes met. Frankie loved Bucky, that much was true, but it was the kind of platonic love that veered more into brotherhood than it ever would romance. If he had ever tried to kiss her, she probably would have knocked him out.

Blue days, all of them gone,

Nothin' but blue skies from now on,

He seized her by her shoulders in a fierce bear hug, and she let out a guffaw, so loud and so close to the microphone that it sent a shrill squeak of feedback around the room, the crowd grimacing for a moment before Bucky tugged her away and the terrible sound ceased. George was unable to clap for the glasses she held in both hands, but she whooped and cheered from the side of the room, the only person in the place giving them the true encore they both believed they deserved.

"I think we have a future in the industry," Bucky muttered into her ear, making her laugh again as they swayed side to side, his vice grip refusing to let up until she began pinching the flesh on the backs of his hands.

"Major!" A man called, scurrying up to them. "Major Egan sir, you've got a call."

"Alright, comin'," He nodded, clapping her over the shoulder as he made his way to the bar, where Cleven was already standing with the telephone.

George stepped up once Frankie was alone, returning her half-finished whiskey. "That was really something," She chuckled, voice raised over the music.

"I didn't know I had it in me," Frankie shrugged. "Y'know, that much raw, untapped talent should never go to waste, it's a tragedy." Her friend laughed, but Frankie's gaze had wandered over to the bar again, where the two Majors chatted jovially to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"Is that-?" She muttered to herself, telling George to give her a minute as she marched up to the men, leaning casually against the bar. Flashing a calm smile, she nodded to Cleven as Bucky chatted away on the phone. "Hey, is that Biddick on the line?"

"Sure is, all the way from-"

Cleven never got time to finish his sentence before she had darted in between the two men, wrenching the phone from Egan's hand before he had time to even register her presence. "Wh- hey!"

"Did you crash my fucking plane, Curt?" She snapped, the man on the other end of the line letting out a tiny yelp of surprise.

"Frankie!" Curtis chuckled nervously. "How's Georgie doin', is she well?"

"Answer the question, Biddick, did you - oh, piss off, Bucky," Frankie spoke hurriedly, slapping at Egan's hands as he tried to pry the receiver away from her. "What were you thinking?"

"Y'know," Biddick continued, completely dodging the question yet again. "The Scottish - they don't like you English very much, Frank."

"Historically speaking, that's pretty fair," She sighed, running a hand across her face. "Just... ask whoever's with if they've got a truck that can bring your wreck back from... where is it again?"

"Mostly in the vegetable patch."

"Right. Good to know. Now get your ass back here or I'm gonna set George up on a date with one of the ground crew boys."

She pulled the receiver away from her ear, chuckling at the muffled sound of Curt's protests as she handed the phone back to Bucky, who snatched it from her with a look as if to say 'What the hell?'.

"Yeah," He nodded along to whatever Biddick was now saying. "Yeah, uh-huh, I promise I won't let her. Don't you worry, dear." Bucky shot her a sideways glance and she snorted with laughter, holding her hands up in surrender as she backed away from the bar.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sky lit up a dozen shades of orange, red and blue, the faint thrum of explosions and gunfire rattling overhead as the anti-aircraft guns did their best to destroy the enemy's fight planes, high up through the clouds.

Frankie lingered outside the shelter, watching with her arms folded across her chest. Her pin curls never held for more than a couple of hours, and a halo of frizz encircled her head as a result of the night's commotion, eyes reflecting the stippling of lights above.

One of the airmen hurried past her towards the shelter, brow drawn inwards with anxiety, sweat visible on his brow even in the dark. He glanced at her, and almost went on his way, but back-tracked just as he was about the head down the steps.

"Uh, ma'am?" He urged. "We should really get inside."

"Yeah, in a minute," Frankie waved her hand, doing a double take as she realised the man looked familiar. "Hey, it's, uh - Crosby, right?"

He almost smiled. "Yes, ma'am. You're Ms Bevan, I believe - on the ground crew."

"Right you are. But call me Frankie, everyone else does."

Crosby didn't seem to know what to say to that, and settled for a simple, awkward nod. "We should really get in-"

"It gets a lot less scary when you're - what, three years in?" She paused a long moment before sucking in a breath, tearing her gaze from the sky above as she pointed at Crosby. "Hang on, aren't you the one whose vomit we keep having to clean out?"

Even in the dark, she could see his face turn beet red. "Oh, I am so sorry about it, ma'am, I swear I'm trying not to, it's just-"

Frankie chuckled, and he trailed off, clutching his uniform cap tightly with both hands. "Don't worry about it. I make the boys do it anyway, I don't touch the stuff," She grinned. "I'd probably do the same. I know more about planes than all of your pilots put together, but I've never flown in one before."

Crosby let out a huff at her confession, suddenly more at ease despite the chaos overhead. When he stared at it the way she did, the lights and sounds were almost beautiful. Almost.

"Why don't you head down below," She said. "Your COs will start wondering where you've got to."

He nodded, reaching the top of the steps that led down to the shelter and then holding out a hand, as if offering to help her down them. When Frankie just smiled, not moving an inch from her position, he took the hint, nodding as he began to descend.

"Oh, and Crosby!" She called. He doubled back, head peeking up over the wall. "Try chewing ginger root. Or a mint leaf. I've heard they help with the air sickness."

Crosby nodded again, firmly, as he took a mental note of her advice. "Thank you, ma'am - uh, Frankie."

She grinned. "Any time."

#masters of the air #masters of the air fic #masters of the air oc #mota #john egan #ken lemmons #harry crosby #curtis biddick #gale cleven #oc: frankie #fic | i'm your man #oc: george #rosie rosenthal x oc

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Text

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

during - part twenty

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

joel plans something amazing for you.

a/n: i’m late I know and I used the same joel pic in the last moodboard but there’s only so much pre-show plot joel I can get my hands on and fuck he just looks so good??? I had a lot of fuckin fun writing this, can’t wait to see what y’all think 🤍

word count: 7k

warnings: y’all know the drill by now, and nothing super heavy or explicit in this part.

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

3 years later - 2013

“Wait, wait, wait.” Frank’s waving his hands, his eyes squeezed shut. “Tell me again. You what?”

You huff a laugh, hands wrapped around the cup of coffee resting on your thigh. It’s the good shit, from the tin that Frank hides even from Bill. You’re pretty sure he saves it only for your visits, namely ones like these where you two get to relax in the house, chatting away while Bill and Joel are off somewhere in town, fixing something or adjusting some measurement. You learned quickly to keep your distance when the two of them got to talking construction, opting to hide with Frank while your other halves did their thing.

“You know this,” you repeat, but reach into your collar, pulling at the chain around your neck until your ring pops out from your shirt. “It was one of the first things I ever told you, when we first met.”

“Bullshit,” Frank says, shaking his head. He crosses his arm over his chest, leaning back in his chair. “I would remember.”

“How old are you again?” you quip, lifting your coffee to your lips. “Maybe your memory’s going, old man.”

Frank’s jaw drops, and he reaches forward, batting at your hanging boot. “You little shit.”

You laugh, and he laughs with you.

“Okay, but really. Tell me again.”

It’s been a long three years.

Thankfully, things have stayed relatively the same in the QZ, and you’ve remastered the art of sneaking out. Joel is a magnet, glued to your side every time you set foot outside the walls, and while Tess has accompanied you more than once on your trips to Lincoln, she’s a little more content to stay in the QZ than before, and you can’t blame her.

Robin moved in with Tess, and has quickly become part of your little family. However, at Tess’s insistence, she knows nothing about your smuggling operation. As far as she knows, the three of you just take whatever jobs you can get from FEDRA, Joel keeping up his handyman position in your building, you keeping up appearances in the radio room.

You’ve curated your own little collection of radios. There’s the main one, still in your tiny room at Abe’s, but the radio in your apartment now plays the coded songs from Bill and Frank; sixties if there’s nothing new, seventies when you’re due for a visit, and eighties if there’s trouble. So far, there’s been no eighties, and you’re grateful. You’ve become pretty attached to the two older gentlemen living in the little town of Lincoln, and these days, Frank rivals Tess for the title of your closest confidant.

You’ve got a little handheld radio too, for the off-chance you’re out of Boston for an extended period of time, and not heading for Lincoln. Bill had supplied it after your fifth visit, handing it to you as you packed up your bag in the dining room.

“Here,” he said quietly, and you nearly jumped out of your skin, not hearing him approach. “This works on the same frequencies we’ve been communicating on. If you’re ever out of Boston, take it with you, and it’ll still play Frank’s songs.”

You’d stared at the bearded man for a long time, your hand slowly reaching out to take the device. “Thanks, Bill.”

He gave you a curt nod. “You’re welcome.”

You still can’t get a read on the guy, even three years later. Frank insists that you’re his favourite of your group, that he’s got a soft spot for you specifically, but is still wary of Joel. Though you know every conversation Joel and Bill have that revolves around construction and protection gets Joel an inch closer to Bill’s good side.

Since Tommy left, Joel has changed in some ways, stayed exactly the same in others. The day after your first visit to Lincoln, he was home early. Too early. Early enough that you hadn’t even really gotten out of bed yet when he was barging through the door, slamming it shut behind him. It made you flinch, lurching to your feet and calling his name.

He had his hands pressed to the door, his shoulders hunched, head hung between them. You crossed the apartment quickly, laid your hand in the middle of his back, and Joel’s entire body quaked beneath your touch.

“Baby, what happened?” you asked, your worry evident in your tone. “Where were you?”

“Tommy’s gone,” he murmured, and his voice snapped on his little brother’s name. “Fuckin’ Fireflies shipped him off to their base in Minneapolis. He’s gone, Liv. He left us.” Joel pushed off the door, turned slowly towards you, and the sadness in his face made your heart ache. “He left me.”

“Oh, Joel.”

Since that day, he’s become more stoic. More brutal, in ways. Smuggling has become a more common occupation in the QZ, and Joel’s been quick to let the competition know just who you are, and that you were here first. Robert — the head of a rival group with a penchant for taking your drops before you have the chance to reach them — has taken to calling Joel the attack dog. “And your wife’s the one holdin’ the leash,” Robert joked once. Joel gave you a sideways look, and you just nodded. He broke the fucker’s nose.

You’ve crossed paths with Marlene on more than one occasion since Joel’s encounter with her when Tommy first left. Unfortunately. You instantly didn’t like her, but the feeling seemed to be mutual. Every time she looked at you, you felt like you were walking on eggshells, and your mind always begged the question: did Tommy tell her you’re immune? She’s never come out and said it, never asked or alluded to it, but you can’t shake the feeling, the worry, the anxiety.

The radio info she gave Joel wasn’t bullshit, at least. You gave it a few days, like she said, and then found the frequency, called out to the Minneapolis base. The voice that first answered was one you didn’t recognize, but you asked for Tommy specifically, name-dropped Marlene — who you’d yet to meet, at that point — and a moment later, your brother-in-law’s voice floated through the headset.

“Hey, Liv.”

“You’re alive.”

Tommy chuckled. “Somethin’ like that. Guess you talked to Marlene, huh?”

“Joel did,” you answered. “I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”

“She’s a good person,” Tommy replied, and you stifled the urge to roll your eyes. “Lots of good people out here, too.”

“You know, I’ve never been to Minnesota,” you said, tapping your fingers against the radio table. “But I bet it’s not as nice as Boston.”

“Liv—”

“He wanted to apologize, Tommy,” you spat out, pressing your palm to your forehead. “When we got back from that run, the day before you left. He said he was gonna find you, and he was gonna fix it.”

The radio crackled with silence for a moment before, “Well, it’s a little late for that now, isn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy. Can’t you just—”

“I’ll check in, when I can,” he said, ignoring you, cutting you off. “Let you know I’m alive, but I won’t…I won’t talk to Joel, all right? Not yet. I’ll leave messages with Abe, if I can’t get ahold of you, but I just…I don’t wanna talk to Joel. Okay?”

His tone told you there was no negotiating. Defeated, you leaned back in the chair, tugging on the headset cord. “Okay.”

Tommy’s refusal to speak to his brother didn’t exactly help Joel’s mood. In fact, he nearly put his boot through the fucking wall, reached for one of the stashed bottles of whiskey. When you tried to talk about it, all you got was, “Well, I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk to him either.”

Weeks passed, and neither of them would relent. You begged Tommy on multiple occasions, tried to talk Joel into coming with you to Abe’s, but they’re both stubborn asses. Joel even tried to use the same tactic he had before Tommy left Boston — literally fucking you into submission — but you didn’t let him get as far this time. In fact, you threatened to hold out on him completely.

Easier said than done, especially when he had his face in your throat, nipping that spot under your jaw that turned you into putty. “I know all your little places, Liv,” he mumbled into your skin, and you groaned. “I know you what gets you goin’. Always have.”

“So help me, Joel, I will go stay with Tess,” you threw back, and he’d pulled back almost instantly, something between shock and fear in his eyes. Something prickled in your chest, but you pushed past it. “You can’t bury your problems, baby. No matter how good it feels.”

He stared at you for a long moment, eyes searching yours, his lips softly parted. He swallowed so thickly you saw his throat bob, and then he leaned down slow, the tip of his nose just brushing yours. It was a soft kiss, softer than you were expecting, one hand adjusting to cup the back of your head. It wasn’t hungry, but gentle. An I love you pressed against your mouth.

“Tomorrow,” Joel murmured. “I’ll go with you. I’ll talk to him. I’ll try.” Something flashed in his eyes, that streak of Miller stubbornness returning. “But if he won’t talk to me, there’s nothin’ I can do.”

And those fuckers talked for hours.

There was a smug sense of accomplishment that came with watching Joel sitting at that tiny table, the headset pushing his hair in every direction, hunched over the microphone. You busied yourself with your notebook, half listening to their conversation. Joel grabbed you when you wandered close, hauled you into his lap as he said goodbye to his brother.

Once the radio was quiet, he yanked the headset off, dove his hand into your hair, and pulled your mouth down to his. You squeaked in surprise, letting your arms drape around his neck, one hand sneaking down the back of his collar. His palm cupped your jaw, kissing you soundly, and when he pulled back after a moment, his eyes were shining.

“Thank you.”

It’s continued, ever since you got them both to pull their heads out of their asses. Joel still has his days where he’s more mad at Tommy for leaving than anything else, occasions where he grumbles at you to just tell his brother he says hello when you tell him you’re heading for the radio. You make up excuses, tell Tommy that Joel’s working when he doesn’t come with you, and Tommy seems to believe it, for the most part. Your chats are scheduled, Tommy letting you know the next date and time he’ll check in before you say your goodbyes, and he’s stuck to every one since.

Neither you or Joel has asked what he’s doing in Minneapolis, why Marlene sent him, what the Fireflies have planned for Minnesota. You honestly don’t know if you want to know.

Visits to Lincoln have become a staple, and you’re grateful as hell. Twice a month, if you can manage it — most of the time, you visit even if the song that comes through on the radio is sixties (nothing new). You feel restless in the QZ, the imposing walls and the reminders of everything weighing on you more and more with every passing year.

You made a good call, with Frank. He’s exactly what you needed, exactly when you needed a friend like him.

A friend.

That’s what we are. Friends.

You sip your coffee as Frank gets up, heading towards the fridge. You’re perched on the kitchen counter, one boot swinging beneath you, cup resting on your leg. “I definitely told you we were married,” you say, lifting your brow as he opens the fridge, bending to fish something out.

“You definitely did not,” he replies, and as he straightens, your mouth drops open at the big bowl of strawberries in his hands. “I made good use of those seeds we traded for.”

You nearly fall over as he holds it towards you, letting you pick. The fruit is cold between your fingers, and when you sink your teeth into the strawberry, you feel like you could burst into tears. “Oh my god.”

“I know,” Frank replies, and sits back down at the small kitchen table, the strawberries between you. “Eat as many as you like; they’re growing like weeds out back.” His hand smacks against the table. “But I am telling you, Olivia, you never told me you and Joel were married!”

You nearly choke on the berry, wiping juice from the corner of your mouth with your thumb as you swallow it down. “Don’t you full name me,” you say with a laugh, knowing he’s joking. “Not like it was a real wedding or anything. We nearly died.”

Frank balks. “Pardon? No, you definitely never told me this.”

Reaching for another strawberry, you recount the story. Joel proposing, the FEDRA office, the car bombs, the Fireflies. How shaken you were. You can see the understanding on Frank’s face; you’ve told him about your time in Boston before Joel too, what happened on Outbreak Day, the days and weeks and months that followed.

You can feel your voice quaking slightly as you finish the tale, and Frank scoots his chair closer, reaching out and putting a hand on your leg. “I’m sorry, Liv.”

“Don’t be,” you say, staring down into your coffee cup, shaking your head. “We’re both alive.”

“But you never got the dress?” Frank asks, and you try to ignore the pang in your chest. “The first dance?”

