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naughtyneganjdm · 10 months ago

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Naughty or Nice - Chapter 14

Summary: The aftermath of the fight at the Greene farm and Y/N denying Negan's proposal takes place.

Characters: Negan, the reader (OC), etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51464518/chapters/134560708

Warnings: Swearing, severe angst, etc.

Notes: I'm sorry this wasn't up yesterday. I got tired and I passed out. It was a rough day. Thanks to everyone that still kept with the story. I appreciate each and every single one of you!

Twenty-four hours ago, Y/N was in the arms of the man that she loved. She was happy. She felt safe. Even though she was in pain, she felt loved and cherished. In Negan’s arms she felt more comfortable than she ever had in her life. Now? She was miserable.

This was not how Y/N thought she would be spending Christmas Eve. Alone in her apartment. Depressed and sad. Last night she was hopeful. Tonight she was miserable. Sitting in a chair in front of one of her windows that overlooked the city had her feeling more alone than she had in a very long time. Outside the snow was heavy and she felt like it fit her emotions right now. It was a vast difference from how she felt last night. Even though her father broke her, in Negan’s arms she felt far from alone.

Looking to the bottle of Cognac she had in her hand made her let out a long sigh. She probably looked ridiculous sitting in the dark alone. Having the lights off just fit her mood better. There was a darkness settling inside of her heart after what she had done today. Turning Negan down after his beautiful proposal was terrible. Did she want to marry Negan? Of course she did. Negan was everything she could have asked for and more. He was gorgeous and he made her happy. A lot of people were never that lucky to find someone that made them feel so incredibly loved and joyous. Even in the worst of times, Negan was always good at making her feel good. Yet being at her family’s home made her realize that she didn’t think she deserved all of that. After years of trying to break away from the person that her family made her believe she was, she realized that it never left her to begin with.

Turning Negan down was the hardest thing she ever had done in her life. Technically they were already engaged before but telling him no made it clear that it wasn’t real to begin with. And she hated that. She hated hurting Negan because seeing him cry like he was when she left was one of the most devastating things she had ever felt in her life. What she had done was just her trying to do the right thing. Allowing him to eventually find happiness with someone better than her is what she wanted for him.

Lifting the bottle up again, she knew that it was the same one that she had shared with Negan at the Christmas party. She hadn’t drank any of it yet, but she felt like it was in her future. Getting drunk to numb the pain was beginning to sound like the only way out of her feelings and emotions right now. Sitting alone, drunk in her woes sounded much better than being sober. Of course the fact that she shared it with Negan previously had her mind lingering back to him and it hurt. Negan was an incredible man that deserved an incredible woman. Not someone like her. No matter how much she loved him, she knew it was for the best to let him go.

Observing the buildings surrounding her, she imagined that so many families were together. Getting ready to go to sleep to prepare for their big holiday. Christmas was often about joy and family. Yet here she was all alone to herself and heart broken. Right now she just wished the world would swallow her whole.

Since she had left the farm her cell phone had been off. After everything she put up with, she didn’t want to talk to anyone. Especially if it was someone from her family. Even though she loved Annette, Beth and a few others, she just knew that she couldn’t handle talking to them. So much happened that just made her feel like the worst person on the planet and it was for the best to just shut the rest of the world out.

Even thinking about everything that happened had her mind lingering to Glenn. If Glenn was really as upset about things as he claimed to be, he would have come home back to the apartment. He would have found a way. Yet, here she was. Alone. There were no doubts that Glenn was still at her family’s home likely starting a life with Maggie. Why wouldn’t he be? Love was mentioned several times there so it was clear he was in love with her older sister.

It wasn’t so much that he was in love with Maggie that upset her. It was the lack of remorse for it. There was no jealousy or really anger from it. To be fair, she never really loved Glenn. Glenn was not the man that she wanted to spend forever with. He was her friend. Probably her best friend. So, even his actions based on that alone were upsetting. Maybe he tried to call her? Maybe he didn’t. Regardless, the things he also said and did weren’t that of someone who truly cared for her either. So much time was wasted with her worrying about hurting Glenn’s feelings. Yet, the moment he found something better, Glenn eagerly jumped ship and didn’t care.

With everything going on, she had no doubt that Negan had called her. It shattered her to know that because he was trying his best. But she couldn’t face Negan or talk to him right now. It would just hurt too much. For both of them.

A soft knocking sound was heard. Originally, she thought it was just movement from another apartment until it repeated. That was definitely a knock at her door. Gazing back over her shoulder, Y/N let out a grunt. Maybe with the lights off, the person would take the hint that she wasn’t home and leave. At least she hoped they would. She wasn’t in a very talkative mood. But there it was again. Another knock. This time it was louder and determined for her to hear it. Slouching down further in the chair, she felt a lump developing in her throat. Answering that door was the last thing she wanted to do.

“Hello?” a familiar voice called out and amongst the silence. It made her heart skip a beat. Clutching tightly to the neck of the bottle, she sat forward in the chair and sighed. She knew that voice. Setting the bottle down next to the chair on the ground, she bit at her bottom lip and determined her next move. “I know you’re in there Y/N. I asked the doorman if you were here and he told me that you were. He’s the one that let me up here. So please open the door.”

“Fuck,” she scoffed hating that she was even debating not answering the door. Once the next knock was heard, she slowly stood from her seat. This was a case where she couldn’t not answer the door. Heading over toward the door, she was sluggish in the way that she moved. Depression had taken its toll on her. Probably her crying too. It had brought forth an exhaustion and weakness into her that she couldn’t describe. If she would have known what was good for her, she would have been in bed right now trying to sleep it off, but she wasn’t.

“I hear you moving around in there, so please…just open the door,” the voice begged once more from the other side. Was she really making that much noise? Flicking the lights on, she heard another knock and shook her head.

“I’m coming,” she assured them with a sigh, finally getting to the door. Undoing the lock, she pulled the door open. Being met by the familiar set of hazel eyes had her clutching onto the knob and the doorframe at the same time releasing a long exhale deep from within her. “Beau? What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to talk to you,” Beau pulled the hood of his jacket down, his cheeks a rose color from the snowstorm that he had obviously been in. Tugging at the hat he was wearing, Beau shoved it into the pocket of his jacket. Slicking his hair back, Beau tried to straighten his dark hair that had gotten messed. Shifting on his feet, Beau seemed nervous at first before pushing his hands into his pockets. “Thank you for opening the door. I was wondering if you were going to ignore me.”

“I’d never ignore you,” she whispered, reaching out to brush her fingers in over Beau’s cheek to feel the coolness of his rosy cheeks against her touch. It had Beau’s long eyelashes coming to a close and she sighed. Brushing her fingers through Beau’s dark hair, she stepped out in the hallway to see that Beau was alone. “Is your father here?”

Upon her question, Beau’s hazel eyes grew wide and he cleared his throat uneasily, “About that…”

“Beau?” she tipped her head to the side realizing that he was avoiding the question.

“We were at home in the apartment, watching movies…” Beau began, throwing his hands up in the air when he spoke. “I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I got Erin to distract him. I told him I was going to go grab something from the kitchen and…I snuck out.”

“Beau! Your father must be worried sick about you,” she commented, grasping tightly to the doorknob. Mirroring his father’s expressions, Beau tipped his head from side to side and let out a long sigh.

“Not really,” Beau’s face scrunched up, his lips parting when he contemplated what she said. A dramatic expression flooded his young features, his eyebrows bouncing up. “Okay, that’s a lie. He was furious with me for taking off.”

“I can imagine,” she noted, folding her arms in front of her chest, resting her shoulder against the doorframe. “It’s hard to believe that he wouldn’t demand you to come home.”

“Listen, he called. A lot. He wanted to know where I was, but I wouldn’t tell him,” Beau explained to her, his words coming out almost in a whisper like he was afraid to admit this all to her. “I just told him that I was safe and that I would be home soon.”

Giving Beau a worried glance, she reached out to place her hand in over his shoulder. Stepping aside, she held her hand up in the air motioning Negan’s son into her apartment. Moving slowly, Beau stepped inside with her closing the door behind them. Leading him toward the kitchen, she placed her hand in over his shoulder motioning him toward the table. Pulling out a seat for him, she got Beau to sit down and he stared up at her with his big, hazel eyes.

“You’re freezing,” she commented, brushing her fingers in over the side of his face again. Shaking her head, she moved over toward the cupboard to pull out a mug. Setting it down on the counter, she went over to another part of the kitchen. Grabbing some items for hot chocolate, she immediately started to make him something warm. Glancing back at Beau, she noticed that his eyes were hooked on her watching her every movement. “I assume you are okay with hot chocolate?”

“Of course,” Beau whispered, placing his hands on top of the table.

“Do you want anything in your hot chocolate? Marshmallows? Whipped Cream? Peppermint? Sprinkles?” she asked, bracing her hand on the counter while she put together the hot chocolate for him in a pot on the stove. A smirk tugged at Beau’s features and he shrugged his shoulders. “What?”

“It’s nothing,” Beau shook his head, rubbing his hands together in attempts to get some warmth into them. “Surprise me.”

“Sure thing,” she went back into her cupboards to grab something else. “Why would you run away on your dad like that?”

“You have to ask?” Beau muttered, his eyes narrowing when she looked back at him. “He’s miserable Y/N. He’s doing his best to be there for us, as he always does, but I’m not stupid. We all go get a ring together for you and he comes home looking heart broken. It doesn’t take much for me to realize what happened.”

Hearing that drew a breath from her throat and she clutched tightly to the mug that she had grabbed for Beau, “I wanted to talk to you. I needed to talk to you,” Beau corrected himself with a sigh, shrugging his shoulders when he adjusted in the chair that he was in. “I knew that if I told him what I was doing, he wouldn’t let me go. He’d tell me to leave you alone. But I just…I couldn’t do that.”

“How did you even know where I lived?” she wondered, pouring the hot chocolate into the mug. Grabbing some whipped cream from the fridge, she put some on top before topping it off with chocolate sprinkles. Setting it down on the table before Beau had a small smile tugging at his lips when he looked to it. “I put some peppermint extract into it to make it more…Christmas like?”

“Thank you,” Beau accepted the mug, pulling it in closer to him on the table. Lifting it carefully, he took a small sip of the hot liquid. Lowering it made Y/N smirk when the whipped cream covered his top lip from his first sip. Grabbing a napkin for him, she slid it across the top of the table while she lowered down in the seat before him at the table. Cleaning his face off, Beau let out a hesitant laugh before stroking his fingers over the mug she gave him. “I found your address online. You can find pretty much anything on the internet if you know how to look.”

“Touché,” she agreed with him knowing that he was right. Beau took another cautious sip of the hot chocolate, getting comfortable in his seat. Once Beau set his mug down, he felt her hand sliding in over his and he lowered his stare. “You’re still freezing.”

“I’ll be okay,” Beau assured her hearing the worry in her voice. “I’ve got the hot chocolate to warm me up. I’ll just hold onto the cup.”

“You shouldn’t have come out here in the storm Beau,” she pointed out, feeling Beau’s fingers hooking with hers. “Is your father’s place even close to here?”

“Not really,” Beau was honest with her, thinking about how long it took him to get here. By the expression over her face, Beau knew that she was upset with his answer. “I had to do it Y/N. I needed to talk to you and it couldn’t wait.”

“How did you get here Beau?” she inquired, brushing his dark hair back behind his ear. Bringing the mug to his lips, Beau took a long sip of the hot chocolate that she made for him. It was obvious that he was trying to avoid the question. “Beau?”

“It’s complicated,” Beau whispered when he lowered the mug back down. There was an innocence in his eyes when he looked back to her.

“You sound so much like your father,” she acknowledged, leaning back in her chair. An ache grew at the center of her chest thinking about how she had Negan’s son sitting with her in her apartment when he should have been home with his family.

“I got dad to talk to me about what happened with you Y/N. I know that you told him no when it came to marrying him,” Beau conceded to what he knew and it made her let out a saddened sound. “And I don’t understand why. You told my dad yes originally. The two of you were already engaged. I know you want to be with my dad. So why tell him no this time? Especially since you might be pregnant.”

“I’m not pregnant Beau,” she interrupted Beau’s thoughts noticing that he seemed confused by it. “Your dad and I really only were trying for two days.”

“That’s still two days,” Beau reminded her with a huff, “You don’t know if you are pregnant or not. But regardless, it’s still not answering my question. You said yes to marrying my dad. So much so that you two planned to have a baby together. So why suddenly have those emotions changed Y/N?”

“Because things have changed since that day Beau. That time in the woods wasn’t exactly official,” she thought of the first thing she could. But god. That sounded awful when she thought about it. A lump was growing in her throat the more she thought about it. With Beau’s hazel eyes on her, she didn’t exactly know what to say. “It’s adult stuff.”

“Come on,” Beau scoffed, his eyebrows furrowing showing that he hated that response. “I’m thirteen years old. I’m not a baby. I think I understand things more than most adults do.”

Beau reached or his mug to wrap his fingers back around it to warm himself up, “Don’t do that to me. You’ve always been honest with me. Don’t stop now.”

Hearing that took her breath away and she nodded, “Because I think your father deserves better than me. You saw what happened with my family when we were at the farm. It’s because of me everything happened. I can only imagine that the same thing will happen to your family if I’m in it. And I don’t want that to happen to your family. Sometimes if you love something, you have to let it go.”

“No, I don’t think that’s true,” Beau countered, his young features scrunching up after her answer. It surprised her that he was willing to shut her down that fast. “Anyone with eyes could see that all the drama came from your family. You were just doing your best in a situation that you were destined to fail at because the people you were fighting to get the love from were never willing to give it.”

Yeah, that last sentence was incredibly deep for a thirteen-year-old boy, but he wasn’t wrong, “Do you know what gaslighting is Y/N? because your family is a perfect example of it.”

“I…I know what gaslighting is, Beau,” she responded back with a frown, brushing her fingers over her forehead knowing that it was something that Negan had said a few times.

“Then how can you not see that is what your family did to you?” Beau pushed, sliding his chair in closer to her at the table. “I understand why you are feeling the way you do. It’s hard to have the person that is meant to love you treating you the way your father does. Abuse effects everyone differently and I’m trying to understand that, but you have to know that you are not the problem. You were never the problem. Deep down, you know that.”

Lowering her head, Y/N swallowed down hard and Beau leaned forward, “I think it scares you to be happy because you have no idea what it feels like. For the first time in your life, you knew what it was like to be happy with my dad. To not feel alone and I think that scared you because you have always been alone. You got used to it. You let the loneliness become part of you and you got scared. You let that voice inside of your head become your father. You let it tell you all the awful things that he did growing up and you decided to believe it. But that voice? It’s not real. You have to shut it out because you are not your father. You will never be him.”

Tears burned at her eyes hearing Negan’s thirteen-year-old getting emotional the more that he spoke to her, “How old are you again? Because you sure as hell don’t sound thirteen.”

“I had to grow up fast Y/N,” Beau explained, his raspy voice hitching with his eyes burning. “You think you’re a bad person. You think you don’t deserve happiness, but what was the first thing you did when I got here? You took me into your kitchen, sat me down and got me a hot chocolate to warm me up. Your first thought was to take care of me. It’s the most…mom coded thing that someone could do.”

“Beau,” she half smiled that he was going to bat for her, much like he always did since she met him. “I did what was right. Anybody would do the same thing.”

“No. No they wouldn’t,” Beau denied that thought, sliding his hand across the table to place it over hers in a supportive grasp. “Other than my dad, there is only one person in this world that would do what you just did for me and that was my mom.”

After talking about Lucille, Beau’s lips parted and he let out a tiny whimper that he clearly didn’t want to when his mom came to his mind, “I’ve experienced a lot of this world Y/N and I’ve never found someone I’ve connected with like I have you. We’re so much alike. You and I.”

“Beau, we’re so vastly different too,” she confessed and he let out a hesitant breath. Beau was so much purer than she ever thought she was.

“Yeah, because I was given a chance you never were,” Beau retorted with a frown recalling everything he knew about her family. “I’m a positive example of how things can be when people are depressed because I had a support system. I have a support system. Something you never did.”

It was amazing how a teenager understood her life so much more than most people did. A long exhale fell from her throat with Beau’s fingers curling tighter around hers, “If someone would have loved you the way you were meant to be loved when you were my age, you wouldn’t have had to feel this way. Why won’t you allow yourself the chance to finally be loved that way?”

“Beau, I appreciate what you are doing here, but we need to call your dad. Do you have any idea what time it is?” she tried to avoid this whole thing, looking back over her shoulder to see the time. Getting up from the table, she reached for her phone that was plugged in on the counter. “We need to get you home.”

“I love you,” Beau stammered, pushing the seat back when he let out a whimpering sound. It made Y/N turn on her heel to stare out at him and he shrugged. “Not in the way that my dad loves you. That would be creepy. I love you in the way that…someone loves a mom. Or a potential mom. It wasn’t just my dad that fell in love with you. Because I love you too. And I think you feel the same way about me. Which is why it doesn’t make sense why you are doing this to yourself. Why you’re doing this to us.”

“Beau,” she frowned hearing him start to cry. Moving forward, she lowered down before him and knelt on her knees. Reaching out, she stroked her fingers in over the side of his face attempting to comfort him. “Of course I love you. How couldn’t I love you? You are the most amazing young man I’ve ever known.”

Hearing his cries continue, Y/N lifted up and felt his arms wrapping around her tightly to hug her. Hushing him, she stroked her fingers through his dark hair and felt her heart breaking, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. That is the one thing I wanted to avoid more than anything.”

“And you thought by taking the one person I’ve connected with the most since my mom passed away would be the way to do that?” Beau’s bottom lip tremored when he pulled back enough to stare out at her. “You didn’t just have my dad falling in love with you Y/N. I did too. And I don’t think it’s fair that you are letting your family take us away from you and you away from us. Because all of us are miserable Y/N.”

It broke her heart to hear that. What she was doing she thought was best for Negan and his family, but hearing how broken Beau was over everything hurt.

“I know you think you don’t belong with my dad…with us,” Beau started with a broken breath, “But I’m certain that my mother sent you to be with us. That you were meant to find my dad because…she knew that me and my dad…we were both broken. That we both needed someone like you in our lives.”

Motioning her to wait, Beau took out his wallet and stood from the table. Pulling out the drawing that Y/N had done for Beau had a breath catching in her throat seeing that he had kept it. When they talked in the past, he told her that he carried two notes with him always. One from his mother and another from his father. Seeing that she was added to the notes took her breath away. Grabbing one of those other notes from his wallet, Beau unfolded it, put it down on the table and pointed between both of them.

“To Beau, your heart shines brighter than the sun. Never stop being you because you are one in a million. You’re a shining star in the night sky,” Beau read what she had written to him with the drawing when they had spent time together that first time. Pointing to the note that was a little more withered, Beau shook his head and let out a whimpering breath. “My sweet Beau, your heart shines brighter than the sun. Never let that leave you because you are one in a million. You’re my shining star and never stop shining.”

Beau’s hand dropped at his side, the tears sliding down his face harder after he read both things to her. A shuddering breath fell from her throat after hearing Beau compare both things. Dramatically Beau pointed between both her drawing and the note from his mother, “If that’s not a fucking sign, I don’t know what is.”

Wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, Beau stared out at Y/N and bit down on his bottom lip, “I know you’re not her. I know that. I’m smart enough to know that. I’m old enough to not be that stupid, but I think my mom is out there somewhere. Maybe she’s one of the stars out in there in the sky. I think she saw that I was broken. That dad was broken. And I think she found you and she brought us together. Even if it was in a way that you consider wrong, it happened for a reason. You were meant to find my dad. You were meant to find me.”

Shakily reaching her hand out, Y/N hooked her fingers with Beau’s and he instinctively grasped a tight hold of them, “I saw my mom die, Y/N. She died in my father’s arms holding onto my hand,” Beau thought back on the hardest moment of his life. “My father has always been the strongest man I’ve ever known. But that day? I watched him break down. I’ve never seen him cry like that. And he wouldn’t let go of her. It took a long time before he was finally willing to let her go,” Beau was sobbing and she didn’t know what she could do to make everything better other than to listen. “That night I watched the light in him disappear. My dad was broken hearted and there was no fixing it. It was gone. And it was gone from me too. But I tried to hide it the best I could. My mother asked me to watch over him before she died, so I did. I held it in. And I never saw that light return to him, until I saw him with you. Something I never thought I would see again with my father, I saw when he was with you.”

Not crying was impossible when Y/N looked down at the ground, “And you did it for me too. I felt like I finally had a mother again. That’s how I knew my mom had to have a hand in this. She knew you were hurting and you needed us just as much as we needed you,” Beau insisted, placing his other hand over Y/N’s too. “So if you love me, if you love my dad…how could you possibly think this is the best option Y/N? I don’t care what your family has told you. I don’t care what that voice in your head tells you because it’s wrong. We love you. And we both need you. So much.”

Instead of responding, Y/N moved forward to wrap Beau up in her arms feeling his tears soaking her shirt the longer than she held onto him, “I do love you Beau, very much. But I don’t know how your father would feel after I told him no to his proposal. I can only imagine how much pain I’ve put him through.”

“He’s head over heels in love with you,” Beau tipped his head back, allowing her to brush away his tears while she stared down at him. “The pain of not having you in his life is worse than you telling him no. I’m not trying to guilt you into doing what I want Y/N, I just need you to see how important you are. How important you are to my dad. How important you are to me.”

“I know baby,” she hushed him hating that he thought she may have even considered that. “I know you wouldn’t do that.”

“You do want to be with my dad, right?” Beau confirmed, drawing her to lean back and let out a shuddering breath. “Because you told him yes when he asked you to marry him the first time. I still think you want to marry him. I still think you love him and you want to be with him.”

“Of course I do, Beau,” she was truthful with her answer. Negan was everything she wanted and more. She just hadn’t felt like she was good enough for him. “I love your father more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I told you, the only place I’ve ever felt like I’ve belonged is with you and your dad.”

“Then come home with me. Tell him how you feel,” Beau suggested, shaking his head and squeezing her hands in his tighter. “I know that he will be accepting of everything because he loves you. I love you. Please?”

Right when she was about to answer, she heard the sound of a knock and Beau did his best to reach up to wipe at his face to get the tears away, “Beau?”

“There’s something else,” Beau announced motioning her to wait. A sudden rush of nervousness flooded his body and she couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. “I really hope you don’t get mad at me for this. You see, dad was really distracted today. Even though he was doing his best, I was able to get away to my room for a while and I called someone. I got them to come pick me up and they are the person that brought me here. They couldn’t find a parking spot, so I just hopped out when we got here and left them to find a spot to park. I wanted to talk to you first. Alone.”

