#also hopeful I get a marcus pov | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 6 months ago

Note

omg PLSSSS do a sequel to ‘under a false alter’ like PLSSS ANDDD i wanna know everything about them

how’s married life? how has she adjusted to marriage? what does he think about her? i need banter i need sexual tension I NEED EVERYTHING PLSSS oh and lots of smut THANK YOUU

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʟʟᴀ ᴡᴀʟʟs

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Summary: No matter how hard you try, you can't seem to escape your new husband, not that your father makes it any easier for you.

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage) SMUT, grinding, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Implied age gap, Scars, Voyeurism, Spitting, both give switch vibes, the reader has a little angsty past, biting, misogyny, almost drowning

A/n: I've never been so grateful for the amount of love this has received. I hope I do it justice with this part two. Lots of love and joy. ALSO, WE GET A MARCUS POV AT ONE POINT hehe

It had been three days since your "marriage" to Marcus, and the silence between you two had been a welcome respite. The tension in the air was thick, each of you occupying your own space, minding your own business. You hoped it would stay that way. Mornings were spent in relative peace, with Marcus at one end of the breakfast table and you at the other.

Taking a bite of a grape, you glared across the table where your father sat with his mistress, Aurelia. The sight of her playing with your father's hair made your stomach churn. The woman who had tormented you for so long was now lounging comfortably in your home, smugly flaunting her relationship with your father. They exchanged whispered words and glances filled with a shared history that excluded you. Aurelia's laughter echoed off the walls, a sound that grated against your nerves.

You noticed Marcus watching them too, his expression unreadable as he observed the easy familiarity between your father and his lover. As if sensing your gaze, Aurelia's eyes flicked towards you, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge in her gaze as if daring you to disrupt their blissful morning routine. It was a calculated move, a reminder that despite your marriage to Marcus, some things remained unchanged.

"My love, we should go to the villa," Aurelia cooed, her eyes darting towards you with a malicious glint. She was clearly enjoying your discomfort. You could practically taste the bile rising in your throat at the sight and sound of her.

Your father chuckled, his voice warm and affectionate. "Ah, my dear Aurelia, always full of wonderful ideas," he replied, his hand finding hers across the table. His gaze met yours briefly, a hint of apology in his eyes before returning his attention to Aurelia. "Perhaps we should make a day of it. Just the two of us."

Aurelia leaned in closer to him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Or we could make it a family affair," she suggested with a sly smile, her gaze flickering towards Marcus and then back to you, her implication clear.

Marcus tensed beside you, his jaw clenching subtly as he watched the exchange. His eyes briefly met yours, a silent question lingering between you. You shrugged imperceptibly, unsure of what to make of Aurelia's suggestion.

"We'll see," Marcus finally interjected, his tone neutral but his gaze fixed on Aurelia. "It might be a good idea to get some fresh air."

Aurelia chuckled softly, her gaze lingering on Marcus for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to your father. "Yes, fresh air could do us all some good," she agreed, her smile widening as if she had won some small victory.

The comment landed heavily, striking you with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "Father, that is not—" you began to protest, but Marcus cut you off.

"Parents don't come on a honeymoon," Marcus interjected firmly. "We'll go alone. It's tradition."

Your father looked to protest, but Marcus continued, a subtle urgency in his tone. "It’s important for us to have time alone to... solidify our bond," he explained, casting a meaningful glance at your father. "Besides, it would give her a break from the current... dynamics here."

Your father's brows furrowed as he considered Marcus's words, his gaze shifting between you and Aurelia. It was clear he was torn, wanting to spend time with his lover but also recognizing the benefit of giving you some space away from Aurelia's influence.

"Very well," your father conceded, though his expression remained stern. "But remember, you must be back by fall. And I expect you to return with news of an heir."

The ultimatum hung heavily in the air, weighing down your heart. Visiting your mother was a rare privilege, one you couldn't afford to pass up. But the thought of being with Marcus, of possibly bearing his child, filled you with dread.

"You can't be serious," you whispered, turning to face your father. "You can't make me do this."

His expression was unwavering, a stern reminder of the power he held over you. "It's for your own good," he said simply. "And for the good of our family."

Marcus's gaze remained locked onto yours, a blend of authority and challenge. "It's settled, then," he declared firmly. "We'll leave in the morning."

You bristled, your skin tingling with a mixture of anger and an unwelcome flicker of desire. "This isn't over," you warned, your voice quivering with emotion. "I won't be your pawn."

A dark chuckle escaped Marcus, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I never thought you were," he replied coolly. "But we are bound together now. Whether you like it or not."

The next morning, you found yourself in a lavish carriage, the countryside rolling by in a blur of green and gold. Marcus sat opposite you, his gaze unwavering as he watched you. The silence between you was heavy, fraught with unspoken words and simmering tension.

"I hate you," you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "I hate everything about this."

He raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Do you?" he asked, his tone almost mocking. "Or do you hate that you can't control it?"

You glared at him, your fists clenching in your lap. "You think you're so clever," you muttered. "But you don't know me. You don't know anything about me."

"Maybe not," he conceded. "But I intend to find out."

You turned your gaze away from him, looking out the window as the scenery shifted. The villa was near the ocean, a place you knew well. It was where you had grown up, where you had spent countless days playing in the sand and swimming in the waves. The familiarity of the landscape brought a rush of memories, both comforting and bittersweet.

Despite the beauty of the place, the reality of your situation weighed heavily on you. The promise of seeing your mother again was the only thing that had convinced you to agree to this honeymoon, but the thought of returning pregnant filled you with dread. You knew your father’s ultimatum was a trap, a way to ensure your compliance and submission.

"I won't return pregnant," you said firmly, breaking the silence. "I'm only doing this to see my mother."

Marcus leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You think you can control that?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "You think you can decide what happens between us?"

"I can try," you retorted, meeting his gaze with defiance. "I won't let you dictate my life."

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You’re stubborn, I'll give you that. But you underestimate the power of our bond. We are married now, and that means something."

"Not to me," you said, your voice trembling with anger. "This marriage is just a prison, a way to control me."

"It doesn't have to be," he said, his tone softening slightly. "We could make it something more, something real."

You scoffed, turning back to the window. "I doubt that," you muttered, your heart heavy with resentment and fear.

As the carriage continued its journey, you lost yourself in thoughts of the past and the uncertain future. The villa by the ocean, once a place of joy and freedom, now seemed like a gilded cage. The waves crashing against the shore were a stark reminder of the turbulent emotions within you, a mix of anger, sadness, and a glimmer of hope that you couldn't quite extinguish.

When the carriage finally arrived at the villa, you were both relieved and apprehensive. The grand entrance and the familiar scent of the sea filled you with a sense of nostalgia, but the presence of Marcus at your side was an ever-present reminder of the new reality you were forced to accept.

As you stepped out of the carriage, Marcus placed a hand on your back, guiding you forward. The touch was both possessive and surprisingly gentle, a contradiction that left you feeling even more conflicted.

"We'll make a fresh start here," he declared, his voice tinged with sincerity. "No more fighting. Let's give this a real chance."

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Then we keep trying," he said simply. "Until we do."

You studied him intently, trying to gauge the truth in his words. The weight of his gaze held yours, earnest and unwavering. After a moment of contemplation, you spoke, your voice tinged with skepticism. "What makes you so sure we can make this work?"

Marcus sighed softly, his hand falling to his side. "Because I'm not here to control you," he explained gently. "All I want is communication. That's all we need to make this work—open and honest communication."

His words resonated with a truth you hadn't expected. Despite your reservations, a flicker of hope stirred within you. "Communication," you echoed, testing the word on your tongue. It sounded simple, yet laden with potential.

You'd been at the villa for two days, and despite everything, you had managed to avoid Marcus and even sleep in separate bedrooms. Meal times were awkward, the silence between you both louder than any words could have been. You had resolved to stay like that for the entire three weeks your father had given you to "get pregnant." But your alcohol tolerance had other plans.

Each morning, you found yourself waking early to escape to the farthest corners of the villa, the sprawling gardens and the serene lake providing a much-needed sanctuary. You spent your days wandering through the lush greenery, finding solace in the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves. Marcus, it seemed, had taken a similar approach, retreating to his own activities and leaving you undisturbed. The villa was vast enough to make this evasion possible, yet each evening you couldn't help but feel the walls closing in, the loneliness amplifying your homesickness.

The memories of your mother haunted you. The villa, though beautiful, reminded you painfully of the home you'd left behind and the loving presence of your mother. You missed her gentle voice, her comforting embrace, and her wisdom. The separation weighed heavily on your heart, each passing hour a reminder of the emotional distance that now lay between you.

It was late afternoon when you asked one of the maids to bring you a drink. A mistake, you realized too late, not specifying how strong it should be. Without your father's supervision, you had indulged far too much. The room spun around you, and your vision blurred as you stumbled your way toward the dining room.

You pushed open the heavy door, the sudden light from the chandelier making you squint. Marcus was already there, a book in his hands, but his eyes snapped to you the moment you entered. You could feel his gaze like a weight on your skin, making the room feel even hotter than it already was.

"Well, if it isn't my estranged bride," he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. He put down his book, his posture straightening as he watched you struggle to find your footing.

You squinted at him, the light from the chandelier making your head throb. "Don't start," you warned, though your voice came out more slurred than stern.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Start what? Observing the obvious? You're drunk."

You staggered forward, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "I'm fine," you insisted, though you nearly tripped over your own feet.

"Fine?" he echoed, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You're a mess."

You shot him a glare, your temper flaring. "Like you care," you spat. "You're just loving this, aren't you? Seeing me like this."

He stepped closer, his expression darkening. "No, actually, I'm not. You're making a fool of yourself."

"Better a fool than a tyrant," you retorted, your fists clenching at your sides. "You think you can control me, just like my father."

Marcus's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "I don't need to control you," he replied, his hands gripping your arms. "I just need you to stop acting like a child."

You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. "Don't touch me," you hissed, your anger boiling over. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

His eyes flashed with irritation. "Someone has to since you clearly can't handle yourself."

"You're such a pompous ass," you shot back, your voice rising. "Do you really think I wanted any of this? To be stuck with you?"

His grip tightened, but his voice remained dangerously calm. "You think I wanted this either? To be saddled with a spoiled, reckless girl who can't even hold her liquor?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, the alcohol fueling your reckless words. "I hate you," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "I hate everything about this, and I hate you."

Marcus's eyes darkened, his grip on your arms firm but not painful. "Good," he said, his voice low and intense. "Use that hate. Let it drive you. But don't you dare make a fool of yourself in front of everyone."

Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "You don't get to tell me how to feel," you choked out. "Or what to do."

He sighed, his expression softening slightly. "I'm not trying to control you," he said quietly. "I'm trying to keep you from hurting yourself."

You glared at him, your vision blurring. "I don't need your help," you insisted, though even you knew how weak it sounded.

"Too bad," he said simply, lifting you into his arms with ease. "You're getting it anyway."

You struggled weakly, your head spinning. "Put me down," you demanded, though your voice lacked conviction.

"Not a chance," he replied, carrying you toward his room. "You're staying where I can keep an eye on you."

You hated the feeling of being so helpless, so dependent on him. "You're insufferable," you muttered, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"And you're stubborn," he retorted, his grip on you firm but gentle. "But I'm not leaving you like this."

He pushed open the door to his room and set you down on the large, plush bed, his hands lingering on your arms for a moment longer than necessary. You tried to sit up, but your body refused to cooperate.

"I'm sleeping in my room," you said, trying to push yourself up, but failing miserably.

"Not tonight," Marcus said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He knelt in front of you, removing your shoes with careful precision. "You're staying here where I can keep an eye on you."