“I have the ring,” you say, like it’s a consolation. “I’ve been trying to find one for Joel for forever, but how fucking morbid is that? Wearing some dead guy’s wedding ring? And Joel said the same thing, when he proposed, that it wasn’t the same, no big white dress, and I told him I didn’t care. I don’t care. If things were normal, I would have dragged his ass to Vegas the first chance I got. But…in retrospect, it just would have been nice to have my family there, say vows, something like that. Instead of some FEDRA thug telling me to sign on the dotted line.”

“I get it,” Frank says, squeezing your leg. “It’s okay, you know, to wish it was different. I think we try to push that away, to just accept the world like it is now, but it’s okay to miss the way things were. Tears have crawled up the back of your throat, and there’s a noise from outside, Bill calling Frank’s name. There’s no panic in it, and Frank leans to glance out the window. “I’ll be right back. Have some more coffee.”

You refill your cup, steal another few strawberries. You give it a few minutes, and when Frank doesn’t come back, you slide off the counter, coffee in hand, and wander the house. You’ve seen it a bunch of times, at this point. Frank even tried to teach you piano, and you both laughed until your sides hurt at how awful you were at it.

Your boots seem to move of their own accord, walking down the main hall towards the front door. The walls are lined with picture frames, a few on the tables near the foyer, and your eyes drag over each photo. There are lots of old photos, people you assume to be Bill’s family. Some look as old as the first World War, and you pick up one frame, confirming your suspicions when you see the back of the frame reads 1917.

A photo in the middle of the wall catches your eye. A man and a woman, standing outside a church. They both have stoic smiles on their faces, and the man looks so strikingly similar to Bill that you realize it must be his parents. His mother wears a white dress, a veil in her hair, gloves with little pearls around the wrist. His father wears a dark suit, a carnation flower pinned to his lapel, his hair neatly combed. His mother holds a small bouquet of flowers in her hand, her arm slipped through her new husband’s.

You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. Fuck, how different things could have been…

What if you had never left Austin? You would have had two whole years of normalcy with Joel, in theory. You could have gotten to know Sarah better, you could have—

You cut the thought off abruptly, but every what if it branches into makes your chest ache. What if you had moved in? What if you had gotten married? What if you’d had a baby, made Sarah a big sister? What if…

The sound of the front door makes you flinch, and you hiss as coffee spills over the edge of your mug, hot liquid on your hand. “Fuck!”

“Oh, shit, hold on, baby,” Joel says, and disappears into the kitchen, reappearing at the other end of the hallway a moment later with a towel. He takes the cup from you, wiping the droplets from it before he’s reaching for your wrist, inspecting your hand. “You okay?”

You nod a little too enthusiastically, chewing at your lip. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, but hands you your coffee. “You about ready to go? Should start headin’ back soon.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

A month later, and the first eighties song plays over the radio. You recognize it instantly; Every Little Thing She Does is Magic. Joel grabs the book Frank had supplied, confirms it’s 1981, and your heart drops into your toes.

“Joel, we have to go,” you say, your heart leaping into your throat, instantly looking around the apartment. Where’s your bag, where’s your bat, where’s—

Someone knocks at the door, and you sigh with relief when you see Tess on the other side. “Oh, thank god. We have to go.”

She squints at you. “What?”

You throw your hand in the direction of the radio, still playing The Police. “Eighties. Trouble.”

“Fuck,” she grits, and you just nod.

The entire trip has you on edge. Every time you have to stop for a moment, or hear the warning scream of an Infected, your toes are curling in your boots, fingers tapping against the handle of the bat. You’re terrified to think what you might find in Lincoln.

Joel keeps close to your side, his hand resting at the top of your spine as you walk. “It’ll be okay, baby,” he tells you, and you want to believe him, you really do, but the world hasn’t given you much reason to hope for the best.

When you take that final turn and Lincoln comes into view, you hold your breath. Everything looks the same, nothing’s on fire, you don’t see anybody bleeding in the street. As you approach the gate, your stomach is in knots.

And then Frank appears at end of the sidewalk, beaming at you as you approach, and you’re officially confused. “You’re here!” he calls, arms spread wide as he reaches the gate, punches in the code, letting the three of you inside. Tess closes the gate behind her once you’re all through, and just as you’re about to ask what the fuck is going on, Joel grabs your face, giving you a soft kiss before he’s disappearing, following Tess in the direction of the wine shop.

Frank gives you an innocent smile. “Do you trust me?”

“I did,” you say, your heart still stuttering as he puts his arm around your shoulders and starts to lead you away from the gate. “You played eighties! I thought something awful happened, you fuck!”

He laughs. “A cruel trick, I know,” he says, clucking his tongue. “But it’ll be worth it, I promise.”

“What are you—”

“Close your eyes.”

“Wha—”

“Just do it, Liv.”

With a heavy sigh, you just shake your head, lifting your hands and covering your eyes with them. “Joel and Tess are in on this too?”

“They are,” Frank answers, both hands gripping your shoulders, steering you in the direction he wants you to go. “It’s a good surprise, I swear to you. Just trust me.”

“You ever play eighties again, Frank, I will keep my ass in Boston.”

“Sure, you will.”

You huff, half-heartedly angry, but let him continue to lead you. You’re instantly turned around, no idea where Frank is leading you, and it’s not until you come to a stop and he releases you, tells you to open your eyes, and you see you’re standing in front of the clothing boutique.

“Inside!” Frank declares, yanking open the door. “Let’s go!”

He pulls the door shut as soon as you’re inside, the tinkling bells overhead ringing and echoing through the shop. You slide your hands into the back pockets of your jeans, looking around. “You really not gonna tell me what’s going on?” you ask as Frank brushes past you, heading towards the back of the boutique.

“Where’s the fun in that? C’mon!”

You’re less and less annoyed with every step. Frank tends to have that effect, and even though you’re still reeling from every awful thought you’d had on the trek from Boston to Lincoln, the smile he gives you as he comes to a stop in front of one of the mirrors at the back earns your forgiveness. There’s something in front of the mirror, what you assume to be a mannequin, draped with a dark sheet.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you this,” he says, letting his hand skim over the fabric, “but my mother was a seamstress. She taught me a thing or two, and it’s surprisingly come in handy now, fixing Bill’s favourite shirts and what have you.” Your brow pinches with confusion, but Frank keeps talking. “And I know you’re mad, that we rang the alarm when there wasn’t a need, but I mean it, you just have to trust me, and this will be amazing.”

With a flourish, he pulls the sheet away, and your jaw drops.

It’s a dress. A white dress, made of silky-looking material. Floor-length, short sleeves, and flowers embroidered into the fabric everywhere you look. Pearly buttons line the side, and you can see it’s more like a satin slip underneath with the more filmy overlay that’s embroidered.

It’s a dress.

A wedding dress.

You clap your hand over your mouth, tears instantly filling your eyes. Is this…? What…?

“Joel?” is all you manage to squeak out, and Frank just nods.

“It was mostly his idea,” Frank admits with a shrug. You take a step closer to the dress, almost scared to touch it, worried there’s dirt or something on your hands that will stain the fabric. “When you were here about a month ago, he brought it up to Bill. He agreed, and I helped with the finer details.”

“Details?”

“The dress,” he says, jutting his chin towards the mannequin, “and a few other things. This is only the first part, Liv.”

The tears are in full force now, and Frank makes a little noise, coming to stand beside you, putting his arm around your shoulders. You drop your head against his shoulder and he lays his on top of yours. “You made this?” you ask, your voice quiet, swiping at the tears under your lashes before pointing to the dress. It’s literally so beautiful you could cry. You are crying.

“Hah, not exactly,” Frank replies, rubbing your shoulder. “I found it in the back of the shop. If I tried to make it myself, it’d probably end up looking more like Frankenstein’s monster than a wedding dress. But, put it on, we’ll see how it fits, and if you need any alterations, I’m your man.”

You feel like you’re in a dream, as he carefully pulls the dress off the mannequin. You take it with careful hands, heading for one of the dressing rooms and closing the door behind you. Laying the dress gently on the bench inside, you toe off your boots, shimmy out of your jeans, unbutton your shirt. Then you pause, frozen in place, staring at the dress.

It’s been more than a few minutes, you realize after a moment, and Frank calls your name. “You okay? Need any help?”

“I’m good,” you call back. In truth, you’re staring at yourself in the mirror. More specifically, the scar on your side. The bite. Frank calls your name again, and you cover it with your hand, pulse thumping through the mark. “I just need a sec.”

“Okay,” he replies, clearly unconvinced, but then the thought crosses your mind that if he tries to help, he’ll see the scar, and everything they’ve planned will go to shit.

Clearing your throat, you reach for the dress.

It fits like a fucking glove.

Almost sheepishly, you step out of the dressing room, and Frank gasps when you do, a giddy laugh reaching your ears as you feel them go hot. “Liv, you look beautiful.” He reaches for your hand. “I mean, you are beautiful, but oh, it’s perfect.” Before you can say anything, he all but pushes you back into the dressing room. “Change back, we have to go back to the house to get you ready.”

An hour later, and you’re standing in the spare bedroom of the house. The dress is laid out on the bed, your hair is freshly washed, and you feel so clean you almost want a nap. Frank had left some lavender-scented soap in the shower, and you can’t stop smelling your skin.

A knock at the door almost makes you flinch, and you call that it’s open. Tess steps through a moment later, and your breath catches at her dark red dress, her hair tucked behind her ear, a flower pinned with it. You both just start to giggle as she walks over to where you’re standing in front of the mirror. She stops behind you, her hands coming to rest on your shoulders, and you cover one with your own.

“Are you mad?”

“Mad?” you scoff, still laughing. “I should be, but I’m not.” You chew at your lip. “We’re having a wedding?”

She meets your eyes in the mirror, leaning her head against yours. “You’re having a wedding.”

It feels almost like you expect it would have, if the outbreak had never happened. Getting ready, laughing with one of your best friends. There’s no curling iron, but Tess puts little braids in your hair, flowers like the one behind her ear forming a crown on top of your hair. She gives you a tube of mascara and a lipstick, jokes with you that they’re probably well expired, but they’ll do the trick. “What’s life without a little risk?”

Frank appears at some point — looking well-put together in a dress shirt and jacket, his hair neatly combed — and offers you a little bouquet of daisies from the garden. Tess jokes that you should carry the bat instead, and you all laugh.

And then you’re ready.

“We’ll be waiting out back,” Frank says, and both he and Tess peck your cheeks before they’re gone.

It’s time.

You give yourself a few minutes, wait until you can’t hear your friends’ voices anymore, until it’s just you in the house. You go to walk out of the bedroom, you really do, but you find you can’t do it. You sink onto the edge of the bed, curling your hands into the fabric of the bedspread, forcing yourself not to cry.

It almost feels like you thought it would have, but there’s a glaring difference.

You only ever let yourself imagine this once, with Joel. After you left Austin, when you were back visiting for the Fourth of July. You let yourself think about what would happen, if you never went back to Boston. You let your fantasies run a little wild.

Anna would have been your maid of honour, Sarah would have been the flower girl. Your mother would have cried and your dad would have walked you down the aisle. You would have said your vows in the same church your grandparents had been married in.

You don’t know what’s waiting for you outside, and you have no doubt it’s wonderful and beautiful and far more than you deserve.

But…Anna. Sarah. Your parents.

You hear the door creak open downstairs, hear someone’s feet on the stairs. You’re expecting Frank, maybe even Joel.

You’re not expecting Bill. Same as Frank, he’s combed his hair, tucked it behind his ears, and while he doesn’t have a jacket, his button-up is tucked into his pants. “Olivia?”

He’s the only one who’s exclusively called you by your full name since…well, since your dad. With him, it was either honey or Olivia, no in-between. And while you’re pretty sure Bill didn’t say your name once on your first visit to Lincoln, he’s greeted you with a curt mumble of your name each time since.

“I’m coming,” you say, starting to get up, fanning your wet eyes. “I just needed a second.”

Bill pauses in the doorway, staring at you. “It’s okay, you know, if you need another one.”

You sink back down, feeling your chest go tight. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Bill tells you, and slowly, he steps into the room, walking towards the bed and sinking down beside you. “Today is about you, after all.”

You swipe at your cheek. “I’m surprised you agreed to this,” you say, and Bill lets out a little chuckle. “Not the best resource management.”

“Y’know, you say something to Frank once and he never lets you forget it,” he grumbles, shaking his head, but there’s a rare smile on his face. “It was Joel’s idea, I’m sure Frank told you.” You nod. “And I…I’ve had a soft spot for you, Olivia, since you two first showed up here. And it took me a while, but I realized, it’s because you remind me of Frank, in a way. You’re both…” He squints, waving his hand in the air.

“Feisty?”

“Feisty,” he agrees, “and headstrong, and loyal. And while I might not like him very much, I know Joel’s done right by you. He’s a good man, and he loves you, so when he asked for my help with this, I said yes.”

Your breath shakes a little as you sigh, leaning over until your head is resting on Bill’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet.”

“I know, but I’m still grateful. I never could have imagined…” You trail off, feeling the tears crawling back up again, and Bill puts his arm around your shoulders slowly. “I just, I always thought that when I got married, my family would be there, that my dad would walk me down the aisle, and I just…” You shake your head, holding your breath and trying to force the tears down.

“I know it’s not much of a consolation,” Bill says quietly, and slowly gets up, offering you his hand, “but I’d be honoured to walk you down.”

It’s not what Joel had envisioned, when the idea had first come to him. At this point, he can’t even quite remember what he had pictured, because whatever it was, the end result is better.

It’s late in the day. You’d left Boston late morning, arrived mid-afternoon, and while Tess had hurried Joel through a shower and getting dressed, leading him the back way out of the house while you came in the front, everyone careful not to let you see each other, the sun is starting to set. But it’s perfect, golden light covering the grass, sunbeams filtering through the trees. He can hear birds, and as he stands there, fidgeting with his hands clasped in front of him, he’s struck by how truly grateful he is, how he never could have imagined any of this.

Whatever thoughts had once crossed his mind, this is better.

He had the idea the last time you were in Lincoln. Bill had called Frank outside to ask something about their stockpile in the bunker, which Frank had rolled his eyes at, and Joel had expected you to follow Frank out, but when you didn’t, he asked.

“She’s inside, enjoying her coffee,” Frank had replied with a little smile, waving his hand toward the house. “There’s extra; I’ll send you two back with a thermos full.”

Joel had waited for Bill’s protest, but it never came, and Joel just grumbled his thanks.

“Liv was just telling me about your wedding day,” Frank said, and Joel’s ears perked up. “Leave it to FEDRA to make something beautiful so impersonal.”

“Yeah,” Joel agreed, staring down at his boots. “It’s not the day I woulda given her, if I had the chance.”

And there it was, the first spark of something. He couldn’t give you the wedding you’d probably dreamed of as a little girl, but maybe he could give you something else.

“Say, could I ask y’all a favour?”

Frank was overjoyed at the thought, and Joel again waited for Bill’s protest, but again it never came. Frank promised to look after the details, Bill agreed to build something in the backyard to hold the ceremony, and the plan was hatched.

Joel had felt guilty when the radio started playing. The song had been his idea, and he’d done his best to feign surprise when the song came on. You were too busy worrying to really notice, thankfully, and he knows he’s sure to get an earful at some point or another.

It’s small, obviously, but it’s perfect. Between two tall oaks in the backyard of the main house, Bill constructed a wooden archway, a lattice pattern filling the gaps, and long vines of ivy twisted through. It’s painted white, matched to the few chairs set in front. There are flowers in matching vases either side of the arch, and there are stones that line the path from the house up to the arch, a makeshift aisle.

Tess stands in the middle of the archway, a few pieces of paper in her hands. She looks great, Joel’s told her as much, and she just laughed and thanked him and said, “Just wait til’ you see her.” Frank sits in one of the chairs, one beside him for Bill, another two set on the other side, one for Tess. He’d asked her if she wanted to bring Robin along, but her reluctance to involve her girlfriend in the more dangerous parts of your lives overshadowed her want to have her there.

Joel sees the back door of the house swing open, and Bill steps out first. He extends his hand back inside, and you reach out to take it, lifting the skirt of your dress as you take the two steps down onto the grass. Joel can’t help but chuckle when he sees you’re barefoot, but then his eyes move up your pretty white dress, the flowers in your hair, the giddy smile on your face, and he thinks he might topple over on the spot. He tugs at his tie — yeah, he’s wearing a fucking tie — and Tess must catch his slight sniffle as tears spring in his eyes, because she nudges his arm. “Told ya.”

Frank reaches beneath his chair, producing a small radio with a cassette player. You turn towards them all fully, and Joel can see the shock in your face just as Frank hits play. Bill offers you his arm just as the first chords start to play, and you’re smiling so big it makes Joel’s face ache just looking at you. He wants to kiss that grin, has to stop himself from running full tilt at you and doing it right then and there.

He sees the recognition in your face as you start to walk towards him, your hand tucked into the crook of Bill’s elbow.