Tipping her head to the side, Y/N watched Beau moving away from her and heading for the door to pull it open. There was a sinking feeling in her gut when she saw Hershel moving toward the entrance of the kitchen. Beau closed the door and moved around Hershel to return to Y/N. Lowering her head, she didn’t know how to respond to her father being there.

Hershel looked between the both of them, sliding his hands into his pockets. It was obvious that both Beau and Y/N had been crying and he wasn’t sure what to say.

“I take it I missed something big?” Hershel concluded as Beau moved in beside Y/N. Grabbing a hold of Y/N’s hand, Hershel knew that Beau was incredibly protective of his middle daughter. With a nod, Beau stood his ground almost declaring in his body language that he was there to protect her. After a minute, Y/N lifted her head, her eyes locking with her father’s. It seemed like Hershel wanted to say something, but he stopped. Pointing over toward Beau, Hershel cleared his throat and sighed loudly. “This young man loves you a lot. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” she spoke softly, standing up from the chair that she was in. Wrapping her arm around Beau’s shoulders, she pulled him in closer to her and gave him a tight squeeze. “And I love him too.”

“Good,” Hershel uttered, giving a firm nod. “It’s good that the both of you have each other.”

They stood silent for a moment. Hershel was motionless, his eyes dropping to the ground when he shifted slightly before them. Taking in a long, shallow breath Hershel nodded toward the living room that he saw in the distance, “Do you think that we can sit and talk for a minute?”

“Sure,” she didn’t know how to respond to things when Hershel moved from her kitchen into her living room. Beau grabbed his letters from the table that he had pulled out so he could put them back into his wallet. Leading Y/N toward the living room, Beau looked up at Y/N with tears still in his eyes. “Just hear him out. If he upsets you, I’ll kick him out myself.”

“Okay,” she faintly smiled, brushing her fingers through Beau’s hair and moving over toward the couch with Beau. Taking a seat, she realized that Beau sat close to her making sure to show her that he was still going to be her support system no matter what. That was never anything she questioned. Beau was always there for her and that was never going to change.

“This is a really nice view,” Hershel spoke, heading over toward the large window that looked over the city. With a nervous nod, Y/N wondered what her father was really doing there anyways. “You did really good for yourself Y/N.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, still having a hard time looking at Hershel. The only reason she wasn’t losing it was because of Beau. Obviously, this was something that was meaningful to Beau, so she was going to hear her father out for that reason alone. “What are you doing here Hershel?”

“Well, I was at home. There was a big family meeting going down when this young man called me,” Hershel explained pointing over to Beau who looked to Y/N with his big eyes. “He asked me not to talk and to listen to him. So I listened for once in my life. I listened to everything he had to say. It was a long conversation with some back and forth. We hung up. I spent some time alone in the kitchen and it didn’t take long for me to think about what he said. I called him back, I drove out here to the city and I picked him up. We drove here together, he took off while I parked and that’s pretty much it.”

“Not to be rude,” she started, her head tipping from side to side, “that just explains the steps of how you got here. Not why you’re here Hershel.”

Hershel’s expression showed that he was surprised that she called him out on that point, but it was true. Sure, it was a good lead up, but there had to be more of a reason why he was there.

“I owe you some explanations,” Hershel began, heading over toward the seat that was across from Beau and Y/N. In his body language, it showed that he was uncomfortable and it was strange to see from her father. Usually, Hershel didn’t care about anything, but to see him uneasy was not a sight that she was used to. “And I’m going to do my best giving them to you,” Hershel tried to gather himself, hooking his fingers together. “I think you know some of this, but it’s important to things. When I was younger, my father was very abusive. I hated him. He was an alcoholic and it ruined our family. The second I could get away, I did. My father was a cold man. Always mocked me for having a love for animals, but I didn’t care. When I was gone, I became a veterinarian because it’s what I wanted. And hell I did it just to spite him. Kind of like you with your art.”

“Yeah,” Y/N breathed out, she knew this information. It was something she had only heard somewhat about, but it was something more so directed at Maggie. Hershel always let Maggie know that the reason he stopped drinking was for her.

“You and I were a lot alike when we were younger,” Hershel informed her, giving a shrug knowing that she would probably hate hearing that. “Only when we were younger though. We both had our fathers that were unbearable and we desperately wanted to get away. Prove to them that we could be what we wanted without judgement.”

It hurt being compared to her father, but he wasn’t wrong. From what he talked about when it came to his father, their pasts did sound very similar. Especially with them wanting to do what they loved and escaping so they could.

“When my father was dying on his death bed, I came back to that farm. I saw what he became and I vowed to never be like him,” Hershel thought back on his past, his words coming out shaken because he was visibly trying to hold himself together. “I had become an alcoholic in that time away from him. It was the best way I could deal with all the pain I felt because of him growing up. Hell, it was kind of in my blood to become an alcoholic. The day I saw him on his deathbed is the day that I vowed to stop drinking because I never wanted to be like him. Especially after I found out about Maggie. I didn’t want to have my family growing up the way that I did.”

A tremoring breath fell from her lips when she dropped her head down. That sounded very familiar to her, but from her own point of view and it hurt hearing that come from Hershel’s own mouth considering everything that Hershel put her through.

“I thought I had the perfect life. I was married to Josephine, we had Maggie and everything felt right in the world until she got sick. When she got sick, it was the hardest thing I had ever had to experience in my life,” Hershel recalled back on his life, his eyes lifting to Y/N’s to show that he was emotional. “I had this little girl that I had to take care of and I knew that her mother was dying. And when she did? It broke me.”

Even though these were things that they knew growing up in their family, they were never things they really touched on. Hershel wasn’t always open with his emotions. In fact, he was rather cold when it came to him opening up. When it came to loving Maggie and Beth, he was mostly warm to them, but never when it came to getting deep about feelings.

“I never thought I would fall in love again. And because of that, I fell. I was so close to drinking again because I remembered what it was like when I was younger. I remembered how it helped to ease the pain that I had when I thought about my past with my father,” Hershel declared, holding his hands out as if drawing together his thoughts from the past. “It was a while after Josephine had passed. I wasn’t doing good. I was a single father. Maggie was sad. I was failing in all the areas that I should have been thriving with, but it was hard. It was really hard. So one night, I went to a bar. Maggie was in bed and I left her alone. I should have never done that, but your sister was a deep sleeper when she was younger. I knew I’d be fine until morning…”

Hershel took a moment to stop and catch himself. Lowering his hand, Hershel rubbed it against his knee and raised his gaze. Both Beau and Y/N were listening to him intently. Neither one broke from him and it was strange that both of them were actually giving him a chance to explain things after everything that they had been through.

“That night was the night I met your mother,” Hershel explained to Y/N seeing her posture change once he finally mentioned her mother to her. “I hadn’t been to a bar in a very long time. So everyone there was a stranger for me. I was deep in my sorrows and I had gone to the bar. I took a seat and almost immediately I had spotted your mother. People were drawn to her. She was standing by this jukebox. There was a light on her and like I said, she was hard to miss. With her smile and her energy. Even the way the room was lit, it was like it almost brought the attention directly to her. But of course she was surrounded by other people. People were always drawn to your mother.”

Noticing that Y/N seemed to tense up, Beau squeezed his fingers around hers and gave her a small nudge. This was everything that she wanted and more growing up, it was just hard hearing it for the first time.

“I was about to drink. The bartender put it right in front of me and when I was about to take my first sip, someone fell right on top of me,” Hershel chuckled, shaking his head while deep in recollection of his memories. “The drink spilled all over me and the person who fell on me was your mother. You see, your mother was wearing a new dress that day and she tripped over it. Even though it was her that fell, she ripped me a new one for spilling that drink all over the both of us. She was a spitfire.”

There was something that changed in Hershel’s features when he sighed loudly and reached up to rub at the back of his neck, “We bickered back and forth. But God, she was so beautiful just standing there lecturing me. I thought she was my guardian angel. A sign sent from God to show me that I wasn’t supposed to have that drink. I tried telling her that, but she didn’t want to listen to me. I guess she was on a date that was going horrible at the time and she just wanted to get the hell out of there. I followed her out of that bar like a lost puppy, just trying to get her to listen to me.”

“And she fell for it?” she wondered watching the smile tug at Hershel’s lips.

“Nope, she told me to screw off,” Hershel declared with another laugh, his face having a light shade of pink flooding into it. “Before she did that, I told her everything. I told her about my past, why I was there and how I thought she was my guardian angel. Of course doing that meant I told her about my alcoholism and she wanted nothing to do with me. Why would she? I had a lot of baggage in my life and someone like her didn’t need all of that. I thought I would never see her again after that night. Maybe she was just put there to stop me from having that drink. So I went home back to Maggie and made sure to make a promise to myself that I would never drink again. I even threw away the clothes so Maggie wouldn’t be able to smell that.”

There was a silence between them when Hershel looked down at the ground again, “At that time I was very careful with your sister. See, Maggie was like Beau. She lost her mother too. She was younger than Beau, but it did something to her. So I was always protective of her,” Hershel claimed, lifting his gaze to both Beau and Y/N. “After Josephine died, Maggie just wasn’t…right. I think we all know that your sister is, I don’t know the word. A bit reckless maybe?”

“Hershel,” Beau muttered his name trying to get him to focus on what he wanted him to talk about since it seemed like Hershel was getting distracted.

“I’m getting there son,” Hershel assured Beau with a frown, holding his hands up to motion him to wait. While they agreed that losing her mother was hard for Maggie and they understood him being protective of her, it was getting away from the point he was really there for. “I took your sister to a fair that was in town one night. While we were there, we ran into your mother again. She was there with her godson and she was so good to your sister. I was smitten with her almost immediately. I knew when I saw her interacting with Maggie that I had to have her, so I asked her out on a date. She reluctantly agreed, but she was cautious. I think the only reason she said yes to me was that she fell in love with Maggie and liked the way that I was with her.”

Maggie was young, so it was likely that she never remembered much about her mother, but God Y/N wished that she would have. It would have been nice hearing things about her mother from Maggie because it sounded like Maggie actually had gotten to experience love, real love from her mother. If even for a short time.

“We went on our first date and I proclaimed my love for her at the end of the night. I asked her to marry me almost immediately. It was there. That special thing that I had with Josephine. I felt it. I know she did too, but she knew about my past. I was honest with her from the start and no matter how many times I asked her to marry me, she wouldn’t,” Hershel continued on with his story, biting at his bottom lip when he paused to think things out. “But it didn’t stop us from being together. She fought it, but you can’t stop real love. Can you?”

A tiny smirk tugged at Y/N’s lips hearing him say that as he continued, “Eventually she got pregnant with you and she was scared. She had lost her parents a long time ago and she didn’t have a lot of family, but I promised I would take care of her. That I loved her and I would always take care of her,” Hershel’s eyes started to tear over and, in that moment, she could actually sense the pain in her father’s tone. “God she was so excited to have you. Always writing down names in books that she wanted if you were a boy or girl. And when she went into labor, she finally agreed to marrying me. I was so happy. I felt like the luckiest man alive. I was in love with someone perfect. She really was perfect. I had a beautiful daughter and a beautiful new baby girl. I couldn’t have been happier.”

This story was not the one that she was used to. It was completely different and hearing it for the first time had chills running down her spine. Goosebumps covered her arms and she didn’t know if she should say something or just keep listening.

“We brought you home and everything was perfect up until you were about nine months old,” Hershel’s voice got raspier, his body becoming stiffer when the worst part of his memories returned to him. “Your mother started feeling run down. She never sat still that woman. Always on the run, always helping other people. I just thought she wasn’t getting enough sleep. And then she went to the doctors…”

It was then she heard the hurt sound escape Hershel’s throat and he lowered his head down, “your mother was sick. With the same…exact…thing that kill Maggie’s mother. There was nothing that could be done. We couldn’t stop it from happening. How does that happen? Two women in a row getting sick from the same thing? It didn’t make sense. I wanted to believe that a miracle would happen because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that I found love again and she was going…she was going to leave me. Just like Josephine.”

Leaning back on the couch, Y/N felt her throat tightening hearing what it was that finally did kill her mother in the end.

“This time it was fast. Not like Josephine. At least with Maggie, she got time to be with her mother. The sickness, it took your mother so fast. She was one of the strongest people I knew and she was always going, but it took her so fast. You were so young. The last thing she made me do was promise to take care of you,” Hershel thought back on Y/N’s mother showing that he was truly shaken up by the idea of losing her. “You don’t understand. I loved her, so much. I fell so hard. I thought I had found two soulmates in my life. And then the world took her away from me. I was broken. So broken,” Hershel tried to explain, pulling himself to the edge of the seat so he could look more directly at Y/N. “Even though I said I never would, I started drinking again.”

A sense of shock flooded her veins. Hershel always insisted that he stayed away from alcohol once he learned about Maggie, but to hear that he had lost his way in the time after her mother passed away had really shaken her up.

“I had two little girls at home waiting for me. The thought of her destroyed me. It broke me in two. I realized that the problem had to be me. I was poison. How could the two women that I fell in love with die of the same exact thing?” Hershel emphasized his words, tears sliding down his face when the two women he lost were remembered. And he wasn’t wrong. That was incredibly bad luck. “Then I started thinking, if I would have never approached your mother, maybe she would be still alive. Maybe she would still be here if she didn’t get with me.”

Beau’s arm hooked tighter around Y/N’s when he could see that she was getting more upset listening to her father talk about her mother. Looking to Beau, she felt her throat tensing up and Beau laid his head on her shoulder.

“I was drowning and no one was there to take care of my babies. I had a friend tell me it was time to wake up, so I had to do the one thing that would keep me alive for the two of you. And that was erase the memory of her. It was the only thing I thought I could do to help carry on. I tried setting everything on fire that reminded me of her, but I couldn’t do it. I loved her too much. Instead, I went up to the attic and I put those things there for years. Even if I wrote her off, she was still there in the back of my mind,” Hershel pointed toward Beau since he was the one that found the things that Y/N had approached Hershel about. It wasn’t the best excuse, but it made sense in how closed off from emotions her father was. Seeing her father crying was new for her. It was rare and it was a sight she never thought she would see. Especially when it came to her mother. “It was the only way to keep myself from falling again. I was so afraid of getting too close to someone because of how they always ended up sick. Annette I just got lucky with. When I was failing, she was there to pick up the pieces and take care of you girls. She’s put up with my shit for so long.”

Tears still lingered in her eyes when Hershel frowned, “I know I’ve not been a good father to you. You look so much like her Y/N. It hurts looking at you because I’m reminded all the time of the love that I lost. The woman that saved me…the woman that died because of me.”

“You didn’t make her sick,” Y/N interrupted her father knowing that if she died from the same thing that Josephine died from, there was nothing that he could have done to cause it. “That was just really bad, unfortunate luck, but it wasn’t your fault.”

“Isn’t it though? How does that happen?” Hershel looked to Y/N for an answer, her lips parting, but she had nothing more to say. Hell, if it was her in his position, she would have thought the same thing. That it was her fault. She just knew that she would have never taken it out on her child like Hershel did. “I thought I would lose you girls. I thought I would lose Annette. I know I’m poison. I’m no good. I wanted to so desperately be what my father wasn’t and I was so blind because my pain drew me to become just like him in many ways for you. I always knew you were going to leave me. You were so much like your mother. So independent. And it just made me cold. You looked like her, you acted like her and I just couldn’t handle it. That’s no excuse. I know it’s not, but I was so afraid that you were going to leave me that I broke myself off from you. It was wrong. I know that. I just did what I thought was the best way to keep myself from being my father and it’s not what I should have done. I should have let your mother live on through me and you. Instead, I erased her because I was scared. Scared that I would break down and leave you girls with nothing. So I made the wrong choice. It was very wrong, but you saw those photos.”

“I did,” she looked to the booklet that was sitting on the table in the distance and she agreed with him, she did look like her mother. Hershel was crying and Y/N was doing her best to be strong even though everything hurt to hear. “Thank you for telling me.”

“If there is such a thing as an afterlife, your mother is going to kick my ass when I finally meet my end,” Hershel proclaimed with a frown, reaching to wipe at his face. “I don’t expect you to ever forgive me Y/N. After this long, I should have been able to man up and be honest with you. I just convinced myself that if I allowed myself the time to grieve, I would become what I was so scared of being all over again. Just to make the pain stop. Because every time I think of your mother, I feel that pain…”

Hershel raised his hand up to place it over the center of his chest, his bottom lip quivering showing that he was emotional in the moment, “So I let you believe the lies I told. I even wanted to believe them myself so I didn’t have to face that pain again. It’s no excuse, but I am so very sorry. I know you won’t believe me, but I do love you. I just didn’t want what happened to your mother to happen to you. When we fought and you left…when you never came back, I just shut down that part of me like I did your mother. Instead of facing my feelings and taking on the pain, I was so cold to everything. I was just afraid of being hurt, so when the idea of pain reoccurred, I just tried to erase everything. And it was the wrong decision. I wish I could go back and change it, but I can’t. You were the last bit I had left of your mother and I lost you. This time it was completely my own fault.”

“Dad,” she breathed out watching when he stood up and moved before her. Hershel lowered down, reaching out to shakily cup her face in his hands. A loud exhale fell from her throat because she was not used to this kind of affection from the man knelt down before her.

“Your mother would be very proud of the person that you became. You’re none of the things that I’ve said. I’m just a mean old man that is angry that you left me and never looked back. I just never realized it was all my fault that it happened,” Hershel declared, his own words coming out shaken while he spoke to her. “I am so sorry. I know the mistake is mine and mine alone. I’m proud of who you are and what you have done. I should have been there every step of the way encouraging you and helping you instead of shutting down like I did.”

At this point, she was a mess when Hershel moved in to wrap his arms around her to hug her. It was the first time in her life she had ever heard him say something like that to her and she knew it was a big deal because of everything that happened, “I don’t want you gone from my life. I want you in my life because you are my daughter and I should have been showing you the love you deserved your whole life. I am so sorry that I didn’t.”

Forgiving him would be hard because of all the pain she went through her whole life, but this was a start. She just needed to know that he really meant it.

Pulling back, Hershel brushed her hair behind her ear and frowned, “Then this boy calls me and tells me that you turned his father down to a marriage proposal because you are torturing yourself over me,” Hershel recalled what had happened with Beau during their conversation, “If there is one thing I can tell you honey, it’s not to let that happen. I may not like Negan’s approach, but the things he said to me that day when he was upset with me in the attic, it’s exactly what I would want a man to say if he loved my daughter. That Negan loves you and if you learned anything from what I told you today, it’s that you can’t waste a minute if you truly love someone. Your mother was so scared about marrying me that we never did it and I regret every minute of it. I lost the woman I loved twice, don’t give up real love. Not when it’s there right in front of you.”

Looking to Beau, Y/N could see that his eyes were still damp from the crying that they had done and he was emotional with her being upset as well.

“What I’ve seen from both this boy and Negan is real love. You don’t always get that in life,” Hershel suggested with a shake of his head. “So please don’t make a mistake that will leave you broken hearted because of the words of this miserable old man that has done nothing but make mistakes his whole life. If you love that man, really love him, don’t let happiness slip through your fingers. Because if you mean what you said, that he’s the only person that makes you feel like you belong, then that’s the man that is for you. That’s who you are supposed to be with.”

A tense laugh fell from her throat. That took a lot out of Hershel. She was sure of that since Hershel and Negan had butted heads more than a few times. But with Hershel even telling her not to let that slip through her fingers, she knew that it was a big deal.

With a nod, Y/N looked between both Beau and Hershel before letting out a shuddering breath, “Are you willing to give us a ride?”

“Of course I am,” Hershel leaned forward to press a loving kiss against Y/N’s temple. Once he stepped back, both Beau and Y/N stood to their feet, but he motioned them to stop before they could get ready to leave. “Although, you’re going to have to wait a minute because I have no idea where I parked and I need to find the car first.”

“We’ll help you,” she responded, hooking her fingers with Beau so she could lead him toward the kitchen to grab her things.

As they were all about to head out, Y/N called out to Hershel and he stopped to look back at her. Heading over to him, she wrapped her arms around him to give him a hug. At first, he didn’t know how to respond, but after a moment he wrapped his arms around her. It was a firm hug, one that she had needed to have for a very long time from her father.

“Thank you for telling me what you did. If you really mean what you say, I’d like to spend more time with you and learn more about my mother,” she admitted with Hershel squeezing his arms around her tighter. "Because from what you say about her, I think she’d want me to forgive you and I’m willing to. As long as you put in the work too.”

“I will,” Hershel assured her, leaning back enough to stroke his fingers in over the side of her face. “I promise.”

----

Shifting uneasily on the couch, Negan looked to his watch to see the time. When Beau assured him that he would be coming home, Negan thought immediately. So the fact that it was taking this long for Beau to return was really making Negan panic. Beau had sent him multiple texts assuring Negan he was safe, but it was scaring the hell out of Negan. They had been watching Christmas movies when Beau had taken off and he still was with Erin. Well, Erin had fallen asleep in his lap while they stayed up waiting for Beau. There was no way that he would go to bed until his son was safely home.

Letting out a long sigh, Negan slid his hand into his pocket to pull out the jewelry box that was still there. Pushing it open with his thumb, Negan stared out at the ring and felt his chest aching at the sight of it. Earlier he thought he would have been spending his Christmas Eve with his children and Y/N. After she turned him down, it broke his heart, but he was doing his best to still show up for his children for Christmas since they were really what Christmas was about anyways.

Hearing the sound of the elevator ding, Negan turned his head back to look for Beau. When Beau didn’t walk into the room, he let out a small grunt. Adjusting Erin carefully, Negan moved his daughter so that she was sleeping comfortable on the couch. Cautiously getting up, Negan moved quietly to make sure that she stayed asleep before heading for the hallway that led to the elevator.

When he was met with an empty hallway, Negan’s head tipped to the side and he dropped his arms down at his side. The sound the elevator made was that it did when someone was returning to the level his apartment was on.

“Beau?” Negan called out to his son, worried when there was no response on the other side. Sighing loudly, Negan assumed that it was probably because Beau was moving slow, worried about his father getting upset with him. “You don’t have to hide Beau. I’m not mad at you, I’m just relieved that you are home. I promise. So why don’t you just come give me a hug and we can all go to bed. We can talk about whatever you did in the morning after we open gifts.”