You glared at him, though it lacked any real heat. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

He looked up, meeting your gaze with a small, knowing smile. "Maybe a little," he admitted. "But only because I finally get to take care of you, whether you like it or not."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a confusing mix of emotions swirling inside you. "I don't need your help," you repeated weakly.

He stood, his eyes never leaving yours. "Maybe not," he said softly. "But I'm here anyway."

You tried to maintain your defiance, but your vision was blurry and your body was betraying you. The alcohol had dulled your senses, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. You attempted to sit up straighter, to keep the conversation going, to keep your mind sharp. But the effort was in vain. Your head felt heavy, and your eyelids were drooping despite your best efforts.

"Don't fall asleep," you murmured to yourself, the words slurring together.

Marcus's expression softened, and he crouched down beside the bed, his face level with yours. "You need to rest," he said, his voice gentle.

"I can... stay awake," you insisted, but your body had other plans. Your limbs felt like lead, and the comfort of the bed was becoming impossible to resist.

Marcus reached out, his hand brushing a lock of hair from your face. "Just sleep," he urged. "I'll be right here."

You tried to fight it, tried to keep your eyes open, but the pull of sleep was too strong. As you stared into his eyes, the intensity of his gaze was the last thing you saw before everything went dark. His eyes held a depth that made your heart ache, a mixture of frustration, determination, and something else you couldn't quite name.

Your breathing slowed, and you felt yourself slipping away, the warmth of the bed enveloping you. Marcus's presence beside you was a strange comfort, a reminder that despite everything, you weren't alone. His hand lingered on your face for a moment longer, his touch surprisingly tender.

The last thing you saw before sleep claimed you was his face, the worry and care etched into his features. Your final thought was a confused jumble of emotions, a mixture of anger, defiance, and a reluctant sense of safety.

I watched her struggle to stay awake, her eyelids fluttering as the effects of the alcohol took hold. Her earlier defiance had melted into a fragile vulnerability that tightened my chest. Despite everything, there was something about her that stirred a protective instinct in me.

She hated me, and I couldn't blame her. This marriage wasn't her choice, just as it wasn't truly mine. But here we were, bound together by circumstances beyond our control. I had accepted the arrangement with a single, desperate hope – to escape the life of a gladiator. To live a life where survival wasn't measured by the swing of a sword.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I watched her sleep. She looked so peaceful now, a stark contrast to the fiery woman who had spat venom at me earlier. Her reputation had preceded her – wild, unladylike, with a rebellious streak that made her father's blood boil. Any other man would have turned her away, seen her as too much trouble. But not me.

I was no stranger to trouble. Hell, I lived in it every day in the arena. So when this opportunity arose, I took it. Perhaps, deep down, I saw a bit of myself in her – trapped, fighting against the current, desperate for a way out.

I leaned back in my chair, the wood creaking softly under my weight. The villa was quiet, save for the soft sounds of the ocean outside. It was beautiful here, far removed from the chaos of our everyday lives. Maybe, just maybe, it could be a place for new beginnings.

But that was wishful thinking, and I knew it. We were too different, too stubborn, and too caught up in our own struggles to see eye to eye. Still, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe over time, we could find common ground. Maybe I could help her see that not all men were out to control her, to use her.

As she slept, I couldn't help but reflect on our wedding night. I had been a little drunk, my senses dulled by the wine and the weight of what lay ahead. I hadn’t known what to expect, and the confusion of hate and passion made me feel odd, out of place in my own skin. She had initiated sex that night, surprising me with her boldness. Yet now she pretended I was nothing more than a rodent, something to be tolerated.

But I wasn’t blind. I saw the way she looked at me, the physical attraction she tried to mask with disdain. It was confusing, this mix of desire and loathing. I wanted her, but I wouldn’t force it. I refused to become the monster she seemed to believe I was.

My eyes wandered over her sleeping form, taking in the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair splayed out over the pillow. She looked peaceful, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine a future where she looked at me with that same peace when awake.

I remembered the way she had clung to me on our wedding night, her body warm and pliant against mine. The way she had moaned my name, her defenses lowered, just for a moment. It felt like a betrayal that she could feel so passionately in bed yet treat me with such coldness during the day.

Watching her now, I felt a strange sense of accomplishment. She had fallen asleep in my presence, a small step forward in this tangled mess we found ourselves in. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A sign that maybe, just maybe, there was a way for us to find common ground.

The exhaustion from the day's events washed over me, and I settled into the chair, unable to tear my gaze away from her. She shifted slightly, a soft murmur escaping her lips. The urge to go to her, to hold her and comfort her, was strong, but I stayed put. Pushing her now would only drive her further away.

As my eyelids grew heavy, I thought about the road ahead. The days would be long and difficult, filled with arguments and misunderstandings. But for the first time, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe we could make this work. Maybe we could find a way to understand each other, to build something real from the ashes of our forced union.

With that thought, I let myself drift off, the rhythmic sound of her breathing a strange, comforting lullaby. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, we had this moment of fragile peace. And in the quiet of the night, it was enough.

You woke up with a slight headache, the overwhelming scent of a man filling your senses. It was a heady mix of sweat, leather, and something distinctly masculine. You sat up, and the room spun a little. A groan escaped your lips as you checked to make sure your clothes were still on. You didn't remember him taking off anything other than your shoes, but he was still a man, after all. Your eyes landed on Marcus, uncomfortably slouched in a chair facing the bed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The sight of him asleep, vulnerable, stirred something unfamiliar in you, but you quickly pushed it aside.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood up slowly, testing your balance. The headache pounded behind your eyes, a painful reminder of your overindulgence. You made your way to the washbasin, splashing cold water on your face, hoping it would help clear the fog in your head. After a moment, you straightened, took a deep breath, and left the room, eager to put some distance between yourself and Marcus.

The villa was quiet as you made your way to the dining room, the only sounds the distant call of seabirds and the gentle lap of waves against the shore. The familiarity of it all made you ache with a longing for simpler times. You remembered your childhood here, playing on the beach, carefree and happy before the world became so complicated.

As you entered the dining room, a maid appeared, carrying a tray with a bowl and a single, raw egg. She approached you with a polite smile, her eyes downcast.

"Good morning, my lady. I've brought you something to help with... pregnancy," she said, her voice hesitant.

Your eyes narrowed, and you snapped, "I'm not pregnant. The only remedy from an old wife I want is a hangover remedy."

The maid's eyes widened in surprise and fear. "I'm sorry, my lady. It's just that raw eggs are believed to help with getting pregnant. I meant no offense."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Just bring me something for this headache, please."

She nodded quickly and scurried away, leaving you with the bowl and the raw egg. You stared at it with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. The idea of swallowing a raw egg made your stomach churn, but you knew that in the world you lived in, old wives' tales often carried weight.

Moments later, the maid returned with a cup of herbal tea and a damp cloth. "Here, my lady. This should help."

You took the tea gratefully, sipping it slowly. The warm liquid soothed your throat, and the bitter herbs began to work their magic on your pounding head. You sat down at the table, placing the cloth over your eyes and leaning back in the chair.

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. You peeked from under the cloth to see Marcus standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He had changed into fresh clothes, but the scent of him from the night before still lingered in your nostrils.

"Feeling better?" he asked, his voice gruff.

"Not really," you replied, your tone sharp. "What do you want?"

He walked over, sitting across from you. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

You glared at him, the words from the previous night echoing in your mind. "I don't need your concern."

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "You were quite the handful last night."

"Well, if you hadn't dragged me off to bed like some helpless damsel, maybe I wouldn't have been," you shot back, the anger flaring up again.

"You're right," he said, surprising you. "But I didn't want you hurting yourself. Despite what you think, I don't want to control you."

You scoffed, lowering the cloth and meeting his gaze. "You keep saying that, but your actions say otherwise."

He sighed, rubbing his temples as if he, too, had a headache. "Look, I know you didn't want this marriage any more than I did. But we're in this together now. Fighting each other isn't going to make it any easier."

You stared at him, the sincerity in his eyes catching you off guard. You wanted to lash out, to keep up the walls you had built, but something in his demeanor made you pause.

"Why did you accept this marriage?" you asked quietly, the question that had been nagging at you since the wedding.

He looked away, his jaw tightening. "I hoped it would be a way out," he admitted. "A way to escape the life of a gladiator. And yes, I knew of your reputation. But I also knew that any other man wouldn't have accepted you, not with the rumors."

His honesty disarmed you, the anger slowly seeping out of you. You wanted to understand his motives further, but another question gnawed at you.

"So, you did this for your freedom?" you asked, trying to grasp his intentions.

"And maybe for yours too," he said softly, his eyes meeting yours again. "I know what it's like to be trapped in a life you didn't choose."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging between you. For the first time, you saw a glimpse of the man behind the mask, and it left you feeling more conflicted than ever. You didn't know if you could trust him, but you couldn't deny the small spark of hope his words ignited.

The sound of the waves outside grew louder in the silence, as if echoing the turmoil within you. You took another sip of the tea, letting the warmth spread through you, grounding you in the moment.

Marcus shifted in his seat, breaking the silence. "Do you want to visit the pier?" he asked, his voice tentative.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "The pier?" you echoed, memories flooding back. You remembered visiting the pier with your mother, the laughter, the carefree days. Since returning to the villa, you hadn't gone to see it. The thought of revisiting that place brought a mix of nostalgia and longing, but also a sense of trepidation.

"Yes, the pier," Marcus repeated, watching you closely. "I thought you might like to see it."

You felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Part of you wanted to reject his offer out of sheer stubbornness, to prove you didn't need anything from him. But another part of you, the part that missed the simpler times, yearned to go.

"Why do you care?" you snapped, crossing your arms defensively.

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not about caring. I just thought it might be nice for you to see it again."

You glared at him, trying to keep your walls up. "You think taking me to the pier will make everything better? That I'll suddenly forget everything and be grateful?"

"No," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. "I don't expect anything. I'm just offering."

The sincerity in his voice made you falter. You hated the way he could make you feel so uncertain, so conflicted. But the thought of the pier, of the memories it held, was too tempting to ignore.

"Fine," you said, your tone laced with defiance. "I'll go."

Marcus nodded, standing up. "Meet me at the front door when you're ready."

You finished your tea and stood up, taking a deep breath. You made your way to your room to change into something more suitable for the walk. As you dressed, your mind wandered back to the days with your mother, the laughter and the joy of simpler times. You hadn't realized how much you missed it until now.

When you stepped outside, Marcus was waiting by the villa's front door. He gave you a brief nod, his expression unreadable. You walked down the steps and joined him, the air thick with tension.

"Let's get this over with," you muttered, starting down the path that led to the pier.

The walk down the small hill was silent at first, the only sounds the distant calls of seabirds and the gentle rustling of the trees. You kept your eyes forward, determined not to let Marcus see the turmoil within you.

"Did you ever come here often?" Marcus asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes," you replied curtly. "With my mother."

He nodded, glancing around. "It's a beautiful place."

"It was," you said sharply, quickening your pace.

Marcus matched your stride easily. "You know, you don't have to be so hostile."

You shot him a glare. "I wouldn't have to be if you didn't keep treating me like some delicate flower."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Trust me, there's nothing delicate about you."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "And what exactly do you know about me, Marcus?"

"Enough to know you're stubborn as a mule," he retorted, a smirk playing at his lips.

You bristled, your temper flaring. "Well, at least I'm not a brute who thinks he can solve everything with his fists."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think of me?"

You turned to face him, your eyes blazing. "That's exactly what I think of you."

He opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, quickening your pace down the path to the pier. The sand and salt air grew stronger as you neared the shoreline, the familiar sights and sounds stirring a bittersweet nostalgia.

When you arrived at the pier, you paused, taking in the scene before you. The wooden structure stretched out over the water, the waves gently lapping against the posts. You could almost hear your mother's laughter, feel her hand in yours as you walked together.