If the sun refused to shine, I would still be lovin’ you.

Led Zeppelin. The same tape you once bought him for his truck back in Austin, the same one you played the night the two of you became the two of you once more.

When the mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me.

He can’t take his eyes off you, as you get closer and closer. He’s committing every inch of you to memory, for the millionth time. He’s torn between wanting to rip that dress right off of you and wanting to keep you in it for the rest of your life. He’s so fucking in love with you, he can’t believe he has you, that he found you after so many years, that he’s managed to keep you still.

You reach the end of the aisle, maybe three feet from him, and Bill stops you, turns you toward him. He leans in and pecks your cheek, and then turns to Joel, shakes his hand. Joel takes a step forward and Bill places your hand in Joel’s, giving him a nod.

Kind a woman, I give you my all, kind a woman, nothin’ more.

You arrange yourselves in front of the arch, and you turn to hand your little bouquet of daisies to Frank before taking both of Joel’s hands, squeezing your warm fingers around his. “Holy shit.”

Everybody laughs, the song fades out, and Tess clears her throat.

“Well, this is about as close as we can get to traditional, I guess. It’s fitting, I think.”

Joel’s listening, he swears he is. He can hear every word Tess says, every chuckle from Frank and even Bill, every hitch in your breathing. He can hear the birds in the trees and the thump of his own heart. But he’s focused on you, the little twitch of your hands in his, the way you’re smiling at him.

God, he wishes Sarah were here. Her memory still carries a slice of pain — he knows it always will — and though it aches, all he can think of is how well the two of you would have got on. He can still remember your first accidental meeting so clearly, and the times that followed. His daughter was too smart not to see through your “I’m a good friend of your dad’s” introduction, and even after you left for Boston, she had asked after you more than once.

“I like her,” she’d said once, casually, over breakfast, like they were discussing the weather. “She makes you all…shiny.”

“Shiny?”

“Yeah,” she’d continued, poking at her eggs. “All bright and stuff. It’s a good thing.”

“Whatever you say, kiddo.”

And somehow, here you are again, making him feel all bright and shiny, even after the world ends.

“Joel?” Tess prompts, and Joel snaps out of his memory, Tess handing him a piece of paper. “You wanna go first?”

“Oh,” he grumbles, taking the paper from her, reluctantly letting go of your hands so he can see the words he’s written on the page. “Yeah.”

Your brow furrows slightly as he clears his throat, your jaw dropping slightly. “You jackass, you wrote something?”

Joel feels his cheeks go hot. “I did.”

You’re shaking your head, but you’re beaming. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

“Luckiest man on earth,” he agrees. Then he remembers the paper in his hands. “Now, let me read it to you.”

“Okay,” you say softly, your voice laced with your smile. “I’m listening.”

Ten years ago, on this exact day, I walked into a hardware store. I was just lookin’ for a drill bit, stopped in on my way to a job on the other side of Austin. Never in a million years did I think I’d walk down the paint aisle and find you standing there, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, smilin’ at me like I’d won the damn lottery.

Didn’t know back then that I’d fall in love with you so hard. Didn’t know you’d break my heart and mend it all in one shot, that I’d lose you before I really had the chance to love you properly. Then I lost everything, we all did, and I just…

It wasn’t easy. It’s still not easy. I was a jackass, when I first found you again, and I know I haven’t been perfect since, but, goddamnit, Liv, I’ll never love another woman the way I’ve loved you. Not in a million years. Not until my heart stops beatin’, and maybe even after that.

I’m a lucky son of a bitch, being able to love you the way I do. Luckier still that you agreed to marry me. I know I’m not the easiest sometimes, I know none of this is, but I swear to always love you, protect you, with everything I have left. Forever.

You’ve been crying since you saw him standing beneath the arch. You’d given up on wiping the tears when Tess started talking, and then when Joel pulled out his vows, it was even worse, but you didn’t care.

He folds up the piece of paper, stuffs it in his pocket, and you have to hold back from launching yourself at him. Joel takes your hands again, rubbing his thumbs across your knuckles, and you take a deep breath. “So that’s why you played eighties,” you say, shooting Frank a look. He’s crying too. “Ten years ago, today?”

Joel nods, lifts your hands to his lips, dots kisses across your fingers. “To the day.”

You take another deep breath. “Well, I would have written something, if I’d known, but all I really want to say right now is that I love you, Joel Miller. You’re right, it’s not easy, but standing by your side, it makes it easier, makes it worth it. I’m the lucky one, to have found you even after all of this, and no matter what comes our way, I got you, baby. Forever.”

It’s a sweet kiss. It’s an I love you brushed across his mouth. It’s hands in his hair and your body pressed against his. He tries his best not to mess with the fabric of your dress too much, the material soft as anything against his palms. Faintly, he can hear Tess and Bill and Frank cheering, somebody whistling, and the birds are still singing.

It’s perfect.

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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 uis #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

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okay-j-hannah · 1 year

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The Oak Tree

The Last of Us : Oneshot

Joel Miller x Reader

Word Count: 10120

Warnings: Spoilers for episode 3 😭 angry revenge, blood/violence with raiders, protective ‘who did this to you?’ Joel 🥰 18+ themes, smut, overstimulated, super sensitive, touch starved, unprotected pinv, and aftercare

I’m a massive fan of the video game and PEDRO has been on my mind for WEEKS {thanks TikTok edits} I’m obsessed with this man

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: Over the years of making trades, there’s only been one girl that Joel can’t seem to get out of his head

{2007 – four years into the infection}

Just outside of Lincoln was a reservoir, brimmed with reflective water. It was surrounded by oak and hardwood, a line of color differing in shades of green, orange, and red. Joel looked at the leaves rippling against the stagnant water, thinking to himself that’s quite the view.

Tess, as per usual, was able to say those things out loud, “It’s beautiful.”

He didn’t need to reply.

“The neighborhood is just over there,” she continued, hands wound about her backpack straps, “Third house on the left, near the book café.”

Coffee – thought Joel – what he’d give for a black coffee right then.

“I bet she has coffee,” Tess said, speaking for him again. “She probably has that café up and running.”

It was too casual, too normal, to have a life outside of a QZ. The idea someone was living off the land after four years of a fungal apocalypse didn’t sound right. Something would have happened by now – raiders, a hoard of infected, accident with a gun.

“I still don’t like it,” Joel grumbled, following the colorful leaf strewn trail. People just didn’t survive out there on their own. It was unheard of. They always met a tragic end sooner or later.

“You don’t have to like it,” Tess bit back, “But we have a potential customer and I’m not going to pass up on that just because of a feeling you have.”

Joel gave a gruff sound in reply.

“If Frank says she’s okay then I trust her.”

If Frank said the sky was green and the grass was blue she would’ve believed him. They were thick as thieves.

“Maybe we’ll make a friend.”

“Maybe we should stop answering radio calls from Lincoln,” Joel said.

Tess scoffed, “But then we wouldn’t see Bill and Frank again.”

Joel didn’t say anything, holding back the words that he knew Tess could already guess. She spun around, pausing their walk with a stern look on her face.

“If you need to see this as a business meeting, fine – we’re out here trying to get the best trade. But I am going to meet a friend of a friend. And you will act cordial because as much as you can’t stand the thought of getting to know people past the stage of ‘get out of my fucking way,’ I want to.” She gave him a hard stare, “There’s nothing wrong with attempting something normal.”

Like inviting friends out to coffee.

Joel refrained a sigh, staring Tess down with a look of understanding. He only gave a curt nod in return.

When she was satisfied he wasn’t going to object further, she continued on the path. They passed the reservoir and were met with a crossroads, one direction leading towards a historic looking town.

It was small and safeguarded by mighty oak trees keeping watch. It looked like a quaint place people moved to in search of a quiet retirement. There were only a couple shops, a little food market, and half a dozen houses.

“There are more neighborhoods towards the west,” Tess remarked, “Bill and Frank live that way.”

Joel surveyed the area, used to the routine of searching for potential threats. Nearing the fence line, he put his palm against the heel of a gun.

In similar fashion to Bill and Frank’s, an electric fence encompassed the first three houses, the café, and an electronics store. He knew this girl accepted a lot of help from her neighbors, at least after Frank moved in. No doubt there were a number of complicated traps rigged everywhere outside the fence line.

“She knows we’re coming?”

Tess neared the fence gate, “Yeah, she said she’ll be on the lookout and… oh, there she is.”

Coming out of the first house was a woman, younger than him by some years but that wasn’t the first thing Joel noticed about her. He noticed the bright beaming smile on her face – open and welcoming.

“Hi there!” she called out, walking with quick steps, “Tess?”

“(Y/N)?” Tess asked in return.

“In the flesh,” the woman said, still smiling that wide smile, “It’s nice to put a face to the radio voice.”

Tess started smiling too, “I agree. Frank speaks very highly of you.”

“Oh he’s just a chatterbox,” (Y/N) laughed, pressing a few numbers into a keypad and unlocking the gate. “But I love him for it.” She opened the gate with a squeaky clang of the chain link fence.

“Thank you,” Tess said, gesturing behind her as she walked through, “This is my partner Joel.”

“Partner,” (Y/N) beamed, “Nice to meet you.”

Joel had to tear his eyes away from the grinning lower half of her face to meet her gaze. He could only nod.

“That’s how he says hi,” Tess sighed, “Not much of a people person.”

“I don’t blame him,” (Y/N) continued, “Not with how things are these days.”

Unfocused on her smile, Joel now scanned the rest of her. Her hair was clean, her clothes untorn, there was even a smell of flowers about her. She didn’t look like someone surviving an apocalypse. She looked like how the world used to be.

And it put a strange feeling in Joel’s gut.

“I’ll give you the tour,” (Y/N) said, “And then we can talk over dinner.”

“We’re not staying,” Joel said immediately.

Tess gave him a glare that said: don’t be rude. “We shouldn’t stay when it’ll be dark soon.”

“You’re welcome to spend the night,” (Y/N) said, eyes fixed on Joel’s hard gaze, more apprehensive than hurt at his unwillingness to spend any more time there than he had to. “I have a guest house prepared.”

“A guest house?” Tess couldn’t hold in her laugh, “How much do you rent for?”

(Y/N) was smiling again, “We can discuss the details over roast and potatoes.”

Joel’s stomach made the infuriating decision to growl just then.

“I’ll make the tour quick,” (Y/N) flickered amused eyes towards him.

He set his jaw, choosing to look anywhere but the two girls trying to contain their laughs.

“This is my lookout base,” (Y/N) gestured to the first house she just came out of. “It has a nice view of the surrounding area from each window. I’ll spend time up there looking for any incoming infected. It’s how I get my target practice.”

Joel peered into the open windows of the house and found a rifle fitted with a scope leaning against the sill.

They walked down the center street, (Y/N) talking along the way, “The second house is for guests and has a lot of my food storage and extra supplies hidden beneath the floors. This third house is my own.”

She gestured to the one with a large front porch and a flourishing front garden. Snug between the two houses was a roaming chicken coop and another pen right behind it.

“What’s behind the chickens?” Tess asked.

“Rabbits,” (Y/N) said, “I trade them for supplies at Bill’s.”

“Have they ever stayed at your guest house?”

“A few times,” (Y/N) smiled proudly, “Five star reviews.”

They continued towards the center of her little town. The ground was dug up all around the cobblestone street, housing planter boxes and freshly tilled earth.

“Here’s my garden,” she said, “Mostly root vegetables but I’ve been searching for some summer berries or vine plants. Tomatoes and peppers maybe.”

“We could help with that,” Tess mused, “We know where to find seeds.”

(Y/N) beamed again, “Right ahead is the café. I’ve got coffee beans coming out of my ears in that place. And I’ve been using it as my library too – the perfect place to take a load off.”

That feeling in Joel’s gut was persistent and it was making him uncomfortable now.

“And that is an electronics store,” (Y/N) pointed to the last building within her fenced in town. “It’s where I use my radio and keep stock of my power and water.”

Tess turned full circle, nodding her head like she was impressed, “And that over there?” She gestured towards the fence line where large heavy bricks were piled.

“Oh that’s my ongoing project to keep this place more secure,” (Y/N) sighed, “Along with the electric fence I figured I could add another layer of defense. A brick wall would keep people from being able to peer in.”

“That’s going to take a lot of supplies.”

She nodded, hands in her pockets, “I’ve been disassembling a brick house down the road – it got hit with a car. But I’m running low on cement mix.”

Tess chewed her lip in thought, “I think we could manage that.”

Joel kept his eyes on (Y/N), anywhere but her face. She talked like she hadn’t seen real shit yet. She smiled like life wasn’t hard. She looked clean and unnaturally content for the world they lived in.

The nagging, uncomfortable feeling was urgent. It pushed him to ask, “Are you here alone?”

She looked to him with that sudden air of apprehension, “Yes.”

He shook his head towards the ground, “That’s not smart.”

“I have Bill and Frank,” she said, that smile gone with the first word out of his mouth. “And I’m well prepared.”

“You’re one person sitting on a pot of gold,” Joel said lowly.

“I’ve lasted this long,” she said just as quietly.

It was making him mad, “Don’t be stupid.”

“Joel,” Tess said warningly, “We are guests here.”

“I’m just being honest,” he said, “I’ve seen too many good people get killed because of their good intentions. Pretty soon there will only be assholes and killers left.”

There was a pause where (Y/N) stared him down with an edge of fear. It made her look like a rabbit about to dart away and hide.

“And which are you,” she asked quietly, “An asshole or a killer?”

Joel met her gaze with a sizzle of electricity. He thought she was good – it put a fire in her chest, a want to prove herself capable of being good and a survivor. The defiant look on her face only made his uneasy feeling flare tenfold.

She wasn’t safe. She needed someone to protect her.

“We’re both assholes,” Tess stepped in, “That’s what makes us so great at negotiating trades.”

(Y/N) turned her body towards Tess, burned by Joel’s words, “I could use more assholes on my side.” She refused to look at Joel, “Maybe one will end up staying.”

Tess laughed, brushing over the tension that had settled between them, “Sounds like you’ve heard Frank tell their love story one too many times.”

“He says I just need to find my Bill,” she laughed along, walking them back towards her house, “I guess I just need to find an asshole.” She peered over her shoulder to give Joel a raised eyebrow.

He couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped him, still upset and burning with the desire to argue his point further. Maybe he was more upset with the fact that he’d fixated on her need for a protector.

He didn’t need another person to worry about, not when he already had Tess and Tommy. Adding to that list meant adding to the grief he’d endure if he failed to save them.

It was good she was apprehensive of him. It was good there was an edge of fear when she looked at him. He couldn’t get attached.

“That smells amazing,” Tess breathed, entering the house, “Where did you get a roast?”

“Bill,” (Y/N) said, going to the kitchen to check on the slow cooker, “He carved up a cow near a cattle range a few miles away. I traded some sheets, vegetables, and coffee beans for it.”

Joel leaned against the entryway. Better be worth it – he thought – trading supplies for one measly roast.

“I understand if you have to leave,” (Y/N) continued, “But my home is open to you. You’re welcome to stay for some food and rest.”

“You’ll accept us into your trades, then?” Tess asked. “I thought we made a pretty lousy first impression.”

(Y/N) smiled, “Better than you think.” She didn’t look towards Joel. “I know we just met…”

Joel made a gruff sound that seemed close to a laugh.

Still (Y/N) didn’t acknowledge him, “But I trust Bill’s judge of character. If he’s willing to work with you then I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

“We’ll work up a supply list,” Tess nodded, “And in the meantime I say we set the table.”