A loud exhale fell from Negan’s throat when Y/N stepped out into the hallway and he felt his heart skip a beat, “Well shit. I was about to ask you not to go hard on him, but you have to go being the good father again. Don’t you?”

Speechless, Negan didn’t know what to say when she stepped forward in the hallway. Undoubtedly, the first thing he wanted to do was go up to her and wrap his arms around her, but after everything, he didn’t even know if that would be appropriate. “Beau was with you?”

“He was,” she answered with a frown, holding her hand out. Stepping forward, Beau accepted her hand and moved in beside her. There was a rosy color to Beau’s cheeks and he almost looked worried with how his father would respond to everything. “Beau showed up at my apartment and we had a good talk. Where he opened my eyes up to a lot of things. A lot of important things.”

“Oh yeah?” Negan’s eyebrow arched in curiosity when Beau rest his head in against her shoulder. Whatever their conversation was, it had no doubt an effect on the bond between his son and Y/N. “What kinds of things did you realize?”

“That I’m head over heels in love with you, him and Erin,” she explained stammering through her words, bringing Beau’s hand up to press a kiss over the back of his hand. Giving Beau a wink, she released his hand and stepped closer to Negan. The expression over Negan’s face was everything that she needed to see. Hearing that she still loved him drew him to let out a shuddering breath of relief. “Beau made me realize that it didn’t matter what someone said to me or what that voice inside my head tells me because it’s wrong.”

“He’s right,” Negan responded with a weak smile. “You are so much better than you really give yourself credit for.”

“And it’s because of the two of you that I see it,” she was close enough to Negan to draw him to let out a tremoring exhale. “Beau also made me realize that there was something in this world that brought us together. We were meant to find one another and be together.”

“Yeah?” Negan’s voice was broken, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat when he felt his eyes burning over.

“Yeah,” she answered, stepping before Negan who was frozen where he was standing. Lowering his head, Negan saw the back of her hand pressing in against his and he bit down on his bottom lip. “I’m so sorry I did what I did with running away. Your son is right about me. I got scared. I’ve never felt happiness like I do when I’m with you and your children. I was afraid that I would lose you or make life worse for you so I pushed you away. But you are the first person in this world that makes me feel like I’m not alone Negan. Like I’m actually special and I don’t want to lose that.”

Holding her hand out, she saw Negan look down at it, his lips parting and his bottom lip tremoring, “I want to be with you and your family Negan. I love you. I love everything about you. I love your smile. I love your personality, even when you are pissing people off. I love how good of a father you are. I love how much you love me. I just love you…”

“I love you too,” Negan whispered, accepting her hand, squeezing it firmly in his. Sweeping his thumb over the back of her hand, he could see that his son was watching on with awe in his eyes.

“You’re not wrong Negan, being separated from you hurts and I don’t think I would survive without you,” she repeated some of the things he had said to her in the past drawing a tiny smile from him. Lowering down onto one knee had a confused expression flooding in over Negan’s features. Digging into her pocket, she pulled out the ring pop that Negan had given her that night on the trail. A muted laugh fell from his throat when he saw it. “I’ve wasted enough of my life on things Negan. I need you. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. The love from both you and your son saved me when I didn’t even realize that I needed saving. I’ve never felt more alive than I do when I’m with all of you. So would you do me the honors of being my husband? Will you marry me Negan?”

“What do you think?” Negan scoffed, watching her smile when he nodded his head about. “Yes. Fucking of course I will.”

Sliding the ring pop up his finger as best as she could, they both laughed when it got stuck about a third of the way up. Pulling her up to him, Negan wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in against his chest. Bringing their lips together, Negan drew out the kiss and hummed against her lips before they separated.

“You stole my move,” Negan lifted his hand to stare out at the ring pop that she had proposed to him with.

“It was a good one,” she responded, nuzzling her nose in against his. Slipping his hand down, Negan managed to grab the jewelry box from his pocket. Opening it up, he grabbed the engagement ring he had bought for her and raised her left hand up. Sliding it down her finger, Negan stared down at it for a minute before lowering his head to press a kiss over the back of her hand. “I’m sorry for saying no earlier. I just wasn’t thinking with a clear mind. But now I know. I love you so much and I can’t be without you.”

Instead of responding, Negan brought her into another loving hug that had him nuzzling his nose in against the side of her neck, “you don’t have to apologize to me Y/N. I love you and I was going to wait for you as long as I had to because I knew that we were meant to be together. I love you so fucking much and I would have never given up.”

“I know,” she pulled back enough to stroke over the side of his face in a tender sweep. “Are you going to be okay with the fact that I’m the one that asked you to marry me?”

“Well, technically I asked first, well, twice, but…” Negan teased with a wrinkle of his nose, stealing another quick kiss from her. “I’m okay with telling people that you were the one to propose. Whatever makes you the happiest, makes me the happiest.”

The sound of something knocking over was heard and it drew Negan to lift his head to see Beau standing at the edge of the kitchen. Giving a half wave, Beau smiled uneasily before shifting on his feet.

“So I owe this to my son?” Negan wondered, squeezing his arms tighter around Y/N who eagerly accepted the gesture.

“You do,” she acknowledged that this was all because of Beau that she was here right now.

“Come here,” Negan ordered, wiggling his finger out at Beau who gave a big smile. Nodding, Beau moved forward swiftly, eager to accept the group hug from the both of them. “Thank you, buddy. I don’t know how I got so lucky to have you.”

“He always knows what to say,” Y/N informed Negan with a weak smile, pulling back enough so that she could press her hand in over the side of Beau’s face. “I’ve never met someone with a bigger heart than Beau.”

“My beautiful, sweet boy,” Negan brushed his fingers through Beau’s hair noticing that Beau’s eyes were tearing over. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too,” Beau whispered dropping his head down to cuddle it in over Negan’s shoulder. “I just want all of us to be happy. And I knew that the only way for all of us to be happy��was to be together.”

Taking that moment to cherish the two in his arms, Negan closed his eyes and squeezed them close. Even though this didn’t turn out exactly the way that he thought it would, this was the best outcome that he could have wished for after everything that occurred. They were together and that’s what counted most.

“How in the world did you get all the way out to her house?” Negan blurt out, pulling back and interrogating his son, surprised that Beau was able to pull off what he did. “I know you hate the subway and you wouldn’t get into a cab…”

Someone cleared their throat making Negan lift his head to see that Hershel was in his hallway with his hands behind his back alerting Negan that it was him that Beau was with, “Well shit. You don’t have a shotgun with you. Do you?”

“Oh, no,” Hershel pulled his hands forward to show that they were empty. “And no more shotguns. Unless you plan to break her heart. Then, I might have to reconsider on the shotguns. I am sorry for that.”

“I don’t plan on breaking her heart,” Negan snickered, leaning down to nuzzle his nose in against the side of Y/N’s neck. “So I think we’re going to be good Hersh.”

“I may have called him and talked to him while Erin had you distracted. I convinced him to come down here to talk to Y/N so she could finally know about her mother,” Beau educated his father on what happened and what he missed. Surprised, Negan looked to Y/N who simply gave him a nod. “They are willing to work on things together.”

“Really?” Negan was surprised to hear that considering everything that happened.

“Really,” she informed Negan with a loud swallow. “We will talk about things tonight.”

“Are we all better now?” Erin’s tired voice was heard and they looked to see that she was standing in the doorway of the kitchen staring out at them with her big, tired, green eyes. Her polar bear stuffed animal was under her arm and she looked like she was ready to pass out. Waving Erin forward, Negan picked her up in his free arm pulling her in close so they could all be together.

“Much better,” Negan peppered kisses against the side of Erin’s face.

“Well, then…what are we still doing up?” Erin asked, pointing back toward the Christmas tree. “If we don’t go to sleep Santa won’t come. You know that.”

“You know what? She’s right,” Negan agreed with Erin, looking beyond them to Hershel. “I have a guest room Hersh. What do you say? You can stay with us until morning and then you can leave in the morning after Santa has come. I think with all the snow it would be a good idea for you to stay here for the night.”

“Are you sure?” Hershel confirmed and Negan gave him a slow nod.

“We’ll set you up in a minute,” Negan assured him, lowering in to press his forehead against Y/N’s. Having both of his children and Y/N in his arms was everything to him. Especially now after everything they had been through. “This is the best Christmas gift I could have ever asked for. With you, Erin and Beau. I couldn’t picture anything better than being with the things I love the most in this world.”

“I’m sorry the present came a little late,” Y/N hummed against his lips, stealing another quick kiss from them.

“Better late than never,” he whispered with a smile, nuzzling his nose in against hers. “I have a whole life to look forward to with you and I don’t plan on wasting a single second of it.”

----

ONE YEAR LATER

“Is dinner almost ready babe?” Y/N called out from where she was before the Christmas tree with Beau and Erin putting the presents under the tree. Looking to her watch, she stole another quick glance at the time before sighing. “I think Maggie said she would be here with Glenn and little Hershel in less than a half hour. My parents and the others will be a little bit later.”

“Almost,” Negan called out from the kitchen getting her attention back on him to see that he was standing in the doorway with their three-month-old son in his arms. “Felix and I are doing our best to get everything done, but daddy needed to take a break to feed him because he got hungry.”

“Aren’t we all?” Erin questioned with a small laugh, gazing upon the presents that were before her. “I’m glad everyone is coming here this year just for dinner. Last year was nice, but home is so much more comfortable than being at the farm all that time.”

“You’re not wrong and we’re lucky they are going home after dinner,” Beau piped in with a tiny snicker getting up from the floor. Heading over toward Negan, Beau grabbed Felix and held him closely to his chest. “Unlike last year where we had to spend days with everyone, at the end of tonight we get to kick all of them out of our apartment.”

“What are you trying to say?” Y/N smirked drawing Beau’s eyebrows to bounce up before he chuckled and started humming something to his little brother who was cooing out.

“I’m saying I think we’re all going to be happier when it’s just us at the end of the night together on Christmas,” Beau answered as he made a silly face down at Felix who was staring up at him behind heavy eyelids. “I know you are getting close to your family again, but it’s still nice to have them leave. We have Christmas Eve with your family, they leave and then Christmas is for us. I think that will be nice. Don’t you?”

“I think Christmas alone with all of us will be wonderful,” she agreed with Beau, letting out an amused sound before pressing a kiss to his temple.

“He’s not wrong you know, it’s nice getting people to leave at the end of the day,” Negan commented when they all headed into the kitchen. Negan helped Erin into her seat where she stole one of the sugar cookies that they all had made together earlier. “I like when it’s just all of us together.”

“That’s my favorite too,” Y/N hummed, stepping forward to draw her finger down over the center of Negan’s chest. Tipping up on her toes, she brought their lips together which had Beau letting out an overwhelmed sound.

“We’ll be quick,” Negan promised his son with a wrinkle of his nose, hooking his arms loosely around Y/N’s hips. “It’s interesting how I predicted our future almost a year ago. Married with a young baby…”

“Anyone could have predicted the baby with how the two of you are,” Beau reminded them moving forward to hand Felix to Negan again carefully. Once he had Felix in his arms again, Negan headed over toward where Erin was sitting so that she could see her little brother. “I have to get the food out of the oven.”

“Hey,” Y/N called out motioning both Erin and Beau in so they could all do a group hug. “I love you all so much. I hope you know that.”

“And we love you too,” Negan hummed, pressing a lingering kiss over her cheek, enjoying the way that their little family still continued to love one another. “And we always will.”

----

Tags: @slutlanna976 @fuckthis-and-fuckthat @jennydehavilland @de-gabyconamor @ibelongtonegan @smallsadjellyfish @labyrinthofheartagrams @msjamesmarch @thebeautysurrounds @hotfornegan @redmercysugar @caprithebunny @tuttifuckinfruitty @emoryhemsworth @a-girl-interupted @akumune @stoneyggirl2 @xsarcasticwriterx @haleygreen23 @xhannahbananax03 @sanctuaryforthelost @burningredaffair @killaweiser @dead-of-niight @ayumi-wolf @hollyismentallyillhelp @promiscuousbarnes @tone-stark @lanadelnegan @flippittygibbitts @stickyhuesos @dilfsandmartinis

#Jeffrey Dean Morgan #Negan #The Walking Dead #negan fanfiction #negan x reader #twd fanfiction #negan x you #negan smith

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wind-becomes-lightning · 5 months ago

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Hi Nisi! I'm cashing in a writing prompt. May I request ""I told you to forget me, but you stayed by my side."" for Kakashi and Yamato plz? I hope you're doing well!!

Hello! Mic check mic check. Do you still remember this request? Well either way, here it is! _

Hatake Kakashi x Yamato Tenzo

mentions of extreme hunger and thirst

Rated T

2138 words.

Ao3 Link

>>In his dream Kakashi was taken care of by a large, sturdy tree. Branches around his legs straightened them out and when he needed nutrients syrup and fruits was given to him. He felt so safe around the tree, leaning against it, listening to its leaves rustle, that he didn’t want to ever wake up again. Here, in these shades, he could reside. Here in these shades, he could finally die.

But he didn’t die. Instead, he woke to the sound of a campfire.<<

It had been 25 hours, 50 mins and 43 seconds since he stopped feeling the pain in his legs. It had been double as long since his body had given up on screaming for food that wasn’t coming and maybe ten hours longer since his eyes had stopped seeing clearly. He was dying. Through the fog of hunger, thirst and emptiness he realised as much.

Kakashi had thought of death many times. When he was younger he’d been lying awake hoping it would come soon. Then as he rose the ANBU ranks he’d faced it so many times that he had lost count. He had readied himself for the situation, the possibility and now that it was staring into his face he felt in some ways calm and in others worried.

The irony of a collapsed cave being the one thing that was killing him was not lost on Kakashi. The fact that it wasn’t a fast death either. Stuck between several rocks with both of his legs made it impossible for him to move forward or back. He had considered cutting his legs off, but what was the point? If he wouldn’t bleed out he could never work as a shinobi again and if he couldn’t work as a shinobi again, what was he alive for?

No, it was karma that he was dying this slow, agonising death over the last few weeks. By all means, he should have died such a death when he was 12 years old and the big bunny goddess just had ways to get back at him. At least he’d say that if he believed in such stories.

What surprised him was the way his body reacted to the lack of food and water. He was fantasising constantly. It felt like he was in a state of half sleep even with his eyes open. So many different kinds of food suddenly felt appealing to him. Even sweets. He remembered now how his father made a terribly delicious mochi. Side by side in the kitchen they would prepare the little balls so Kakashi could eat them later. Such a long ago memory and yet it was incredibly clear.

Well, they said you’d be shown your life before your eyes before you die. Kakashi was dying after all.

He could see the paste so well. The slow rhythm of hands moving to make the balls. Green, the colour green right there before his eyes, almost as if it were within touching distance of him. He wanted to pick it up but found his arms too weak. His mouth opened and he could feel a sweet, thick fluid on his tongue. Now he was even fantasising about fruit water. Wasn’t his mind occupied with Mochi not even two seconds ago?

“Senpai…”

There was a voice talking through the fog. Kakashi lifted his eyes and felt more fluids run down his throat. Was Tenzo here? His lids felt heavy and his eyes blurry, but the man in front of him definitely looked like Tenzo.

The weight he had completely numbed to was lifted slowly from his legs and the next moment Kakashi opened his eyes he was pulled out from underneath the rubble. He felt so dizzy, but even in his state he could now feel the pain again. Probably all the bones in his legs were scattered.

“You have to drink some more,” the voice said and pulled Kakashi closer. Water trickled down his throat again and though he was thankful for it to be a little sugary water that also gave him energy back, he was positive that eating anything of substance would make him throw up instantly.

His eyes cleared a little, the sharingan spun awake against Kakashi’s will and searched the chakra nature right in front of him. The calming, green spiral of his most dearest friend. Tenzo was here. Kakashi clung to him and Tenzo let him, holding him tight as he gave him more and more to drink.

When had Tenzo grown so strong, Kakashi wondered, looking at the only thing he could see clearly, which were the forearms of the other man. Kakashi still remembered how small and quiet Tenzo had been when they had first met, all the way back when they were kids and already so exposed to the horrors of the world. Since then they’d been inseparable. Tenzo was always right there by his side.

“I told you to go on ahead,” Kakashi’s voice was no more than a whisper. He had spoken to himself sometimes alone in the darkness, just to see if his voice and his mind still worked correctly, but never very loud. It was as if his lips had dried out too much to even move.

Tenzo let out a little “tsk” and then pulled Kakashi even closer to his chest. “And I did. Took care of the mission, just like Danzo taught me.” He sounded bitter, as if the fact that his Root instinct had taken over was somehow upsetting him. “And then I hurried back to take care of you, just like you taught me.”

Kakashi was suddenly filled with a strange warmth of affection, a little fire he hadn’t felt like this for a while. Tenzo really was a kind hearted man. “It could have been dangerous,” Kakashi murmured. “You disobeyed my orders when you came back for me.” He wanted to sound strict and angry, but the little flame at his heart flickered happily.

“So what?” Kakashi didn’t need to lift his eyes to know Tenzo had rolled his eyes. “You do it all the time, captain.” Then he pushed Kakashi's mouth open again. “Sage, the state of you. I will need to first feed you a little before I can bring you to Konoha. Right now I don’t know if you’d even survive the journey.”

Before Kakashi could even open his mouth he already cut in: “And yes, you are worth the delay. Don’t even think about pulling the “I-hate-myself-so-much” card on me right now.” Kakashi laughed a little inside. Tenzo just knew him too well.

He suddenly felt dizzy again. A heavy wave of pain and exhaustion rolled over him. Obviously his body was not equipped for any kind of movement, talking included and now that he was no longer trapped the pain in his legs had also become apparent. Kakashi’s hold on Tenzo’s shoulder slipped slightly and he found himself falling into darkness.

In his dream Kakashi was taken care of by a large, sturdy tree. Branches around his legs straightened them out and when he needed nutrients syrup and fruits was given to him. He felt so safe around the tree, leaning against it, listening to its leaves rustle, that he didn’t want to ever wake up again. Here, in these shades, he could reside. Here in these shades, he could finally die.

But he didn’t die. Instead, he woke to the sound of a campfire.

The light burned in his eyes when Kakashi opened them. Too long had he been in the darkness alone. Tenzo had covered his sharingan side, he noticed. Tenzo had also bandaged his legs as much as he possibly could and given him a fresh new set of clothes. He had also provided Kakashi with an extraordinarily comfortable pillow.

“Oh you are awake”, Tenzo’s voice said in surprise and Kakashi realised that the comfortable pillow he was resting on was, in fact, Tenzo’s lap. The other man also seemed to notice Kakashi noticing and he blushed so quickly that it would have made Kakashi laugh if he wasn’t so tired. “I-I’m sorry senpai. I just wanted to give you something soft to lie on and I couldn’t find moss and…”

Kakashi shook his head: “It’s fine. It is comfortable. Thank you, Tenzo.” He grinned beneath his mask when he saw the other man's embarrassed face. It felt almost like this was just part of another dream. After so many days of no water and food, of counting down hours until his death it felt almost impossible that he was now laying here amusing himself about teasing Tenzo again. As if the last weeks had not happened.

“How long have I been out?” Kakashi moved slightly, feeling the sharp pain in his legs that told him that there was still a long time to go until he could move again unless a talented healing shinobi found its way up into the mountains of Iwagakure.

Tenzo looked up for a moment as if he needed to count first. “Well you passed out on the first day at around the height of the rising moon so when you consider that it is now just sunrise… 4 days.”

“4 days? Well I guess I was really exhausted.” Kakashi let out a breath and looked up at Tenzo. There were unusual lines below his eyes as if he had not slept a bit since he’d gotten to this cage. Kakashi felt the urge to move his fingers over them, but found his arm unable to muster the strength, so he said instead: “You took care of me while I was out, huh? Made sure I had fluids..”

He looked down to cross eyes with Kakashi and then immediately looked away in embarrassment: “You are too weak for solid foods.” He was murmuring.

“You also gave me fresh clothes.” Kakashi winked and then reminded himself that it was unidentifiable as a wink if only one eye was visible.

Tenzo understood anyway. “They were all dirty! I had no choice”, he replied a little more defensively than necessary. Kakashi chuckled. He would never grow tired of teasing him like this.

There was the warmth again that he’d felt when he had realised it had been Tenzo who’d come for him. The odd fondness that seemed so much stronger than the fondness he’d already felt for Tenzo, and all of his friends for that matter, before this. Somehow, through all the disdain he had for himself, Kakashi always found himself glad to be alive when Tenzo was around him. He wondered for a second what that meant for him, but then decided that this was not the right moment.

“It will be another 5 days at least before you are well enough to move,” Tenzo said to the air in front of him. “I will slowly help you get up and on your feed. Also we will soon reintroduce solid foods into your diet. I could carry you on my back of course, but I would worry you're not strong enough to grip me…”

He sounded like he had thought about this for a while. Well, he had had 4 days with an unconscious Kakashi to form a plan, so he probably had. “Do you think that's a good plan, senpai?” Tenzo looked at Kakashi.

“I am at your mercy. I will be good and do whatever you ask me to,” Kakashi said and turned on Tenzo’s lap to the side. He suddenly felt sleepy again, as if the heavy heat of the fire was lulling him back away into the darkness. Feeling the urge to have some skin contact he scooted closer to Tenzo’s body, rubbing his head into him like his dogs sometimes did to him. Of course that was a little inappropriate but right now, trapped in this situation, he did not care much.

“Thank you,” Kakashi murmured into Tenzo’s middle. “For always taking care of me.”

Tenzo squirmed a little and then talked really fast: “I mean that was just what is expected of me, I mean you would have done the same, it's not like I did it for you specifically or for a reason it's just my job and also if you died that would be so much paperwork for me and I’m not saying I did it for you specifically it has nothing to do with how important to me you a-”

“Yes, yes, I get it.” Kakashi laughed to himself. Tenzo really was so cute when he was embarrassed.

He could feel the other man tense a little. “Still, I will always be there to make sure you will make it back home. That is not only my duty as your co-captain but my promise as your friend. I will always save your life as you have saved mine.”

There it was again, the warmth at his core. “Always, huh?” Kakashi felt so peaceful at that thought.

Someday death might come and get him, maybe even as revenge for the many times he’d cheated him, but it wasn’t today and not tomorrow and not anytime soon. Because Kakashi, though he’d been so lonely for so long, was actually not fighting alone at all. And that was maybe something to be grateful about and a reason to keep on living.