Marcus stood beside you, his presence a steadying force despite your irritation. "Shall we?" he said, gesturing towards the pier.

With a sigh, you stepped onto the weathered planks, the wood creaking slightly underfoot. You walked in silence, the only sound the distant call of seabirds and the gentle lapping of the waves.

As you reached the end of the pier, you leaned against the railing, gazing out at the horizon. The sea stretched endlessly before you, a vast expanse of blue that seemed to hold all the secrets of the world.

Marcus joined you, his gaze also fixed on the horizon. "It's peaceful here," he said quietly.

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of calm. "It is."

For a moment, the tension between you seemed to fade, replaced by a shared appreciation for the beauty around you. But the peace was short-lived.

You turned to leave, but your foot caught on a loose board. The world tilted as you stumbled, losing your balance. With a yelp, you plunged into the water below. The icy shock of the sea stole your breath, and you struggled to stay afloat, panic surging through you. The water was a merciless force, dragging you under. Your limbs flailed wildly, but you couldn't seem to break the surface. The salty liquid filled your mouth, choking any attempt at calling for help. Your heart pounded, every beat a frantic plea for air as you fought against the pull of the sea.

In the midst of your panic, a shadow loomed above you. Through the haze of water and fear, you saw Marcus diving in. His strong arms encircled you, pulling you upwards with a force that felt both powerful and reassuring. "I can't swim!" you wanted to shout, but the words were swallowed by the water. Instead, you could only gasp, your chest burning as you fought to breathe. Marcus's grip was unyielding, his strength a lifeline. He hauled you to the surface, your head breaking through to the sweet relief of air. You coughed violently, expelling the seawater that had threatened to drown you. Your vision blurred, but you felt Marcus's steady hands guiding you to the shore.

The sand was a rough but welcome texture beneath you as Marcus laid you down, his grip loosening now that you were safe. You continued to cough, your lungs heaving as you expelled the last of the water. You were soaked to the bone, the chill of the sea clinging to your skin. Marcus stood over you, an amused glint in his eyes despite the concern etched into his features.

"I thought you said you grew up here," he remarked his tone light but edged with teasing.

You glared at him through your exhaustion, still catching your breath. "Just...shut up," you managed to rasp, feeling a fresh wave of embarrassment as you realized how helpless you'd been.

He crouched beside you, his expression softening slightly. "You should have told me you couldn't swim," he said, a hint of genuine concern breaking through his teasing demeanor.

You sat up slowly, brushing sand from your wet hair. "I didn't think it would matter," you muttered, annoyed more at yourself than at him. "And I didn't expect to fall in."

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, it's a good thing I was here to save you."

You shot him a withering look. "Don't let it go to your head."

He grinned, clearly enjoying your irritation. "Too late."

You pushed yourself to your feet, shivering as the cool breeze hit your wet skin. "I need to get cleaned up," you said, more to yourself than to him.

"Do you need help with that too?" Marcus asked, his tone mischievous.

You glared at him again, but there was a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not a chance."

As you made your way back to the villa, you couldn't shake the conflicting feelings that Marcus stirred in you. His arrogance was infuriating, but there was something about his confidence and the way he had jumped in to save you without hesitation that you couldn't ignore.

"Your father said you grew up here, and you can't swim?" he mocked, shaking his head. "What kind of life have you led?"

You glared at him, anger and humiliation warring within you. "Not that it's any of your business, but my mother didn't want me learning. She was afraid of the sea."

He raised an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. "And you? Are you afraid of the sea?"

You looked away, the memories of your mother's fear mingling with your own. "Maybe," you admitted quietly.

Marcus sighed, helping you to your feet. "You could have told me."

"And you could stop assuming you know everything about me," you shot back, refusing to meet his gaze.

He paused briefly, then chuckled softly. "Fair enough."

Standing there, dripping wet and shivering, the earlier bickering had faded, leaving behind a tentative peace. The walk back to the villa had taken an unexpected turn, yet as you gazed out over the water, a curious sense of calm settled within you.

He remained quiet, and you welcomed the respite of silence as you reached the villa. You marched inside, heading straight for your room. The maids hurried over, their eyes wide with concern.

"Prepare a bath," you ordered, stripping off your wet clothes. "And make it quick."

The maids hurried to obey, filling the tub with steaming water and adding fragrant oils. You stepped in, sinking into the warmth with a sigh of relief. The water soothed your aching muscles and washed away the sand and salt.

As you soaked, the events of the day replayed in your mind. The bickering with Marcus, the fall into the water, his unexpected rescue. You couldn't deny the conflicting emotions he stirred in you, the blend of anger, frustration, and something else you couldn't quite identify. The bathwater's warmth wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, and you let out a long, slow breath, trying to relax.

Just as you were beginning to feel at ease, the door to your room creaked open. Your eyes snapped open, and you saw Marcus standing in the doorway, his eyes widening as he realized you were still in the bath.

"Gods above, Marcus!" you shrieked, sinking deeper into the water and grabbing a towel to cover yourself.

He quickly turned his back, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't know you were still in here!"

"What part of the closed door didn't you understand?" you snapped, fumbling to wrap the towel around yourself.

"I just wanted to talk to you," he said, his voice slightly muffled as he faced away from you. "About what happened today."

"Can it wait until I'm dressed?" you asked, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He sighed. "I suppose it could, but I thought we should clear the air sooner rather than later."

You finished securing the towel and stood up carefully, stepping out of the tub. "Fine, just... turn around and give me a moment."

Marcus nodded and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. You quickly dried off and pulled on a simple, comfortable dress. The fabric felt soft against your skin, and you let out a small sigh of relief.

"Okay, you can come back in," you called, tying your hair back with a ribbon.

The door opened again, and Marcus entered, looking slightly sheepish. "Sorry about that," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

You waved a hand dismissively. "Just don't make a habit of it."

He chuckled, then grew serious. "I wanted to talk to you about learning to swim."

You raised an eyebrow. "Learning to swim? Now?"

He nodded. "Yes. After what happened today, I think it's important. You grew up by the sea, but you can't swim. It's something you should know, for your own safety."

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. "And you think you're the one to teach me?"

"Who else?" he replied with a shrug. "Besides, it might be a way for us to... not bicker so much."

You let out a huff of laughter, shaking your head. "You really think swimming lessons will solve our problems?"

Marcus gave you a small smile. "It couldn't hurt to try."

You thought about it for a moment, the memory of the cold water and the panic still fresh in your mind. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. Learning to swim would be useful, and maybe it would help ease the tension between you.

"Fine," you said at last. "I'll let you teach me. But if you mock me, even once, I'll throw you into the sea."

Marcus laughed, a genuine, warm sound that surprised you. "Deal."

You nodded, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow morning," he said. "We'll go down to the beach and start there."

You gave a reluctant nod. "Alright. Tomorrow morning."

As Marcus turned to leave, you couldn't help but feel a small glimmer of hope. Maybe this would be a step towards something better. Or at the very least, it would give you a chance to prove you weren't as helpless as he seemed to think.

You were dreaming so sweetly, the air from the balcony streaming into the room, bringing with it the scent of the sea. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant call of seabirds blended into a lullaby that cradled you in its arms. In your dream, you were walking along the beach with your mother, her laughter mingling with the sound of the waves.

Suddenly, a hand on your shoulder jolted you awake. "Get up!" Marcus's voice was a harsh whisper in the pre-dawn darkness.

You blinked, disoriented, your mind still clinging to the remnants of your dream. "What...?" you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

"It's time to start your training," he said, pulling the curtains open. The sky was still a deep indigo, with the faintest hint of light on the horizon.

With a groan, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up, still half-asleep. "Alright, alright. I'm up."

"Good," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Get dressed and meet me outside."

You quickly changed into a simple tunic and tied your hair back, the cool morning air nipping at your skin. As you stepped out onto the balcony, the first rays of dawn painted the sky in shades of pink and orange. You made your way to the front of the villa, where Marcus was waiting, looking annoyingly alert.

"Could you be any more enthusiastic?" you muttered, stifling another yawn.

He smirked. "I'm just trying to make the most of the day. Unlike some people who would rather sleep through it."

"Some people prefer not to be woken up at the crack of dawn," you retorted, crossing your arms.

"Maybe if some people had learned to swim earlier, we wouldn't be here now," he shot back, starting down the path towards the beach.

You followed him, the cool sand squishing between your toes. "Or maybe if some people weren't so insistent on dragging others out of bed, they could have a more peaceful morning."

He chuckled. "You know, you could just admit that you need the lessons."

"I don't need them," you grumbled, "I just don't want to drown."

"Same thing," he said, shrugging.

The beach stretched out before you, the waves gently lapping at the shore. As you walked, the sound of the sea grew louder, filling the air with its soothing rhythm. The familiar scent of saltwater brought back memories of playing on the sand as a child, carefree and happy.

"Alright," Marcus said, stopping at the edge of the water. "We'll start with the basics. Just try to relax and trust me."

"Trust you," you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "That's a lot to ask."

He gave you a patient look. "I know. But if you can't trust me, trust that I don't want to have to save you every time you fall into the water."

You rolled your eyes. "Fine. But if you mock me, even once, I swear I'll throw you in."

Marcus laughed, a genuine, warm sound that surprised you. "Deal."

As you waded into the water, you could feel your tunic growing heavier, clinging to your skin. You paused, looking down at the soaked fabric. "This tunic is going to get ruined," you muttered, more to yourself than to Marcus.

With a huff, you turned your back to him and carefully pulled your tunic over your head, tossing it onto the shore. The cool air brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as you stood bare before him. You waded back into the water, feeling exposed but determined not to let it show.

Marcus watched you with an appraising gaze, his eyes tracing the curve of your shoulders and the lines of your back. There was a moment of silence between you, the only sound the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. Then, without a word, Marcus reached for the hem of his own tunic and pulled it over his head.

The sight of his bare chest took you by surprise. His skin was bronzed from days under the sun, muscles defined and powerful. Droplets of water clung to his torso, catching the sunlight in a way that made you momentarily forget your irritation. His presence was commanding yet strangely comforting, like a force of nature you couldn't resist.

You tore your gaze away, feeling a rush of heat to your cheeks. "Alright, enough staring," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Marcus chuckled softly, stepping into the water beside you. "Just making sure you're not the only one feeling exposed," he remarked his tone light but tinged with something deeper.

You scowled at him, but there was a hint of a smile playing at your lips. "Don't get too comfortable," you warned, trying to regain your composure.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Who says I'm not comfortable already?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was no venom in the gesture. "Enough of your smugness. Let's just get this over with."

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Who says I'm not comfortable already?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the flutter in your chest. "Just focus on the lesson, Marcus."

He nodded, the teasing glint in his eyes softening. "Alright, let's get started then."

Marcus led you into the shallows, the cool water lapping at your ankles, then your knees. He moved with an easy confidence, his presence reassuring despite the lingering tension between you.

"First, we need to get you comfortable with the water," he said, his tone more serious now. "Can you float on your back?"

You hesitated, the memory of your earlier panic still fresh. "I can try."

"Good," he said. "I'll support you. Just relax and let the water hold you."

You lay back, feeling his hands under your shoulders and lower back. The sensation of the water buoying you up was strange, but Marcus's steady grip kept you grounded. You focused on the sky above, the blue expanse calming your racing heart.

"See?" he murmured. "You're doing fine."

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "For now."

Marcus chuckled, his hands firm and reassuring. "Now, try to kick your legs gently."

You did as he instructed, the water resisting your movements. It felt awkward, but you persisted, trying to find a rhythm.

"That's it," Marcus encouraged. "Just like that. You're doing great."

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. "Maybe this isn't so bad."

Marcus grinned. "I told you. Now, let's move a bit deeper."

He guided you further into the water, his grip never faltering. As the water reached your waist, you felt a flicker of unease but pushed it aside. You were determined to prove you could do this.