“Tess…” Joel said warningly, “We should…”

“Get the plates,” Tess cut in, “I’m starving.”

~~~

{2007 – 3 months later}

The leaves were still crisp and golden along the road to (Y/N)’s town. It was later in the day, much later than Joel would’ve liked, but Tess knew there’d be an invitation to stay the night.

And as much as Joel hated to admit it, a hot shower and a clean bed sounded like heaven. His back was aching with the weight of their trade. Sweat dotted his temples and the falling light made him squint his eyes.

“Fuck, I hope she cooked,” Tess groaned, “That hike felt way longer with full packs.”

Joel wiped his brow, “I told you we should’ve started with seeds.”

“She needs the cement more,” Tess said, “And we’ll get more in return for the mix.”

The town was coming into their sights and Joel was surprised to see the progress made on the perimeter.

The brick wall was finished along one side and barbed wire extended between the electric fence and the wall. Bill had to have shared his high tinsel wire because the fence was reinforced and surrounded by new traps.

They could hear the electric hum of the fence as they neared the front gate. The keypad housed a buzzer to signal (Y/N) of incoming guests, which Tess pressed.

She gave Joel a look and suppressed a smile.

“What?” he asked.

She shrugged, “Still don’t like it?”

He squinted through the fence at the town within, “Don’t be surprised if she’s gone.”

“We talked to her two days ago,” Tess said, “And I think we would’ve seen evidence of raiders if they came through here.”

Joel still sighed his inner turmoil as (Y/N) came out from where the chicken coop was hidden. She smiled that beaming smile and waved at them with garden gloves in hand.

“Long time no see,” she said, “How was the trip?”

Both Tess and Joel hesitated at seeing her limp towards them, a bandage clearly wrapped around her lower leg.

“Long,” Tess finally replied, waiting for the gate to open, “What happened there?” She gestured towards (Y/N)’s leg, unwinding her hands from her backpack to have easy access to grabbing a weapon.

Joel was stiff, a few fingers grazing the gun secured in his pocket.

(Y/N) seemed unphased, waving them off, “I fell while collecting more bricks from the broken house. I got a bad scrape but nothing terrible.” She opened the gate and finally sensed the tension, “Why?”

Tess eyed Joel before muttering, “Show us.”

“Excuse me?” (Y/N) asked.

“We just want to be sure,” Tess said, “We don’t want to be locked in with a biter tonight.”

(Y/N) scoffed, raising her eyebrows, “Um… yeah, sure.” She knelt to one knee with a wince and rolled her pant leg. Blood had seeped through the bandage and made a terrible sound as she peeled it away from her wound.

It was still fresh and speckled with new blood from being torn open again, but it was obviously a scrape and not a bite.

“Satisfied?” she asked, grimacing at the wound, “I’m in need of a clean bandage.”

“Can you blame us?” Tess said, relaxing her shoulders, “We had to be sure.”

“I would think one infected was nothing for you two,” she jested, stumbling to her feet and meeting Joel’s eyes, “I promise it’s nothing.”

Joel didn’t apologize, still touching the handle of his gun.

“You must be tired,” she continued, “I can show you your rooms.” She limped towards the guest house, balling the used bandage in her hands.

Tess followed, Joel left to secure the gate. He grinded his teeth as he fought the sudden urge to lecture (Y/N) about being safe. He had hoped the strange protective feeling of months before would’ve faded. But seeing her again ignited that furious part of him.

“I’ve cleaned your sheets,” (Y/N) said, entering the house and turning for the kitchen, “And there’s extra clothes in the closets.”

“That’s generous of you,” Tess said, “You mind if I shower first?”

Joel shook his head and (Y/N) called out, “No, there should be plenty of hot water for you.”

Tess nodded to her partner and climbed the stairs. Joel listened to her steps, debating on what to do next. He slung the backpack off his shoulders and felt instant relief. A shiver went down his spine as the sweat of his back cooled against the air.

A thud sounded in the kitchen and (Y/N) muttered, “Shit.”

Instinct told Joel to run towards her voice, but he held himself back as he walked into the kitchen.

(Y/N) was leaning against the counter, a stepstool overturned next to her feet. The cabinet above her was open and full of what appeared to be first aid.

Joel put two and two together, choosing not to say anything as he walked all the way over to her. He reached out easily and searched for a bandage and maybe an antibiotic.

(Y/N) inched away, suddenly overwhelmed by his body nearly pressing into hers. “I slipped,” she said quietly.

He didn’t respond, rummaging the top shelf and finding a roll of cloth.

“There’s some medicine up there too,” she muttered, “Next to the hydrogen peroxide bottle.”

Joel found it, placing the supplies on the counter and closing the cabinet.

“Thank you,” she said, waiting for him to move before claiming the first aid. She limped to the dining table, bending over to examine her leg, “I’m making chicken for dinner,” she said, wondering why he was still there, “It should be done soon.”

He leaned against the wall and folded his arms, watching her rub ointment onto the scrape.

“Did you run into anything on your way here?”

He was quiet, standing there with a hard look on his face. His lips were pursed as he contemplated her words.

“You know,” she said, unraveling the roll of cloth, “I’m pretty sure a conversation involves two people talking.”

Joel refrained a sigh, only tilting his head slightly down in her direction. Why he didn’t just go to his room, he didn’t know. The frustration building inside of him was undeniable as he watched her attempt to use the bandage.

“You’re putting it on crooked.”

She lifted her head, “What?”

He grumbled and pushed himself off the wall. He went to kneel in front of her, taking the bandage from her hands and beginning to wrap it around her leg.

She stared at him wide eyed, her mind going blank as he handled her leg. He was surprisingly soft with her, holding her with gentle hands that she didn’t expect. His hair was a soft brown, curled at the edges with the last remnants of sweat. With him bowed before her, she could spy from above easily.

He was warm and toasted from the setting sun, hands still rough and dirty with his travels. He seemed to realize it too as he held her soap scrubbed skin. The flowery smell he found on her months before was overwhelming now. He identified the sweet smell on her skin.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

The frustration licked his ribs. “Don’t thank me,” he said, “What you’re doing here is going to get you killed.”

She stiffened under his touch, that edge of fear creeping into her vision. “Joel…”

“No,” he said lowly, “What would’ve happened if you got hurt worse than this? There’s no one here to help you.”

“I have…”

“If you say Bill and Frank I swear to god I’ll break this chair.”

(Y/N) clamped her mouth shut, terrified of the sudden anger laced between his words.

“It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long,” he muttered, “That luck is going to run out eventually.” He tied off the bandage, “And when it does, who will be here to bury you?”

She gulped, voice shaky when she asked, “Why are you so upset? Me being dead just means one less client on your list.”

Joel stood sharply, “It means one less decent person in this fucked up world.” His eyes bored into hers, “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she challenged, but her voice was still so small.

“Don’t you understand what’s out there?” Joel said, that anger fueling his tongue. “There are people that thrive in this end of the world shit. They won’t hesitate to burn this place down and skin you alive for all its worth.”

“So I’ll build up my defenses,” (Y/N) said louder than before, “I’ll set a wider perimeter.”

“They’ll work around it,” Joel ground out, “They’ll find a way when you least expect it.”

She stood from her chair, supported by her good leg, “Don’t underestimate what I can do. I’m not helpless out here.”

“But you are alone,” Joel growled, “Alone and cushioned with your electric fences and hot water and three meals a day. There are people that would kill for that!”

“Are you offering a solution?” she said with more vigor, “Or are you just going to keep telling me what a naïve imbecile I am?”

He fisted his hands, “I’m telling you to get out of here before you get seriously hurt.”

“Why do you care so much?” She breathed heavy, her fear ebbing into apprehension again.

Joel set his jaw, staring at her for a tense few seconds before storming out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room, the sound of Tess still in the shower above.

He had to physically stop himself from slamming the door as he went for the bathroom. He turned the sink on roughly and splashed himself with cool water.

He was doing it again. He was already getting attached.

She wasn’t his problem – wasn’t his responsibility – she was just another trade route outside Boston. It was the mantra he said to himself throughout the rest of the night.

But not before taking a lukewarm shower to calm down.

In the morning he sat on the edge of the bed with a dull ache in his head. He had a strange dream about (Y/N). It was short lived but left him with a race in his chest. He prayed that it didn’t happen again.

Tess was trading the cement mix with a number of (Y/N)’s storage items downstairs, so Joel figured he’d sneak into the café to get some coffee.

He could smell the bitter roasted beans from outside the shop door and his nerves gave a leap of joy at the thought of straight hot caffeine. He entered the café with his nose in the air and his throat thirsting for a drink.

It was a terrible surprise to see that the fresh pot of coffee came along with (Y/N) behind the counter.

Her eyes met his for a fraction of a second, turning away quickly to put away a sack of beans. Joel stood awkwardly at the door, already preparing to extinguish whatever frustrating protective feelings developed.

“Good morning,” she whispered, pouring a cup of coffee.

Joel eyed the steam curling lazily into the air and he convinced himself it was the coffee that made him stay – not because he wanted to see her beaming smile again.

He gave a gruff reply as he walked over to the counter.

She gave him the cup, “Coffee, black.”

It was too good to resist. He sat down and slid the cup towards himself, “Thank you,” he muttered.

The first sip was the richest, god he hadn’t had coffee in so long. It warmed his stomach, easing the knots in his hunched shoulders.

It’s satisfying taste provoked him to add, “How’s your leg?”

She froze against the counter, trailing her fingers along the edge, “It’s fine.”

He nodded to himself, “Good.”

She laughed under her breath, “Good,” she repeated, walking towards the other side of the shop. There she eased herself into an armchair, propping her leg on an ottoman.

Joel peered over his shoulder and saw with a raised brow, half a dozen bookshelves, each laden with more books than he cared to see in a lifetime.

He sipped his coffee again, eyeing her as she selected a book from a pile beside her. Of course she had a book collection.

“We’ll be heading out in about an hour.”

She nodded, now absorbed in her book, “See you later, asshole.”

He jerked his head around to catch her in the insult, but she was smiling softly behind her pages.

~~~

{2009 – 18 months later}

“You’re such a hypocrite!”

(Y/N) threw a coffee mug at him, successfully smashing it against the wall beside his head. He dodged the flying shards of ceramic, fuming at her accusation.

“Are you insane?”

“You have no right to lecture me about my safety when you came here alone. Isn’t that the one thing you can’t stand about me living here?”

“Tess is staying with Bill and Frank an extra day!” Joel explained, “She’ll be here tomorrow.”

(Y/N) scoffed, shoving against the café door and stomping down the center street. “Why can’t you just leave it be?”

Joel was hot on her heels, “Because I know what’s out there.”

“I’m sick of that excuse, Joel.” She rounded on him, standing in the middle of the garden, “It can’t be the only reason you’re stuck on this argument.” Her hands on her hips, she squared up to him, “I’ve proven myself for nearly two years.”

He clenched his jaw, a twitch in his cheek, “Don’t…”

She grimaced, so frustrated she was nearly disgusted by his retorts. “You make me so angry sometimes.”

In a rush of aggression, Joel grabbed her by the arms, on the verge of shaking some sense into her, “(Y/N),” he ground out. And it struck him then.

Close and hot and breathing each other’s heavy breaths. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to claim her mouth with his own. The want seized him with such urgency he was temporarily struck dumb.

His hands clamped down on her arms, keeping her close to his mouth.

“Joel,” she said full of heat, “What are you doing?”

But she was eyeing his lips now, so near her own. All she had to do was lean in.

Joel was so conflicted he was fighting every instinct in his body. His lip was starting to curl because of it, turning into a snarl as he gripped (Y/N) close to him. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He wasn’t supposed to get attached, wasn’t supposed to want her.

But god she was so infuriating, so tempting.

His snarl neared her mouth, on the verge of devouring her. But in a sheer act of will he managed to push away – stumble back – and take a deep breath that wasn’t full of her clean, flowery scent.

He was running hot now, growing stiff as he stood there. He couldn’t steady his breaths, hands on his hips as he stared her down.

She was flushed and breathless in a way that spoke of innocent confusion. Her eyes were wide, and a delicate hand was resting on her chest, as if she had to hold back the pounding of her heart.

Oh God.

Joel bit back a growl, “I saw raiders… (Y/N). On my way over here. They were a few miles back but it’s the closest we’ve seen them in years. They’re scouting.” He knew better than to take a step closer to her. “And they will find you here.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He ran a hand over his beard, cursing to himself, “Fucking… this isn’t a joke, (Y/N). You could be in some serious danger.”

“I’ll figure it out,” she said, full of emotion, “I always do.”

That flush was settling in her cheeks and her eyes became glassy with it.

“Don’t be stupid.”

She clenched her jaw, screwing her lips up in a scowl. “I think you should leave.”

“(Y/N)…”

“Go away, Joel!” she fumed, standing her ground, “We made our trade – you have no business staying here any longer.”

He cursed her, making for the exit like he didn’t know what else to do. Hot blood was beating in his ears and as much as he hated her choice to stay, he still wanted her. He still wanted to be near her regardless of how angry she made him.

She knew he could reach Bill and Franks before nightfall or else she never would have sent him away. And at their little compound he pushed past Tess and found refuge in his own room for the remainder of the night.

Frank was curious as ever. “What’s gotten into him?” he asked Tess, “Ran into some trouble?”

Tess sighed, holding her glass of wine, “I told him to go on ahead to (Y/N)’s.” She took a sip, “Maybe I thought they could use some alone time together.”

Frank raised his eyebrows, suppressing a smile, “Little miss matchmaker you are.”

“Obviously it didn’t work,” she said, “But I know there’s something there.”

“I believe it,” he laughed, “Every asshole needs their sunshine person.”

Tess shared the laugh, “And a sunshine person (Y/N) is.” She raised her glass, “Let’s hope she manages to put him in his place.”

Frank eyed where Joel had just stormed off to, “If she hasn’t already.”

They shared a drink and wished each other a good night, oblivious to the fact that Joel was tossing and turning in his sheets, livid with the idea that (Y/N) could control him even when she wasn’t there.

He was angry and restless and resented how his cock twitched with dreams of her – how he very nearly kissed her just hours before.

It haunted him until dawn when he awoke with the distinct wish for a coffee from the café. He rubbed hard at his face, groaning with the lack of control on his own thoughts. (Y/N) was there smiling at him in his minds eye. Her clean flowery scent filling his nose.

He willed the blood to keep from rushing downward.

Tess and Frank were at the kitchen table, enjoying some eggs and toast. There was a black coffee waiting for him, steaming with the heat. His eyes flickered to the counter to see a bag of coffee beans clearly from (Y/N)’s town.

Tess followed his eyes and smirked, “You slept in.”

“Or he’s just been staring at the ceiling all night,” Frank smiled, “Figured you needed a coffee either way.”

Joel glared at them, sitting down and eagerly drinking the bitter coffee. He licked his lips, “I want to get back to the QZ before dark. We should leave soon.”

Frank groaned, “I always miss you guys when you’re gone.”

“Why do you think I stayed so long this time,” Tess said, “But we’ve got other trades to make. And there’s always the chance the QZ finds us missing. I don’t think I want to head back knowing there’s a noose waiting for me.”

There was a thud as heavy footfalls came from outside. Frank was to his feet immediately, knowing who was making the sound.

Bill came through the door, his breath a little labored, “Joel…”

“What is it?” Frank questioned, meeting him at the door, “What happened?”

Joel rose to his feet, a spark of fear igniting in his chest. If Bill wanted to speak with him, it could only mean grave news.

“Outside,” Bill said, “There’s smoke coming in from the east. A lot of it. I tried to radio (Y/N), and I can’t get a signal. Her channel has never been turned off before.”

Tess moved her head from one man to the other, “Joel…” she began as if she was trying to soothe him before something reckless happened. “It doesn’t mean…”

But Joel was shoving his way outside to look towards the east, the sun still rising as the day began. In the distance was a large billowing cloud of smoke. It was wide and black, meaning something big was burning hot and still raging.

East meant (Y/N)’s town. It meant something terrible had happened. And his blood ran cold.

“Joel,” Tess said behind his back, her mouth falling open, “What could’ve…”

Joel ran back inside for his pack, Bill waiting for him with a polished handgun and a box of ammo. A silent wish of luck that only Bill could express. They shared a look of understanding – that this was a moment of dread that people prayed would never happen to someone they cared about.

Joel gave him a nod of thanks and set out with Tess only five minutes later. He was keeping a runners pace until Tess asked him to slow down.

“Let’s not exhaust ourselves before we know what the threat is.”

“It was those raiders,” Joel bit back, “I told you they were heading this way.”

Tess was thinking it too, “She has a fighting chance,” she said. “She’s well prepared.”

Joel fought against the fear planted in his chest, “I shouldn’t have left.”

Tess wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “We’ll deal with it when we get there.”

It was the quickest they had ever made the trip, using the black billowing smoke as their guide. It never wavered and it never died down, meaning the fire wasn’t done burning everything in its path.

It would attract people for miles around.

Reaching a clearing, the pair of them paused to survey the area. Tess, as ever, was saying what Joel thought.

“Oh my god.”

The lookout house was in flames. The open windows were licked with fire, sending plumes of smoke into the open air. It crackled with heat and broke through part of the roof, sending ash and smoldering wood to the ground.

Bodies were littered outside the fence line – raiders that were caught in traps, shot by a rifle, or electrocuted by the fence. Some were tangled with the barbed wire lining the walls, others were smoking from once being engulfed in flames.

And how many managed to get inside, Joel thought.

They ran for the gate, Tess putting in the code that (Y/N) gave them months before.

Joel held up his new handgun, aiming for anything that moved. His breath was steady against the erratic beating of his heart. That fear in his chest controlled only by the instinct of hunting down whoever remained of the raiding party.

They kept their heads down, guns out, and feet moving in quiet steps. They scouted the guest house, checking the storage beneath the floorboards – it was untouched. They moved on to the main house and though it was ransacked, there wasn’t anyone there.

They went towards the shops, slowing down when they spotted two more bodies outside the electronics store.

Tess gave Joel a nod, and he went to check the faces – both raiders – before spying inside the open doors of the store. He could hear the crackle of electricity, could see the vibrant sparks of an open wire. The white smoke told him the radio was probably destroyed.