#fanfiction things #kakayama #kkym #hatake kakashi #yamato tenzo #naruto fandom roundup 1/6

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bikwin5 · 5 months ago

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i played the original 3 dragon quest (warrior) games over the past month so i'm putting my thoughts on them here

dragon quest 1: i did not finish after playing this for about 8 hours. it might have been more, i don't know. time feels irrelevant when playing this title. i wanted to give it a fair shake and i respect yuji horii's idea of wanting to make an rpg simple but i think he made it a bit too simple and the result is a mind numbing experience with rather grating audio. i listened to 2 or 3 wayneradiotv podcast episodes while playing. this does not feel like a real video game, it feels more like a fake tv show drake and josh game. it's reminiscent of a flash game you discover as a kid and get hooked on it for a few hours due to the grindy loop and then never play it again. it's also reminiscent of a lot of mobile phone games where you do nothing but press a button to make numbers go up endlessly so maybe they were really ahead of the curve with this one

dragon quest 2: started off incredibly refreshing compared to the first game, giving you plenty of more options and party members straight off the bat. at first it's pretty straightforward but once you get the boat the direction becomes incredibly unclear. sad to say i was not above using a walkthrough for a lot of it. as much as i like figuring out everything through writing down hints there is a lot of stuff that is truly cryptic, especially finding zahan. the game is already challenging but the last few areas in particular jack up the difficulty so much that after a point it stops being anger inducing and starts being really funny. it's all strangely enjoyable in a twisted way. i actually would say i liked most of this game but i would not recommend playing the original version unless you are a masochist or love to gamble

dragon quest 3: take dq2, give it an actual semblance of balance, make it even larger, and you have this one. having a highly customizable party thrown on you at the start of the game made me miss having specific characters that 2 had but it made for a better gameplay experience. somehow i didnt realize that you could have 4 party members in this one and struggled for the first few hours wondering why i ran out of mp so fast. the beginning isn't actually that hard but then there's a big difficulty jump at the desert, and then the difficulty doesn't really spike anymore until the necrogond cave to the very end. still, dq2 makes this game look very well balanced by comparison. there is a good balance of making you feel powerful and making enemies feel powerful too. i was less privy to using a walkthrough on this one but there was still some things i went to look up especially near the end where i was growing impatient. i made my own map for this one and it took me far too long to realize the world is just earth, which comes with its own baggage of having some strangely colonial themes. game was longer than i expected but overall still pretty good, this is the only one of the original nes 3 i would actually recommend playing but i figure the remakes make things a lot smoother too. i hope the hd2d remakes are good.

#dragon quest #dragon warrior

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life-of-an-asexual · 5 months ago

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i need to confine in someone, and perhaps look for an answer. it would seem that you know your way around the ace stuff. i myself -not really, the whole lgbt community is very new to me, tho i find it comfy here. feel free to dispose of this message if you don't feel like answering it, i will understand. i see the phrase "sex repulsed" thrown around a lot. while it resonates with me, i'm not sure if for the right reasons. i'm not very fond of the act, it brings me only disgust and deep sorrow. i know it's not normal, since that act is crucial to the beautiful thing that is birth - something that brought about many great people, who brought about many great things. something that was crucial in starting my life. i know it's a sign that something might be a bit wrong with me, be it physically or mentally. it's something i still try to understand about myself. my partner treats it as very casual themselves, tho they do understand how i feel about it. we do it very occasionally, since i don't want to leave them like that, i feel like it's my duty to a degree. and i try to tolerate it, maybe grow to like it, but it's heartbreaking. i can't look at them afterwards, i'm appalled by the person i love doing something so brutish and animalistic. and last time i felt my vision turn black and my limbs went numb. it's been only going donwhill, and at this point i wonder if it may actually be my physical health playing tricks on me. i'm not sure. does it happen to other people? do those people describe themselves as asexual? regardless, thank you for reading it out, if you happen to. i appreciate it.

apologies for taking so long to answer. i moved earlier this month and so things have been very hectic for me, and i haven't had the mental acuity to formulate a proper response until now.

since there is a lot to unpack here, i'm going to try to take it one thing at a time:

i see the phrase "sex repulsed" thrown around a lot. while it resonates with me, i'm not sure if for the right reasons.

for the record, you don't need a "right" reason to be sex-repulsed. for some people it's just how we are, for some it was caused by trauma, and others may have their own reasons i'm not privy to. but it's just a word to describe what you feel, it doesn't need to be justified by the "right" kind of explanation.

i'm not very fond of the act, it brings me only disgust and deep sorrow. i know it's not normal, since that act is crucial to the beautiful thing that is birth - something that brought about many great people, who brought about many great things. something that was crucial in starting my life.

look, giving birth is just a thing humans can do. it's a pretty incredible thing, but it's not sacred. lots of species on earth do it. i don't think it's wrong to find beauty in it, but disliking something related to it isn't disrespectful. you can think birth is amazing and still not like sex for yourself; one has nothing to do with the other.

i know it's a sign that something might be a bit wrong with me, be it physically or mentally. it's something i still try to understand about myself.

again, for the record, there's nothing wrong with being sex-repulsed. lots of people are sex-repulsed, myself included. i've never had sex and i probably never will. i don't even masturbate. the idea of it makes my skin crawl. there are people who think i'm missing out, but i've lived 30 years like this, and i'm much happier being sexless than if i forced myself to do something that would cause me emotional anguish.

my partner treats it as very casual themselves, tho they do understand how i feel about it. we do it very occasionally, since i don't want to leave them like that, i feel like it's my duty to a degree.

a third time, for the record, IT IS NOT YOUR DUTY TO HAVE SEX FOR YOUR PARTNER. there is no "leaving them like that," it will not kill them to go without sex; they can masturbate if they need to get off so badly. it is not your responsibility. your partner's sexual desires are NEVER your responsibility, no matter the circumstances. even if you enthusiastically loved having sex, you would STILL never be obligated to have sex for your partner's sake.

and i try to tolerate it, maybe grow to like it,

i don't know how many times you've had sex, but at this point, i think if you haven't "grown to like it", you probably won't, and it's certainly not going to happen through FORCING yourself to do it.

but it's heartbreaking. i can't look at them afterwards. / and last time i felt my vision turn black and my limbs went numb. it's been only going donwhill, and at this point i wonder if it may actually be my physical health playing tricks on me.

to speak bluntly, this is not healthy. your physical health is not playing tricks on you. having physical reactions like that is indicative that mentally, you are undergoing something traumatic. i would STRONGLY recommend to stop having sex for the sake of your mental health. you are not doing yourself, or your partner, or your relationship, any favors by enduring this kind of suffering out of a sense of duty, i promise you.

(if your partner would be upset with that decision, i would recommend ending things with them. they would not be a safe person to be with even if you weren't sex-repulsed. and i know that sounds harsh, and it's a big decision, but i think you need to focus on yourself and your mental well-being right now.)

does it happen to other people? do those people describe themselves as asexual?

i think i can pretty confidently say that if i forced myself to have sex, i would have a very strong negative mental and emotional reaction to it, and i know there are others who feel similarly. some of these people are asexual (and some consider themselves asexual for this reason) and some aren't. sex-repulsion isn't something exclusive to asexuals.

if you have further questions, or require clarification about anything i've said, by all means, please ask.

~Mod Q

#answered #sex repulsion #i do not know how to tag for this sorry

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arielhopepeace · 2 years ago

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This is a Javier Peña and Harry Styles (again lol) short story for all my fellow Pedro Pascal lovers 💕 This one isn’t gonna be as sweet as the Joel one. Y/N’s life kinda sucks lmfao. I will be posting the trigger warnings since some of the content is sensitive! This was a story suggestion by my best friend who doesn’t have a tumblr otherwise I’d tag her lol. BUT I will be coming out with another Joel story after this one so, feel free to follow me if you’d like to read that when it comes out!

As always, enjoy ❤️

Part two is here

Part three is here

Final part is here

Part One

18+ only

Tw: prostitution, abusive father, mention of drugs, mention of death, extreme violence, guns, murder, abuse in general, mention of sexual assault, implied smut (there’s gonna be a lot of this, she’s a prostitute 😬)

I’d also like to quickly say that I’ll never ever write sexual assault into my stories. It’s just a topic that is too sensitive for me, and for many others out there. There are mentions of it because men are sick and twisted in this world, but I will never describe it happening, or have it happen to y/n. Just a heads up on that ❤️ Anyway, onto the story to escape reality…

4,200 words

There's nothing that I love more than the scenery of Columbia; the beaches, mountains, forests. For the last few months that I've lived here with my father, I've always felt melancholy about the fact that I wasn't born in this beautiful country.

The move was a necessary change in order for my dad to be more successful with his business ventures. I despise the man, but he's filthy rich due to running with the narcos of Medellin. Of course he's never given me anything from his wealth, and instead has pawned me off to be a prostitute for extra income.

I tried my best to fight him on it, but to no avail. You can't argue with a powerful, dangerous man like him. All it does is get me badly beaten. He doesn't like to hit me often since it's bad for business, as he likes to say. Men don't generally like to sleep with women who are all battered and bruised. They think I'll carry some sort of emotional baggage and try to cling to them for security.

Truthfully, I'm very numb to all of it; the beatings, the sex, the disgusting clients, everything. There's no point in me feeling bad for myself. After all, I'm still the daughter of an important drug dealer who works for the drug dealer of Colombia, Pablo Escobar. Nobody would dare to hurt me, since it could possibly end up with them "disappearing". I don't think my father would ever kill someone for my sake, though. But I know he has for his.

It's been a difficult transition since I know hardly any Spanish, and that is the only language anyone speaks here. There's been countless encounters where I've been left feeling imbecilic and witless. My father never bothered to teach me the language, but hired his own personal tutor in order to better conduct business. This way, nobody will be able to talk about anything right in front of his face without him being able to understand. He never wants to be made a fool of.

The house my father lives in is incredibly opulent and pristine. It's just outside of Medellin, sitting on an emerald hill overlooking a vast crystal blue lake that shines brilliantly in the sun. Anytime I'm there for a visit, it makes me wish I lived in that damned mansion. Instead, I have to live in a shitty apartment in the more run-down side of town.

My place is close to one of the whorehouses where I like to sometimes find clients. Usually, I'll dress nicely with a provocative touch and head to a bar, fishing for men whose eyes linger on my breasts. The proposition I set is only said with my body, and once the man understands that I can't speak Spanish, not much else needs to be said, anyway. I'll say my price before we leave, choosing a number I'm comfortable with charging and pronouncing.

I have yet to find someone who refuses to pay, or is unnecessarily rough. It's a relief, because that was one of my biggest concerns going into this. My dad doesn't think that my job has any danger, but he also couldn't give two shits about me, it seems.

There's a slight sense of giddy elation that courses through me, knowing that I'm able to take the day to myself. All I want to do is go to the clinic to do my weekly health check, and then to my father's lakeside house to bask in the sun while he's away for a while today.

He always has to be made aware of my company, just in case he were conducting business and I startled one of his ruthless peers. They all know what I look like, and a few have even solicited sex from me before, but I'd rather be cautious about it than get shot for showing up unannounced.

Once the clinic gives me yet another clean bill of health, I go on my way to my dad's mansion. The warm air whips my hair around the car from the open windows, allowing me to breathe in the crisp feeling of summer. It trails goosebumps of satisfaction along my skin, a smile splitting my face as I giggle lightly to myself.

There aren't many moments when I'm truly happy, but being alone on the drive to my dad's is definitely one of them.

To my dismay, my father is home, his smooth, lavish car parked at the top of his gated cobblestone driveway. He was supposed to be out all day, but I'm sure he'll explain why he's here so early.

I step out of my run-down sedan, closing the creaking, rusted door shut with a slight slam. My breathing is a bit more shaky as I approach the front door, not really wanting to face my dad today. He knew I was coming, though, so he shouldn't be mad, right?

The living room is relatively quiet as I enter, being greeted by one of the maids in the foyer.

"Dad?" I call out, hoping he doesn't answer me.

His raised voice echoes through the halls, my high heels taking me clicking down the marbled pathway, the walls are so tall it feels like they could swallow me whole at any moment. There's some profane Spanish coming from my dad's office, and I inwardly kick myself as I push the ajar door to it open slowly, not knowing if he's going to scream at me for this.

He has his front turned towards the countless amount of books that he never touches, an obvious strain in his irate tone. The large, gray mobile phone is pressed to his ear, the antennae shining silver above his head by several inches.

My eyes widen as he turns to me, my body immediately cowering in fear as he takes in my presence. He ends the call, gripping the phone so tightly in his fist, I'm worried he'll crack it.

"Hey, y/n," he says quickly. "What have I said about being in here when I'm on calls?"

"I'm sorry," I stammer. "I just wanted you to know that I was here. I'm sorry," I apologize again. All I ever do is apologize to this man when really I want to punch him.

He holds up a large, murderous hand, shaking it side to side. "It's fine," he snaps. "You do what you have to, I don't care. Just leave me be. Got it?"

Without his eyes meeting mine for even a second, I nod, scurrying down the halls as fast as I can without breaking an ankle in my heels. I'm once again greeted by the warmth of the air and sun, surprisingly able to breathe better out here than I was inside.

"You're here," a British voice says beside me.

My head turns to see the charming, dashing Harry, my father's right hand man. "Oh, hi, Harry." I spot the gun sticking out of his belt, making me swallow hard.

He stuffs his ring-clad fingers into his powder blue suit pockets, a small smile settled onto his pink lips. "What are you doing here today?"

I point to the lake over the hill. "Gonna sun tan for a while. Need to not look so—gringa."

Harry chuckles lightly. "I think your skin is perfect as it is."

His words make my cheeks feel hot, and I turn my face away briefly. "Thank you."

"How's business? Anybody need correcting, darling?" he asks with a hint on concern.

I've only known Harry for about a month, and he's been nothing but lovely since I met him. He's always had a bit of protectiveness towards me and I'm not sure why. We've done nothing but have conversations with each other, and he worships my father, a man who seemingly can't stand me. Maybe he feels like he needs to protect me just because he's obsessed with my dad. That reminder always turns me off to him, even if his dreamy looks and refreshing accent do the exact opposite.

"No," I shake my head. "Not everybody knows who I am, but those that do are very—respectful."

"If there's ever a time when somebody isn't," he lifts his suit jacket to flash the grip of his pistol, "you'll tell me, yeah?"

"Yes," I nod. "Thank you."

Harry tosses me a dimply grin, his teeth neat and white. "No need to thank me, y/n. You should always be respected."

I go to tell him that I'm respected by everyone except for my father, but I refrain. Do I think Harry would ever hurt me? Probably not. But that one percent of uncertainty is enough for me to keep my mouth shut.

When I'm settled near the lake, I strip off my dress, kicking my heels to the side shortly after. Being laid out in only my matching black bra and thong with the sun licking my skin is more euphoric than any sex I've had in Colombia.

The men haven't really interested me in the slightest. Of course there's been the few attractive ones who have approached me, but even if it feels good, it's not often that I'm pushed past that delicious precipice. I've yet to have a client who cared about my pleasure, but they're not paying for mine. They're paying for theirs and theirs alone.

My eyes are closed as I relax my shoulders into the grass, allowing my body to be consumed by the intense rays. Being here with nothing but the sound of nature puts me so much at ease that I sometimes fall asleep. The birds that sing their songs proudly above are all giving me unique, individual lullabies, and I love every single one.

The distant sound of shouting makes me sit up, looking up towards the house for any indication on what could be happening. I abandon my dress and heels, my pulse immediately rising from the anticipation of what is unfolding at the top of the hill.

My body freezes as I see several men on their knees in front of my father with Harry standing beside him. He has his pistol tucked underneath both of his hands that are crossed over his front. My dad has his large pistol pointed at one of the men's heads.

Even if I spoke Spanish, there's no way I'd be able to tell what they're saying. They're too far away. I do my best to stay out of sight as I move in closer, creeping behind a shrub that lines the pool, giving it a green privacy gate.

I jump involuntarily at the sound of a single bullet being emptied from the chamber, one of the men falling back into a puddle of his own blood and brain matter.

My sweaty palm flings to my mouth, tears unable to escape from the shock I feel in my body. Of course I know that my father kills people, but I've never actually seen him do it.

He presses the barrel to the next man's forehead who is speaking with a trembling voice to my cold-faced dad. It's eerie how he has no empathy or emotion, only wrath and strategy. I've been convinced that he's a psychopath since I was a kid, but now I truly believe it.

There were nights before my mom died that they'd argue, and he'd slap her around like he does to me. It always made me furious, but what the hell is a kid supposed to do in that situation? The only thing I could do was imagine I was somewhere else that was far away, like a tropical island.

But here I reside in a tropical land, not at all living the way I'd imagine when I was a child. This is hell simply being disguised by pretty packaging and a sparkly bow.

The next man falls back after a shot, the third one not even being interrogated before my father shoots him dead, tucking his gun into the back waistband of his pants. A few men begin to get to work moving the bodies as my dad walks away, Harry looking down at them.

He shifts as if he's thinking, his own gun being wedged between his hip and his pants. I fall to my bare knees onto the soft blades of grass, curling up behind the bush as I hold myself tightly, still not having shed a single tear. Why can't I cry for the dead? Am I as psychotic as my father?

As I stand to walk away back towards my things at the bottom of the hill, a voice stops me in my tracks, my body freezing in place as if Medusa herself has turned me to stone.

"Y/n?" Harry comes into my view. "What are you doing up here?"

Panic. The only thing I can do right now is panic.

"Please don't hurt me," my voice wavers. "I'm sorry."

His green eyes soften, his hands stretching out towards me. His palms graze my arms, my eyes squeezing shut from fear. "Hey, I'd never hurt you. Look at me," he says gently.

Reluctantly, my eyes flip up to his, meeting his delicate gaze. "I heard yelling so I came up here. I didn't mean to see anything."

"Shh," he coos calmly. "Let me walk you back down to the lake."

With reluctant, frozen feet, I begin to tread down the hill with Harry's hand gingerly gripping the crease of my arm. I'm not sure why I feel so terrified of him right now. He's obviously killed people before, too, but I'm just the most concerned about him killing me. What if he tells my father that I was snooping? I don't know what he'd do to me.

My dress and heels lay lifeless beside the lake, my eyes fixed on them instead of the tall man beside me.

"Please don't tell my dad," I plead quietly. "I don't know what he'd do to me, Harry."

Harry tilts my chin up, giving me a comforting smile. "I never saw you, darling."

"Who were they?" I ask softly.

"Rats," he answers firmly with a furrowed brow. "They were giving information to the DEA that just got into the country. You know it's serious if America is getting involved."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Will you be caught?"

"Not if we're smart."

"Okay." My arms wrap around my midsection. "Thank you for your discretion."

Harry chuckles, nodding. "I'll always protect you."

My brows furrow. "Even against my father?"

He stands gazing at me for a moment before letting out a small sigh. "It depends on the circumstances."

Fuck, that's disappointing.

"Right," I nod, picking up my dress. "I think I'm gonna head out. I've had enough of the cartel for today."

Harry grazes my face with the side of his finger, the cool metal of his ring electrifying me. "Please know that I want to protect you from everybody, including your dad. It's just in certain situations, my hands would be tied."

"Like if I was a rat?"

He nods. "Exactly. I'd lose my head too if I protected you."

"I'd never do that, though. I know better."

Harry leans in and presses a delicate peck to my cheek. "I know, darling. You're too lovely."

"Why are you so nice to me?"

He beams, stroking my hair and tucking it behind my ear. "I like you, y/n. You're fucking beautiful and incredibly bright. I love any time that we talk."

Butterflies settle into the pit of my stomach, making my face turn hot. "And you don't care that I'm a prostitute?"

Harry shakes his head. "You didn't ask to be one in the first place."

I sigh as I sit down beside the lake, looking at the glimmering water. "I begged not to be, but he just—"

Harry rests beside me, tossing his arm around my shoulders. "I know. I'm sorry I can't protect you in those moments, either."

"I'm used to not having protection, Harry. It's fine."

He sighs, gently easing my head to rest on his shoulder as we both gaze at the water. My body relaxes in his embrace, my face turning to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. Harry lifts my head up by my chin, quickly and suddenly capturing my lips against his, making me gasp in my throat.

It's not at all that I'm opposed to this, but rather it was extremely unexpected.

"What are you doing?" I ask, his hands on my waist.

He pulls away, his eyes having darkened. "Do you want me to stop?"

With a small smirk I shake my head, pushing my head forward for more of his delectable lips.

We lay on the field naked and breathless, my legs shaky and weak from my orgasm, and my body glistening with sweat just like Harry's. I had no idea that today would turn out like this, but I can't say that I'm disappointed.

I gaze up at him from his tattooed chest, his golden cross necklace buried in his sprinkling of chest hair. He peers down at me, smiling as he pulls me up for another sweet kiss.

"I have to go," he says softly. "He'll be wondering where I went."

"Okay," I answer quietly, sitting up.

Harry slides on his briefs and pants, handing me my things with a gentle grin. "Let me walk you to your car."

Once we're both fully dressed, we make our way up the hill, Harry's hand in mine the whole way. He's being rather romantic about it which is not at all something I'm used to. And he actually made me have an orgasm, another thing that isn't ever achieved for me.

He pulls me in for a swift kiss, his hand at the small of my back as I giggle, my fingers twisting into his soft brown curls.

"Oh," he says quickly as if remembering something. Harry pulls out his wallet and hands me a thousand dollars all splayed out, a bashful smile on his face. "I don't want to take advantage of you, y/n. Please take it."

"That's way too much, Harry. And also, clients don't ever make me orgasm."

He chuckles, pulling me in for another kiss. "Consider me the best client, then."

Reluctantly, I take the money, shaking my head. "This is the most I've ever been paid for one session."

"God, I'd give you more if you wouldn't make fun of me."

I laugh, shaking my head. "You're sweet. You didn't have to pay me."

He pulls my hand up to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "I wanted to."

With one last glance to the handsome British man, I get into my car, Harry giving me a small wave as I drive away, his figure disappearing in my rear view mirror.

The encounter with him has left me feeling giddy and excited. Not only was he thoughtful towards me, but also just thoroughly romantic the entire time. I wasn't expecting Harry to ever become a client, but god, I'll look forward to the next time that I see him.

Later on, I decide to head to a bar near my house, just wanting to get a couple of drinks in my system for the night. I'm definitely not interested in anybody soliciting me since it's my day off, and I'm hoping nobody does.