"Alright," he said, stopping when the water was up to your chest. "Let's try some basic strokes. I'll show you, then you copy me."

You watched as he demonstrated a simple stroke, his movements smooth and confident. His muscles rippled under the water, every action purposeful and efficient. You tried to mimic him, feeling clumsy in comparison.

"Good," he said, nodding. "But keep your elbows higher. Like this."

He corrected your form, his touch gentle yet precise. You adjusted, trying to follow his guidance.

"Better," he praised. "Now, let's keep practicing."

You continued the lesson, each new skill building your confidence. As you practiced, you couldn't help but feel a growing respect for Marcus. Despite his arrogance, he was a patient and effective teacher.

After a while, Marcus called for a break. You waded to shallower water, grateful for the reprieve. As you stood catching your breath, Marcus studied you thoughtfully.

"You're not afraid of the water, are you?" he asked suddenly.

You shook your head, surprised by the question. "No. I just... never learned to swim."

"Why not?" he pressed, curiosity lighting up his eyes.

You hesitated, the memories tugging at your heart. "My mother... she despised the sea," you began softly. "She preferred the safety and serenity of the countryside. My father, on the other hand, adored it. Most of our family's wealth came from his sea trade ventures. He built his entire empire on the waves."

Marcus's eyes narrowed slightly, clearly intrigued. "So your mother didn't share his love for the sea?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "No, quite the opposite. She was terrified of it. She hated the constant worry every time he left on a voyage, the endless nights spent alone. She never understood his obsession with the sea. Their marriage was arranged, just like ours. But unlike us, they never found common ground."

"And your father?" Marcus asked, his tone gentler now.

"My father loved the sea more than anything," you said, your voice tinged with sadness. "He saw it as a source of freedom and wealth. He would spend months at a time on his ships, overseeing his trade routes, and ensuring our fortune grew. The sea was his true mistress."

Marcus seemed to consider this, his expression thoughtful. "So your mother lives in the countryside now?"

You nodded. "Yes. She moved away a few years ago. Couldn't stand the sight of the sea anymore, or the memories it held. She wanted peace, a life without the constant fear and loneliness."

"Do you see her often?" he asked, his curiosity genuine.

"Not as much as I'd like," you admitted. "She visits sometimes, but my father keeps her at a distance. He's still bitter, even after all these years. He sees her as weak, unable to embrace the life he chose."

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sounds like we're both products of difficult marriages."

"Indeed," you replied, meeting his intense gaze with equal fervor. "But I don't want to be trapped like my parents."

Marcus's eyes softened as he stepped closer, his hands finding your waist with a gentle certainty that sent a thrilling shiver through you. Without hesitation, you wrapped your legs around his torso, feeling the strength of his body supporting you effortlessly.

"We won't be trapped," Marcus assured you, his voice low and steady, filled with promise. "Not like them. We'll find our own way, together."

His words, spoken with such conviction, resonated deep within you. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrored your own, forging an unspoken bond between you.

As the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of gold and pink, casting a serene glow over the water, Marcus leaned in closer. His warm breath mingled with yours, creating an intimate cocoon amidst the tranquil sounds of the sea.

With a tenderness that belied his usual stern demeanor, Marcus brushed his lips against yours in a feather-light kiss. It was a moment suspended in time, charged with unspoken desire and the promise of something more.

You responded eagerly, your heart racing as you deepened the kiss, surrendering to the intoxicating connection between you. The barriers that had once stood firm melted away with each tender caress of his lips, leaving only the raw, undeniable truth of your shared desire.

As the kiss grew more fervent, Marcus's hands roamed your body, their touch both possessive and tender. He guided you out of the water, each step a testament to his strength and control. The cool breeze hit your wet skin, but the heat between you and Marcus was undeniable, a fire that neither the sea nor the morning chill could extinguish.

He laid you down gently on the sand, the grains rough yet grounding beneath you. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "Would it really be so bad to at least try for a baby?" he asked, his voice a mix of longing and challenge.

You bristled at his words, your defenses rising again. "I'm a child myself," you retorted, your voice trembling with both defiance and uncertainty. "How can I bring another life into this world when I'm still figuring out my own?”

Marcus's gaze softened, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. "No one said it had to work," he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. "But we can try. Together. We can make our own Path.

His words were a balm to your fears, a promise of partnership rather than domination. As he leaned in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, you felt the last vestiges of resistance crumble. The passion between you was a living thing, a force that demanded to be acknowledged.

Marcus's hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of you with a reverence that made you shiver. You arched into his touch, your body responding to his in ways that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. His lips trailed down your neck leaving a path of fire in their wake.

"Marcus," you breathed your voice a mix of need and wonder. He paused, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

"We don`t have to do this if you're not ready," he said, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "But know that I want you. I want us to have a chance."

You searched his eyes, finding a sincerity that both scared and exhilarated you. "I want you too," you admitted the words a leap of faith. "But this... it changes everything.”

"Then let it change us," he murmured, his lips finding yours once more. The kiss deepened, a blend of urgency and tenderness that left you both breathless.

You felt the rough sand beneath you as Marcus pulled you closer, his hand gripping your cheek firmly as he kissed you passionately. His touch was both possessive and reverent as if he were handling a precious porcelain doll. His hand traveled down your body, caressing every curve with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine.

He pulled away from the kiss, the sun reflecting off his body, making him glow with an almost ethereal light. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. His hand traveled lower, caressing your upper thigh before spreading them, giving him a place to stabilize himself. You felt his length prod at your thigh, the heat of his desire palpable.

Unable to resist, you pulled him in for another kiss, feeling his hips move into your body, his erection grinding against your thigh. "God, you're hard," you murmured, pulling away from the kiss to take in his disheveled appearance.

"I've been hard as a rock since we started the lesson," he teased, his voice thick with lust. He captured your lips again, his hand wandering down to your clit, circling it in slow, teasing motions.

"Marcus," you gasped your voice a mix of need and frustration.

He smirked against your skin, his lips trailing down to your neck, where he bit softly, making you wince. "You dick," you muttered, but your protest was cut short by a moan as he rubbed his length up and down your slick wetness.

Leaning over you, Marcus positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes dark with desire. "I know you want my dick," he said with a smirk, pushing into you with a slow, deliberate thrust.

Your body arched at the sensation, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he began to move. He lifted your legs slightly, pushing your knees to your chest, the new angle allowing him to thrust deeper. The stretch was intense, the feeling of him filling you completely almost overwhelming.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle your whimpers, but they quickly turned into borderline screams as he brutally fucked into you. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and frantically grab at the sand for some stability. You could swear he was rearranging your insides, his cock hitting your G-spot with relentless precision.

Your vision blurred, and all you could feel was the intense pleasure he was giving you. You didn't think getting fucked like this was physically possible, didn't think you were capable of feeling such intense pleasure at the hands of a man.

Marcus's smirk widened as he leaned down, his eyes following the bulge on your lower belly. "Yeah, feel it," he mocked, resting his forehead against yours as he bottomed out again. "Got you stuffed all the way in, huh?"

You couldn't even argue, your eyes brimming with tears as he pressed his palm harder against the bulge. Your eyes clenched shut, but his relentless thrusts only edged you further. He gripped your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him. "No, you keep looking. Taking me so good, gonna—fuck, gonna have to ruin you."

Tears welled at the corners of your eyes as the pressure within you built to an almost unbearable peak. You were so close, so desperately close to the edge. Sensing your state, Marcus's gaze flicked to your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and the tears that threatened to spill over.

"Ask nicely, goddess” he grunted, picking up the punishing pace once more. "Use your manners and I'll give you whatever you want." His hands moved to your thighs, forcing them against your stomach, letting him push into you deeper. The sensation made your head spin, the knot in your stomach tightening immediately.

"Please... for fuck's sake, let me cum or I'm gonna rip your stupid perfect cock off the second we're done," you managed to grunt through gritted teeth.

He chuckled breathlessly, his hand returning to your clit, pressing rough and rapid circles against it. "We'll work on that," he laughed softly, feeling you rapidly slipping towards the edge. He didn't let up on his ruthless motions, finally pushing you over the brink.

You were loud. Probably too loud. Your scream of release echoed along the shore, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. Marcus followed you over the edge, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spilled into you, the warmth of his release sending one last wave of pleasure through your already trembling body.

As the intensity of the moment faded, you both lay there, tangled together in the sand, breathing heavily. Marcus's forehead rested against yours, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and something deeper.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to try," you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice surprising even you.

Marcus's smile widened a glint of mischief in his eyes. "If it feels that good every time," you added with a playful smirk, "I might not mind at all."

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and leaned in to brush his lips against yours once more. Just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the kiss again, a voice suddenly called out from behind you.

"Hey! What are you two doing here?" The voice was stern, and authoritative.

You and Marcus scrambled to cover yourselves, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling up as you fumbled with your discarded clothes.

Realization dawned on the guard's face as he took in the sight of Marcus's distinctive, regal features and your own disheveled state. His expression quickly turned from stern to horrified as he realized who he was interrupting.

"I-I'm so sorry, my lord, my lady," he stammered, turning an alarming shade of red. "I didn't realize—"

Marcus, still half-naked and laughing, held up a hand to stop him. "It's alright," he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Just a little... misunderstanding."

The guard's eyes darted around, clearly trying to avoid looking directly at either of you. "I'll just... I'll just be going now," he mumbled, backing away quickly before turning and sprinting down the beach.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter, the absurdity of the situation breaking the tension that had been lingering. Marcus joined in, his laughter a deep, infectious rumble that made you forget all your worries, if only for a moment.

Once the laughter had subsided, Marcus turned to you, a mischievous look in his eyes. "You know," he said, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper, "there's always the sea. No guards to interrupt us there."

You raised an eyebrow, your own smile widening. "Is that so?" you asked, the idea sending a thrill through you.

"Absolutely," he replied, standing up and offering you his hand. "Shall we?"

You took his hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of anticipation through you. Together, you made your way to the edge of the water, the cool waves lapping at your feet. Marcus's presence beside you felt grounding, his touch a comforting anchor in the midst of the playful breeze and the gentle rush of the sea.

As you reached the water's edge, Marcus pulled you into his arms. The sea welcomed you both with its refreshing embrace, its coolness a stark contrast to the heat that had built between you. You chuckled softly at Marcus's promise, spoken against your lips.

Marcus pulled you into his arms, the sea providing a refreshing contrast to the heat between you. "I promise," he murmured against your lips, "no interruptions this time."

PART 3

3K notes · View notes

luxurychristmaspudding · 1 year ago

Text

Pickup Truck

summary: frankie hates your boyfriend. in fact, everybody does. but he’s willing to give him a chance. you’re his best friend, after all. until frankie discovers something he can never forgive.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+. MDNI. this fic contains allusions to, but no descriptions of, domestic abuse. please do not proceed if you know this will upset you.

frankie's pov. no lady and no baby for our boy. drinking, violence (against pos bf), angst, lots of hurt, allusions to dv. comfort, fluff. frankie to the rescue. unprotected p in v (wrap it irl!). oral, f receiving. creampie. bad spanish (again). kings of leon references. happy ending, of course.

wc: 9.8k

an: whew, this was an emotional one to write. but i hope a good love comes to all of you in time, no matter where you are at the moment. and if you already have it, may it always keep you safe. lovely divider from @saradika.

Frankie really doesn’t like your boyfriend.

Scratch that. Nobody does.

Nobody really knows where you found him, either. A sweet, smart girl like you, moved back to your small town from your big city life, and it looks like you picked up the very first guy who sidled up to you in a grimy bar.