The sudden swing of the café door had them spinning around with scary precision.

“Oh, fuck!” said the raider, fumbling for a gun strapped to his belt.

Joel made quick work of shooting the guy in the leg. The raider cried out, falling to his side and yelling for any other help.

Tess kept her gun out as Joel ran for the injured thief.

“Help! Help me!” the man cried, grabbing onto his thigh, blood leaking out and beginning to pool beneath him. He tried to scoot away, “No, no, man stop!”

Joel landed a punch to the raiders face. He ignored the shots fired by Tess as she took down another exiting the café.

“Where is she?” Joel muttered. He dropped his gun, using his free hands to grab the raider by the jacket, “Where is she?”

The man jerked, a trickle of blood falling from his mouth, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

Joel hit him again, “Don’t fuck with me, kid. I’m not in the mood.”

The raider looked terrified, “The girl… that lives here…”

Joel was holding him up in a sitting position, hands itching for his throat, “Where?”

“Couple of my buddies took her in the back.” He nodded towards the electronics store.

With a hard thrust of his hands, Joel slammed the man into the cobblestones of the street. Whether the impact knocked the man out or killed him, Joel didn’t care. He stood to enter the store, gun left forgotten on the ground.

“Joel!” Tess yelled, running after him.

He ignored her, barging into the store and tensing at the sound of whimpering coming from the back room.

He ran towards the sound, tearing open the door to see a sight that had the air knocked out of him.

(Y/N) sat curled in the corner of the room, hands outstretched towards the men above her, pleading them to stop. She was bruised and bloody – no longer smiling like life wasn’t hard, no longer clean with fresh flower soap.

She was terrified and hurt. A combination of things that had white noise filling Joel’s ears. He saw red as the remaining raiders turned towards him. The disgusting sound of their laughter ceased with the fire in Joel’s eyes.

Tess realized then that Joel didn’t need his gun. He didn’t need her for backup. He just went wild.

Raw instinct launched him towards the men, clobbering one and manhandling the other. He slammed one against the wall, hitting him until pain finally registered in his hand. The bloodied raider slumped to the ground, signaling to his partner to get the hell out of there.

But Joel had already turned and found the last assailant stumbling to his feet after being hit. He threw the man into the back room shelves, kicking him into the ground. He knelt over the raider and punished him with the fury that fueled Joel.

By the end Tess had a grimace on her face, a twist in her stomach that knew it would take Joel a while to come back from what he just did. She stood by (Y/N), shielding her until Joel was finished.

“(Y/N),” he rasped, ragged from the fight, “(Y/N)…” He met her on the floor, not daring to touch her yet.

Tess backed up, going outside to ensure they weren’t interrupted by any surprise raiders.

(Y/N) couldn’t control her breathing, silent tears running tracks through the ash and blood of her face. She kept her hands up, as if it were a measly last defense in saving her life.

Joel felt the fire extinguish in his head, pain blossoming across his knuckles as his hands began to shake. “(Y/N),” he tried again, “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

She finally peeked above her hands at him, “Joel…” she said breathless.

A stab of pain went through his chest, “Yeah, baby,” he said. “I’m here.”

She was hesitant but as a fresh wave of tears came over her in gratitude, she started to lean into him. And Joel grabbed onto her instantly.

He wrapped her up with his arms and drew her close, “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“I thought…” she tried to say, “I thought I was dead.”

“No,” Joel cut her off, “I won’t let that happen.” He squeezed her tight to his chest, saying the things he needed to hear just as much as her. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” Because with him there beside her, she was safe. He could keep her that way.

“They used one of the oak trees,” she muttered, “They climbed and secured a rope across the fence and into the house. They waited until I was alone.”

Joel swallowed hard, putting a hand to the back of her head. “It’s over – they’re all gone.” He shielded her from the bloody mess behind them, “Let’s get you clean up. Tess and I… we’ll take care of everything.”

They managed to get (Y/N) into her house and while Tess volunteered to help with a shower and taking care of her injuries, Joel set out to correct his mistakes.

He gathered the raider bodies and burned them outside the fence line, the acrid smoke masked by the house fire. He found the stolen supplies and placed them back where they belonged. He reset the traps and reloaded the weapons. He even managed to dampen the spread of the house fire so it wouldn’t jump to the other buildings.

Late into the night, restless with the events of the day, (Y/N) asked Tess why Joel hadn’t visited her yet. He had been out all day and into the night.

Tess stayed by her side, resting in an armchair. “He’s trying to make things right,” she said, “He’s working out his frustration.”

“At me?”

“No,” Tess said warmly, “With himself. With those raiders. And… I’m not sure he can stand the sight of you hurt.”

(Y/N) laid in bed, contemplating her words. “He’s going to have to come in eventually.”

“He will,” Tess continued, “After he’s figured out how to apologize to you.”

“He doesn’t have…”

“Oh, yes he does,” Tess smiled, “He won’t rest until he feels like he deserves your forgiveness. And even then…” she shrugged her shoulders. “He’ll blame himself for you getting hurt.”

By morning (Y/N) was able to shuffle towards the window, curious at a thudding sound outside. She pulled blankets closer to her bruised body and peered apprehensively towards the still smoldering lookout house.

It was emitting nothing more than ashy white smoke, meaning the fire could no longer find anything more to burn. And behind the house, beyond the fence, was Joel.

With an axe in hand, he was chopping down the oak tree that helped the raiders get in.

~~~

{2012 – three years after the raid}

After many heated arguments and prolonged visits, the old routine came back.

Joel and Tess returned to their usual trade routes, checking on (Y/N) whenever possible. (Y/N) rebuilt her radio and kept more frequent contact with her friends. She managed to rebuild her defenses and even had Bill attempt to break in a couple times to ensure maximum security.

Her wounds healed but left scars.

She no longer beamed, but simply smiled. She no longer welcomed with open arms, but with a small wave.

Joel struggled to look at her during visits. He tried to distance himself from conversation but couldn’t deny how badly he wished her safety. He’d stand on pins and needles waiting for her to pick up the radio. He’d frantically search the town before finding her reading in the café.

He was head over heels now. Dependent on her being alive and well. And that terrified him.

He had a taste of the panic that consumed him when she was in danger. When he saw her hurt. When he thought of her dead. It made him weak in the knees.

Joel knew that if he let himself he would love her until their dying day. He’d deal with their bickering and name calling and teasing because at the end of the day, he’d kiss her and hold her close, and remember a time when it wasn’t so scary to love.

But that panic ate at him. Reminded him of a grief he couldn’t go through again.

It led him to distance himself during visits. At least he tried to. It didn’t stop him from thinking of her when he touched himself at night.

If he let himself… he could love her like she deserved.

He maneuvered around the trip wires guarding the paths to her town. He ducked under explosives and jumped over potholes.

It had been nearly seven months since he last saw her. They briefly spoke each week on the radio just to check in, but it wasn’t the same as seeing her in person.

He knew he shouldn’t be as excited as he was – knew he shouldn’t have gotten her an extra gift with his trade – knew he shouldn’t have gone out by himself while Tess handled other trades.

But he couldn’t help himself.

She was sitting on her front porch when he reached the gate.

Maybe it was the fact she never interacted with other men, but the sight of him put butterflies in her stomach. She hadn’t felt a man touch her in years and the back and forth between her and Joel was putting her frustratingly close to the edge.

“Hey, there,” she called, watching him saunter over. He had one of his blue button downs on, a worn jacket on top. The corners of his lips barely upturned at her voice.

“How have you been?” he asked gruffly, taking a seat beside her.

She shrugged, “Did you find what I need?”

Joel noted her vague change of subject, “Yeah, here.” He opened his pack to retrieve a few packets of seeds and medicine.

(Y/N) became transfixed with how his hands moved, large and strong, her eyes moving along the veins and tendons working on the back of his palm.

She was just following the line of muscle along his arm when he waved the goods in front of her face.

“You okay?” he asked, holding out the medicine bottles, “You don’t need these because you’re sick, right?”

She felt warmth bloom across her cheeks, “I’m fine.” She cleared her throat, “I haven’t seen you in a while is all.”

Joel’s deep look of concern remained, “What’s the matter?”

She turned her gaze to her town, swallowing hard, “Nothing really.”

“(Y/N),” he said quietly. The baritone of his voice reverberated through her spine. His breath near her ear made her shiver. It was making him suddenly afraid. “What’s going on?”

Feeling him so close was sending goosebumps across her skin. God was she really that touch starved? He was overwhelming her without even touching her.

She stood up jerkily, “Nothing’s going on, as per usual.” She walked into her house, throwing the seed packets on the kitchen table and making for the stairs.

Joel got frantically to his feet, bewildered by her behavior. This wasn’t one of their usual arguments – something was wrong and if she kept evading his questions then he was going to get frustrated.

“Then why are you upset?” he followed her up the stairs and into her bedroom.

She went for the en suite bathroom, placing her new pills in the medicine cabinet. “I’m not.”

Joel felt that annoyance build in his gut, “You are.” He stood in the doorway, cornering her in the bathroom. “Why won’t you give me a reason?”

When she turned to see the way blocked by his broad frame, she gulped. He was bracing himself by putting both hands on the doorway and (Y/N) couldn’t help trailing her eyes along his build.

He was looking at her with a face full of concern, lined and rough with just a hint of frustration at her lack of answers.

It was hot. And (Y/N) hadn’t realized how low that heat had traveled since first seeing him walk through the gate. God she really was that touch starved. She was feeling breathless just looking at him.

Joel looked even more worried, “You sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Could you back up please?” her voice was small and nearly desperate, “Please?”

His eyebrows rose, lifting his hands in surrender and retreating for the bed, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to corner you.”

She shook her head, heat putting a flush across her chest, “You know I’ve never had a problem being alone.”

Joel looked at her, silent as he sensed a confession coming.

“I’ve always enjoyed the peace and the freedom,” she said quietly, “But there was something I didn’t expect after all these years.”

She took a step forward and Joel had the sudden urge to grab her and hold her.

“I didn’t expect to feel lonely,” she said, “But I am. I’m so lonely here by myself. And it’s driving me insane.” She took another step towards Joel.

He reacted instantly, reaching out to offer his hand. When he found hers, he pulled her closer to him, “I can help with that.”

If he let himself… he could love her fiercely. And with her looking at him with such wide, desperate eyes, he felt ready to snap his resolve in two.

He pulled her closer, having her stand between his legs, “Would you let me help you?” With his free hand he ran a few fingers up her arm and she gasped. A high breathy sound as a shiver ran through her body.

“Fuck,” Joel said, “How long has it been for you?”

She shook her head, already feeling dizzy, “Help me.”

His cock began to ache as blood flew to it. “Tell me,” he said, “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Help me feel,” she whimpered, “Not feel so alone.”

He groaned deep in his chest, pulling her closer to him, “If I do, a lot of things are going to change.”

She was lightheaded with his hands pulling on her wrists, placing them on his cheeks, “God I hope so.” She held onto his face, tilting it up to where she could plant her lips against his.

He responded immediately, reaching for her waist, groaning against her lips.

It was overstimulating having him touch her, even the barest of touches on her waist had her trembling. His hand wandered up her back, exploring her body with slow, steady hands. It was making her gasp against his mouth, eyes screwed shut and lips wet with his.

“You’re so sensitive,” Joel murmured, “Don’t worry – I’ll go slow.”

He retook her lips, swallowing her unsteady breaths. He started to stand from the bed, keeping his mouth on hers. His hands went from her sides to her jaw, holding her face up to him.

As he stood, her neck began to crane to keep her lips to his, sucking in breaths whenever she could. With him at his full height, she was flush against his chest. It was evident he was beginning to strain against his pants as she felt the bulge press into her midsection.

It sent fast trickles of warmth down between her legs. “Joel,” she said breathlessly, “God, Joel… it’s so much.”

“It feels good?” he muttered, pulling away to kiss her cheek, “Too much for you?”

She shook her head, easily turning her head to give him access to her neck.

“Needy,” he grinned, kissing the soft skin of her neck, “So needy for me.”

She moaned, planting her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. His lips were hot and wet as he nipped and sucked the column of her throat. He teased a sensitive part above her collarbone, relishing in the gasp it produced.

He sucked until he knew she was branded with his lips. He ran his tongue across the new hurt, already planning for the next spot to bruise with his teeth.

But her legs were slowly becoming water, unable to support her as she gave way to the feeling of Joel taking care of her.

“I’ve got you,” he said into her neck, arms wrapped around her waist, “Let go, baby.”

She fell into him, and he easily laid her on the bed, eyeing her against the sheets as he wondered where to go next. He was drawn instantly to the wet patch growing on the fabric between her legs.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled deep in his throat. “You’re that wet for me, and we haven’t taken off a single piece of clothing yet.”

She responded with trying to take her shirt off, making Joel laugh.

“Don’t,” she said, “Please.”

The desperation in her voice was driving him mad. Joel took her fumbling hands and pinned them above her head with one of his own. “Let me do it.”

He bowed his head and started kissing a trail down her chest and across her shirt. She started to squirm as he kept pressing his lips down her clothed stomach and finally her clothed heat. His free hand crept up her shivering leg and began to tug at her pants.

Her wriggling made it easier as he pulled at one hip and then the other, dragging the pants away. His lips went to kiss each inch of newly exposed skin as her clothes were tugged down. He finally released his hold on her hands, eager to remove her shirt as well.

They made quick work of leaving her in nothing but her panties. Her breasts full and perked with arousal. Joel eyed her with a mouthwatering gaze. She was so desperate for his touch her back was arching off the bed in search of his hands.

“If I had known sooner,” he said, laying on her until his face was level with her chest, “I would’ve done this years ago.”

Needing something – anything – to grab onto, (Y/N) wove her fingers into his hair. He smelt of wood oil and coffee and leather, sending her into another spiral as his lips found purchase between her breasts.

He laid claim to the valley there with new bruises, trailing his tongue after his handywork. With his body pinning her down, he could feel every shiver as he kissed and nipped around her nipple. She pulled at his hair and drew a moan out of him.

“You’ve waited this long, baby,” he teased, “Just be patient.”

She cried out when his took her in his mouth, running his tongue around her nipple. His hand found her other breast, giving it the equal attention it deserved.

The sound of her sensitive cries had him rutting his clothed cock into her. He was starting to lose control of himself, years of pent up frustrated feelings getting the better of him.

“Hang on,” he said, pulling away to remove his shirt, “Nearly there. I want to help you feel good.”

“It’s so good,” she whimpered, “You’re so good to me, Joel.”

He grinned, claiming her mouth once more, “You’re trembling, sweetheart. You’ve been on the edge this whole time.”

She nodded frantically, a look of pain between her brows. She was pushing him by the shoulders – pushing him down to between her legs.

“Is it too much?” he questioned her pained expression.

“Please…” she cried to him, “I need you, Joel. I want you now.”

He knew she was already overstimulated, had been from the start. He would need to be careful about how far he pushed her before it wasn’t enjoyable anymore.

He conceded, “Okay, baby.” He ran a finger along the elastic of her underwear, “You ready for me?”

“Yes,” she pleaded, “Yes, please, god.”

Joel was painfully aware of how aching his cock was now, already spurting with precum. It was an effort not to jerk into his hand as he freed himself from his pants.

She could barely concentrate on the length of him, just inching her hips forward until he grabbed her hips in warning.

“I’ve got you,” he said, “Let me help.” He planted a kiss over her clothed heat before dragging her underwear down and off her ankles.

He groaned, pumping his cock a few times, “You’re so goddamn beautiful.” He ran his tip through her folds, covering himself in her slick, “And so wet.”

He lined up at her entrance before bracing himself above her, chest to chest and lips nearly touching. When he sunk into her an inch, they both moaned at the pressure. He wanted to see the look on her face as he pushed in another inch.

Her hands flew for his face, holding him as she adjusted to his size. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp, looking at him with pinched brows. He growled at the expression, urging himself to keep going slow. She was already wriggling with how sensitive she was.

If he dared brush her clit, she might have just screamed.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he watched the slight pain in her pinched brow. He wanted to know the instant it was from actual pain and not pleasure, “I’ll stop – just tell me.”

“No,” she pleaded, “Give it to me, please. God, Joel – fuck me.”

He rutted his hips by accident, bewitched by her words. It was going to be quick, he already knew. The pair of them desperate for love.

He started slow, rolling his hips into hers, keeping himself chest to chest with her. He wanted to be touching as much of her as he could. He wanted to hold her as she came. His lips found hers as his pace started to grow.

She was already tensing around him, every sensitive nerve in her body reaching a breaking point as her orgasm grew. She kissed him back, whimpering with every thrust of his hips.

“I’m…” she said breathlessly, “I’m so close, Joel.”

“I know, baby,” he said, rocking into her with more force, “I want you to. Give it to me.”

She ran her hands down his back, digging her nails in as her body began to seize. Joel wrapped his arms around her, holding her against the bed as she gripped the hair on the back of his head. She cried out from the overstimulation the orgasm was giving her, combined with Joel’s constant motion inside of her.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed against her neck, “You’re doing so good, baby.”

And as she trembled, still clenched tight around him, Joel felt himself start to tip over the edge.

“Fuck,” he ground out, “Fuck…” as he pulled himself out of her to spill between their bodies, hot and thick across their stomachs. They were breathing each other’s air again, pressed into each other in an embrace.

And when Joel realized she was still trembling after he calmed down, he pulled away. “Shit, baby – I’m sorry.”

She was weak with the pleasure, pained with the sensitivity, and dizzy from his body on hers. He pressed a lingering kiss to her hair and went for the bathroom, wiping his stomach clean of his cum before running a washcloth under the tap for (Y/N).

He returned quickly, sitting on the bed and carefully cleaning her skin. She squirmed when he reached between her legs and as an apology he kissed her thigh, “I’m sorry.”

She put a hand to his cheek, drawing his gaze, “I’m okay.” She smiled, “I’m better than okay.”

He looked relieved, dark brown eyes beaming with her smile. He quietly got up and retrieved some clean clothes, dressing himself and then taking his time in redressing her. Much more gentle then how he was taking them off.

It was cautious and intimate, Joel unsure of himself when it came to such acts of love. He didn’t want to overwhelm her any more than she already was.

“I knew if I let myself do this… I wouldn’t be able to turn back.” He crawled up the bed, refraining from touching her sensitive skin too much, “I’m in love with you, (Y/N). And that scares the hell out of me.”

“I know,” she said quietly, completely spent and exhausted from her shot nerves. “I love you too.”

You’d never know Joel was a hardened survivor by the way he smiled at her words. “What took us so long?”

“You’re always getting on my nerves,” she said sarcastically.

“And you’re always driving me insane,” he said in return, settling against the pillows. He looked at her now with a more innocent, inquisitive expression. “How do you feel?”

She turned her head to him, “Like I want to stay in this bed with you all day.”

He continued to smile, but his eyes were still warm, lovestruck. “I can help with that.” He got closer to her, slowly wrapping her up close to his chest. He pulled the blankets over them, asking softly, “Is this okay? You can tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s just right,” she said, melting into his chest. “All I need is you.”

Joel kissed her hair, remembering how safe she felt in his arms. His own fears drowned out by the contented sigh escaping her.

And suddenly the world was quiet. And they were just two people that fell in love.