I'm perched on a barstool, ordering myself a drink by only saying the names of the alcohols since I don't know how to make it more complex of a request. I've had to acquire the taste of neat tequila and vodka, which now I don't mind. The buzz comes on fast and it doesn't require me to know any Spanish of any kind.

A man sits beside me, saying something in Spanish to which I ignore, pretending as if he's not talking to me.

Then, in perfect English, he says, "No Spanish then, huh?"

With surprise and shock fixed onto my face, I turn to look at the man beside me. He has tanned skin and soft brown eyes with a dashing smile that sports a black mustache above it. His hair is also a slightly shaggy, shiny black that is flipped to the middle of his forehead. He's truly very attractive, but I really wanted to take the night off.

"No," I laugh slightly. "Hardly any."

The man chuckles as he sips his drink, a lit cigarette in the other hand. "Then what are you doing in a Spanish-speaking country?"

I wiggle in my seat, not wanting to give him any information about myself. "I could ask the same thing about you. You don't sound like you're from here."

"I'm not," he beams. "I was born in Chile, but then moved to America shortly after."

"And what are you doing in Colombia?" I ask with my head propped up on my hand.

"Vacation. I'm here with a few friends."

My head turns around to scan the bar. "Are they here now?"

"No, they're at their hotels with their wives."

"And you don't have a wife?" I laugh.

"No. It's hard to with my job."

My brows raise. "Oh, yeah? And what exactly is your job?"

"Would you be impressed if I told you I'm a pilot?" he chuckles with an arched black brow.

"Very," I giggle, "but only if that's the truth."

"And why would I lie?" he asks as he leans in, his voice low.

"Fine, Mr. Pilot. You wouldn't mind paying for my drinks then, would you?"

"Not in the slightest."

I giggle, shaking his hand as I stand off my barstool. "Then you have a good night."

With a victorious smile on my face, I leave the bar, making my way back to my apartment that isn't too far away. I thought it'd be better to walk rather than drive in case I drink too much, which in this case I haven't. Maybe a little tipsy, sure, but not enough to be impaired while driving.

There's a brief moment where I think I hear someone behind me, but I turn and nobody is there, making me shrug it off. I come up to the next alleyway, instinctively turning to look down it to find it empty. Perhaps it's the alcohol or the unsettled feeling that nighttime gives me, but I can't help but feel like I'm being followed.

I make it back to my apartment safely, climbing up the stairs in the building with groans of disapproval, my feet aching from my heels. At my door, I push the key in, being greeted by my shitty apartment that still somehow envelops me with a sense of comfort.

Even though it's a rather run-down section of town, and a less than adequate building, I still feel the most at ease here.

My tight dress slides off my body with a gentle tug, slipping on a nightgown before I tuck myself into bed. My mind flicks back to Harry being thrust inside of me, and his beautiful face twisted with pleasure. It causes me to clench around nothing just from the memory of him, and I know that he's going to be my new addiction.

As I shut my eyes, there's a knock on my apartment door to which I groan. Who the hell is here this late at night? With a wobbly, tired and tipsy walk to my front door, I pull it open, a man bursting inside suddenly.

"What the fuck?" I ask, watching as I can now make out the man to be one of my father's associates, José. "What are you doing here?"

"We were raided," he says with his back turned to me, holding several keys of cocaine in his arms. "I'm hiding this here."

"What? No the fuck you're not!" I shout.

José pulls his gun out and draws it on me, making my hands fly up immediately. "How about you shut your stupid bitch mouth and listen to me?"

"I'm gonna tell my dad—"

He scoffs, stuffing the cocaine beneath my couch cushions. "Who do you think cleared me to come here? Ever think that maybe your dad just doesn't give a shit about you?"

My emotions are once again held at bay. Why the fuck can't I cry?

"Just please hurry up and get out."

He finishes hiding the rest of the powder, finally lowering his gun. "You're lucky I don't fuck you right here for being such a bitch."

I swallow, my eyes staying on the floor as I decide to not answer him.

"Don't act like you wouldn't love it," he laughs. "It's your job to be a whore." José gives me a rough smack across my face, making me fall to the floor as I grip it. "Be happy that's all I'm doing before I leave." He slams my apartment door.

For a bit after he leaves, I'm sat against my living room wall gripping my cheek that throbs with a stinging pain. This isn't a feeling I'm unfamiliar with. The burn in my face only reminds me that I really am worthless here, and nothing more than a prostitute with no life worth living.

****

#pedro pascal smut #javier pena #pedro pascal fic #smut #yn fanfic #pedro pascal #narcos #javier pena smut #narcos smut

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desertfangs · 2 years ago

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“This person is a ice block to everyone but this one person who can melt them" no, you’re absolutely right and you should say it! It’s particularly poignant with them because as far as AR was concerned, Armand was meant to be or at least had all the characteristics of a villain until he met Daniel. He was supposed to join Akasha on her quest or something along those lines, but in meeting Daniel and falling in love with him in such a devastating way, he found salvation and regained a lot of his long lost humanity. It went beyond his curiosity over the wonders of the modern world. Through meeting this man, he was able to become his most human version yet. I think that’s why most people are drawn to their relationship as it was portrayed in the Devil’s Minion, because at its core it’s a story about two people in love, doing their best to navigate a relationship like people do. With some supernatural elements thrown in here and there. And a good dose of S&M lol. And I absolutely feel the same way about relating to Daniel’s desire to live forever and be able to see the world progress. It matches Armand’s need to understand everything around him so well too. Thank you for answering!

ANON, I'm in tears! That's so beautiful. I'd definitely heard that Armand was originally supposed to be a villain in QotD but I never really sat down and thought about how it was Daniel who changed the trajectory of his story. Not to mention the implications of what that says about how much Daniel helped humanize Armand and bring him back down to a place where he could find himself and finally be loved by someone who genuinely loves and wants him (Louis wanted him but then became too numb and detached to really be a partner, and Lestat... takes a while to get there.)

But Daniel sees Armand for the monstrous, inhuman creature he is and the curious, intelligent, fascinating person he is, and he loves all of him completely.

They really are just two people trying to navigate a relationship, complicated by the fact that one of them is human and would rather not be and the other thinks being human is the best state to be actually, what exactly is the problem with being alive? Do you know how I long to be alive, Daniel? And yeah, good amount of S&M and the fact that Armand is constantly killing people and Daniel finds it incredibly sexy when he smells like his victims and wears their clothes. (We are not here to kinkshame! You do you, Danny boy!)

And yeah, I totally get Daniel's desire to want to be immortal and leave the mortal world behind. I mean, have you seen it here lately? It's a mess. But you make a great point about how that desire to live a long time so he can see and experience new centuries totally echoes Armand's desire to become a man of the modern era. They really do have a lot in common.

Thanks again for the ask! I'm always happy to get stuff in my inbox, it makes my day. Sorry for the delayed reply, my job is making me work (totally unfair).

#answers in the desert #anonymous #armand/daniel #queen of the damned #vc meta #daniel molloy #armand #this is so sappy i promise i'm not always a big sap #(just most of the time)#vampire chronicles #vc

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nakahras · 8 months ago

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God. Your Chuuya fics are so good, I have to share with you my favorite lines of "Fireworks"

the port mafia executive is observing you. he watches as shadows of colors provided by the fireworks dance across your face, causing you to look 10x more strikingly beautiful than you already do. you’re quite literally the most stunning thing chuuya has ever laid his eyes on. he wants to tell you so. he wants to gush over how much he missed you. he wants to hold you. but he needs you to acknowledge him first and he knows you have an opinion about meursault that you deserve to voice. the problem lies in getting you to open yourself up. next to being the most stunning, you’re also the most stubborn person he has ever met. he has his work cut out for him. (this whole description is so well written, i love the way he thnks about reader)

and god how unfair. it’s so incredibly unfair how handsome he sincerely looks. his face isn’t covered by his hat and hair is tied by an ornamental string. the reds and greens and golds of his outfit really bring out the duel colors of his eyes. even frowning like he is, he is still a shining star in a sky full of clouds. (LOVE HETERCHROMIA CHUUYA BTW)

you let out an appalled scoff. “you thought of me? i find that hard to believe considering you made the decision to go along with dazai’s plan without warning. do you know how messed up i was? thinking you could be dead upon hearing you had been turned into a vampire. i thought i was never going to see you again because you didn’t tell me- i didn’t know. and then when you do return i don’t hear a single thing from you? not even a text saying ‘hey, shit is crazy at the port mafia but i will see you as soon as i can. just wanted to let you know i was safe.’ i would have been happy with that, chuuya.” (So well deserved ahahah)

you’re cut off again, this time by a sob that you can feel throughout your entire body. you choke again, feeling like you can’t breathe. your eyes unfocus, your hearing goes fuzzy and your limbs begin to feel numb and tingly. in your panicked haze you briefly note that you’re reaching out and latch onto some sort of soft material. the colors igniting the night sky become overwhelming so you squeeze your eyes shut. you wish you could drown out the booming noises created by the fireworks. it’s all too much, it’s been too much. your ears are ringing and your hands are trembling. the emotions swirling inside of you begging to be let out but you hold them in, not wanting chuuya to be affected. you’re nauseous, you feel as though you could throw up at any moment. (The way you write her emotions is just so >>> wow, it's so intense and vivid)

it’s absurd how calming just his presence is to you, even when you’re this irate with him. (love at its finest. i love love)

“my pretty doll, i can’t understand you when your face is covered like that. c’mere…” “now, what was it you were trying to say? i think i should be able to here you clearly this time.” (THE DIALOGUE, SO DREAMY)

it was only chuuya: chuuya’s velvety hair chuuya’s blazing warmth chuuya’s soft lips chuuya’s heavenly scent chuuya’s gentle touches chuuya. (GOD I LOVED THIS WHOLE SECTION. I DON'T KNOW WHY IT STRUCK SO HARD WITH ME BUT IT DID)

Anyway, I'm in love with the way you write Mister Nakahara Chuuya, if that wasn't clear

nonnie this is so sweet I’m actually crying :( tysm for reading my works and the kind words. i could kiss you you’re so sweet（>﹏<）i was so nervous posting for him for the first time i really am happy to hear that you and other enjoy the way i write him.

sending you all of the love and hugs and kisses i have to offer (o´〰`o)♡*✲ﾟ*｡

#᯽. 1 new message!#᯽. unknown number

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whollyjoly · 11 months ago

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hi em!! sending positive vibes your way ✨ ✨ thanks for doing the positivity ask game! this is a super cool idea, and i knew i couldn't not stop by to send you an ask :) 1, 3, 11, and 18 !!

hi blu!! 💕💕

im so glad you're enjoying the ask game!! i hope a lil positivity will make everyone smile a little brighter today!

1 - what is your fav part about being in the fandom?

i answered this in a long and sappy way here, because i am a sappy gal apparently 😅

3 - what are some fics that you go back and read again and again?

ohhhh my god i am both so glad and so sorry you asked. fuck. there are so many?? i have an embarrassing amount bookmarked, so i'll try to keep it to a sane amount of one per ship

winnix It Happened One Night by raquelelpillo (M, 7.7k) - the fucking timeloop fic every fandom needs. i've read this fic three times in the last three weeks, i read it again last night and i've never been happier. it makes me laugh it makes me cry lip is an absolute gem in this story, and i LOVE their nix so hard!! 10/10 would recommend

baberoe Baby, You Can Drive My Car by anonymous (M, 16.1k) - Baby Driver AU in the canon era?? i know that makes no sense, but hear me out - babe fucking steals cars in germany/austria and runs errands with the boys?? its that perfect golden vibe in points, the war is almost over and its sunny and warm and beautiful and they are alive, and it is pure shenanigans. i don't think i stopped smiling once reading this fic. if i had a qr code on my tombstone it would be to this fic.

speirton A New Mode of Living by Perpetual Motion (T, 155k) - i mean...what do i even say about this fic. it's everything. you know a fic that completely just defines canon for you? that you read, and then no matter what else you read you can't help but think that it isnt right, because this fic is the canon in your head and nothing can overwrite that?? yeah, this fic is that for me. the most perfect post-war story, i love carwood SO MUCH, i love their ron, i love all their supporting characters (george especially and also mama are such gems!!), and the dog is a metaphor. fuck. i love this story so hard.

11 - songs that you associate with a certain character?

heh i like that you asked me this after we nerded out over sleeping at last songs the other day 😏

(also, i'll try to steer clear of killers songs cause that feels like cheating lol)

Seven Nation Army (Postmodern Jukebox Cover) - this gives me BIG speirs vibes?? the song seven nation army feels very right for him ("i'm gonna fight 'em off / a seven nation army couldn't hold me back"), but the added vibes from the postmodern version just hits so right. is it the brass break in the middle?? maybe. do i love it?? yes i do

Saving Me, Saving You (Ruen Brothers) - is ABSOLUTELY eugene roe coded. like holy shit. "broken me found broken you / while you're saving me i'll be saving you" ?? like are you kidding me?? the absolute power this song has over me, i dare you to listen to it and not feel the urge to do something dramatic and romantic

Agnes (Glass Animals) - if you really want to make yourself fucking sad, think about this song as nix during why we fight (and even sadder if you imagine it being sung from dick's perspective 😭) and fucking SOB like i do every time i hear it ("where went that cheeky friend of mine? / where went that billion dollar smile?" and "your head is so numb / that nervous breath you try to hide / between the motions / that trembling tender little sigh")

Piece of Me (Britney Spears) - look, alton more is That Bitch. not fucking a week in normandy and all everyone can talk about is the gossip about speirs, and more's talking back to him without giving a goddamn shit. he took a joy ride on one of sobel's fucking motorcycles. he snagged one of the most incredible trophies of the war and lied to ronald mf speirs face about it. do you want a piece of him?? more will absolutely look at you dead in the eye and not even blink. "i'm mrs. oh my god that britney's shameless / i'm mrs. extra extra this just in" bitch he IS and he is KILLING IT. and i am obsessed with him for it.

18 - your fav fandom meme?

i mean...we know the obvious answer (bottom text)

BUT i also want to give this post a fucking shoutout because it lives in my head rent free, i literally spent an hour scrolling through tumblr the other day trying to find it for my bf. WHAT MURDAAAA

thank you so so much for stopping by, and im sorry my answer is kinda long 😅 i love that people are enjoying this game so much!! 💕

from this post!

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circular-bircular · 1 year ago

Text

Thoughts about Identity

Hey there! This is really just a musing on my part. I really want to write today, and something that's been on my mind recently is the whole parts language VS person language thing. Particularly, the claim that using parts language is somehow dehumanizing my parts, or worse still, treating them than less than a person.

I want to dissect that a little.

This post won't be very organized -- really, it's just some rambling for myself -- but I'll post it here for others to see, since I really want more discussion about the benefits of finding the language that fits you best.

I'm a fairly new part in the system. I split without having as much of the overwhelming stress the others felt about things like our parents or about school. I can just... do things. At this current moment in time, the best label we've found for me is "apparently normal part" -- something we had never put stock into previously, but that I don't necessarily mind at this current moment in time.

Essentially, I handle shit, because I don't feel traumatized. Logically, I know I have been -- I can remember it -- but all of it feels like I'm seeing it from a third person point of view. Oh, what's that, I experienced [insert traumatic memory here]? No, no, that was [insert associated traumatized part here]." I don't have trauma -- they do.

Now, obviously, again, I know I am traumatized. I know it affects me. Our system communication is good enough by this point that I can recognize that. But it doesn't feel like it's my burden to bare. I carry everything else the others can't currently. I keep up with my writing goals, or with work stuff, or with cleaning (or at least, I try my best).

This is where some of that parts language stuff comes in.

Back when we used to use people-based language, everyone felt more solidly like they were an individual. If I viewed myself as a person, rather than a part... I won't lie, I think I would be resentful. "How come I have to carry all of this, while the others just deal with their own feelings?" It would be similar to having a bad roommate in my eyes. I would have someone who never helps with chores, never does the dishes, never cleans up around us, because they're busy "finding themselves" or something.

Viewing us all as separate people, I feel as though we also have to have separate responsibilities. Like we almost need to make a chore chart, like "Octavian is a dishes person, so he does those, which means Numb can handle the litter box, and I'll handle the materials, and Curtis can handle the grading--" Only, then, I get stuck fronting for a month and Octavian is never out to do dishes, so I have to do his job, because my roommate went on an unexpected vacation without telling us--

See where the resentment settles in?

Now, let's flip that to parts language.

I'm a part of a whole who can do a lot. Other parts, like Curtis, struggle with many things due to trauma. Due to that struggle, he often cannot do a lot of the tasks I can do -- but he has more energy for parts I can't do, like relaxing in specific ways. I didn't even think about relaxing in the person based example, because my personhood really would not include relaxation. I would be too busy, to stressed out, to relax, because my other roommates are lazy and relax too much. Now, it's "Oh. I, as a part of this collective, do not relax, and I need to. When I come back, I will be relaxed, even if I didn't do the relaxing, because collectively we relaxed." Which, in turn, leads to me being more rested to tackle the problems.

Parts language, for me, is all about working together. It's about understanding that the things one part does impacts me, and the things I do impact them. While I impact the people around me, it feels very different than saying that I'm impacting myself.

Which is where identity comes into play for me.

I have been incredibly dehumanized through trauma. My autism, parentification, neglect, etc etc etc -- all of it compounded to me seeing myself as not worthy of many things in life. It's one of the reasons I use it/its as well as they/them -- I feel like an object to some people, a lovely little Information or Emotional Regulation Robot. "Beep boop, tell me your trauma dumping or harassment and I'll take all of it in!" Oof!

Because of this, I constantly put myself (as in, my collective self) down. As a part, I am confident, but I look at the mess around me right now as I continue to write instead of, idk, clean, and I think, "gosh. I'm a horrible mess. I'm lucky to have a partner who loves me despite who I am."

The others have far worse thoughts. Either they're worse in the self deprecating way (like the "I should break up with my fiance and run away forever" kinda thoughts) or the punching down kind of way ("Why do I have to be stuck in this body and this place, I didn't choose this, I'm better than the rest of you").

Back when we used person based language, it was a lot easier to hurt ourselves. We would compare ourselves constantly to each other. Deb thought she was better than everyone else, Wade thought the system would be better without him "dragging us down," stuff like that. And if we really were people (like, in separate bodies) living together, yes, this situation would not have been sustainable.

But we aren't. We're all just one piece to the puzzle that makes up Circ.

Let's look at the part's language effect again:

Deb thought she was better than everyone else and Wade thought he was dragging us down. Only, if we're all part of the same whole, Debra is part of him, and he's a part of her. This was distressing at first; Wade didn't want to believe that there was anywhere in his mind that could feel self-confident, and Debra didn't want to believe that she could ever struggle. But then, Debra tried to reconcile those thoughts. "Well, Wade can write and play video games well. The stories of ours that I like to read are partly written by him. He isn't all that bad, which means that he might not be as horrible as I thought." And Wade began to call out her flaws and the things she did that she struggled with, because she wasn't perfect -- which made him feel better.

In the end, both of them began to acknowledge that the other wasn't a wholly separate person, completely different from each other. We actually all have a lot in common, because we're the same person -- just different parts of that person.

Now our goal is simply to integrate those conflicting beliefs and feelings and find compromises so we can work together well. <3

#parts language my beloved #beauty and poison go hand in hand

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ticiie · 2 years ago

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yeah, i'm still not over this so why not turn it into a hopefully enjoyable (ginodi) one shot?

This wasn’t her first race. Zoé had experienced enough successes and at least as many disappointments to know that none of this was normal anymore. The air around her was buzzing. From where she was standing, she had a good view on both the finishing area and the position of the race leader, where Marco was pacing up and down again like some caged animal. She had never seen him so nervous, another fact that made clear how incomparable this entire situation was. Zoé fought her way through the crowd of coaches, athletes, and other officials until only a banister separated her from the space that was visible to the cameras.

“Marco!”

He turned around and hurried to her side as soon as he recognised her. It was safe to say that Marco looked like shit. The run on the slope had been tiring enough and all the hoping and trembling for the win had already left their traces on him. He clenched his hands around the metal until his knuckles turned white.

“This is literal hell”, he mumbled. He was still shaking from head to toe. Zoé dug through the countless pockets of her jacket until she found the small bottle with the funny label and handed it to Marco.

“Here, this might help.”

Marco didn’t give himself any time to hesitate. He opened it and chugged the liquid down in a swift motion. It tasted a little artificial and left a burning aftertaste in his throat, the alcohol content was without any question higher than what he was used to during the season. He was thankful for the warmth that started to spread from inside his chest through his limbs.

“Can I do anything to make it easier? I feel like shit seeing you like this.”, Zoé said. Marco just shrugged.

“I’m pretty lost myself. I just- God, I want this so bad, I can’t-” his voice failed. The noise around them prevented the microphones to capture the sob that escaped Marco’s throat that second. Zoé quickly wrapped her arms around him, for both their comfort and also to at least try and shield him off a little. She was glad to be wearing mirrored sunglasses or else the cameras would’ve caught her own tears that stung in the corner of her eyes.

“It’s gonna be over soon. And no matter the outcome, you made us all so incredibly proud.”

A minute or two passed and Marco regained his composure. He adjusted his sunglasses and sat back down on the red chair while Zoé tried her best in focusing on the words that came through the radio in her ear.

Then it was Aleksander’s turn. The crowd cheered and gave their all and Marco felt like jumping out of his skin any second. He felt his heart beating in his ears, at the same time his body had gone numb, he couldn’t think, could barely see the images on the screen in front of him and when his strongest competitor crossed the finish line, with the time stamp showing a red background...Marco screamed. He screamed of joy, of relief, all of a sudden, he felt as if a giant weight had been lifted from his chest. Breathing was a whole lot easier too. So many people appeared out of nowhere to hug and to congratulate him, Marco lost both track and sense of time. What really tripped Marco over the edge though, were Walter’s tears. Their head of mission was a very objective, very calm man who almost always appeared reserved, both on and off camera. Honest but never mean and today, it was thanks to Marco that he let down his guard for once.

“You did it!,” he shouted over and over again and pulled Marco in yet another bone crushing hug. Marco feared he would be lifted off the ground any second and fly away, be carried to new heights up in the sky.