Which, if you’re really honest, is exactly what happened. Because he was nice at first. Real nice. He was charming and sweet and interested - he bought you drinks all night and didn’t push to come in when he walked you home. You went for dinner a few times, and sure, he could be a little rude to the waitstaff, but it was only because he was so focused on you. He bought you flowers and took you for rides, and sure, sometimes he’d come home far too drunk after seeing his friends and get a little too close, a little too loud, but he always apologised.

And sure, he sometimes made you cry, but he always made it up to you. Sweet promises, small gifts. And he'd never laid a finger on you.

Not until last week, anyway.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know who to turn to. The thought of it makes you so sick you have to lock yourself in the bathroom at work. How did this happen? How did it turn so sour?

And how do you get out?

Walk you home to see

Where you're livin' around

And I know this place

Frankie walks you home from the bonfire. He always does.

It’s his favourite moment of the night.

He gets to have you all to himself. Gets to watch your cheeks cool in the night air, watch as the blush from the heat of the fire subsides. Your giddy, wide eyes, your tipsy babbling about stories which had been swapped over the flames, picking out particularly scandalous details for you two to giggle about before doubling over into breathless laughter over something Benny had said.

He likes to hold your elbow, your hand, as you catch him in your amusement, gripping onto his bicep. He loves to lose himself in this little pocket of time with you.

He loves the sparkle of the stars, the glow of the streetlights as they light your features.

Frankie loves you.

And he’s so glad you’ve moved back from your life in the big city to come and be around your real friends again. So glad that you’ve all found your way back to each other. Tonight has left him with such a mellow tingle in his bones that he finds he can’t stop smiling at you, looking at you, on your walk home.

Bonfire nights have always been your monthly hangout, a time when you can be sure you’ll get the whole gang together. There used to be more of you through highschool, and still a fair few during college. It dipped when the boys joined the forces, when people moved further east and further north. But eventually Frankie, Benny, Santi, and Will had come back. Jessa, your other best friend, had returned too. A few others coming and going - Lily, Marcus, Maggie - also back and forth from their new homes to their old ones. And then eventually folk had just… settled.

Frankie felt like he was one of the last, like he was maybe the one finding it the hardest, retired to a life of civvy duties. Unable to hold down a girlfriend, struggling to stick at a job, sofa surfing around friends’ places. He was still flying whenever he could, but then this coke allegation happened, and it was like the world was finally swept from under him.

You were the first person he had called, the first person to talk him down from his panic, that debilitating squeeze around his heart when he thought about the future. The first person who made him feel like it would be okay.

So of course his joy when you had come back had been immeasurable. Maybe this time, he’d thought.

And then you’d met Tanner.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as you drag your hand out of his, skipping a little further up the dark street until you reach a corner. Frankie watches as you spin on the spot in the quiet neighbourhood, gesturing down the pathway before you.

‘This is me.’ You say.

But you don’t turn to keep walking. You watch him, a small, excited smile on your lips. Like you’re waiting for him to work it out.

Frankie drags his eyes from you, away from thoughts of your new boyfriend, to look up and down the street you’ve led him to, and for a second he is pulled beneath the ebbing flow of memory, towed with the riptide of things forgotten.

This is his grandmother’s street. Was his grandmother’s street.

The cracked concrete, the peeling paint of the porches. The weeds, the flowers, the smell.

He breathes your name like you’re the only thing tethering him to the now.

Breathes your name through the bright, sunny flashes of his childhood. His mama bringing him here with his brother, his papa swinging him by his legs in the flower-riddled front garden. Cartoons in the ripe heat of the afternoons, him and his cousins stuffing their faces with Guagitas and Frugele until they’d made themselves sick while the younger siblings napped in the sunbeams of the bedroom next door. Cycling over on his bike after school to sit at her kitchen table to do his homework, letting her fuss over him - his height, his friends, his grades, girls -

A skinnier, younger Frankie stopping by his abuela’s house with you to pick up her up for his nineteenth birthday party, along with her homemade tamales, her chiles rellenos, and specially made pumpkin sopaipillas for later on. The way you had chatted to her, natural, easy going, how you had made her laugh, her eyes sparkle. How, when you had taken some of the plates to the car, his abuela had pinched his cheek. I like her, she’d said, Será tuya algún día, mm, mijo? And Frankie had flushed bright red, batting her arms away as she chuckled at him. He had hidden in the back bedroom when you came in from outside, and listened a little longer to your conversation as he waited for the heat of his face to die down. When he reemerged, you had helped his grandmother into her shoes, her cardigan, and kept ahold of her arm until she got into Frankie’s beat up old car. At the end of the night, his abuela had kissed both your cheeks several times, rocked you back and forth in a hug, and clapped her hands as she said how she looked forward to seeing you again.

When you came home from college every summer, you’d have tea with her in her garden. She always asked Frankie about you, about how you are doing. When he told her you were coming home, she’d been so excited. Quizás este sea el momento? She’d said to him, squeezing his hand. He’d smiled, his heart quietly full of hope. Tal vez, abuela, he’d said.

When he called you two weeks later, his voice weak from crying, to tell you that she’d passed, you had been heartbroken. And it seemed like her wish, the red thread she’d seen between the two of you, had been snipped, too.

Pour yourself on me

And you know I'm the one

That you won't forget

Frankie likes to listen to you talk, because he’s never much been one for talking.

He supposes you just bring it out of him, though. Because here on this street, in the moonlight, he tells you more about his grandmother. You spend hours walking up and down the pavement as he recounts every story he can remember; him and his brother, his parents, aunts and uncles, cousins. Birthdays, weddings, funerals. The street comes alive with the ghosts of people, the spectres of feelings. You and Frankie talk of growing up. Of falling in love. Of each other.

Your small, well-loved house is half way down the street, four up from his abuela’s. It does something strange to his heart to have two of his favourite people, who loved each other in their own ways, so close but so far away.

Your fingers hold his wrist as he shows you a scar on his palm from eating shit on his bike when he was eight, and when he looks up, your eyes are shining under the streetlights. There is a glint of moon in your teeth, and a shocking want so clear on your face, but when he meets your eye there is suddenly hesitation, a realisation, a shuttering. Frankie stops his story. There is a moment, and then it slips away like sand.

You shiver, chilled all of a sudden, and wrap your arms around yourself. Frankie tries not to look too hard at the goose bumps blossoming on your bare skin, tries to fight off the urge to kiss the little raises until you’re warm again under his touch.

‘Cold?’ he asks, and you smile back up at him. God, his heart.

‘As a hole,’ you giggle, and he feels himself smile goofily back at you. ‘We gotta warm up.’ You say, and then freeze.

It takes Frankie a little while longer to hear the inadvertent invitation in your words.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

You both stand on the porch, frozen, like some great frost has swept over the land. If Frankie squints, he can imagine the glitter of your eyeshadow, now fallen, dusted on your cheeks, is a collective of tiny constellations of ice.

Your body is wracked with a shiver again, but when Frankie looks you in the eye, you’re burning up from the inside. He swallows.

If he could only make the steps towards you. If he could only will his heavy feet to move, if he could summon his nerves to do exactly what his brain says, he would already be in front of you. He would have your face in his hands, be able to look into your eyes to see that deep, hidden want again, and kiss you. Again and again and again, and he wouldn’t stop, because things like that shitty boyfriend of yours wouldn’t matter anymore.

No. The whole world would be glitter and stars and constellations of ice crystals.

And then you blink, smile softly, and wish him a goodnight.

When he can finally lift his foot to move, your door is already closed.

And in your denim eyes

I see that something's awry

And I see you’re weak

You don’t see Frankie for a while after that, always finding a way to brush off his attempts to hang out.

At first he doesn’t worry too much about it. You’ve just moved back - you have a new job, a new place, new friends to get to know. Tanner.

Frankie finds other things to do. He gets business cards made up for the flying school he’ll be setting up next month. He pilots people across the state, sometimes across the country. He sees the boys for drinks, even sees Jessa for a coffee. He starts to worry when they say their texts have gone mostly unanswered, and they haven’t seen you either.

It must be why he turns up on your front step one day, a six pack in hand.

You open the door on the second ring of the doorbell, and Frankie finds himself rendered speechless. You look… different.

Tired and wary, a little thinner. And when he gets you chatting, you say you haven’t really been anywhere, done anything. You’ve been settling in, getting used to it. You have two beers each, but you seem on edge, like you’re waiting for a knock on the door. And then Frankie asks about Tanner, and your eyes linger on the entryway a little longer.

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘He’s okay.’

Frankie’s jaw twitches, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.

‘Just okay?’ He asks.

Because you should be excited. You should be gushing and giddy and falling in love. But you’re not.

‘Yeah,’ you shrug. ‘He’s good.’

There’s something in your eyes. Something which shrinks away, skitters back. Something drained, something sapped of life, of energy. Hurt, maybe. Fear, perhaps.

When Frankie thinks back now, he knows he should have pressed you harder. Maybe should have taken you to his, made you talk a little more for a little longer. Away from Tanner, the threat of his presence. But he didn’t. He didn’t.

And he hates himself for it.

When he comes around

I see you're fixin' to shine

And my face won't speak

When Frankie next sees you, you’ve had a hair cut, and there are deep, dark bags under your eyes. Both of these things worry him equally.

Your beautiful hair that you’d been growing out since you were young, hair that you swore you’d never cut shorter than it was in seventh grade, when your mum had to chop it into a bob after you got gum caught in it. And here it is now, much shorter.

Jessa says she likes it, and you give her a watery smile, a weak thank you. She asks where you had it done, when. She asks if you like it, and you shrug. You say you’re trying something new. You say Tanner likes it.

Over your shoulder, Frankie exchanges a look with Santi.

You’re quiet the whole time you're at the bar. Far too quiet, so far from the bubbly conversation you usually hold, your loud cackle, your bent-double amusement. Your affection for your friends - the hands on knees, arms around shoulders, kisses pressed to cheeks. It’s hardly there.

Frankie offers to walk you home, but you wave him off kindly. Tanner’s picking me up, you say, he’s probably outside. Jessa frowns at you.

‘Are you sure, babe?’ She says. ‘It’s not even late yet.’

You smile and nod at her, gather your stuff to go. Jessa catches your arm.

‘We’re still on to go shopping Saturday, though - right?’

You smile at her, the first warm one you’ve mustered all night.

‘Of course,’ you say, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

When you stand to leave, you hug everybody goodbye. Tightly, for longer than usual. Frankie doesn’t give you an option when he walks you out to Tanner’s car. The smug prick is hanging out the driver’s seat window. He watches Frankie as you walk up, hostile, threatening, arrogant, and somehow still ridiculous. And, Frankie thinks cruelly - ugly.

Frankie pulls you into his arms a few steps away from your boyfriend. He kisses your hair, and you sigh.

‘Have a good time on Saturday,’ he says softly. You twitch a smile at him.

‘Thank you, Frankie.’ You say before stepping back and walking to open the passenger door. As you climb in, Tanner winks at him.

‘Gettin’ a new one tomorrow,’ he says, stupid fucking grin on his face. ‘New car. Exciting stuff. Anyway, better get this one back,’ he says, squeezing your knee a little too hard. You don’t look at Frankie, something like humiliation colouring your cheeks. ‘See you around, Frank.’ Tanner says.

Frankie steps back from the car as it glides forwards, and he watches it disappear up the street.

Deep anger burns in him. And a kind of fear. It crawls over his skin, cooling the sides of his neck. His heart churns uncomfortably in his chest.

He tells your friends about it when he returns to the table. And they form a plan. Jessa texts you a time she’ll pick you up on Saturday. You say you’re excited again, you need some new clothes.

But Frankie knows Jessa won’t take you shopping.

No, she brings you here, to the beach, to the bonfire. To him, to Santi and Benny and Will. Because they’re worried.

So worried, they tell you.