~~~

Masterlist

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footprintsinthesxnd · 11 months

Text

The Good Die Young

Masterlist Next Chapter Warnings: mentions of graphic themes, war, injury, weapons, sexual images, language, 18+. Pairings: Jake Seresin x f!reader Disclaimer: This is a series reflecting on the true events of the US Marines in WW2. All of the characters are fictional and not based off are original characters (except for Jake Seresin) and they are not representations of the real, brave men who fought in WW2. I have tried to make all the events in this series as accurate as possible but please bare in mind this is fanfiction and i have added/ changed certain things to fit with this. Special thanks to the lovely Fern @desert-fern for proofreading this chapter for me.

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Marine Corps Boot Camp December 1941

Jake stood outside the small wooden barracks, his heart pounding ten to the dozen. He knew that as soon as he stepped through those doors that would be it. Up until now, everything had seemed like a dream, signing up to join the Marines, leaving his home, saying goodbye to his family, the train journey, all of it. Yet now standing in front of the barracks where he would spend the next six months training to be a Marine Jake suddenly realised that it was all true.

“Hey, you can go in there, you know. We don’t bite,” a jovial voice called from behind him. Jake spun abruptly on his heels, coming face to face with a tall, dark-haired man. He was dressed in the same green uniform that all the other men were wearing, a cigarette hanging from the right-hand side of his mouth and a toothy grin.

“Oh… yeah… I know,” Jake stuttered, raising his hand to greet his fellow soldier. “I'm Jake, Jake Seresin. I'm from Texas,” He added after a short pause. The other man eyed his hand for a second before taking it.

“I'm Frank, Frank Martin from New Jersey but the rest of the guys call me Harvard. You’ll learn soon enough that everyone around here’s got a nickname.” Frank swung his arm over Jake’s shoulder, smiling at him. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the guys.”

Jake followed Frank into the small barracks, inside both sides of the room were lined with pristinely made beds, three of which were occupied by other men. Frank stomped between the lines of beds, heading towards the small group. “Fellas, this here's Jake Seresin, he’s from Texas.”

“Aye it’s Cowboy,” one of the men hollered, rolling off the side of his bed to greet him, his hair was ruffled and he wore nothing but his trousers, feet bare against the wooden floor. He was short, much shorter than the others, he could only have been about 5’5 at a push.

“This here's Johnny Carter but everyone calls him Shorty.” In reply Johnny snapped his teeth together, grinning wickedly.

“That one there, that’s George Smith from Alabama,” the man waved from his cot, not bothering to look up from the book he was reading. “And that on over there, that’s Mary.” The men all sniggered and the other man groaned. “I’m not a damn virgin for Christ's sake.” He stood and approached Jake, “I’m Edward Hughes from Arkansas and I’m not a virgin.”

Jake smiled smugly before nodding, “Sure thing Mary.”

The others fell into a fit of laughter as Edward raised his middle finger to Jake. “You know what, I like this guy,” Johnny remarked.

“Just pick a bed and put your stuff away. There’s meant to be more guys joining us but for now, this is it.” Frank gestures to one of the beds and Jake dropped his kit bag onto the bed next to George’s. The man looked up from his book, giving him a curt nod. Sitting down, a long sigh escaped from Jake’s lips, running his hand through his once neat blond hair. So this was it, these were the guys he would be spending the next six months training with. These were the men he would be going to war with.

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Guadalcanal - August 1942

“God! I can't wait to get out of this fucking tin,” Edward groaned, slumping down on the bench next to Jake as the boat rocked him into him. Jake raised his arm, supporting the boy as he took his seat.

“Don’t worry.” George grinned, “You’ll be off here soon enough and in the tropical paradise of Guadalcanal.” The table erupted with laughter.

“Yeah, I'm sure all those naked native girls will be waiting for us on the beach with coconuts.” Frank chided, shaking his head at the absurdity of the other men's statements. “We’re at war, not on a damn vacation.”

“Alright Sergeant Harvard.” Johnny joked, saluting Frank as he took his seat.

“Hey Harvard, you hear anything more from the higher-ups?” Jake asked, peeling the orange that had been passed to him by George.

“I don’t know, Cowboy. Why are you desperate for some action?”

“No Sir,” Jake laughed and the table fell into a comfortable silence as the men enjoyed their oranges.

“LET'S GO, BOYS! EVERYBODY ON DECK! MOVE MOVE MOVE! WE LAND IN 5 MINUTES.” Their CO shouted, clapping his hands loudly causing all the men in the cafeteria to stand, grabbing their jackets and running for their helmets and weapons.

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The climb down from the ship was treacherous, the rope ladder swung back and forth off the metal boat as shells exploded in the water around them. Jake swung around like a rag doll, the straps of his Browning machine gun pulling him backwards off of the ladder. The waves lashed against the side of the boat, spraying upwards towards the defending Marines. If they didn’t feel seasick before, they certainly did now, Jake thought as he set his feet down onto the landing craft. The journey to the shore wasn’t any better, men vomited on their own boots, and waves washed over the sides of the boat, soaking the Marines before they even set foot on Guadalcanal beach. Jake had never been especially religious but he began mumbling the Lord's prayer under his breath, his fingers running over the cross his mother had given him that hung around his neck.

As the boat hit the beach and the door dropped, the men began to file onto the beach weapons raised. The sight before them was something they had never imagined. The beach was lined with other US marines, all waving to them as they sat relaxing against the palm trees. Jake let out a hearty laugh, turning to George, who was standing beside him, he grinned back at Jake as they began to make their way up the beach to greet the other soldiers.

“Well, that sure wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.” Johnny grinned, throwing himself gratefully onto the sand. Jake had to agree throughout all their training they had been prepared to face much worse on Guadalcanal beach. It was a pleasant relief for now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Night had fallen quickly, deep indigo covering the sky as everything fell into darkness. Jake groaned uncontrollably, his back sore from carrying his machine gun and the wall of his foxhole was unnecessarily hard.

“Quite wriggling,” George moaned, shoving Jake hard in the ribs.

Jake sighed, settling back down. His eyes kept trying to drift close but the painful feeling spreading through his back caused him to jolt awake. The sounds of explosions out to sea as the Navy took a battering from the Japanese fleet also didn’t help the situation.

“It’s like the fucking Fourth of July out there.” George huffed again, bright blue eyes the only part of him visible in the darkness. Jake hummed in agreement. It was the most magnificent and terrifying display of firepower that Jake had ever witnessed. A bright light cast its glow across the men startled them all. George began loading the 30 caliber ammunition methodically, while Jake aimed the Browning machine gun towards the light, just like they had every day at boot camp.

Shadows appeared through the jungle, nearing the river that separates them from the enemy. Around them mortar rounds and gunfire erupted. Jake squeezed the trigger over and over, releasing short rounds of bullets as George fed them into the machine gun. Everything happened in a blur; the flashes of the gunfire, the screams and grunts of dying falling on deafened ears that rung from explosions, as they tumbled to the ground blind from the muzzle flashes of their enemies.. Jake had never felt fear like this. His heart pounded like a caged bird inside his chest, desperate to break out of his rib cage, his throat tight as if being strangled by some invisible force.

By morning the devastation was evident, bodies from both sides littered the beach where bullets had ripped through their bodies, leaving gruesome pockmarks. The smell of burnt flesh, sweet blood, and gun powder filled Jake’s nostrils, turning his stomach as bile began to rise at the back of his throat.

A few of the other Marines walked between the bodies, looting them for anything they could get their hands on. Jake couldn’t bear it, turning away from the wretched scene and moving back to his foxhole. He slumped back inside, lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. George sat beside him, performing a similar motion. Both men watched each other carefully, similar expressions gracing both their faces. This was it. This was the war they had been waiting for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where the fuck is the Navy?” Edward asked, throwing his arms towards the empty sea.

“Gone,” Frank replied, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips, “along with all our food, medical supplies and extra ammo. The Japs sank the lot.” All the men on the beach went silent, staring out into the devastation. Planks of wood and debris could be seen floating towards the shore, accompanied by bodies of the ship's crew.

“We move out in five,” their CO called, walking quickly between the men.

“Guess we’re on our own now boys,” Jake chimed in, slinging the machine gun over his shoulders and balancing his hands across either side of it. The others nodded, grabbing their gear and falling into formation for the march off of the beach.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jake sighed once again as the Santa hat fell over his eyes. So much for being home for Christmas. Everyone on the beach was jovial, hymns played softly from the record player in battalion HQ, and there was a football game happening on the beach with a coconut. All in all, you could almost say that people were happy, content. Jake was sitting across from George scribbling on a crumpled piece of paper, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth.

“Hey, what ya writing?” Jake asked, shuffling closer to his friend.

“Just a letter to Florence,” George replied, unphased by the sudden attention he had gained from the men surrounding him.

“She sure is a looker George,” Jake smiled, thinking of the picture of Florence between his fingers before retiring it to George. Florence was George’s fiancée, a nurse who was currently stationed in England. George spoke of her often and Jake had grown to feel like he’d known her his whole life.

“Are you telling her how handsome I am?” Johnny asked, leaning backwards from his seat on a crate to catch a glimpse of the letter.

“No, you’re ugly and short. She wouldn’t want you.” George grinned as Johnny flicked some sand in his direction.

“So tell us then. Out of all the guys, who do you think she’d pick? Other than you.” Johnny cocked his eyebrow challenging him.

George sighed, “I don’t know. I’d like to think she wouldn’t pick any of you idiots but I guess Frank, he’s not so ugly.”

“Get in line George, I’ve got plenty of women after me.” Frank joked, the cigar twitching as his lips formed a smile. A small chorus of protest followed as the other men took offence but it was all in jest.

“GET YOUR GEAR! WE’RE MOVING OUT!” An officer's voice bellowed from behind the group of Marines.

“Thank Christ,” Frank spoke up, “We’re finally leaving this shithole.” Cheers erupted amongst them as everyone hurried to grab their belongings. And so it was they were leaving Guadalcanal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#jake seresin au #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #ww2 au #the pacific theatre #ww2 us marines #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin

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justalonelyslytherin · 1 year

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My Kingdom, Your Kingdom | two

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Pairing: secret king!Steve Rogers x heir apparent!female Reader

Summary: Revealing where the girls come from couldn't become a problem could it? Even less of a misconception. Right?

Warnings: none

Wordcount: 3.6k

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don't allow for my content to be copied, translated, or resposted on other websites/apps. Please don't steal my work.

A/N: Both chapter 1 and this one were rather plot/introduction heavy and I know that isn't for everyone. It was necessary to set the world & story up, ok. From chapter 3 onward, we'll be focusing on Steve & Y/N slowly falling in love. I promise. I want to give a shout-out and big thanks to @imaginedreamwrite who helped me work out some troubles I had at the end of the chapter. You are awesome <3 The lovely red dividers are from @/firefly-graphics, go check her blog out.

Taglist: open, will be tagged in the comments, let me know if you want to be added

“There you go,” Steve said, holding out a thick and warm blanket in his hands.

“Thank you,” she answered, reaching out to take the blanket from him, when he moved.

“Let me,” he mumbled and draped the blanket over her shoulders, its added warmth surrounded her. The heaviness of the dense but soft wool was soothing. A cocoon of comfort that helped quench the uneasy feeling residing in the pit of her stomach.

Steve’s offer had come to be their saving. Half frozen, they’d wandered through the forest for hours, dread overtaking them the further the sun set. The welcoming and generous blonde with his grumpy friends and the warm cabin they were staying at had been their salvation.

Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling it would turn bad. She’d feared they would turn hostile if they knew who they had truly invited into their home. Yelena had almost revealed the secret a couple of times. Her youngest sister had a bad habit of speaking before thinking, too open for her own good.

Right now she was occupied sitting in front of the warm fireplace, holding her hands close to the flames to warm the frozen digits. Natasha sat just behind her in one of the armchairs, keeping watchful eyes over the youngest of them.

Not long did Y/N’s eyes stay on her two sisters. Looming in the doorway and in one corner of the big and open room were Steve’s two friends. Ever since the invitation, they had been broody and quiet and if they had spoken up they’d been short and curt. She couldn’t shake the feeling they weren’t truly welcome here. It was when Bucky stepped forward and crossed the room to take a seat on the couch just opposite them that the unease started to overwhelm her once more.

“So who are you?” He asked them bluntly. “We already introduced ourselves, didn’t we?” Natasha’s answer was almost as blunt and not any less stoic.

“Wrong. You told us your names but nothing more.”

“Bucky,” Steve glared at his friend as he sat down on the same couch. Instead of putting the most possible distance between him and them, Steve sat on the point closest to Y/N.

“What Bucky is trying to say is, we are a little confused about who you are and where you came from.” She could tell that Steve tried to mediate. He was equally as curious as his friends. His curiosity was barely hidden behind his warm and welcoming eyes, whereas they concealed it behind sobriety and hardened, cold eyes.

“Let’s be frank and put the cards on the table.” Sam added from the doorframe, “This is the last town before the border from the direction you were coming from, which means you had to have come from there or even beyond. ”

A thick lump had formed in the back of her throat, making it hard for her to swallow. Or maybe it was her heart beating so strongly that it had jumped into her throat, making it nearly impossible for her to swallow. It had only been a matter of time for that question to come up and while she had known it would come, she had dreaded it no less strongly.

Glancing up, Steve’s eyes were focused solely on her. The curiosity in his eyes was thinly veiled, more so now than before. It was only shadowed by the absolute openness and warmth he exuded. A warmth that took the hesitation out of her and instead replaced it with the courage to answer him. In her stomach, a tingling, warm sensation blossomed. She found herself wanting to open up to him.

“You are right.'' Steve's eyes widened in surprise. From him she turned to look towards Sam, “We were coming from Sokovia.”

The empty landscape passed by the car. Nothing but fields, trees, and hills around them. They’d left behind the last point of civilization miles ago and exchanged it for no-man’s-land. Most people would have felt unsettled by the lacking signs of humanity. Not them. Not when it felt like freedom to drive around with no true destination. Not when for the first time they were able to choose on their own where to go and where to stop.

Y/n glanced over at her sister in the driver's seat. Natasha had never looked more relaxed and at ease than behind the steering wheel now. Her sister was a put-together person, always calculating and listening to everything around her. There was nothing Natasha wasn’t aware of, nothing that slipped past here, and in return, she’d always kept her guard up. Every step was calculated, every reaction of everyone around her something to analyze. Sometimes she wondered if her sister ever truly rested or if even in her room she stayed aware, never just being and letting things happen on their own.