---

The celebrations were still going strong by the time Marco left the venue, but he felt as if now was the chance to finally get some rest. All of his muscles were aching but he didn’t feel any pain, just a giant exhaustion that was mixed with the dizzy trace the alcohol had left in his head. Justin had rewarded him a delicious cake, the medal had made more than one round through the crowd and around a lot of different necks until it had found its way back around Marco’s. He pulled the key card from his wallet. It took him two attempts to find the sensor that opened the door and he certainly didn’t bother to fiddle with the coat hanger, he just dropped his jacket to the floor. One of the lamps that was hanging above the headboard of the bed was turned on, apart of that the room was dark and quiet. Marco let himself fall flat on the bed. Not the very best idea, considering it only made his world spin a lot faster. He wanted to roll over and reach for his phone, it had run out of battery about three hours ago and Marco still owed his sister a call back. But his legs felt so heavy and the mattress was so comfortable, the ambition for that task took the quickest way out of his head immediately. The bathroom door opened and the sight offered to Gino made the older one smile fondly.

“Well, hello there,” he said and leaned over Marco to place a kiss on his cheek. Marco grinned; eyes closed in content. “Hi. Why are you still awake, I told you not to wait for me.”

Gino was a little surprised by the fact that Marco’s obviously drunken state still allowed him to form both coherent thoughts and sentences.

“You really thought I would be able to sleep after a day like this?” He kneeled down and pulled the shoes off Marco’s feet. The situation resembled the one a good year ago a lot, only this time, the medal around Marcos neck was shaped like a snow flake. Marco didn’t stop him when Gino took it off as well, placing it on the bedside table.

“I am so proud of you. You deserve this so much,” Gino said while peppering Marco’s face with tender kisses. It was too late for this to turn into anything more intense and it was okay. It required the last bit of Marco’s willpower to fight himself out of his jeans and when he finally lay next to Gino underneath the soft blanket, wrapped in his boyfriends arms, he sighed in relief once again. Gino let his fingers run through Marco’s hair until he felt his breath evening out.

“I love you so much,” he whispered into the dark.

“I love you too.”

#wsc courchevel/méribel 2023 #courchevel/mon chérie #sports rpf #rpf #marco odermatt #goat #gino caviezel #zoé chastan #ginodi

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jill-1234 · 1 year ago

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.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

I took a listen to all these songs a few days ago and they really spoke to me. I could easily relate to each and every one of them. Most of my relationships have never worked out due to either long distance or there was something wrong with it. It hurts because sometimes I feel like I still have feelings for some of my ex's even though I have moved on. I've experienced heart break way too many times to count to the point where I've gone so numb to it. I'm gonna be real and open. I'm honestly scared to get into a new one. The last relationship I recently had was with two girls and again they didn't work out due to long distance or that there was a lack of communication and the parents were homophobic about it. I'd say the first real relationship I ever had was 8 years ago with a boy I truly loved with all my heart but for some reason it just didn't work. To this day I still have no idea why we broke up in the first place. We were young and we probably didn't know any better back then. I admit it. I have fallen so head over heels for someone (not going to say who) at first I thought I was just infatuated with him but no. There's definitely a strong attraction there. I just doubt we would even work out. That it would even last if by some miracle. They don't realize that I would do anything for them. That I would treat them better. That I'd spoil the living hell out of them. I'd give them everything they need and even give them what they want WHENEVER they want. Both physically, mentally, and emotionally. The fact that I think about them every single night drives me crazy and sends me into so many bubbly feelings that I just can't explain it. I like them as a person so very much. I wish they could see that. It's been so long since I FELT this way about anybody. When I realized I was starting to feel this way I didn't know what to do about it. I still don't know what to do what to do about it. My emotions and hormones are everywhere & raging like you won't believe. I don't even know if I would be their type or that I'd be way out of their league. I think everyone has that fear. This makes me feel a tad bit nostalgic with my first love when I was 16 because this was how I exactly felt when I was around him. That spark. You recognize it right away. It's an incredible feeling and I have forgotten what that truly felt like to have for a guy. Would I be willing to try again? maybe. Still there's that risk. The risk of getting hurt all over again. I'd be willing to take that risk. It's been a long time since I've had strong intense feelings for a guy in general. I know. It's honestly sad. I haven't even expressed how I feel to them because I'm scared of rejection. That I wouldn't be good enough. That it would never last between us due to the whole distance thing. I've cried about it so much at night. Somedays I want to scream and just tell them how I feel. In the end there's a slim chance they probably wouldn't have time for a relationship but we all take that chance right? I guess you just never know until you try. I've been pretty emotional this past month about it. It honestly feels like I'm stuck in this large bubble that I can't escape with so many feelings and questions popping in my head all at once, leaving me scratching my head in confusion. Feelings are very hard. Why must they be complicated? why can't we just blurt out how we feel to the person we love so dearly? why do we back out at the last minute? why do we feel insecure? it's human to feel that way. Man do these songs hit me right in the fucking feels because this is exactly how I'm feeling right now in my current situation.

I was debating if I should even post this on here but you wanna know what? sometimes you just have to let those feelings out or it's going to eat you alive the more you hold it in. Whether it be through music or on a platform. Anything can help with that. Writing is a great form of expression and I've learnt that along the way as an aspiring author. So with whatever you're going through write it out. Let the words flow. Trust me it'll help you. I know we don't know each other very well but I want to get to know you. I'm too shy to message you first. I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. Even if we just talk for a few minutes during the day it makes me so happy to hear from you. Literally. It does. If only you'd let me. I don't think you understand how happy I get when I think about you in general and that I like you for just well being you. I just wanted you to know that.

I'm sorry.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

youtube

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

❝Fire and ice. You come on like a flame then you turn a cold shoulder. Fire and ice. I want to give you my love but you'll just take a little piece of my heart. You'll just tear it apart.❞ Fire and Ice - Pat Benatar

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

youtube

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

BTW

I'm leaving social media for awhile. I felt the need to vent and just let my feelings out in someway shape or form. I'll return when I feel up to it. I just need time alone for the sake of my mental health. If anyone needs me I'll most likely be on Quotev. I'll see you all soon.

Peace and love!

-Jillian

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

Credit goes to their rightful owners for the gifs and videos.

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leedamandy · 2 years ago

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Aemond Targaryen x fem!OC (blonde strong) /

Aegon II Targaryen x fem!OC (blonde strong)

°• Hēnkirī •°

(Together)

Part 14

•*•

Aegon had not seen his new wife for two full days. He entrenched himself inside the wine vault, since he was not allowed to leave the red keep.

He avoided his mother, as well as his grandsire. And with success.

The gods seemed to be well-disposed towards him, something probably required their full attention. Something that, thank God, was not himself.

Staggering, he moved out of the cellar.

With heavy steps he staggered through the corridors, illuminated by torches.

He was overcome with a desire to see his wife. The normal one, not the crazy one.

He chuckled like an old maid at this thought, which he found exceedingly appropriate.

Aegon was aware that Mhaenyra was in her own chambers, not his.

Heading towards this, he ordered a knight who was keeping watch at her door to find a task elsewhere.

After cheerfully pushing open the doors, he immediately called for his queen.

A sob reached his ear.

With narrowed eyes, he searched the room, looking for the source of the sound.

There she sat. By the fire, on her knees.

She had leaned forward, and her hands presumably folded over her chest.

Aegon saw the bandage she wore around her head and banished any thoughts that he was responsible.

She had noticed him, but had neither turned nor said anything to him.

One of her hands found its way to her head and she pressed her face into it, as if she could disappear into her own flesh and never come back.

Overwhelmed with the situation, the king positioned himself behind her, some distance away, and he weighed his options.

It almost surprised him, but it did him no good to see her like this. He wanted her to smile. The smile that she gave only to him. A playful one. He wanted her playful smile back.

He wasn't good at comforting anyone. Giving someone back their laugh. He had a feeling she wouldn't be drinking wine right now, but that was all the ideas he could come up with.

Aegon recalled the night before his coronation. When Mhaenyra came to him.

Of her own free will. Without an order or anything like that.

With unsteady steps he walked to her, a spontaneous inspiration took him.

He took a breath before kneeling to her on the ground.

With awkward movements, he embraced her petite form, pulling her upper body decisively to his.

"...I...I'm here. Shhh..." Rarely had such words left his mouth, they sounded so foreign to himself.

His nervousness subsided as he felt the young woman actually let herself fall into his arms.

"Tell me what's wrong, my queen." Sweet-talking, on the other hand, was once again one of his specialties. A proud smile crept onto the king's lips.

"..He's dead." Stuttered the young woman, upset. No sooner had she uttered the words, and heard them again herself, than she was shaken by another sob.

A death, then, that would explain why no one had cared about Aegon's whereabouts for the past few days. Accepting, he let the corners of his mouth droop, but immediately regained his composure and focused on the woman in his arms.

"Who, beloved?"

His breath smelled of wine, and he wondered if Mhaenyra would mind.

But she obviously had other thoughts.

"Luke. Luke is dead. My Luke." Again her voice broke off and with an incredible strength that astonished even Aegon, the queen bent forward as if to vomit and remained bent toward the ground on her knees.

An incredulous giggle almost escaped Aegon. Lucerys Velaryon is supposed to be dead? She had to be feverish to believe that.

Examining her, the king slid his hand under her head, to her forehead, which now almost rested on the carpet.

But it was cool, at least not hot.

With an aggressive movement, the woman pushed his hand away, got shakily to her feet, and now turned to face him completely.

"Your brother killed my brother!" She hissed with such viciousness he had never seen on a woman before despair again numbed her senses and pulled her into a new wave of grief.

Aegon still did not understand what she was trying to tell him.

He, too, rose from the carpet.

"I don't follow you." He stuttered uncertainly.

She breathed in and out haltingly, gathering strength to speak again what had been haunting her thoughts for hours, driving her to the brink of madness.

"Your brother was on an errand, wasn't he? On storm's end. He met my brother. He killed him. Let him be eaten by Vhagar.... Slaughtered him...Killed him."

She broke off, holding her head, reeling and overwhelmed by the feelings that were crashing over her. Her heart had felt for hours as if umpteen hands were crushing it. As if she were to blame. She hadn't been there.

Now, meanwhile, it felt empty. As if it had been thrown away after being mashed enough.

Why was she even talking to someone of his blood? All of them were traitors, murderers and madmen.

"How do you think you know that? It's possible that-"

"I overheard a conversation between your mother and Otto Hohenturm." As if in a trance, she interrupted her spouse in a now monotone voice.

So slowly her words reached Aegon.

He almost smiled again. He liked that she was capable of such cunning deeds. But the seriousness of the situation had finally gotten through to him.

Aemond had killed a child of the opposing side on a whim?

"Is this true?" Grumbled the king ominously quietly while clenching his hand into a fist.

Sudden anger spread through him.

His pathetic brother couldn't get over his stupid loss of his eye and dared to interfere in the affairs of his kingdom?

Irritated by his reaction, Mhaenyra looked at him with swollen eyes.

"It is true. I know it. I feel it."

Aegon slammed into the nearest wooden post that came his way and let his anger run wild.

A war was the last thing his life needed to fully ruin.

Was that what his brother wanted? A plot?

"If he thinks he can do whatever he wants, he is sorely mistaken! His books and education do not protect him now, not from me. I am the king!"

Caught up in his aggressive monologue, his attention now fell back on his wife, who looked at him in wonder.

Aegon remembered for a split second the looks Aemond gave her. Even back when they were children.

He knew they had ridden out on the ugly beast his brother called his dragon.

But she was his. She loved him. Not Aemond.

"He will not get away with this. He will not hurt my wife, and he certainly will not start my war!"

With unaccustomed exuberance he approached her, took her hands in his.

"I'm sorry, my love. We will make him pay."

He had seized his moment.

A good moment.

A spark of hope flashed in the queen's bright eyes.

His anger had drowned out her grief. She tucked her head under his chin, against his chest.

She heard his heart beating, fast and powerful.

She should never have stayed in King's Landing.

When she thought of how worried her mother was.

What grief she must have felt.

Fearing she might break into a thousand tiny pieces, she pushed every feeling out of even the smallest pore of her body.

Mhaenyra was no longer thinking. Her thoughts had disappeared. Only emptiness remained and spread like a cold shock throughout her entire body.

Aegon's arms were the only thing she could still feel.

•*•

Part 15

Part 1

TAGLIST

@nctma15 , @roroswitherose , @missusnora @the-avengers-ate-my-tongue , @underatreedrinkingtea , @m1ndbrand , @chittakii , @sustisama , @omgkatherine97 ,

@tired-ninfa , @curiouser-an-curiouser , @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz , @midnightrqin

(if you wanna be tagged, just tell me :3)

#fanfic #hotd #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond #aemond x reader #aemond x you #prince aemond #aegon the second #aegon targaryen #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x oc #Aegon Targaryen x OC #Aegon II x OC #Aegon II #house of the dragon

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scottguy · 1 month ago

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Real world activism.

These are the letters I "wrote" (I just filled in the note at the top.) in a letter writing campaign for VoteRiders today (early October 2024)

It was an outreach to voters in Arizona informing them of "federal only" status (so they can vote for state propositions) and also giving them VoteRiders contact information if they need ID or a ride.

It was EASY! I just signed up. VoteRiders had a one-way Zoom broadcast to tell us all what to do. A few hours later and I was done.

VoteRiders also have volunteer positions to just write texts to send voters information. That's probably the thing I will probably do next.

Every little thing helps.

Winning this election is going to take more than posting memes. I can't criticize people for doing that. It's fun. It's one of my favorite hobbies! But, I seriously doubt I am changing many minds. We're all locked into our own echo chambers preaching to our own choir.

So..

If have a little extra money... donate, even $5, $10, $20 adds up when enough people do it. That's the essence of grass roots campaigns.

If you have some time call the Democrat party or VoteRiders. You can phone back Again, it's 'easy.' You can do it ALL from home. You don't have to meet anyone in person.

You WILL feel super proud of yourself for getting involved. (That's why I posted the above picture! I'm a little bit proud of myself.)

Two years ago I phone banked for Arizona and Nevada as swing states. Since it was close to the actual election day, my job was to remind voters to NOT put their mail-in ballot in the mail because that ballot would not be counted if it arrived a day late.

It's not just one person's effort, it's all of us, like with voting itself, that adds up. Maybe we only change five or ten votes each, but when thousands of people volunteer and get those few votes... it adds up. The margins of victory are often very slim.

We HAVE to win in November and we have to win BIG to repudiate Trump and the entire fascistic/totalitarian approach now embraced by the Republican party which has been very insufficiently criticized by corporate media who have allowed themselves to become NUMB to Trump's outrage over the past eight years. It was all so gradual, but, yet here we are with Trump talking about jailing "immigrants" even if they are legal and it being "bloody." Ho-hum. That devil Trump! He says the most outrageous things! (Then they 'sane wash' him so he doesn't sound like the genocidal MADMAN he has obviously become.) The failure of corporate media is one reason it CAN happen here. By not sounding alarm bells media has normalized a Trump whose intentions are CLEARLY like Hitler in Germany. (The other failure is the Supreme Court and the entire Republican Party.) THOSE were the 'guardrails' and they're now gone.

If we win BIG in November we will have Republicans fearing for their jobs. I want to hear Lindsey Graham and every other Republican back peddling hard on Trump and saying how they "never really liked him." 🙄 (You just know they will do that if they enough lose big enough.)

For God's sake Trump was LITERALLY SUGGESTING 'serial numbers' for "immigrants" in 'detention centers!'

Sound familiar?

(If your history is bad.. that's what Hitler did to the Jews before murdering six million of them. It happens. There is every reason it CAN happen in America if we hand power to a man with WRITTEN PLAN to end democracy.)

Trump is an expert at stirring up fear, and even Latinos are not immune from it. But, consider the incredibly violent solution that Trump is proposing. It could place a TARGET on the backs of ALL Latinos. Any Latino could become of victim of the indiscriminate jailing and violence that we be part of dealing with the "migrant problem."

If you're living in the United States and are of any kind of Latin origin (especially if you have an accent, or more obviously, don't speak English) or EVEN IF you are a legal immigrant or even a naturalized citizen. It won't matter!

There will be nothing, restrained, rational, or orderly about what Trump is planning. It will be cops and probably even 'deputized citizens' (all those scary guys in big trucks with Trump flags) doing it. They're just thugs.

If you listen closely you can practically hear Trump salivating at the thought of a "round up" and it being "bloody." (He gets the same tone he gets when he talks about the "Late Great Hannibal Lecter.")

Trump is fascinated by abomination, you can hear him savoring it.

So be careful what you wish for.

Back to the positive:

Please get involved even if in a tiny way, even if just once for a few hours. Volunteer, donate, do either or both.

A big blue wave will not happen just because we all posted a lot of memes. When we win, you can take even greater pride in having ACTIVELY HELPED to make it happen.

#VoteRiders #volunteering #volunteer or donate #get involved #real world activism

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toomanytookas · 3 months ago

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This feels like the perfect, perfect snapshot of summer nights spent falling in love and I am obsessed.

You capture that bright, breathless happiness so well, the magic of their closeness and the way that things just feel so easy between them.

I adored this so much:

He clamours against the chairs, bumps against plant pots, giggling all the way. A high-pitched, careless little laugh that you like to think only you can elicit from him.

It's so fucking cute and really captures that effervescent joy that they bring one another. I LOVE THEM SO FUCKING MUCH.

The line between how much they already love each other and how much they want is so perfectly drawn and it makes it feel all the sweeter in those moments where you can FEEL that barrier about to break.

And when it finally does? Hoooooooo boy.

This was INCREDIBLE:

He stills briefly, the blush returning, his heart hammering against your palms. You lick your lips, pulling yourself a little closer, a little tighter, hitching your head over his shoulder so you can nibble at his ear lobe. ‘Tell me, Frankie. What do you want?’ His breath stutters, eyes flutter shut.

The way it could have gone either way—that it could have been brushed off as a playful moment, but that maybe the inebriation and the magic of their dance night lowered those walls and made it possible for them to really lean in... I'm obsessed with this: ‘Is that a promise, or a threat, Francisco?’ and how it just fucking ESCALATED from there.

I've already yelled at you a bit regarding how hot everything was, so I'm going to take this moment instead to focus more on being a bit analytical. I love how you utilise the physicality of it all to really bring us in to experience everything alongside her, the highs and the lows.

I think the contrast of this:

With moments like this:

You try to push it away, swallow it down, focus on the press of his soft, full lips, the firm feeling of his body against yours, but your mind is screaming at you -

creates this really wonderful opportunity be in Bug's head and feel that ice cold plunge into fear of it all being fucked now. The way that his physical closeness—which has always been something so comfortable in their dynamic even before it was sexual—suddenly doesn't offer that same comfort feels a bit devastating in those few moments and it was just so, so compelling. I was so ready for her to run and feeling so achy for it because I could SEE how much she was writing the story without hearing his side just yet, how that numbness with feeling (MY FAVOURITE) becomes a numbness that blocks it out. But the way you balance her panic with his continued touch, the way he never lets go of her even as she's falling into this worry was SO GOOD.

I loved this: "You shake your head, refusing to hear him, unbelievable, a sob clawing out your mouth. He holds you closer."

And thank god THANK GOD she hears him. That we see that moment where she registers his touch properly and begins to reciprocate again (kissing his palm aaaaaaah 😭)

This has gotten way too long of a fucking comment so I'm gonna stop here and scurry over to the next part. I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE WHAT THEY GET UP TO WITH THEIR HOUSES TO THEMSELVESSSSSSSSSS.

Mi Amigo | On Call

part iii

summary: summer arrives at last - and along with it, care, confessions, and a bbq.

pairing: neighbour!frankie x f!babysitter!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. idiots in love, reader is good with kids. reader and frankie are both bi and have same sex exes. fluff, more smutty thoughts, drinking and smoking. grinding and kissing. kind of dubcon (they're very drunk) but we know they're obsessed with each other. frankie comes in his pants cos that's all i ever want him to do. bug jumping to conclusions. one good boy. a little praise kink.

reader is a teacher and has hair, but is otherwise a blank slate.

wc: 9.4k

an: to probably absolutely no one's surprise, what was supposed to be the last chapter of these fools is now split in two. i am a yapper at heart, and a yapper i will always be. i really hope y'all enjoy the last bits of this story <3

huge love to @schnarfer, @jolapeno and @toomanytookas, who held my hands through all my wobbles and questions. you guys are three in billions.

before we begin - if you haven't already, catching up here and here will be useful before these chapters <3

dividers from the glorious @saradika-graphics

I've got a friend Helps me to get up again Showers me in boozes Tells me I got a big old dick And she wants my ass home

- mi amigo, kings of leon

series masterlist | main masterlist

It’s six o’clock when Frankie knocks on your door, tool box in hand.

He squints at you from your porch, all chocolate curls and sunkissed skin and a big, silly gin. You give him a once over, a similar smile stretching across your face.

‘Well. Isn’t this like the start of a bad porno?’

He laughs as you step back to let him in, leaning to give you a swift peck on the cheek.

‘Evenin’ to you too, teach. Heard you needed your pipes checked.’

You snort, cackling as you close the door behind him, and he’s laughing too, body bowed towards your amusement as you lead him through to the kitchen.

Your kitchen table is tidier than normal, plants blooming in the summer sun.

‘You want a drink of anything?’ You ask. He shakes his head, placing the tool box by his feet.

‘You can ply me with alcohol later, Bug. I need good eyes and steady hands for this.’

You tut at him.

‘Wasn’t going to be alcohol, Morales. You want water? Juice? Pepsi?’

He’s grinning again as he kneels by the sink, opening the cupboard beneath it.

‘Sure. Pepsi would be good.’

You head to the fridge to grab him a can as he eases himself into the cabinet, the cool aluminium sweating in your hands as he tinkers for a moment.

‘How bad is it, doc?’

His face reappears from the gloom, wincing, and you hand him the drink. He cracks it open with a fizz and takes an audible sip.

‘Awful. You’re gonna need a whole new kitchen,’ he pouts. You raise an eyebrow. He shrugs, winking. ‘So easy you could have done it yourself.’

You roll your eyes at him, popping yourself up to sit on the counter, hand idly drifting through his toolbox.

‘How was today?’ He asks, heaving himself up to gather a handful of tools. You lift your shoulders.

‘Aw, all good. Happy it’s Friday. Happy summer’s almost here.’

He smiles.

‘How was yours?’

‘Quiet. Well, apart from Luc. I don’t think she’s ever been this excited for something before.’

You scrunch your face up, ahhing as he disappears back into the cupboard, starting his work on the pipes below the sink.

‘Do you think she’ll be alright?’

‘Yeah,’ he grunts, ‘She’ll be fine. Got Herman - y’know, her little dog - so she’s well prepared.’

You swing your feet a little, pulling your lip between your teeth.

‘Still gonna keep your phone on you at all times?’

His stomach jumps with a laugh.