They sit you down in one of the chairs around the fire, and they explain why they’re worried. They tell you they love you - so much - and they just need to know if you’re okay. Because they can help. They want to help, want you out of this, because he’s not good for you. The silence, the hair, the clothes you were going to buy. They tell you they hate the way he doesn’t let you speak, how he speaks to you. And you are so quiet through all of it, Frankie begins to get more worried. He speaks to you gently over the fire, but you can’t meet his eye. He tells you his worries, their love for you again. He swallows down his own confession, anything to make you see. How they don’t want you pushed closer to him, want you to be pulled closer to them instead.

But your eyes are so vacant, so far away, that Jessa leaves her deckchair next to you to sit on the burned up log closer to you on your other side. She takes your hands, and you finally, finally look at her. You open your mouth, and you say so quietly -

‘You’re right. You’re right.’

It feels like the biggest gulp of oxygen Frankie has ever taken. He feels lightheaded from the relief, from the knowledge. They were right, they were right, which is a terrible, terrible thing.

Will clears his throat, and Frankie looks at him to see similar thoughts flicking over his face like film reel. He licks his lips, opens his mouth, and -

Hate to be so emotional

I didn't aim to get physical

But when he pulled in and revved it up

I said, ‘You call that a pickup truck?’

And in the moonlight I throwed him down

Kickin', screamin' and rollin' around

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

Whatever Will is about to say is cut short by the sweep of headlights over the brush near the dunes.

A beat up old pickup truck bumps up the track and pulls up alongside Will’s Ranger. The driver’s side window slides down, and Tanner’s face emerges from the gloom. He revs the engine loudly, making you and Jessa jump. A sick feeling curls in Frankie’s stomach as he watches him, this piece of shit who’s been so busy crushing you down.

Tanner leaps out of the truck, and slams the door. Frankie looks over at you, visibly panicked on the other side of the fire. How the fuck did he find you?

‘Hey baby,’ Tanner says, sickly sweet as he strolls towards you, ducking to press a kiss to your unresponsive mouth. He turns to the rest of the group, eyes skating over Will and Ben until they land on Frankie. Tanner steps towards him, offers his hand.

‘Good to see you again, Frank,’ he says, ‘Told you I’d be getting a new ride.’

Frankie stares at his hand. He takes a deep swig of his beer, breathing deeply before looking Tanner in the eye, refusing to shake it.

‘I’m surprised to see you.’ He says to the dirty-haired man.

Tanner tries his best to appear unfazed, but there’s a glimmer of something hot behind his eyes.

‘’Course man, wanted to show off the new pickup.’ He says, grinning broadly. He looks around again, eyes falling hungrily on Jessa. She shifts uncomfortably on the log, rearranging her body so there’s less for him to look at. A deep heat begins to rise in Frankie’s chest.

He glances again at the ancient car that Tanner’s driven up in. The front bumper almost hanging off, the red paint aged and scratched, bumps caved in all up the sides, the roof sagging.

‘You call that a pickup truck?’ Frankie says lightly. Tanner narrows his eyes at him, angry, before he catches the sound of Santi’s laugh.

He whirls around to the other man and spits -

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Frankie almost laughs, too. Almost.

Pope spreads his hands. He looks up at him through his brows, a glint in his eyes that Frankie is violently familiar with. You must notice it, too, because you clear your throat and say -

‘Santi’s one of my friends.’

Tanner doesn’t even look at you. Just keeps staring at Pope.

The moment seems to last an eternity. Frankie feels like he’s watching everything through sludge, like he’s in someone else’s dream. His whole body is on edge, vibrating, ready to lunge - he’s just not sure at who. He looks between the two men before he catches your eye through the flames. The adrenaline in Frankie’s heart gutters at the look of panic in your eyes.

Please don’t let them do this. Please help me stop it.

Frankie glances back to Pope, and says, so softly only he can hear it -

‘Pope.’

And Santi immediately looks away, taking a swig of his beer.

Tanner stands there still, clearly baffled at Santi’s sudden lack of interest. Then he turns to the rest of the group like a petulant child, a toddler who has been ostensibly robbed of its favourite toy.

‘It’s a good truck,’ he says, before turning to you. ‘Ain’t it, baby?’

You hum your agreement as Tanner scoops a beer from the pile by Will’s chair, shucking off the top with his teeth. Jessa looks away, disgusted. He settles himself in the deckchair at your side.

‘Y’aint allowed to touch it, of course, sugar,’ he says to you, before laughing into his bottle. ‘Ruin everything you come into, anyway. Root of all my problems, ain’t ya?’ Tanner takes a pull of his beer. The group is silent around him. Around you. Tanner notices.

‘Boy, fun bunch you are.’

You look at him through your eyelashes.

‘Baby, that’s enough.’ You say as softly as possible, and Frankie cringes at the pet name.

Tanner looks at you sharply. Dark, furious. It’s in the pinch of his jaw, the anger at what you’ve said so obviously rolling around in his skull.

Frankie hates him for it. And he hates that he hates him for it. There are already so many things he hates him for, but he’s so fucking stupid it’s almost funny. Not your equal in any way. In kindness, in conversation or in intellect. And not even willing to try. To learn. For you. Just trying to dumb you down instead, squash you into smaller, more digestible bites to chew on.

When it comes down to it, Tanner has nothing smart to say back. He just pushes a short breath from his nostrils and mutters out a little -

‘Well, well, well.’

Then he flexes his fingers against the chair, and you flinch.

You flinch hard, your brows coming together, chin scrunching, waiting for the blow to land. And when it doesn’t, your eyes flicker open slowly. Hollow, bereft, drained and dim.

Tanner hasn’t noticed, but everyone else has.

The awful unveiling of your last secret.

Frankie forces the bile down his throat. His head swings forward to the ground of its own accord, a faint, resonant ringing in his ears. When he looks at his hands, they aren’t his own. In fact, he recognises no part of his body as the ringing gets louder, as he gently places his beer bottle on the floor. When his eyes leave the dirt, the mix of faces around the fire are all mirror reflections of each other. Horror, disgust, grief. Grief that this is what you hid from them, this is what they have taken too long to pull you from. The burning building splintering around you, your shell of a body immovable in the middle.

You won’t meet his eye. You won’t meet anyone’s eye as your hand shakes around your bottle. Jessa notices. She stares at your trembling fingers for too long, but she can hardly say anything. None of them can. Her eyes shine like beacons from her seat, wet with tears. Frankie sees her bottom lip quiver, her chin dimple. And then she swallows, swallows again, and reaches for your hand.

You flinch again, softer this time, and Frankie is sure everyone around the fire - everyone in the town, the world, must hear his heart crack. Because he feels it so keenly, so deeply, that it takes the air from his lungs. His breath is caught in his throat, and no matter how hard he tries to draw it, it seems impossible to claw it down. He’s drowning. He’s drowning right here in front of everybody, and it makes it all the worse to know that this is how you must feel. Every damn day.

Come on, he hears Jessa say, Let’s go and get another drink. And through the dark swirling of his mind he watches the two of you stand slowly and disappear towards the back of Frankie’s truck. He waits until Jessa has you hidden from view, her arms around your hunched back as you bring your hands to your face - crying - and that’s when the thread snaps.

Frankie gets to his feet, slowly.

Pope and Will watch him. Benny is still staring at Tanner.

Tanner looks up at him, chin jutted out, smirking as Frankie approaches.

He’s challenging him. He’s waiting for a war of words, for the shouting to begin, for the insults, the observations to fly.

He expected the wrong war from a soldier.

The first punch sprawls him out of his seat. It makes a satisfying cracking sound, and the first trickle of blood starts to bleed from behind his lip.

Then Frankie kicks him. He kicks him hard in the ribs, making sure he doesn’t have enough time to recover from the punch to deflect Frankie’s boot.

Tanner clutches at his abdomen, wheezing, gazing up at Frankie with bewildered eyes. Fucking coward.

Frankie grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulls him upwards. He has nothing to say to him, but the fury he feels, this deep, endless, swirling pit of rage, he lets him see. He lets it fill him from the soles of his feet all the way up through his eyes, and he lets it bleed out. He lets the blackness flood the ground. He lets Tanner watch it, lets it petrify him, and then Frankie swings again. Tanner takes it on his chin this time, his jaw snapping closed, and when it goes lax, a couple jagged bits of tooth fall out. Frankie grunts in satisfaction and swings again, again, until blood spouts from Tanner’s eyebrow and his cheek begins to bruise and swell. Frankie breathes deeply, in rhythm, doesn’t even feel it when Tanner manages to land a lucky punch to his eye socket. He plants a knee into the other man’s crotch, lands him an elbow to the back of his head when he keels over, and then shoves him to the ground. Frankie gets on the floor with him, raining blows down on Tanner’s body, his face. He’s methodical about it, a punch to each eye, the crack of the cunt’s nose, one to either side of his mouth, then bloodying up his jaw. He’s aware, somewhere, that Tanner is screaming. Strangled, gargling sounds trying to claw up his throat. And then he’s aware of two pairs of hands around each armpit, dragging him away, pulling him up. Will is saying something in his ear, that’s enough, Frankie, alright now, and Benny is speaking, too, panicked - you’ll kill him, Fish, come on man.

Frankie blinks, really looks at Tanner where he lays bleeding on the dirt. His eyes already swelling, a couple more teeth scattered on the ground next to him. His face different shades of red and purple, a mess of a man, and Frankie is pleased. He could keep going. He wants to see him bleed much, much more. Will and Benny keep their grip on him.

‘Leave,’ Frankie growls, low, without a quiver in his voice. ‘And don’t you ever come back. You ever look at her again, I’ll gouge out your fuckin’ eyes. You ever touch her again, I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll make sure they don’t find anything left of you.’

Tanner doesn’t say anything, which must be the only smart thing he’s ever done in his life. But he still doesn’t move.

The four men watch him for a moment, the silence heavy, broken only by the crackle of wood and Tanner’s heavy, wet breaths.

Then Benny lets Frankie go, steps forward and picks the man up by his collar, swinging him around to the direction of his truck. He throws him down on the dirt.

‘Move,’ he spits. ‘Get out of here. And if you have the courage on the way, wrap your fucking truck around a telephone pole.’

Tanner finally has the good sense to crawl over to the vehicle. He hauls himself up the scarred body work before creaking open the driver’s door and slipping inside. The truck sputters to life, yellow bulbs flooding the bonfire site again before it quickly backs away, turns, and drives off. Frankie watches its blinking red brake lights until he’s sure the cunt is gone, and then he turns around.

You’re stood with Santi’s arms wrapped around you, back from the fire where Tanner’s blood is drying. Pope strokes your hair, squeezes you tightly as your body shudders. And Frankie can only stare.

Minutes might have passed. Hours. And Frankie is terrified. Terrified that he’s scared you, broken you, pushed you away. And then you turn your face on Pope’s chest, moving your head from shoulder to shoulder, and you’re looking at him. Eyes red-rimmed and raw, face flushed and damp, and it’s like Frankie’s trance breaks.

Frightened, he takes a step forward. He breathes your name.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and you shake your head. Fuck. What has he done? What has he allowed himself to do? ‘I’m sorry, querida, please - I know, I know -’ but what does he know? He looks to Santi, pleading for help, and the man offers him a small smile as you step out of his arms.

Through a fog, you come towards him. Your chin wobbles. Your eyes swim. You’re a little wide-eyed, a little shocked. And something else, something beyond his reach.

You get to him, and your arms make their silken way around his middle as you begin to cry. Hot tears stain the front of his shirt, and he cradles you to him, holding your skull gently, enveloping your abdomen. A loud sob looses from your ribs.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ You wrap your arms around him tighter, press your nose into his sternum.

‘I’m not scared of you, Frankie,’ you sob into his chest. He clutches at the back of your head, holds you even closer, strokes your hair. When you speak again your voice is higher, strained with your tears. ‘I could never be scared of you.’