“Hey, what if we drive to Brooklyn?” Yelena had leaned forward in her seat, scooted to the edge of it no less, her elbows digging into the headrests of the two front seats.

“Are you crazy?” Natasha countered the question with another, rhetorical, one.

“Why would you want to go there anyway? There’s nothing over there besides wastelands and despair. Haven’t you listened when they taught us about it in history class? How that country is nothing more than a barren and broken ruin anymore–”

“– devastated by the financial ruin of their greedy King, blundered by his dark and dangerous knights that won’t hold back even against their own countrymen, women, and children’? Jeez, Nat, when did you swallow the fairytales of that old geezer?”

“The old fart talks a lot of rubbish but that doesn’t mean that all of his words hold no truth,” Y/N interfered, sensing the approaching argument between her younger siblings. Yelena’s proposition certainly was exciting. That didn’t mean it wasn’t also dangerous if not right out foolish.

“Oh please. Can’t we drive close to the border? I just want to see it! We wanted to go on an adventure, didn’t we?”

With a sigh, Y/N leaned her head back. She was right. They’d wanted to go on an adventure. When she glanced over at Natasha, the redhead was already looking at her. As they looked at each other grins slowly formed on their faces, a giddy feeling rising below the surface.

“Let’s do it then.”

And so they continued to drive towards the mountains, through winding roads with endless serpentines and the most breathtaking views. It was one mountain range separating everything new and exciting from their home and everything they’d ever known.

“Hey isn’t that the great lake?” Yelena yelled as the road curled around the side of one mountain. Before them the landscape opened up from gray rock and evergreen conifers, to reveal a short valley dotted in shadows and light as the sun came between the mountains. Just behind a great lake with crystalline, azure blue water stretched out from one side of the mountains to the other, reaching seemingly infinite.

Y/N felt awe upon the sight, the sheer vastness had her sitting up in her seat. The beauty took her breath away. She had heard many things about the great lake and seen pictures just as paintings. Nothing could compare to actually seeing it. The water sparkled and rippled in the sun, even from way up. The pool of water was so clear a portion of its surface turned into a giant natural mirror, reflecting the snow peaked mountains curling around its edges. From their position out, high up, they could see as far as the opposite edge of the lake, spying the lands of Brooklyn behind.

It didn’t look like a particular wasteland to her, she thought as her eyes were focused on the land beyond. It was beautiful in fact, the mountains dusted with snow and the valley between them so long it vanished beyond the horizon.

“Can we get closer?” Yelena whispered in awe.

“There should be a road branching off in a bit that leads closer so we can drive directly by the lake.”

There was no question of do or don’t after Natasha informed them of this. But when they arrived at the junction there was no sign. Or rather there was none anymore, as it lay beside the road, bent and clearly run over.

“Can you tell which way is which?” Natasha asked her. The sign was still anchored in the bottom, in theory, it should still display the correct way.

Briefly unbuckling her seatbelt, she leaned out of the window and squinted at the sign. It consisted of two arrows pointing in different directions, one straight ahead to follow the street further curling around the mountain and one to the left, forking away and up. One way was leading across the border and over to Brooklyn, the other one to the edge of the Lake.

“Y/N?” Natasha asked once more, impatience bleeding into her voice as they were standing in the middle of the road.

“Uhm, go ahead, not left.”

Her decision was made on pure gut feeling. Something deep down told her to drive ahead, pulled her in that direction. And so they went that way, coming closer to the lake until finally, they drove to its edge.

“Wait. Didn’t we come from those mountains?” Y/N asked, pointing to the other side of the lake, where the mountain range was much more drastic. Big mountains stuck up toward the sky, some of the peaks ripping up the clouds around them while others entirely vanished with no apparent end beyond the clouds. The side they were driving on was full of mountains too, yet those were calmer and softer, streaked by extensive patches of forest.

“No, that can’t be.”

But it could be. All three of them watched in anticipation as a sign on the side of the road kept approaching. ‘Kingdom of Brooklyn’ it read. Stunned silence encompassed the car, the sign passed them by in the blink of an eye.

“Let’s turn around,” Natasha suggested instantaneously as the car slowed to a walking pace.

“NO! Why should we? We can have a trip here as much as we can back home. Didn’t we want to go on an adventure? This is an adventure! What more could you ask for?” Yelena protested loudly.

“Are you crazy? We are in enemy territory! What if they find out who we are?”

“How should they? No one knows us here. Come on, please~”

Natasha’s grip on the steering wheel turned deadly. Her knuckles paled as she pressed her lips in a thin line. Y/N knew that look too well.

“You decide,” Natasha told her, glancing at her older sister. Loudly she sighed and leaned her head back. She didn’t want to turn back around. It was beautiful here and it looked nothing like the descriptions they heard.

Which led her to wonder what else they’d been told to be the truth but turned out to be nothing but lies. On the other hand loomed the danger they were exposing themselves to. She glanced back at Yelena through the rear-view mirror. Her sister looked so hopeful and excited. Y/N had never seen Yelena like that. They'd never gotten the opportunity to do something like this and she would likely never get another. So with a rapidly beating heart, she made her decision.

“Let’s continue driving. We can stay the night and then drive back tomorrow.”

“Yes!”

“What’s going on?” She asked, sitting up as the car slowed down and made a weird noise.

“I don’t know,” Natasha told her, pressing her foot harder on the gas pedal but nothing happened.

“Nat.” She became more serious as the lights in front of the car started to flicker, shortly before the engine died with a pathetic splutter. They rolled to a silent stop at the side of a long and winding street in the middle of a dense forest.

“Come on,” Natasha muttered, twisting the key in the car to restart the engine. It rattled for a moment, spluttering and coughing before it died again. It didn’t stir the second time at all. “What does that mean?” Y/N pointed at the red, blinking light on the display behind the steering wheel. It looked like a small canister of some sort with a hose.

“Don’t cars run on something? Gas or Fuel?” Yelena asked as she leaned forward in between the driver's and passenger's seats.

“They do?”

“Yep,” Yelena nodded. “And it looks like we just ran out of it.”

“Shit.” Y/N screwed her eyes shut. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when they were in the middle of nowhere. They’d been driving for hours

“I saw a sign some time ago mentioning a town. If we keep walking along the road we should reach it.”

“You are from Sokovia?”

She shook her head, “We are from Widovia.”

Steve’s eyes - widened in curiosity - now dilated further in surprise, perhaps even shock. She could see emotions and thoughts pass by in intervals of mere seconds, flitting past his eyes.

The three men that had offered their home up were speechless. Had it not been for the continuous cracking of the fireplace and the accompanying flickering of the flames, she’d have believed time to be frozen.

“Shit,” Bucky murmured and leaned back on the couch. He stretched his arms over his head, rubbing his flat palm over his hair.

“And you just left there with nothing on you? No phone, no wallet?” Sam asked. The shock had waned and he was back to questioning them in a serious manner.

“There wasn’t exactly time to prepare or gather our things. We had only a small window of time,” Yelena butted in, sounding rather annoyed. Her words were matter-of-factly and so dry as she looked at them with a glint in her eyes that was challenging them to challenge their words further.

Instead of prodding further, Sam snapped his mouth shut and furrowed his brows. And neither Bucky seemed to have another question for them. It was Steve who spoke up next and who presented his question. One that was neither prodding in nature nor accusing. Instead, he asked, “Are you okay?”, and reached a hand out to her.

Only after she didn’t flinch did he lean towards her and dropped his hand to her knee. It was big and warm and caused another tingling sensation to rise up in her. Full of compassion were his eyes, and concern just as comfort too. His openness and the care he displayed for her, just a stranger to him, warmed her heart. He didn’t know her and her sister and yet, when he had seen them in need of help, he hadn’t hesitated. Instead, Steve had gone against his friends and stood his ground.

“Yeah.” Without wanting to, her voice shook, overwhelmed by the way he made her feel.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Deep wrinkles drew across his forehead as he stared into the flames.

“You are sorry?” Natasha asked him with a raised eyebrow. The surprise in her voice was mutual with what she felt.

“I was nothing but a heartless jerk because I thought you were dangerous.” With a groan, he drew his hand over his face.

“We kinda assumed you were spies or assassins,” Sam added, causing Bucky to grunt once more. It had the three girls chuckle amusedly.

“I wish we were. That would be so cool!” Yelena groaned dramatically as she fell back against the backrest of the couch.

“Assassins?” Y/N asked, her lips twitching upwards in a smile. She glanced back at Steve and raised her brow in question. His answer was a lopsided grin on his own as he shrugged his shoulders.

“These idiots are as paranoid as they are protective of me.”

“Yeah well we have to save your ass on a regular basis since you love getting yourself in trouble,” Bucky barked, a smile tugging on his face too. The first non-stoic or serious expression she had seen from him. It made the brick that had been sitting uncomfortably in her stomach somewhat lighter.

“Anyways…Didn’t think you’d turn out to be refugees instead.”

Refugees? Y/N glanced at Natasha, who was already looking back at her. The boys thought they had fled from Widovia? Thinking about it, it did make sense that they didn’t have anything on them that bound them to their ‘old life’. In reality, it couldn’t have been further from the truth. Y/N hated lying to them, but they couldn’t tell the truth, could they? It was safer and far wiser to let them assume they had flown.

A loud yawn sounding from the other end of the room caught Y/N off guard. Her eyes flitted over to her youngest sister. Just as Yelena had made her exhaustion known loudly, Natasha and she felt it too. It sat boned deep, far deeper than the chill that had thawed the longer they sat before the warm fire. Steve’s hand, still remaining on her knee, was so warm she’d felt it to her core.

She couldn’t put a number on the length of their travel, it must have taken them the better part of the day to cross the border and get stranded in the middle of a snowy road, even before they had spent hours walking along the road, tracking through the woods until the sun had set.

“I think it’s time to go to bed,” Steve announced. “Any other questions, should you be willing to answer them, can wait ‘till the morning.” With that, he withdrew his hand from her knee and stood up. His warmth left behind a spot of coldness that made her crave to be touched once more.

Slowly they all shuffled out of the living room. The cabin was big, she had noticed already. Much too big for only three people, and certainly way too expensive to pay for by them alone too. Maybe they had rented it from someone? Or was it a family possession? She’d been mesmerized by its grandeur from the first moment she had seen it. It was cozy and deluxe, nothing she had expected to see in Brooklyn.

In the middle of the first floor sat a big wooden staircase leading up to a landing and the rooms of the second floor. A hallway each led behind the stairs on the left and the right, meeting behind it in a small, quadratic room. Its ceiling was modeled into a beautiful cross vault, which reminded her of the stone hallways at home. Steve led them down the left hallway, which continued after the small room even further into the house.

“You can choose any room you’d like,” he told them with a smile as he pointed to the many doors. “Bucky, Sam, and I are sleeping upstairs. Feel free to come look for one of us if something should be.”

The glare Bucky sent the blonde over his shoulder made her lips tuck upward. He hadn’t been lying when he said they were protective of him. She found it sweet how much they looked out for their friend. It reminded her a lot of Natasha and her. She’d protect her sister just the same way if she had to.

“I doubt it will be needed, we appreciate it though,” Natasha told Steve with a nod, as Yelena was too busy eyeing the different doors.

“Well, good night then.” A chorus of ‘good nights’ followed after, with the boys turning around to head down the hallway. Y/n turned to her sisters, smiling at them.

“Let’s go to bed. We’ll talk about what we’ll do tomorrow.” There was still a lot they had to talk about, but for now, she didn’t want to think of all of that. She was too tired for it.

“You want the first pick?” Yelena asked her, whipping on her feet.

“No, you too can pick first.” Yelena didn’t need another go, she turned around before the last word had even left her lips and sprinted to a door further down the hall. Natasha huffed amusedly and chose the first door to the right of her. And she?

She turned back around and glanced at the retreating form of Steve. Grateful didn’t even convey all she felt. In a split second decision, made from solely her instinct, she jogged after him, rather than going into the room he had used as an example to show them the bedrooms. Quietly she called out his name, causing him to slow but not halt. Only when she grasped the sleeve of his arm, did he stop and turn around to her. Back was the boyish and cute curiosity on his face and the sparkle in his eyes.

In her mind her decision had been a good one but now, standing there with him, she suddenly didn’t know what she wanted or should do. Her lip took the brunt of it, teeth nibbling on the bottom one. Thank you,” she whispered.

“For Everything.”

Curiosity yielded to surprise. Quietly he stood before her, stunned, with his eyes flitting over the plains of her face. Steve was a handsome guy, the soft smile he shared with her only amplified this. Or maybe it only did in her mind.

“Of course.” The velvet smooth rumble of his voice, so low and full of warmth and a hint of something she couldn’t pinpoint, set fire to her cheeks. Speechless beyond control the only thing left for her to act was nod.

They stared at each other in comfortable silence, for a few seconds that well could have been minutes or even eternity. “Good night,” she murmured, slowly shifting and turning around. Steve looked after her, rooted to his spot in the hallway. His heart was beating a rapid melody in his chest. “Good Night Y/N,” he whispered after her.

#steve rogers x reader #my kingdom your kingdom #steve rogers x female #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #king!steve x heir apparent!reader #modern royalty au #royalty au #christmas au

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darlingshane · 2 years

Text

In Other Words, Until I Die

Frank Castle x F!Reader

Rating: T // Warnings: Angst, Language. // Word Count: 4,843

Summary – @gabymiller asked – can I request a frank castle fic where he’s married with a baby girl and they see on the news that he is dead but with the help of Curtis his wife finds out he’s Pete and they have a angsty fluffy reunion ❤️

A/N: This came out more angsty than I expected but I hope you like it anyway. There’s still some fluff and many bittersweet moments. // A/N 2: Lisa is Frank and Reader’s baby, with all my respect to Maria and the Castle family. A/N 3: The title comes from the song Baby, I'm yours, by Barbara Lewis. It's mentioned a couple times if you wanna listen beforehand.

- You can also read at AO3.

Frank came back for good.

That's what he believed. That's what he needed. To be home and become the husband and the father he always wanted to be, but the universe cared little for what Frank Castle wanted. It had other plans for him and wasn't going to let him settle that easily just cause he had a change of heart.

No, it wouldn't be that simple. Not after what happened during his last deployment. Not after Cerberus.

His bliss at home – with you and getting reacquainted with Lisa, who had just turned one, – was quickly cut short only three weeks after settling back in your lives.

What pulled him out of that delusion was when one day, while you were at work; he took Lisa to the park and on his way back he found an envelope in the mail slot with no stamp or address on it. Just his name and CD that contained a very damning video of his last mission in Kandahar.

A couple of days later, he disappeared before you woke up.

He took that piece of evidence as a threat and in order to figure out who was behind that, he had to be as far away from you as possible. It was the only way to keep you safe cause he knew that that mission was different, and while he hoped it had ended with that bullet, it didn't. It followed him back home, and he couldn't have that. He wasn't going to be the reason to put you and the baby in danger.

He wrote you a letter, though, that felt like a joke where he vaguely explained that he had to go away to figure things out and that he didn't know if he would ever come back. He said that you and Lisa were better off without him, that he'd never be what you wanted him to be.

You couldn't understand how he could have sunk that low to bury your relationship in such a crude manner like it was nothing. And despite being mad as hell, deep down you were certain that those words weren't true. If he was trying to make you angry, he knew how to. But he couldn't possibly believe that you were stupid enough to buy that.

You've been together long enough to read between the lines, and if he thought you were going to give up that easily, he was wrong.

Something was off, and you needed to know the truth, and the best way to do that was to visit some of his closest friends.

None of them knew shit, or so they said. Except for Curtis, if the others had lied, Curt didn't. He couldn't. He was an honest man and told you straight up that Frank had to leave to keep both of you safe, that there were people after him who weren't going to hesitate about hurting you to get to him. He also reassured that Frank didn't love anything more in the world than you and Lisa, that he was completely torn apart the last time he saw him.

But that wasn't very reassuring at all. It was bullshit. You loved Frank, but it didn't make sense to you what he could've done so wrong that prompted an escape number instead of going to the police or coming up with something else.

A lot happened in the next few weeks since he left. To say it turned your life upside down was an understatement.

First, you were stunned by the bombarding news and headlines pointing your husband as the perpetrator of a series of murders, including his former CO, Ray Schoonover.

Quickly after that, you were brought in for questioning twice, once by the NYPD, and a second one by Homeland Security, claiming that he was part of two bombings along with a man named Lewis Wilson.

They got warrants and all kinds of bullshit to search the house. To their disbelief, they didn't find anything that could point them in Frank's direction.

It was then that you understood the coldness of his words in that letter he wrote. He wanted everyone to believe that he had abandoned you, so they'd leave you alone. He anticipated that happening, and they still went at you either way, but not as viciously as they'd have if they believed you knew what he was up to.

It was heartbreaking seeing your husband dissected by the so-called experts and people who once knew him, trying to put the pieces together of this person they claimed was a psychopath.