‘You got it, Bug. I won’t sleep.’

You tip your head at his torso, watching him work. The concealed movement of his arms, the slither of skin revealed to you as he stretches to reach something. Perfect to run your fingertip along, your tongue -

Frankie groans. You wet your lips.

‘Everything alright, boss?’

‘Yeah,’ he sighs, ‘Picked up the wrong one. Hand me that 36.9mm wrench.’

You freeze, staring down at the toolbox beside you, the jumble of metal. Sure, you know what you’re looking at, and he’s joked about it before, but -

‘Quickly.’ He says, making blind grabby hands in the direction of the box. You scrabble around, picking up three different types of wrench, scouring them for clues. He says your name, exasperated.

‘I am going quickly,’ you protest, ‘I just have to read everything. There are so many sizes -’

‘See, I knew you didn’t know what a wrench looked like.’

You drop one of the tools, flipping him off even though he can’t see it, before fishing out another.

‘Keep being smart, Morales, and I won't help at all.’

A disgruntled ha! sounds from beneath the sink.

‘This is your sink I’m fixing -’

‘And it’s not my fault I don’t have an engineering degree, or a maths degree, or whatever the fuck -’

Frankie makes to sit up, grumbling, but promptly smacks his head on the inside of the cabinet with a loud thump. His Jesus fucking Christ is almost drowned out by your laughter as he edges himself out, rubbing at his forehead.

‘Don’t laugh at me, pendeja.’

‘That’s karma, Fish.’

‘How is that karma when I’m trying to help you?’

You shrug, finally holding out the right wrench.

‘The dildo of consequences rarely arrives lubed, my friend.’ You snicker.

He takes the wrench from you and ducks back under the sink, barely repressing a grin.

‘That doesn’t even make sense,’ he grumbles, voice tight with the effort of holding back his laughter.

You watch the flash of his elbows as they work beneath the counter, loosening, tightening, before he finishes with a huff.

‘Done.’

You check your watch as he wiggles out, and he makes to throw the wrench at you.

‘Record time.’ You grin, and he rolls his eyes, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. The front of his shirt is stained a darker grey than it was before, and he grimaces at it as he rises from the floor, knees popping. You hop down from the counter, grabbing the dishcloth from the oven handle, moving closer to pat at the damp fabric. He catches your wrists in his hands.

‘It’s no use, teach,’ he says, ‘I’m done for.’

‘You’ve got a real taste for the theatrics tonight, Morales,’ you scoff at him, ‘I’m starting to see where Luc gets it from.’

He releases one of your wrists to give a swift pinch to your cheek, and you gasp dramatically, holding your hand to the small sting.

‘How very dare you!’ You cry, and he laughs, shoulders jumping, mumbling something about your theatrics. You take the chance to step back and whirl the towel around itself between your fists, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

‘Hey now,’ he says lowly, ‘There’s no need for that.’ Raising his hands in surrender, a slow smile stretching across his lips. You watch each other with bated breath until you lurch forward and he spins giddily, running away as you chase him around the kitchen table.

He clamours against the chairs, bumps against plant pots, giggling all the way. A high-pitched, careless little laugh that you like to think only you can elicit from him.

You’re calculating, breathless; tilting your head, his legs in sight, towel held taught in your hands. Close enough. You release one end of the cloth in the direction of his calves - weak, barely even a flick of your wrist - and lightning fast, Frankie turns and grips the free end, yanking you towards him through choked huffs of mirth.

‘Do not whip me, Bug.’

Your only response is a barely muffled hehehe against his chest, and he levers his spare palm against the forearm still holding the towel. He takes it from you easily, efficiently winding it into an actual dangerous looking weapon, before chasing you back around the furniture in the opposite direction, you shrieking out your protests as he bounds behind you. You make three rounds of the table before he screeches to a halt directly opposite you, and you still, both clutching chairs, chests heaving.

‘You have to let me get one. You owe me one.’ He says, eyes narrowed, levelling a finger at you.

You bark a laugh.

‘I owe you nothin’, Morales. You were too slow.’

‘Fair’s fair -’

‘Grown man, talkin’ ‘bout fair’s fair -’

‘Bug -’

‘Frankie -’

‘Bug -’

‘I will bite you.’

He gives you a baffled look, one that quickly melts into amusement. A lop-sided grin, one eye dropping closed in a wink.

‘Do you promise?’

For a second, he swears you falter. Like something short circuits, the same way it did on his sofa, the same way it did on his porch. And then you smile, wide and lascivious, striding round the table to stop in front of him.

He almost drops the towel when you lift a hand to his chest, tracing one finger over the water stain, up to the round collar at his neck.

‘I promise, Frankie,’ you coo, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

His mouth is parted, panting slightly. Eyes wide with surprise, darkening with a kind of hunger he’s not sure how to hide.

You rip the towel from his hand, bouncing backwards with a cry of aha!

Frankie rocks on the balls of his feet, swallowing before echoing a pale shadow of your laughter, heart thumping painfully behind his ribs.

‘Alright,’ he rasps, ‘You win.’

You grin at him again, and his chest squeezes tight as you loop an arm around his waist, pinching his side.

‘Bastarda.’ He hisses, and your lips stretch even wider.

‘Alright, Morales,’ you crow, patting his chest. ‘Go get changed. I’ll get us dinner.’

When he opens the door, freshly changed into sweatpants and a new t-shirt, you’re stood outside. One fist raised, the other holding the neck of a half-full bottle of whisky.

‘Y’alright?’ He asks, looking you over - fresh-faced, in your own sweats, hair a little wet.

‘Yup. Was just gonna check you hadn’t fallen in.’

‘Fallen in,’ he repeats, closing the door behind him before picking you up in his arms. It’s a death grip, the air in your body squeezed out like bubble wrap as your spine pops. He swings you about a little, until you thump on his back with your spare fist, wheezing.

‘Put - me - down - asshole -’

He drops you unceremoniously on his porch, and you bend, hands on your knees, as you catch your breath. He chuckles down at you, and you flip him off.

‘You know,’ you pant, ‘I never liked you.’

‘Whatever, Bug.’ He smirks, hopping down his porch steps. You straighten, bounding after him.

Cool grass at your feet, warm air in your lungs, you catch up to him easily, watching his broad back in the moonlight. He says nothing as you glance at him, strong nose, scruff, plush lips. But his growing smirk tells you he’s noticed.

A heat rises in your cheeks, and you take the moment to jog ahead of him, hopping the fence.

When you turn back, he's watching you with his hands on his hips.

‘I thought we were walking together.’ He pouts.

‘Thought we could hop the fence together instead.’

He stares at you for a moment, considering. Glares at the fence, then shakes his head. You snort.

Feigning defeat, Frankie begins to walk towards the front of his lawn, but you take a step back towards your house.

‘Ah-ah. Hop the fence,’ you say, waving the bottle. Frankie sighs.

‘I’m not hopping the fence.’

‘Hop the fence,’ you giggle, ‘And I’ll give you a cigar.’

‘A cigar?’

You waggle your eyebrows at him.

‘Yes, sir. A cigar.’

He chews his cheek, still thinking. Decides to call your bluff, takes one more step -

‘Nuh-uh. Hop it.’

‘I’m old. I’m not hopping shit.’

‘You are not old,’ you say, scowling at him, ‘You’re too serious. Hop the damn fence.’

He sighs again, jaw working around a clever comeback that never materialises. He looks up to the heavens, and then closes the distance between you.

You watch with delighted amusement as Frankie settles himself at the white pickets, hands in the position to launch himself over. He waits for muscle memory to kick in.

Nothing happens.

‘You good, buddy?’ You goad. He grimaces.

‘Yep. Just… gearing myself up.’

You scoff.

‘Hop it, Fish. Or I’ll have them both smoked by the time you’re here.’

You watch as he mumbles a fuck it before jumping up and flinging both legs over the top slat - and just when it seems he’s about to land gracefully, the tip of his foot catches the wood. He sprawls to the ground, all flailing limbs, with a muffled mmph.

The cackle you let out is long and loud, and you clap a hand over your mouth to try and stifle it. He stays motionless, huffing on the grass as you gasp, trying to regain your composure, and when you’re sure you won’t wet yourself, you come towards him and drop to your knees. You grip his shoulder to turn him on his back, his eyes scrunched shut against your smirk. The corners of his mouth curl when he hears you snort again.

‘Come on,’ you giggle, ‘I’ve got just the thing for geriatric patients.’

He moans and tries to turn himself back over, shoulders rounding, but you keep your hand firmly where it is.

‘Leave me,’ he grumbles, ‘I’m no good anymore. Take the kid. She prefers you, anyway.’

You laugh anew, settling on your butt, before pulling him roughly to lie flat. You pull the cork from the whisky bottle and take his chin between your thumb and forefinger.

‘Open up,’ you say, ‘This’ll help your strength.’

You bring the bottle to his open lips and tip it. He winces when the whisky hits his tongue, coughing it down, shoulders lifting from the grass as he hacks. When it begins to sputter out the sides of his mouth and dribble into his beard, he sits up, narrowing his eyes at you as he splutters and wipes the spill with the back of his hand.

‘You’re a bad influence.’

You roll your eyes and begin to stand, holding a hand out for him. He eyes it sceptically.

‘If I had a dollar every time I heard that,’ you say as he takes it and you pull him up with a groan, ‘I’d have at least three dollars.’

‘Goes to show.’ He mutters, swiping his hands on his jeans as you lead him to your porch.

You clap him on the back as he staggers forwards, keeping your palm plastered to the warmth of his shoulders as you guide him up the steps, handing him the whisky and settling him on the bench facing the garden before disappearing back inside. He’s still nursing achy joints when you reemerge, two tumblers pinched between fingers, a lighter and a cigar case in the other hand.

You plop next to him with a sigh, handing him the glasses as he pops the cork back off the bottle.

‘Ordered pizza.’ You tell him, picking a cigar out from the case.

He smiles, eyes sparkling as he holds a filled tumbler out to you. You take it, fingers brushing his.

‘Pepperoni?’

‘Of course.’

He sets the bottle down as he watches you deftly cut the end of the first stogie, picking up your lighter and letting it warm the darkening end. He accepts it gratefully, letting it rest between his fingers as you cut your own, rotating it over the flame. The silver of the lighter catches the moonlight, and in it, he can see the intricate carvings engraved on its surface. Flowers and leaves, a tiny bee. Your initials at the bottom.

‘Cardinal sin to just let it burn.’ You murmur, nodding to his hand. He chuckles, lifting the cigar to his lips for the first, rich drag. He peers at you through his eyelashes on the exhale, and you smile at him as you inspect the burn on yours.

‘Nice lighter.’ He says as you flick the cap back over the flame.

‘Thanks. Was my dad’s,’ you say. ‘The cigars were my graduation gift from him. Last two.’

Frankie pauses.

‘Last two?’

Mhm.

He lowers his hand.

‘Bug, if these are your last two, I don’t wanna -’

You cut him a look through your first puff of smoke, and he stops.

‘Frankie, honey. I wouldn’t have invited you over if I didn’t want you to have one.’ You hold your glass out to cheers him, and he clinks it gently. ‘Consider it payment for the sink.’

He scoffs at you.

‘You don’t owe me anything for the sink.’

You twist your body to face him.

‘What kind of friend would I be if I didn't get you back for the sink?’

He shakes his head.

‘You already do enough for me with Luc.’

You regard him for a moment, so long that he’s forced to meet your eyes. Something moves through them. Something deep and warm, a little sad.

‘You know I’d do anything for you two.’

You’d meant it to sound casual, but it slips from your lips and lands heavily on the bench between you. It sits there for a moment, a sentiment beyond its words, its presence ballooning so quickly that you scramble for some quip to say to make it smaller.

Frankie’s eyes don’t leave yours.

‘I’d do anything for you, too, Bug.’

He says it with such sincerity, such understanding, that it takes your breath away; his eyes so deep, so round, you feel you might fall into them. Pupils so blown they’re almost black, mouth parted to release a breath before he clears his throat. Your eyes flick to your hands, the last cigar your father gave you, before finding his again.

‘School breaks up on Friday.’ He says.

‘It does.’

You wait.

‘Luc gets picked up Friday evening. Vanessa’s back. I’m, uh - I'm having a barbeque on Saturday. The boys are coming,’ you raise an eyebrow at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. ‘They want to meet you.’

The small smile pulls into a grin.

‘You been telling your friends about me, Morales?’

He scoffs.

‘Told them about you the day you moved in. They know all about you.’

You chuckle a little, taking a puff of the cigar.

‘All good things, I hope.’

‘Everything about you is a good thing.’

You cut him a look.

‘You'd better stop that before my ego gets too big.’

He laughs this time, taking a drag before asking you -

‘Do you wanna come?’

You knock your shoulder against his.

‘Course I do.’

He nods, head dipping low.

‘Good. That's good.’

You’re grinning still, leaning so your knee touches his.

‘So, what else do you tell your friends about me?’

Frankie freezes, hand stopping halfway to his mouth. Only a second, but you don’t miss the way a blush begins to bloom up his neck.

‘Nothing else.’

You grin wider.

‘Nothing else? You sure?’

He stammers on his words when it should be easy. How great of a friend you are, how good with Lucia you are, how I almost kissed you on the porch, how much I wanna kiss you all the time, but nothing. Nothing -

From within the house, through the open back door, there comes the short blast of the doorbell. You suck a breath in through your teeth, still amused - oblivious.

‘Saved by the bell, mi amigo. Hold this for me.’ You say, handing him your half-finished stogie.

He sighs as you stand and vanish into your home, knocking his head against the back of the bench, gazing up at a moth fluttering around the porch light. He closes his eyes, counting to fifty in his head to try and sooth his pounding heart, before you appear again.

You hold a box out to him.

‘Don’t go falling asleep on me now,’ you sing, ‘The night is young, and so are we.’

He chuckles.

‘Speak for yourself, asshole.’

Several more moths are scrambling above your heads by the time you finish eating. Hot, greasy cheese, scarfed down between sips of whisky and the dregs of the cigars. You leave the boxes stacked clumsily next to the bench, your legs intermittently slung over Frankie’s lap, or your heads knocking against each other's shoulders in laughter as conversation wanders from work, to family, to stories of friends. It’s a rare night that you get to yourselves - no hushed voices for the small person upstairs, no muffled laughter.

When an almost imperceptible chill begins to settle, you stand from the bench. Frankie raises an eyebrow at you.

‘You wanna dance, Fish?’

Inside your living room, you hand him your phone, busying yourself with turning on your speakers. Frankie’s eyes stay glued to the slope of your back as you crouch down, a little fuzzy around the edges, before dragging his attention to the device in his hand. He presses his thumb to it, and the screen alights. Something warm pulls and floods in his gut when he’s faced with a picture of him, you, and Lucia at Pride, one of the selfies you took. He’s still smiling dumbly when you stand and look at him expectantly.

‘What am I supposed to do?’ He says, gesturing to it.

‘You’re supposed to connect -’ You cut yourself off, rolling your eyes a little. ‘Here, I’ll do it.’ You say, taking the phone from him, unlocking it and opening the bluetooth settings. Frankie sways a little in time with the swell of his heart.

‘Your lockscreen.’ He says.

You smile broadly at him.

‘It’s you guys.’

‘It’s us guys.’ He chuckles, sweeping you up into his arms in a rush of affection. He kisses the top of your head as you press the phone into his hand, Spotify already open.

‘Pick something,’ you say, ‘Anything you want. But make it groovable.’

So he does. Leading you in a romp through his expansive taste, interspersed with your own picks. Queen, Bowie, Pet Shop Boys, Incubus, Dire Straits. He surprises you with ABBA, Soft Cell, and Daft Punk. Leads you through Blue Öyster Cult, wields a dramatic air guitar through Aerosmith and AC/DC, sings Noah Kahan with full lungs, dances to La Bamba with his whole chest. Wails through Livin’ On A Prayer and More Than A Feelin’, drops to his knees for Pour Some Sugar On Me, bops around the room to Groove Is In the Heart and Earth, Wind and Fire.

He pulls you close during Springsteen, closer still when Fleetwood Mac pours through the speakers. You’re laughing through it all - pressed against his broad body or dancing on opposite sides of the room, arms free and wild, feet never still. Mouths breathlessly close during You Make Loving Fun and Gold Dust Woman, howling at each other through The Chain and Go Your Own Way. Theatrical during Silver Springs, singing to him as you dance on top of the sofa. Close again as you croon Dreams to each other, your head pressed against his chest, moving in time with him as he wraps his arms around you.

You’re drawn, time and time again, to the way his eyes crinkle with his near permanent smile. The way his hips move, the way he sings, unburdened, unbothered, the way his hands search for you. Spinning and twirling you, pushing your arms with his in time to the beat of the music, one hand cradling your head as you slow dance, one clutched to the small of your back, moulded to the curve of your waist. The press, subconscious grind, of your bodies moving together. A low, sticky state of arousal, easily pushed aside by bright laughter and off-key singing.

And it feels so natural, this night, to be with each other. Uncaring and sweaty, time passing without you realising, your breath continuously caught in your throat by the way he looks at you, how easy it would be to press your lips to his. You itch with the possibility of it all, the way your heart would once batter against your ribs in fear of him discovering the way you feel drowned out by the drums and guitars and whisky.

You could spend the whole night - a whole lifetime - alone in your living room with Frankie like this.

The light from the lamps is low and warm now, bathing the room in shadows, the leaves of your plants sinking into a darker green. Outside, it is utterly dark.

You slip through each other’s arms like molasses, giggling uncontrollably. Frankie only breaks his firm hold on your waist, your hands, to reach for the bottle again, pouting when he finds it empty. He tips it up to his eye level, emptying the last few drops onto his tongue before swinging it around like more might magically appear.

You plant your hands on his shoulders, squeezing the firm muscle there. He meets your eye, trying - and failing - to balance the bottle on your head.

‘Ya want more?’ You ask, a grin slipping across your face.

His answering ‘Yup,’ is emphatic enough to have you bounding into the kitchen, the walls softening the sound of Fleetwood Mac as you stumble to the cabinets on the far side. Frankie watches, slouched against the doorframe, as you struggle on your tiptoes to reach the highest shelf where another bottle sits, label glinting gold. There’s a soft grunt as you sway a little, before starting to scale the kitchen units. He starts towards you.

‘Bug, let me get it.’

You relent immediately, kneeling on the countertop, eyes glassy as you watch him. He’s so fucking handsome you could cry. His curls, his smile, his arms, the little slither of tummy that’s exposed when he reaches up -

You barely catch the noise you were about to make in your throat as he lowers the bottle and shuts the cupboard door.

You’re still watching his fingers as he pops the cork and inhales deeply. He hums, deep in his chest, and you want to press your ear against his ribs to hear it better.

‘That’s good stuff.’

‘Always for you, baby.’ You smile, tongue poking against your teeth.

He knocks your shoulder with his fist, apparently oblivious to the blush that spreads right to the tops of his ears.

‘Stop that.’ He chuckles.

‘Mm-nope.’ Is your reply, and he’s still grinning as he swaggers out of the kitchen, taking a great gulp as he walks. You stay knelt on the countertop for a few seconds more before you manage to process that his warmth is no longer beside you.

‘Hey!’ You call, scampering down, running back through to the living room. Frankie is dancing again, but the sway of his hips is easier to ignore when he’s drinking your liquor.

‘Hey!’ You protest again as he lifts it back to his mouth, raising his eyebrows at you - teasing.

‘Give me some of that -’ you crow, trying to swipe it from him. But he's so fast. ‘Frankie, that’s mine,’ you whine, a petulant child, as he easily dodges your grabbing hands. ‘You fucker, I want some -’

And he’s giggling, ‘Come and get it, then.’

You move so quickly you surprise even yourself - climbing up onto the sofa beside you and launching yourself at him. He catches you on instinct, your arms wrapping securely around his shoulders as you fight to get the bottle back, him swinging himself in circles to try and dislodge you. The collision knocks whisky from his mouth, the air from his lungs.

‘Fuck - Bug - get off - my back -’

You manage to pry the bottle from his fingers, taking great glugs as he spins and you laugh maniacally.

‘Bug,’ he pants, ‘Please -’

‘Oh baby,’ you coo in his ear, a shit-eating grin on your lips, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Tell me, Frankie. What do you want?’

His breath stutters, eyes flutter shut.

‘Baby -’ He croaks.

Something warm curls in your belly, wetness beginning to dampen your underwear. Baby.

You lean forward again, this time pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his neck. He staggers like you’ve swept his feet out from under him.

Frankie lurches, grunts, heaves you around to his front, and drops you on the sofa beside him.

Still smirking, you drink from the bottle again, watching as he drops heavily onto the loveseat adjacent to you. He’s breathing deeply, lifting his hips to adjust himself in his sweats.

‘Fuck. You.’ He breathes, levelling a finger in your direction. You smile wider, lascivious.

‘Is that a promise, or a threat, Francisco?’

He groans, low in his throat, a hand scraping over his jaw, and you’re moving without thinking about it. Drawn to him so easily, the neck of the bottle hanging between two fingers.

He watches you, eyes heavy lidded, fingers twitching where they rest on his thighs. You bite your lip, a quiet whine working from behind your teeth as you process the growing bulge against the grey.

He hasn't broken your gaze. You stop in front of him, between his spread legs. The air is thick, warm. You’re not even sure if the music is playing anymore.

‘Promise? Or threat?’ You repeat, softly.

He leans forward. Big, calloused hands trail up the back of your calves, the backs of your thighs. So slow, so sure, you’re positive your knees might give way. Your breath stutters as he presses a kiss to your stomach, brown eyes wide, looking up at you.

‘Promise.’

You bury a hand in his soft curls, tugging his head back softly, before trailing the backs of your fingers down his stubbled cheek. You pinch his chin between your thumb and forefinger.

‘Open.’

He does. Slowly, so slowly, you pour the whisky into his waiting mouth. Big brown eyes patient, wanting.

‘Close.’

He swallows as you bend to place the bottle on the floor, watching a dribble of liquid flow from the corners of his lips.

Good boy, you murmur, and he moans again. One hand pressed to his shoulder to push him back into the cushions, you drop a knee onto the sofa on one side of his narrow hips, and he uses his hands on your thighs to guide you the rest of the way to straddle him.