The sting in Frankie’s throat becomes hot, burning. He doesn’t know whether to pull you impossibly closer or to push you away, to run as far as he can from your broken, heaving body in his arms. Because what he’s done should scare you. It should. He’d lost all control. The only thing he’d been able to see, to feel was his all-consuming, depthless fury. And Tanner’s face as it splintered, bloodied, swelled. And he’d wanted to keep going, until there was just pulp. No nerve endings, no teeth, no eyes, no mouth, no body that he could ever hurt you with again. He doesn’t want you to hurt any more.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers into your hair.

Trembling misery

And as cold as a hole

I hug your bones and skin

Frankie holds your hand the whole way home, the drive passing in a dazed silence.

You still don’t talk when you get to his place, when he unlocks the door, lets you in, and locks it behind him. You take his hand in the quiet cool of the house, lead him upstairs. He follows, slowly, sore, exhausted. Trying to process it all.

When you reach the landing, you turn on the bathroom light, and he trails behind you. He stands propped against the sink as you dig around in his medicine cabinet, finding wipes and bandages and anything else you think might be useful. You take Frankie’s hand again, examine his bruised, bleeding and swollen knuckles with solemn eyes. You are so gentle, twisting his hand in the light, inspecting. You look over it for a while, and Frankie watches you. When you reach for an antiseptic wipe, your hand is shaking.

Frankie winces silently when you start to dab at the blood on his knuckles, cleaning it away with minute swipes. You chase the dried rivulets of blood down his fingers, over his palm. The scar there from when he ate shit riding his bike.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. You ignore him, breathing shallowly as you inspect his hand, holding his wrist, cleaning blood which is no longer there.

‘Might be a hairline fracture or two,’ you say, distant. ‘I won’t bandage it, gonna let it dry out first. But you’ll need to rest it. And we’ll need to ice your eye.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, into your hair. You shake your head, and the light catches the different colours in every strand. Frankie’s throat tightens.

‘Please stop apologising.’ You whisper.

A shaky breath pushes itself from between Frankie’s lips.

‘No, querida,’ he says softly, ‘It wasn’t right. Shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have let you see -’ he swallows thickly, throat bobbing. He looks over your head at the white tiles behind you as your grip on his wrist tightens. You still don't look up at him. ‘But it’s not how you treat someone you love. Not how it should be. Should be protecting them, treating them right, loving them the way you love -’ him. He cuts himself off, because he realises as he says it he’s wrong. So wrong.

Right to be like you in your gentleness. In your care, your touch, your tenderness, your loving. But Tanner deserved none of those things. He didn’t deserve your faith, didn’t deserve your protection or your silence either. None of it.

He closes his eyes.

An image of you flickers through Frankie’s mind. Your fingers on his wrist as they are now, your eyes shining under the streetlights. The glint of your teeth, and the want so clear on your face, then the hesitation, the fear, the shuttering -

And if only he had kissed you then. If only you had taken him inside. He could have shown you what it was supposed to feel like. He could have saved you from the hurt, the fear which lay ahead.

There’s a splash of warmth on the pale skin of the underside of his forearm, and he opens his eyes again. You’re still hunched over his hand, but your movements have stilled. Frankie waits, confused, before another warm drop lands on his arm and you hiccup a sob out. He whispers out your name, and you turn your face up to him, devastated.

Frankie’s face crumples, and your grip on his wrist loosens enough for him to lift his hands to your face and cup your cheeks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. I wasn’t thinking -’

‘You think I love him?’ You croak.

Frankie’s jaw works around his next sentence, his next thoughts. He tries to process what this means. That look in your eyes, your tears, your implication. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

‘I don’t love him, Frankie,’ you choke, ‘I don’t. Christ - I don’t think I ever did, I never could -’ you suck in a deep, stuttered breath. ‘I’ve never - never hated anyone more. I couldn’t stand him, couldn’t have him near me, couldn’t have him touch me -’ Frankie flinches at your words. ‘But I was so scared. And embarrassed. I didn’t know how to leave - I didn’t know how to tell anybody about what was going on. I was terrified of what he’d do. To me, to you guys, if he found out I’d spoken about it. And he made it so hard for me to see you, so hard for me to get away.’ You sob now, panic and relief forcing out your words. ‘I thought - wherever I go, he’ll find me. He’ll track me down, and he’ll bring me back - and somehow - somehow that was worse than if he tracked me down and - and - I don’t know, killed me or something -’

Frankie’s eyes shutter. He can’t even follow your thought, so awful is the image, the gaping emptiness. He pulls you close, he lets you cry. Curled into his chest, your body wracking with tears, shaking, tense and uncontrollable, the sounds you make rooting in his brain. They file themselves away in a box where very few things go. Deployment. Tom. The darkness after his investigation. You break and break in his arms, and it’s all he can do to hold the pieces of you together. To press kisses to your head, breathe in the smell of your hair, rub his hands over your back, cradle you like a child.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there for. He waits until you stop sobbing, stop crying softly, stop hiccuping, stop sniffing. He waits for a few more minutes in the silence, too. And when he pulls away, he presses a long, sweet kiss to your forehead.

You blink up at him through red, swollen eyes.

‘You’re safe here.’ He says, and you nod.

‘I know. Thank you. For - everything.’ You say thickly. Frankie swallows, nods. You know it all anyway. Any time, for however long you need.

He pads downstairs to get you a glass of water, and while he’s pouring it, he can hear you blow your nose, wash your face. Somehow, they are the most perfect sounds in the world.

Crackling wood’s gone white

And my eye swole up now

I can see the light

Frankie gives you one of his sleep-stretched t-shirts and an old pair of shorts for you to wear to bed.

The clothes dwarf you a little, and he can’t wipe the small, thrilled smile from his face, even when he looks away. You look fucking adorable.

You giggle at him every time you see it, your little what? only making him smile harder. It stretches his mouth until it hurts and his cheeks start to cramp up, squishing his swollen eye. Stop he tries to say, but it comes out as an equally breathless huff of laughter - and that only makes you giggle more. So much so that he sweeps you up into his arms to stash you under the covers, and you laugh even harder as he tucks the sheets in tight around you, just like his mama used to do when she wanted him to stay put.

He looks down at you from the side of the bed, hands on his hips, and you laugh back at him - eyes shining, mouth open in wide hoots of delight, your hands coming up in a desperate attempt to contain yourself. He points a finger at you.

‘You need to calm down,’ he says, voice tight with bridled amusement. ‘It’s bedtime.’

But you cackle back at him, this glorious puddle of sunshine in his bed, only howls of laughter for a response. Unable to help himself, he returns your joy, turning off the bedside lamps to slip in beside you.

In the darkness, your snorts subside into ragged breaths, and you turn on your side to look at him. You study him as though you never want to forget a single line on his face; such warmth, such affection in your eyes that Frankie’s whole body swells and lifts.

You take his hand beneath the sheets and hold it between your faces, smiling softly at him.

The first and only girl he’s really ever loved. This brilliant, fierce, bright, intelligent woman damped down by the waste of fucking space who had bled by the fire. At the thought of it, Frankie feels his heart fall out of his chest, down through the floorboards, and plummet towards the middle of the earth.

And finally, he begins to cry.

He tries to stop it, he really does. It’s selfish, he thinks, so awful and selfish to cry in front of you when it’s you who should be wrapped in his arms, swept away by emotion again if you needed to be, safe and warm and unworried, never having to fret about anything again.

But he can’t stop it. It comes out in great shuddering breaths - pained, wracked sounds slipping past his lips, and he can’t help it. He tries to gather them in his hands to shove them back in his mouth, tries to scoop them in his arms and press them back into the caving ache of his chest, but he can’t.

When Frankie was a child, he saw his dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after his father’s brother was killed in a car accident. He had seen it through a crack in his parents’ bedroom door, and it had hurt him. It had wounded him, as a child, to see his father break with such grief, such pain, such emptiness, and to know there was nothing he could do about it. And now, he is split into those two people - younger self, older self - as he thinks of you lying next to him on the bed. This person who he loves so much, who is now so full of the knowledge of the worst parts of living, wound up so tight within you that you let it settle, let it unfurl around your bones. He sees your hurt, your grief, your pain refracted around him tenfold, and he hurts with you. He sees you as the boy he once was, this poor creature looking in at a heart breaking, as he has unknowingly watched yours break for months.

And he’s so sorry, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop saying it.

But here you are, still, performing the ultimate act of kindness. Comfort.

He feels the mattress move as you slide closer to him, and then your hand is on his back, swooping in gentle movements. He feels the scrabble of your fingers under the ribs he has pressed into the bed, the pressure of your arm moving under him so you can hold him properly. Frankie sobs harder, but he opens his body to you. You press closer to him, burying your face in his neck, and he breathes you in as he cries. Your scent is here, you are here. And like you heard him, you whisper -

‘It’s okay, Frankie. It’s okay. ’M here. I’m safe.’ And this realisation allows a little more air, but it doesn’t make Frankie’s guilt, his shame any better. But you’re right, he knows it. And somewhere in his crying, this turns his gasps to tears of relief. Softly, you retract your arms from around him.

You take his hands away from his face, and kiss the palms. You kiss each fingertip, each bruised and cracked knuckle. You lean forward and press a kiss to each tear, each trail of saltwater on his face. And you are so beautiful in the moonlight. Soft and wide eyed. Safe. Kind, always kind, and full of understanding. Frankie sees now that you have been crying against him, too, your eyelashes cloyed with tears. Sees his thoughts in your eyes as though you have had each of them zip to you through the air. When you were a child, you saw your dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after…

A smile breaks through your eyes, chasing away the remnants of tears, glazing down, softening your lips.

And Frankie doesn’t think this time. His feet don’t fail him. He doesn’t think of stars or glitter or constellations of ice crystals. He just kisses you. And kisses you and kisses you and kisses you. And he doesn’t stop, because nothing else matters anymore.

You’re safe. You’re warm. You’re in his bed.

You’re here.

You tip your head back, deepening the kiss, licking into Frankie’s mouth. He gives in so easily to you he’s almost ashamed. But then your fingers clutch at him, ball at the bottom of his shirt, tangle in the thick of his hair, and all his thoughts are forgotten. He feels you slip a soft, strong leg over his, pulling him forward. You groan against him, and Frankie’s cock twitches. You feel it, you must do, as you pull your body closer to him, tight against him. Frankie is so lightheaded he doesn’t know where his hands are, what they’re doing - and when he concentrates, he finds them skating over your back, squeezing the tension out of the back of your neck, gripping your hip.

He moans against you as you rock your hips over his thigh, as he feels the heat of your sex against his skin. He feels like he’s on fire.

You slip a hand under his sleep shorts and palm him, brushing his silken length with two fingers, feeling him grow harder, thicker against you. You take him in your hand, pump him once, twice with the perfect grip, the perfect speed, like you were made for him. He’s gasping against you, panting as you suck his lower lip into your mouth.

‘Baby,’ he groans, breathless, ‘We don’t have to. We really don’t -’

You look up at him through gorgeous, glazed eyes.

‘I want to,’ you say, ‘Do you?’

Dangerous, dangerous question.

Frankie tries to shake his head, look away, think of anything but the tight fist of your fingers around his cock.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘I do. But I don’t think - this is the right thing -’

You loosen your grip, draw away from him. His body aches with a shudder.

His eyes flick back to yours again - confused, hurt - fuck, he can’t do that to you, ever -

‘I - I don’t want to take advantage of it - of you,’ he says. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you look down the sheets towards your toes. His jaw tightens. ‘And - and I don’t want this to mean - different things for us. I don’t want it to ruin what we have.’ Frankie breathes out heavily through his nose. He has to tell you now. He has to. ‘I don’t want it to mean different things, because I love you. I always have. And if we do this, if I have you even just for a night, I - I’ll never recover from it.’ Tears spike in his eyes again. He tries to smile. ‘You’d ruin me. And I don’t think I’d ever forgive you for it.’