You wanted to believe Frank was innocent, but the evidence kept piling up against him.

At the end of the day, you missed him dearly and there wasn't a side or another, it was only his and yours and Lisa’s. And you were certain that behind all the secrecy, there was a good reason for his actions. You wished he had told you. Maybe he thought you were useless to him, or it was as dangerous as he said it was for you to be privy to all that, but being in the dark was just as bad. You'd have done anything for him if he had asked.

It was exhausting, you could barely keep it together. Most nights you didn’t sleep. And if it wasn't for your commitment to Lisa, you definitely would've lost your mind a long time ago. Taking care of her and making sure she was happy and healthy was the only thing that kept you going. She had the most beautiful face and smile, and you marveled at how much her eyes looked like Frank's every time she opened them in the morning, and you could even see it at night before she closed them.

Every evening before bedtime, you'd hold her up in your arms, showing her the picture of daddy in his dress blues sitting on the mantle, cause you wanted her to remember him as the good man you knew. As that same guy you met five years ago who stood in line for ten minutes every day just so he could talk to you for one while he ordered his coffee; until one day he was brave enough to ask you out.

“Don't believe anything you hear, okay? Daddy loves you,” you whispered in her little ear, staring at Frank's portrait, as if she could understand anything that was going on.

“Dada,” that night she stuck out her arm and pressed her tiny finger against his nose over the glass.

“You like dada's nose? It's kinda funny, isn't it?”

She stared at you and repeated dada.

“Don't tell him I say that,” you smiled tiredly and glanced at the still portrait of Frank one more time, holding back tears, blindly hoping he’d come back some day.

In an old building near the river, Frank was watching the whole thing through the cameras he had David install in the house, so he could keep an eye on you. The pace of his heart picked up, capturing his baby girl calling him dada behind a screen, and as much as he wanted to run back home and hold the both of you, it was nearly impossible. You were being watched, not just by him, and there wasn't a safe way for him to contact you without arousing suspicion.

He could see how tired you were and how much you had endured. You were strong, he had no doubt, but he hated seeing you suffering, and if he could go back in time and change the course of his actions, so he could be there with you, he abso-fucking-lutely would.

Once Lisa was asleep, and you turned in for the night, he laid back on the uncomfortable cot. He closed his eyes, as all those beautiful memories he built up with you flashed behind them. From the moment he saw you behind the counter at the café till the last: your first date, your first kiss, a couple of arguments in between, all the times he made love to you, countless times speaking on the phone, your wedding, the day his baby girl was born…

If you had Lisa, he only had his treasured memories wrapped in an old song that started playing in his head that you first danced to on the second time you went out with him. That same song was later the one that played at your wedding. It’s called– Baby, I'm yours.

Frank could hear the melody clearly and still feel the weight and touch of your hands when they linked around his neck on the dance floor when he invited you to dance. He couldn’t do the twist, but he could definitely swing with you to a couple of slower songs like that one.

It was at the fundraiser at a VA center in Brooklyn, where everyone was dressed like it was the 60s. He would have never agreed to go to a themed party like that, no, but it was for a good cause, and it also gave him the opportunity to ask you out on a second date. So, he bought the tickets, found himself a classic, nice suit like Don Draper wore in Mad Men, and traded his tactical boots for oxfords. Admittedly, he didn't consider himself as handsome as Don, but you made him feel that way. He wasn't a cheater either, so, all things considered, he could take pride in that, but he was too humble to recognize his own good qualities and wasn’t going to start any time soon.

For all the times he called himself old-fashioned, that day he looked the part too. He showed up with a bouquet of flowers and tucked his elbow out, so you could link your arm with his as you walked up to his truck. It was adorable how bashfully he looked at you and the way his lips curved up when you kissed him at the end of the night.

He wished for more moments like those. His life couldn't end like this without getting to hold you and Lisa again. Could it?

That unbearable need pushed him to keep going, to settle his score, clear his name, just so he could return to you and make new memories.

But again, his plans were destroyed once more the night on the pier when he found who was working with Schoonover…

All his dreams of getting back to you blew up in that explosion. The puzzle was more complex than he initially thought, so he ultimately had to let you go for good and let the world, including you, believe that Frank Castle had died in that boat.

In his wake, he kept working in the shadows with his partner while watching you helplessly bury a burned body that wasn’t his. He had David hack and falsify all the appropriate DNA and dental records, so nobody would glance at it twice, and it worked.

The world finally left you alone after his death and when they stopped watching– he stopped too because you deserve to grieve and live in peace; and because every time he saw you on the screen it was like being run over by five cars in a row.

He'd still get an update or photo of Lisa from Curtis, who tried to convince him many times to let you know that he was alive, but he wouldn't budge. He still believed you were safer not knowing.

Curt hated lying to you and after the funeral you only saw him a couple of times, briefly. First, you didn't want to face people at all for a while, and second, you stayed focused on Lisa and your job, and that didn't give you much time to do anything else.

Frank grew a beard, got a new identity for the time being, and kept his dead down. He lived like a ghost for ten months, hitting wall after wall of bullshit that kept him from finding out who was the real asshole behind Cerberus. That was the last piece he needed.

Being dead was easy, kind of. He didn't have to worry anymore, cause nobody knew what he was up to. And becoming Pete Castiglione gave him the freedom to come and go as he pleased, even during daylight, he’d just slip a cap on and call it a day.

What kept him up at night was abandoning the two of you. His whole damn word that he missed so much, it physically hurt. You were so close, barely a handful of miles away, that he could just be there in less than an hour if he wanted to. And that was it, he always wanted, alas the fear of putting you in peril was greater.

He’d stare at the picture of the two of you every night. Traced your features with his finger before succumbing to reading instead to keep his mind occupied. He had never read as much as he did during those months.

One day, he was getting a couple of books at this bookstore, cause he had already gone through Curt's and David’s entire bookshelves, and he needed new material.

In there, he was taken aback at finding you with Lisa on your lap over the kid's section. It seemed like some mommy and me kind of class, with mostly moms and a couple of dads, surrounded by babies and toddlers listening to a young girl and boy taking turns reading from a Dr. Seuss book.

Lisa had grown so much since he last saw her, obviously. And he couldn't turn his gaze away, memorizing every detail of his baby girl from her hair held in two buns atop of her head, to her outfit of a flashy purple shirt with a dinosaur, jeans, and sneakers. He was stunned by the way she freely gestured, expressing herself like he hadn’t seen before, laughing at the kids’ funny voices, and being nothing but inquisitive at her surroundings. She wouldn’t just stay seated on your lap and would stand several times up on her short legs, spin around, and go over to the front row with the other kids whenever she pleased.

His eyes welled up, realizing how much he'd missed. She could walk now, and he wasn't there to see that happen. She was about to turn two and wouldn’t be there to witness that either out of his own stupidity.

He tried making himself invisible, peering behind a bookshelf, so he could see you smiling and quietly sharing just a few words with one of the moms on your side.

His heart stopped when he saw Lisa’s little hand waving at him in one of her spins like she had recognized him, but she was just probably playing around. She couldn’t have. Could she? It’d be astonishing if she could.

When he looked at himself in the mirror, he could barely see Frank any more behind all that hair. Maybe it was the eyes that gave him away, or the nose, probably. He figured you kept showing her pictures of him and telling stories no matter how painful it was; and he was right, you did.

His lips turned into a smile, and she smiled back widely, showing all her baby teeth before returning to mommy’s side.

When the class was over, he quickly slipped his ball cap back on and strode away towards the exit because if he didn’t, he might’ve ended up doing something he regretted.

“Bye-bye, dada,” you heard Lisa say to your surprise as you were putting her jacket on.

Your brow turned into a frown, glancing over your shoulder to see if she had seen someone that looked like Frank in the bookstore. That was the only explanation for it, you had never seen her say that other than when you put her to bed that she wished his picture good night.

She was too little to understand what death was, so you saved that conversation for later, all she knew that even if she didn’t see daddy again, he’d always be with her. Maybe that was a little confusing too for an almost two-year-old.

“You wanna see dada?”

She nodded, and it broke your heart a little more, if it was possible, after everything you’ve been through.

You handed invitations to a few moms for Lisa's birthday party that you planned for next week and chatted with them for a bit before heading home.

As you were finally starting to feel more like your old self, those few days left to her second birthday quickly changed that again. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you could tell someone was watching you, and it started to creep you out that Lisa kept babbling with her little vocabulary that she saw Frank more than once. The first was at the bookstore, you thought it'd end there, but there was another time at the grocery store, and a third time at the park.

It was like his ghost was haunting you. After all this time, only Frank would dare to show up right when you were pulling yourself out of the suffocating pit of sadness.

On the day of Lisa’s birthday, you found a package addressed to you on the porch, but it was a present for her. Since there was no return address you opened it first, just for safety, unsticking carefully one side of the wrapping paper to find a box that had a stuffed green dinosaur inside, a cute card wishing her Happy Birthday, and a book titled ‘One Batch, Two Batch’ with a big bear and a baby bear holding a cookie on the cover. You knew she’d love that, so you put it back together as it came and hid it for later, wondering who could have sent that.

“I feel like I’m going crazy,” you told Curt after the party, fidgeting with Frank’s wedding band that was hanging on a chain around your neck.

He stuck around to catch up and helped you clean up, cause you hadn’t seen him in a few months.

You had put Lisa to sleep already, which wasn’t hard after all the excitement of the day. She enjoyed every single second and went to sleep with that stuffed dino cradled to her chest from the mysterious sender.

“Yeah? What happened?”

“I don’t know, I just… she keeps talking about Frank and I feel like he’s watching over us or something.”

You saw Curt swallow as he towel-dried the dishes.

“I am crazy, am I?” you said when he didn’t give you a reply.

“No, no… I was just thinking. That doesn’t sound crazy at all. You miss him, and so does she because you still tell her about him.”

“You think I should stop?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I’m just saying it is normal to miss him. He's a great part of your life.”

“Yeah, but I’ve always missed him. This is different. It feels like I'm back to the beginning when he left, and I knew he was out there, but I couldn’t see him, you know?”

Curt simply nodded.

He couldn't keep up with the lie anymore and hated seeing you hurt because of Castle, which he was sure now he had been lurking around for what you’ve just had said. He wished Frank would've listened to him earlier. You needed to know the truth, but it couldn't come from him.

It was a few days later that you left Lisa with the babysitter in the afternoon and drove to St. John's after getting a text from Curtis saying that he needed to talk to you alone, that it was important.

The sky was already dark, since days were shorter then. As you pulled up at the end of the street you saw a few people coming out of the church, some gathering on the pavement to have a smoke and a few words before parting ways.

Curt was waiting for you outside when you got to the doors, a couple of guys were saying goodbye to him as you walked up the stairs.

“I need you to keep an open mind,” he started, treading carefully and motioning in the direction of the staircase that led to a basement.

“Okay.”

You didn’t know what to expect to be honest, but all the secrecy made you a little nervous. You started biting the inside of your cheek and tucked your hands in your jacket’s pockets, following him in silence down the stairs and across a long hallway until he came to a halt before reaching the end.

He glanced at you, tilting his head to the side, pointing to the room where his meetings were held.

“I need you to take a deep breath and go in. There’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

“What? Who?” Your brow narrowed.

“Trust me. You gotta see for yourself.”

There was no breath to take but an exasperated sigh that left your nose before taking a couple of steps forwards. When you crossed that little threshold into this room you found a tall man, all dressed in black, leaning against the big, yellow tiled wall, with his head hanging down.

You looked back, over your shoulder, for a moment and Curt was already gone or out of sight, and for lack of words facing this stranger, you cleared your throat loudly in order to claim his attention.

What came next was probably the last thing that you thought of finding here. You’ve never been hit by a bullet, but at that moment – as the mysterious man slowly lifted his head, you captured Frank's features behind disheveled curls and a bushy beard – it felt just like one went straight through your heart.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, and it sounded like gravel coming out of his mouth that made the skin at the back of your neck rise at the texture of his familiar voice.

The utter shock that took all over your body didn’t let you move or speak up. You wanted to scream, but you could only stare, noticing your face quickly heating up, and it took you a moment to realize you were already crying.

Your heart pounded anxiously in your chest, begging you to take a breath.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’m here,” he spoke again.

It felt like a cheap trick your mind was playing on you because that person in front of you couldn't be Frank Castle. It was absolutely impossible. You buried his body, almost in disgrace, after all the things they said he had done.

You blinked once, and twice more, as he moved closer, slowly presenting himself more and more as the man that once you recognized as your husband.

He was barely standing two feet away when you finally let a shaky breath fall between your lips that was held beneath that huge knot in your throat. And when his mouth opened again to say he was sorry, you used both hands to push him back with all the force you could muster, which wasn't much to be honest.

Frank merely swayed, and you pushed him again, harder, and he let you, and a third one.

“Let it out, sweetheart.”

On the fourth push, you started sobbing uncontrollably, and his arms finally surrounded you, holding you tight against his chest.

“Shh, shh. It's okay.”

“I hate you,” you repeated thickly a few times, falling apart against his hoodie, balling the fabric in your hands.

“I know, I know… I'm sorry.”

You felt his lips pressed on your head and a hand soothing up and down your back. He kept you like that until your heart settled at a normal pace and there weren't more tears to shed, at least for now.

With a little hesitation, you pulled your head back to take a good look at him again, calmer this time.

Locking eyes with him, you brought your hands up and framed his face, rubbing your thumbs on the bags of his eyes that were tear-soaked just as yours.

“You coming home?” Of all the questions you could have asked, that was the only one that mattered to you.

“I can't. It's not safe,” his gaze fell low.

“Will it ever be?”

“I don't know.”

“You're an asshole, you know that?” He nodded in your hands, and you released his face, turning your back on him in frustration, “you lied to me and left me alone to deal with all this. I've mourned you… and for what? You should've stayed dead.”

You didn't mean that, but emotions got the best out of you at that moment.

“Please, Frank. I miss you,” you begged right after, letting out a sob.

“I wish I could, baby. I wanna tell you everything and go home with you and Lisa, but there are still people out there that would hurt you if they knew I was alive.”

“Then, tell me what to do, I'll help you. Whatever you need,” you wiped your face and shifted on your boots again to face him.

“You can't. One of us has to take care of her, and I'm already dead.”

“You let her see you, didn't you?”

“I just…” his lips twitched nervously, “I saw her at the bookstore, and she smiled at me and waved. And I had to see that again. I tried to stay away, but she's just…”

“She's perfect and misses you too,” you finished his sentence, fitting your hands on either side of his neck, capturing the warmth of his skin. “Come by the house later at night, even if it's just for a little bit, just to hold her for a while.”

“I wanna. I really do, but if anyone catches a whiff that I'm around…”

“Nobody will. I promise,” you whispered and brought your fingers up to move his curls away from his forehead, “look at you… you look so different, I could barely recognize you.”

“Dunno know how she did.”

“She’s smart for a two-year-old,” you laughed softly, petting his beard next.

“She got that from you.”

“I don’t know about that,” you sighted as Frank got hold of one of your hands and brought your palm up to his lips.

A tap on the door frame interrupted the moment, and you glanced over your shoulder to see Curt looking apologetic for having to cut your time short.

“Everything good with you two? I need to close up.”

You both nodded.

“Thanks Curt.”

He was a saint. Whatever he did to convince Frank to show up here to see you, it mustn't have been easy.

Frank rode with you and explained everything on the way back home, every single detail without overstating or sugarcoating anything, and you listened quietly without judgment. You always knew he had his reasons, and now they were all out in the open, and you didn’t know how to process all that in that short time frame. You couldn't get behind all of it and wished he had found another way, but you couldn't resent him either.

“Do you still love me after all that?” he asked once you were in the garage.

“Frank,” you stated his name as if it wasn't obvious already that you'd never stop no matter what. “Until the end of time.”

It was a cheesy line from that song you both loved so much.

“Until the stars fall from the sky?”

“Until I die,” you leaned closer and pressed your lips chastely against his, and couldn't help but smile at the prickling of his facial hair.

Then, he cupped your face so tender as his forehead touched yours, staying there a moment in silence, gathering some much-needed courage to face your baby girl.

You went into the house first and when the sitter was gone he came in through the back door.

Lisa was soundly asleep, sucking on her pacifier, in her toddler bed that was converted from her former crib. That same crib Frank built three days before she was born because he got home just in time to see that happen. Then, she spent about three months sleeping in a bassinet next to your bed afterwards anyway. There was no rush, you told him, but he spent a day just putting all that together cause he needed something to do.

You switched the night light on that turned the room into soft blues and yellows, and projected stars and moons across the ceiling as Frank took a seat in the rocking chair.

You carefully picked up Lisa and laid her on her tummy across Frank's chest. She stirred up a little but stayed comfortably curled in daddy's embrace without fussing too much, even tucked her arm underneath his beard.

Your heart swelled watching them both, and you propped yourself on the arm of the chair, tucking your legs over his lap and hugging his neck.

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