‘So good. Wanna make you feel so good.’ You whisper, half delirious, crowding him, settling your core over his growing hardness. Tangling a hand in the curls at the nape of his neck, the other cupping his cheek. You lean closer, and his eyelids flutter as you flatten your tongue against his chin, licking the whisky from him, rocking your hips slightly at the same time. It’s delicious, and you can’t tell whether it’s the taste or feel of him that cracks your mouth open with a moan. You lean back again, and he’s staring at you - pupils so blown they're black. Searching his eyes for permission, as if he would have ever let you get this far otherwise.

He beats you to it, leaning forwards again, your eyes just closing at the first press of his lips to yours - soft, sweet, gentle. He holds his mouth there for a moment as your heart catches up with your body, dropping dizzyingly into your stomach, your breath suddenly hard to find.

You open your mouth, and someone so different to the Frankie you're used to - desperate, hungry - claims it as his own.

His hands are everywhere. Cradling your cheek, gripping the hair at the back of your head, squeezing your ass, your thighs. Halfway between grounding and ravenous as he kisses you, all tongues and teeth and desire. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, and you fist your hands in the hem of his t-shirt, wondering whether you should pull it up and off, thinking about the slip of skin you’d seen earlier, the scar and broad chest you’d admired at the beach. He releases your lip and ducks his head, kissing and nipping at your throat, and your body is so numb with feeling, goosebumps all over your skin, that you wonder whether this is what it should have felt like. All this time, everyone you’ve ever wanted. Even Annie. You’re gasping, moaning, a high pitched whine slipping from your mouth as he sucks a mark into your pulsepoint, your hands grabbing at him, pink half moons carved into his shoulders.

‘Frankie,’ you gasp, ‘Frankie -’

He mumbles your name against your skin, and then again, lower, growling.

‘Want you.’ He presses just behind your ear, and then his hands are squeezing at your hips, rocking you back and forth slowly. His head falls back against the sofa as yours tips forwards, fighting the urge to shut your eyes against how good it feels. You’re soaked, panties sticking to your damp folds, so wet you’re sure it’ll show through your sweats. So wet you’re sure Frankie can feel it, the way he looks down between your bodies. You follow his eyeline, groaning again, a fresh wave of slick pulsing out of you when you see how hard he is, tenting against the soft material.

You slant forward, bumping your forehead against his as you whimper, the seam of your clothing catching perfectly against your clit, head spinning. Frankie licks his lips, mouth tacky from breathing so hard.

‘So good, baby,’ he groans, ‘Fuck, you feel so good, moving like that.’

And you’re hot all over, heavy with arousal. Dipping your head low to kiss at his neck again, letting your tongue trace his skin, biting at the tendons there. He groans above you, puffing breath through his nose as he paws at your ass, urging you to arch your back more as though he knows you need to chase more friction. You whine into the crook of his neck, letting him drive the pace now as you clench around nothing, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach.

‘Fuck,’ you breathe against him, ‘Fuck, Frankie.’

‘Yeah?’ He rasps, ‘You like that, princesa?’

You moan again by way of an answer, scrunching the neck of his tee in your hands, squeezing your eyes shut. You don’t know how you’ve gotten there so quickly, knot pulling tight in your core, burning through your insides, but the hours of thinking about it probably haven’t helped.

‘’M gonna come.’ You mumble against him, and his breathing falters.

‘You gonna come like this?’

‘Mhm.’

You tip your head to suck at his neck again, and he presses you harder against him, moaning out.

‘Okay,’ he gasps, ‘Good girl.’

His praise goes straight to your aching cunt, your orgasm blinding as it approaches even faster than you thought. You stagger out a gasp, a moan, a broken cry of his name as you grind against him, hips twitching, one hand flying out to tug at his curls. Frankie grunts your name, something like a warning, and then the heat between your legs gets warmer, wetter as he spills inside his boxers.

‘Fuck,’ he gasps, ‘Fuck me.’

You giggle, dazed, as the grip of his hands soften, and you take the moment to grind against him a little more with the aftershocks. You keen at the sound of his overstimulated whimpers, the feel of his cum soaking through your clothes, until you can no longer resist the urge to draw back to look down at him.

He’s wrecked. Flushed and sweaty, curls a little tighter where they’re damp. His eyes are wide, deep and sparkling, lips wet and swollen from your kisses. Blissed out, a little faraway as he gazes at you. He looks beautiful.

You lean down to take his mouth with yours again, slower this time, relaxing into it as you come down from your highs. You lick along the seam of his lips, and he lets you in, tongues tangling lazily with each other. You run your fingers through his hair, twisting his soft curls around your digits, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted. He’s all you’ve ever wanted.

He’s all you want, and suddenly you have no idea where you stand.

All at once, the music is too loud, the rest of the world too still. Your legs feel too heavy, your hands shaky, a queasy feeling in your stomach. A spiral of something, a crushing weight of dread. You’re fucking this up.

He’s all you want, but what if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if you’re just drunk - what if this is a one time thing? You won’t be able to look at him, won’t be able to sit at the table drawing with Lucia now you know how he sounds when he falls apart. And you will not break your own heart by getting into something casual, something where he’ll inevitably find someone else -

You try to push it away, swallow it down, focus on the press of his soft, full lips, the firm feeling of his body against yours, but your mind is screaming at you -

What the fuck have you done?

Fleetwood Mac falls into silence. Your eyes fly open, mouth quickly detached from his.

‘Bug?’ He says, too softly.

You can’t breathe. Can’t say anything as he watches you, one hand still at the nape of your neck, the other wrapped around your hip. There’s a prickle in the back of your throat, a burning at the back of your eyes. Whisky sits heavy in your blood, and yet you’ve never felt more sober.

‘What’s wrong?’ He asks, and you shake your head.

‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper, voice strained, ‘Frankie, I’m so sorry -’

He sits up properly, adjusting you on his lap. Your hands drop to your sides. Frankie’s stay at your waist.

‘Bug, why are you sorry?’

His words are rushed, pitching higher. He’s worried - he’s panicking.

But you’re searching his face for regret, for clarity, for shame.

‘I -’ the words are too thick, too heavy to come out. Impossible to tell him now what he means to you, when it seems so clear he got caught up in the moment.

He’s still watching, still waiting. His hands squeeze at your sides, offering comfort. You close your eyes, shake your head, lips trembling.

‘I don’t know if you wanted this - if - if - you just did it because it’s something to do - or -’ you choke off with a shuddered breath, clenching your jaw, trying so hard not to cry. The wetness from both of you is cooling between your legs, and it’s too much, this whole thing is crushing, too much -

‘You don’t think I wanted this?’

You shake your head again, lips pinched together against a sob. Your chest aches. Frankie’s warm palm settles against your cheek.

‘Baby, look at me.’

You tip your head back, inhaling deeply through your nose, before tilting it back towards Frankie and opening your eyes. Warm, deep brown, frantically checking you over. Eyebrows crinkled in a frown. He breathes your name, mouth working around the words he’s trying to find.

‘You have no idea,’ he begins, ‘No idea how long I’ve waited for you. Not even since you moved next door. I’ve waited my whole life for you, do you understand that?’

You shake your head, refusing to hear him, unbelievable, a sob clawing out your mouth. He holds you closer.

‘I have. My whole life. God, Bug. The only thing I wish was different is that I’d bought the pizza so I could say I got you dinner first.’

A watery chuckle escapes you, despite yourself. Relief trying to bloom in your chest, a smile teasing at your lips.

‘You’ve made me dinner plenty of times -’

‘Mm-mm,’ he hums, smiling now, too. ‘Doesn’t count. I wanted to take you on a date, get dressed up, have some wine -’

‘No,’ you laugh - it’s so incomprehensible, ‘No you did not -’

‘I did.’ He rasps. ‘I just could never find the words - the fucking nerve - to say it.’

You take him in. His sweet, soft face. Every line and freckle you know so well. You could draw him from memory, starting with the little heart-shaped patch in his beard.

‘You mean it.’ Not a question, a confirmation. He takes your hand from your side, brings the knuckles to his lips.

‘Of course I do.’

You twist your hand in his, kiss his palm. Words tangle on your tongue but are swallowed, catching on their way down.

‘What do we do now?’

He laughs, head knocking against the back of the sofa. He looks down between you.

‘Get a change of clothes.’

You giggle, shifting again. His grip tightens, a sigh shifting past his lips. Your hips twinge.

‘After that?’

Frankie tips his head. In the quiet, you can hear birds through the glass of your windows. Without bidding it to, your mouth stretches in a yawn. Frankie quickly follows.

‘We go to sleep.’

‘And then?’

He smiles, plays with your fingers. A dusting of pink across his cheeks.

‘I tell everyone we’re seeing each other. And then, maybe one day, I tell them you’re mine.’

Your heart swells to double - triple - its size. Everything that felt heavy before now floating, light as air, as though nothing tethers it to the ground.

‘Sounds good to me, Morales.’

You lean forwards, press your lips against his. Feel his eyelashes flutter against your cheeks. He pulls away minutely, just to mumble against you.

‘If it sounds good to you, baby, it sounds perfect to me.’

‘Holy fuck.’

You scrunch your eyelids tighter together, trying to stave off the pounding of your head, how the room is spinning even in the darkness. Frankie is warm against you, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he groans.

‘I know.’

He laughs, a deep rumble vibrating through your ribs, until you’re joining him, cut off with a sharp intake of air.

‘Don’t,’ you mumble through clenched teeth, ‘If you make me laugh, I’ll puke.’

‘Mm. Yep. Not what we want. Water, that’s what we want.’

The mattress shifts as he does, and when you muster the strength to roll over, you’re faced with his bare, broad back, perched on the edge of the bed. You reach out a finger to connect the freckles on his shoulders, dipping low to the dimples above his boxers. You watch as his muscles tighten, as goosebumps flare over the skin you’ve touched. He swivels his hips to half face you.

‘Morning.’ He smiles. You answer with one of your own.

‘Morning.’

His lips stretch wider, mischief twinkling in his eyes. He gestures to your rumpled sheets.

‘Last night, did we…’

You snort, rolling your eyes at him.

‘Oh, fuck off, Fish -’

He leans over, chuckling, crawling back towards you. Your lungs freeze as his gaze drops to your lips.

‘I know,’ he breathes, ‘But I wish we did.’

He pecks you, gently, catching your eye before leaning closer to do it again. You return them, quick, gentle, peppering them all over his face. He hums, coming closer still, one arm braced over your body.

‘You know, you’re making it very hard to -’

His ringtone chimes loudly through the room, and you squeeze your eyes closed against it as it rattles through your skull. You knock a fist against his arm.

‘Frankie - please -’ as he groans, retreating, grabbing his phone from the bedside table. He answers the call, holds it as far away from his ear as possible.

‘Hello?’

You listen to the murmur of the conversation, piecing it together, trying to save yourself from the doze threatening at the corners of your body. When quiet returns, you crack an eye open to find him watching you.

‘Luc?’

He nods.

‘Duty calls.’

You smile, stretching your neck to catch one last kiss as he stands and leans over the bed. He stumbles around your room for his clothes - fresh sweats - yawning and stretching, scratching at his shoulder, and you can’t help how goofy, how giddily happy you feel watching him do it.

‘Are you safe to drive?’ You chuckle.

He squints into the sunlight streaming through your curtains. Pulls his t-shirt over his head, covering the chest you’d slept against. Looks down at you in the bed he’d held you in months ago.

‘Reckon I’m good,’ he grins, ‘See you later?’

You nod, biting your lip.

‘See you later.’

He swoops down again, seeking your lips, unable to help himself.

‘Later.’ He mumbles, puffing out a laugh as you push him off. ‘Get some rest.’

You hum as he leaves the room with soft footsteps, pulling the door gently closed behind him. Listen as he closes the front door, starts his truck.

I tell everyone we’re seeing each other. And then, maybe one day…

You roll back onto your side, one eye open, staring at the picture on the bedside table of you and your dad. A grin twists across your face, lip caught between your teeth as you point a finger at him. His answering smile, his arm always wrapped around you.

‘You knew, didn’t you?’

You can hear his laugh all the way from here.

You spend the last few days Lucia is home playing the most entertaining game of nothing-has-changed.

School is exhausting, the kids bouncing off the walls as you strive to finish your final piles of marking, of grades, working to the bottom of your inbox. You catch Frankie and Lucia every morning, almost every evening. Stay for dinner twice, stealing kisses in the kitchen when Luc isn’t looking.

As the week drags on, hands get more desperate, the game gets riskier. He backs you up against his counter, one hand grasping the marble beside you, the other against your face, splitting your mouth with his tongue, licking behind your teeth. His thigh tangles between your legs, his quiet moans so close, but not nearly close enough, to what you heard on your sofa.

It’s never enough.

You spend the nights alone, hands buried between your thighs, soaked with the knowledge he’s doing the same.

It’s the last day of term when you struggle out of your truck, arms laden with potted plants and summer reading, to see a small, red car parked on Frankie’s driveway. A swoop of sadness in your gut, a tiny, guilty, twinge of excitement.

You’re trying to work out how to retrieve your keys from your pocket, worrying whether you’ll have time to say goodbye when she jumps down the porch steps to greet you.

‘Bug!’ Luc crows, sprinting across the grass before crashing into your knees. Your precarious pile of books wobbles dangerously as you laugh.

‘Well, if it isn’t my favourite Morales!’ You cry, peering down at her over the monstera. She beams up at you, jumping a little.

‘Mama’s here!’ She shouts, her arms still wrapped around your legs, squeezing them tighter.

‘Your Mama!’ you parrot back excitedly, ‘I have to meet your Mama, Luc. You’ve told me so much about her, all the places she’s been -’

Movement on Frankie’s porch catches your eye, and you look up to see a woman coming down the steps towards you. Beautiful - shining hair, a wide, genuine smile. Lucia’s smile.

Luc swivels against you, following your eye.

‘Mama!’ She shouts. ‘It’s Bug!’

You laugh again, and Vanessa laughs with you. She stretches an arm across your shoulders, pressing a kiss against your cheek.

‘Bug,’ she repeats warmly, squeezing your arm. ‘Vanessa. I’ve heard so much about you. Luc talks about you all the time on the phone. You’re her favourite person in the world.’

Your cheeks heat, a bashful chuckle leaving your lips.

‘She has awful taste.’ You whisper conspiratorially. Vanessa laughs loudly.

‘Hardly,’ she says, ‘You’ve been an angel. All the stories I’ve heard, the way Frankie talks about you -’

She cuts off as he emerges from the house. He spots you straight away, eyes shielded from the afternoon light, cap pulled down over his curls, smile as bright as the sun.

‘Hey.’ He says, softly, as he approaches the three of you on the grass.

Vanessa rolls her eyes at you.

‘Hey,’ she repeats, nudging you, ‘As if he's not been talking my ear off about you all afternoon.’

‘Making friends already, I see.’ He says, cheeks turning rosy as he catches the tail end of her sentence. You poke your tongue into your cheek.

‘You talking about me again, Morales?’

Frankie flushes an even deeper pink, and Vanessa giggles, delighted.

‘Oh, I like you even more than I already did.’

Frankie tips his face to the sky, exasperated, as you snicker. Lucia’s tinkle of laughter joins yours, and Frankie plants his hands on his hips, frowning playfully down at her.

‘You don’t even know what you’re laughing at, mija.’

Lucia sticks her tongue out at him, and you and Vanessa laugh again.

‘She’s clued in, this kid,’ she says, ‘Knew it from day one.’

‘Knew what?’ Lucia demands.

Vanessa ruffles her hair.

‘That Bug’s special.’

Something swells in your throat as you catch Vanessa’s eye. There’s such goodness there, an understanding. Gratitude, a kind of encouragement.

‘Are you staying for dinner?’

Vanessa shakes her head, smiling fondly down at where her daughter now stands between you.

‘Not tonight. We only hung around to see you.’

She smiles at you again, eyebrows raising. Your throat aches, and you swallow tightly.

‘Thank you.’ You say softly.

Vanessa scoffs.

‘Thank you,’ she says, ‘For everything you’ve done. I hope you have a really great summer.’ She pauses, nodding to your books. ‘You deserve it.’

You chuckle, bending down to lower them onto the lawn, arms sore. You swipe your palms on your pants. She pulls you close again, and you go willingly, arms wrapped around her.

‘I mean it,’ she says in your ear. ‘Have a really great summer.’

She winks at you as she pulls away, and your cheeks heat again, eyes darting to Frankie.

‘Shit stirrer.’ He whispers, chuckling over her shoulder as she hugs him too.

She smacks a hand against his bicep as she steps back.

‘Someone had to say it.’ She grins.

You bite your lip, squatting down to Lucia’s level as Vanessa pats her pockets for her car keys.

‘You be good,’ you say to her, hands on her arms. ‘Look after your Mama, do what she tells you. And I’ll see you when you get back.’

She nods solemnly.

‘Promise?’

You hold out your pinky.

‘Pinky promise.’

She joins your fingers before lurching into your arms, her little body bending into yours.

‘I love you, Bug.’ She whispers.

You squeeze her tighter, tears pricking in the backs of your eyes.

‘Love you too, bean.’

You rub her back as she tightens her fierce hold around your neck before backing away. She takes Vanessa’s outstretched hand.

‘Shall we go, Luc?’ She asks.

‘Yep!’ She says, taking Frankie’s offered hand in her spare one. He squeezes your arm as he passes you on the way to the car, dropping a quick kiss on your forehead.

You watch as he straps Lucia into her carseat, leaning over her to tuck in her belt, pressing kisses all over her face until she squeals. He murmurs more quiet goodbyes to her before reluctantly closing the door, hugging Vanessa again before she lowers herself into the driver’s seat. He steps back as the car starts, raising a hand to wave as they start to back out of the driveway. You step closer, standing at his side as you wave, too, until the little, red car shrinks to a pinpoint on the road.

You turn to face him as the first tear falls to find his own streaked with wetness. His mouth tightly closed, eyes watery, lips downturned before cracking into a smile. You giggle at each other, though your heart pulls low.

‘Gonna miss her little face.’ You whisper, before you blink and the tears start in earnest. Frankie crackles out a half-cry, half-laugh.

‘Me too,’ he says, pulling you into his chest. You wind your arms around him, breathing him in. His chest rumbles with another chuckle. ‘Jesus, look at us.’

The sun is low in the sky, glinting against your jewellery as you drape your arms around Frankie’s neck. It’s well past the hour you should have left, but each time you get close to stepping out the door, your lipstick manages to get smudged again.

You can’t begin to guess why.

His hands are incessant, grasping at your waist, the nape of your neck. Lips even more so, intent on undoing your work as you giggle at him, putting on a poor performance of driving him away.

‘Frankie,’ you murmur against his lips, ‘Baby, I have to go -’

He grumbles, hands gripping you tighter.

‘Don’t have to go anywhere. Should stay here with me.’ He mumbles, full mouth pressed to yours as you try to squeeze out your reply.

‘I’m new - I can’t - miss - my first - end of year - party.’

‘You’re not new,’ he says, scruff whispering against your neck as he peppers kisses below your jaw. ‘Been there for the whole year. Can’t believe the first chance we get at a free house - and you’re making your escape.’

He rolls his hips against yours, and you briefly consider sacking the whole thing off and pulling him into your bed. But you’d promised Rachel, promised Marie and Calum and Helen -

‘Tomorrow.’ You half-moan, and he grunts.

‘Barbecue tomorrow.’

A huff sounds between you, and you can’t tell whether it’s from you or Frankie. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stave off the arousal pooling between your thighs.

‘We’ll have the whole summer after this -’

‘Not long enough.’ He growls, and you laugh properly, if a little breathlessly.

‘And all the months afterwards. I need to go.’

You fist his hair, his t-shirt, a little rougher. He inhales deeply at your pulse point, dragging his nose against your skin as he pulls away.

‘You look beautiful.’ He says.

Your cheeks heat as you take in the way he looks at you. So intense, so honest in his truth and his want. It makes your insides gooey.

‘Thank you.’

He waits as you collect your purse, checking your lipstick in the mirror before the door. He kisses you again, soft, chaste, as he steps out before you into the evening air, a hand tangled with yours as you lock the door and come to the bottom of your lawn.

‘I’ll see you later.’ You smile, loosening your fingers for fear he’ll pull you back in and truly render your plans asunder.

‘Later,’ he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. ‘Be safe. Text me if you need anything.’

‘I will.’ You murmur, unable, despite your best efforts, to fight the instinct to kiss him one last time.

Frankie keeps a vigil most of the night. You’d texted him to say you’d arrived, sent a couple more to tell him you were having a great time and that you’d told Rachel, who told everyone else, that you were seeing someone.

Somehow, they guessed it was you first time.

You been talking about me, teach?

Apparently I never shut up about you. Embarrassing.

Go to bed ;)

His eyelids are heavy against the glow of the TV in his bedroom, and more than once, his head droops so low that he starts himself awake with the sudden movement.

He doesn’t even realise he’s been asleep until the thud of a closing car door shakes him from his slumber, brain slowly processing the sound of your front door opening and shutting. He groans, rolling over to check the time on his bedside clock. It’s three in the morning.

He stands in a heavy-lidded daze, body weighted and warm with drowsiness, twitching his curtain to see your bedroom light on, standing there in the semi-darkness as the shadow of you moves across your window.

His heart lurches in his chest as the corner of your own curtain lifts, heart hammering at the peak of you just like it did that first day. There’s a flash of your teeth through the gloom, and then you disappear, the window covered again.

His phone buzzes on the bedside table, and he moves with slow feet towards it. He picks up on the second ring.

‘I thought I told you to get some rest.’

He falls heavily back against his pillows, free hand searching blindly for the remote to turn the volume down.

‘Couldn’t sleep.’

You snort down the line, and he can see your eyeroll.

‘I saw your scruffy hair,’ you tease, ‘You’ve been asleep already, Morales.’

His voice is more slurred than yours when he speaks again, and it makes you giggle even harder.

‘Wanted ta make sure you got home safe.’

He stifles a yawn against his hand, and you chuckle again.

‘’M home safe,’ you say softly, ‘All good.’

The line is quiet for a moment as he fumbles for more words to say, wanting to listen to your voice a little longer.

‘Didya hava good time?’

Your answer is a little more indulgent this time, and in the following silence he hears the click of your lamp and the rustle of your sheets.

‘A very good time,’ a pause, and then, with the sound of a smile, ‘I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.’

He nods, although you can’t see him.

‘Mkay.’

‘Goodnight, baby.’

‘G’night, princesa.’

He’s out like a light, phone slipping from his hand before you even hang up.

Before he can catch the words that slip in a hush from your lips.

frankie and bug's whisky night playlist <3

#triple frontier #chaptered #ongoing #read #author: luxurychristmaspudding

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