Your breath hitches in your throat, and Frankie watches as your eyes flit back up to his. They search his face, the dribble of his barely-shed tears, the slope of his sad smile. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over his scraps of beard. He closes his eyes.

‘What you said earlier,’ you begin. Frankie swallows. He waits for the blow of rejection. ‘About me - about me loving him.’ He opens his eyes slowly to find yours, bright and clear. Something begs to bubble over in them. Something golden and warm. ‘You were wrong - obviously. And I couldn’t tell you truly why, because I was afraid. So afraid of pushing you away, even though I think that’s all I’ve ever done. I’ve never thought I was worth it, Frankie. I don’t deserve you. And I am terrified of how much I love you.’ You beam at him, eyes bubbling over with that thing - love - ‘I love you,’ you say simply, like it’s not the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

A stunned little laugh ripples up his throat, and you copy it. He grips your face in his hands, and kisses you again, again, again.

‘I love you,’ he says.

‘I love you, too,’ you giggle.

‘And you are,’ he presses to your lips, ‘You are absolutely worth it.’

He rolls over on top of you, and begins to kiss your jaw, nipping at the skin there, before moving down your throat. He kisses you with a hot, open mouth, sucking marks into the sensitive skin at your pulse point. Mine, he groans, and you whimper against him, rubbing your thighs together.

Frankie pushes your shirt up - his shirt - so he can bite at your chest, press kisses to every bit of exposed skin. Every single part of you that deserves to be loved, every single place which has so far been unknown to him. He sucks each nipple into his mouth, delighted when you keen beneath him, panting, please, please Frankie, before he sinks lower down, peeling his shorts away from you to expose your glistening cunt.

He groans, unable to take his eyes away from it as he leans forward, pressing his body into the mattress to lick a stripe from your asshole to your clit.

‘Frankie -’ you groan down at him as he begins to work at you, sucking and licking, nipping at your thigh before slipping his tongue into your hole, swiping and tasting everything you’re giving to him. He grinds himself into the mattress, hissing at the relief, the uncomfortable weight of his cock dragging below him.

‘Taste so good, baby,’ he tells you, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to taste, wants to smell anything else ever again. All he can do is eat at you, breathe you in, until you’re begging him -

‘Frankie, your fingers - please -’ And he flexes his hand at your hip before brushing a fingertip against your entrance and gasping at the pain.

You try to bear down towards him, but he rips his hand away, lifting his head towards you.

‘Can’t,’ he gasps, and you mewl, bucking your hips up to his face, desperate. ‘Hand’s fucked,’ he says, and you still your movements before beginning to laugh again. It’s loud and from your belly, and it's bizarre. But Frankie gets it. He gets it, and he giggles too. He doesn’t try to fuck his broken knuckles into you, but he does try to continue lathing you with his tongue. You’re making it pretty fucking difficult, though.

‘Stop laughing,’ he huffs against your clit, ‘I’m trying to make you come.’

‘Okay,’ you say, gasping for air, ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. You’re doing really well, by the way.’ But this only makes him laugh. He groans, leaning his forehead against your inner thigh. ‘This is impossible.’ He pouts.

‘Nooo,’ you cry, leaning up on your elbows to pout down at him. ‘Please, baby. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I won’t laugh anymore.’

‘Promise?’ He says. You hold out your pinky to him.

‘Pinky promise.’ You say.

Frankie stretches his hand out to you and tries to extend his pinky. He winces at the sharp pain which shoots from the movement, and grunts at you, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘You bastard,’ he says, trying and failing to hold his smile, ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to do that.’

‘Just keeping you on your toes,’ you grin, and then before you can make any more smart remarks, Frankie resumes his ministrations, lapping and tonguing at your clit, your hole, mouthing hot, wet kisses to your pussy. He shakes his head from side to side, running your bud in tight, hard little circles until you’re a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him. Your hips buck unconsciously, and Frankie hooks both his arms around your thighs to hold you down, flattening his hands against your belly to keep you firmly in place. He reaches up to twist at your nipples and you gasp.

‘God, Frankie, tongue feels so fucking good -’

He can feel you begin to pulse against his chin as your whines get higher in pitch, and he groans as you twist handfuls of his hair.

‘Come on, baby,’ he says, ‘Give it to me. Wanna see you come, querida. Wanna taste it. Come on my face.’

And you do, the sensation of it arching your back tight like a bow, a strangled moan cutting off into the ceiling.

‘Fuck, Frankie, fuck -’ as he drives you through it, nodding and murmuring against you as you try to wriggle free, squealing in protest until you manage to twist a leg and set a foot against his chest, pushing him off.

‘Fucking - hell -’ You pant, and Frankie grins down at you, smug.

‘Good?’ He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Oh, fuck you, Morales.’ You laugh, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, moaning when you taste yourself on him. Your tongue explores every part of his mouth, every crevice behind every tooth, like you can’t get enough of him. Like there'll never be enough of him. ‘Now fuck me.’ You whisper.

And Frankie does not need to be told twice.

He rips his shirt up and off his back, shucks his shorts down his legs, and squeezes himself tight as he can in his left hand. He ruts into his palm, thumb swiping to slick his heavy beads of precum down his length.

‘Ready?’ he asks, looking down to find you staring wide-eyed at his cock. It twitches under your gaze.

‘What?’ He says, and you shake your head in quiet disbelief and amusement. You lift your eyes back to his face, and they are so dark with arousal he almost melts into the mattress.

‘Nothing,’ you shrug. ‘Just somehow never believed Pope and the boys when they said it was like two coke cans put together.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, his face pulling tight with a grin as he lines himself up at your entrance, swilling the head in your arousal.

‘I mean, what if it doesn’t fit?’ You babble, and he shakes his head.

‘It’ll fit, baby,’ he says. ‘We’ll make it fit.’ Then he sinks the first inch in, and just waits. He waits and watches you, watches as your mouth falls slack, all the smart things coming out your mouth grinding to a halt. He throbs at how tight you are around him, at how you clench already, trying to suck him in further. And fuck, you are so wet.

‘You okay, querida?’ He asks through gritted teeth.

You manage a nod, a broken whine escaping you.

‘Move Frankie, please baby -’ you beg, and he groans as he pushes further inside you, watching the obscene stretch of your pussy around him, the way it pulses, the way it gets wetter and warmer and tighter around him. When he bottoms out, he feels the hot rush of his orgasm leap towards him a little too quickly.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he breathes, closing his eyes just to make sure he doesn’t come right away. You squirm beneath him, canting your hips up, trying to fuck yourself. Frankie grips you, gritting his teeth. ‘Stay still,’ he hisses, flushing a little. ‘God, fuck, please - just for a minute.’ He opens his eyes to find you watching him, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. His eyes glaze down your body - his t-shirt bunched up around your chest, perfect tits, perfect belly, and your sweet, sopping cunt split open on his cock.

He groans again, slipping out, watching as he retreats, soaked by you, before pushing back in. A high pitched whine leaves your lips, and you twitch your hands up to play with your tits. Frankie doesn’t think he’s ever seen something more sexy in his life.

‘That’s right,’ he says, ‘Keep playing with yourself like that, gorgeous. Look at you.’

So you do, looking up at him with doe-eyes as he fucks into you, soft at first, letting you adjust before quickening his pace, readjusting his angle, feeling you leak around him. His balls slap against your ass loudly, and you keen up at him, eyes wide, begging for something as you tighten like a coil around him, something you can’t quite voice. But Frankie knows.

He swipes his thumb against your clit, and your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching again. He groans at the sight, and works the bundle of nerve endings in tight circles, faster and harder, harder and faster, until you’re gripping him so tight he thinks you might push him out.

‘Come baby, come,’ he pants, ‘Please, querida, need to feel you - need to feel you soak me. Need you to come for me, come on this cock, baby, please -’

And he groans, long and loud as you clench and pulse around him, milking him, pulling him impossible deeper - fuck, Frankie, oh my god, feels so fucking good - the delicious pressure at the base of his spine at breaking point as he fucks you through it, as he pants and gasps -

‘Come, Frankie,’ you plead, ‘Please - want you, need you -’ and he spills himself deep inside you, hips stuttering, eyes clamping shut, overwhelmed and short circuited. He’s never known it could feel like this - good to the end of every synapse - and he’s fucking it in with three long thrusts, pulling out slowly just to watch it dribble out of you as he twitches against his thigh. He thumbs your clit just to watch you seize and sigh against him, then sits back on his knees to look at you.

‘You are something else,’ he says in disbelief.

You smile lazily at him.

‘Ain’t so bad yourself, Morales,’ and he laughs, throwing himself down next to you, kissing anywhere he can. I love you, I love you, I love you. Safe.

You lay there for a while afterwards, just feeling each other, calming your ragged breathing. Eventually, Frankie rises from the bed to grab a washcloth, coming back and swiping between your legs tenderly, gently, before collapsing back into bed and pulling you into his chest.

He feels like he’s in space, and he tells you as much. He spills secrets like a child at a sleepover. He tells you about the glitter and the stars and the constellations of ice crystals. You match him with a galaxy of feeling spanning the time he’s known you. And he feels that this is a dream, this love which floats like a nebula within the bed. He tries to keep his eyes open for as long as possible, even as you sleep. And even when he does drift off, he dreams of you. He dreams of you sparkling with stardust, waiting for him with your arms open.

When he wakes the next morning, you’re still there. Safe, soft and warm against him, furled into his ribcage, heart beating against the hand that’s pressed against your chest.

Everything’s okay. That red thread still intact, after all.

When the sun rises, bloody and mild, it’s never been so sweet.

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

#pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #pickup truck #kings of leon #Spotify #pedro pascal x reader

2K notes · View notes

chaniceroses · 7 months ago

Text

Bad Boys Ride or Die (Armando x Reader) Part ELEVEN

(!! I made this one short because I wanted the last part to be good and long for the readers!! Thank you so much for your patience and support!!!! I will begin working on the Last Part tomorrow!! :) )

ENJOY:

Y/N POV

“I’m so sorry y/n…”, Howard whispered, sitting on the chair next to your hospital bed. He grabbed your hand and held it. His eyes were searching your face for answers but couldn’t find one. The room was cold and although Howard was right by your side while you had heavy security outside of your hospital room.You still felt alone. Tears began to run down your face, they were warm and sharp. It almost felt as if it had hurt your eyes to cry.

“I…I can’t have kids anymore Captain…I can’t—”

“No, no…he said that it would be a miracle, that’s never a no. You just need to heal and allow time to take its time y/n.”, he interrupted.

“We will find McGrath and make sure that you get the justice that you deserve, this isn’t your fault y/n.”

Your heart felt empty, your eyes were swollen and slightly pink from all of the crying that you were doing so in response you just stared at Howard and nodded your head.

“I’m going to go talk to the doctor about your stay. I will be right back, okay.”,

You watched as Howard got up and walked out of your room. Slowly taking your attention from the door to your stomach, you began to rub it and could feel the stitches that were left from the surgery. Until you started hearing gunshots, throwing your head back towards the door, you could see people running and screaming.

“What the hell?”, you whispered, flipping the covers while trying to slowly lift your body up from the bed.

“Y/N, MCGRA—”, before Howard could finish his sentence, you watched as he was shot several times from somebody behind him. You felt your heart drop and screamed in horror when…..

“Y/N!!! WAKE UP!!”, Armando yelled, climbing on top of you while softly shaking you.

You opened your eyes to be met by Armando's intense stare, he was examining your trying to figure out what you were dreaming about to have you screaming as if you were being tortured.

Sweat ran down your face while your breathing became heavy, you slightly pushed Armando off of you and sat up in your bed. It had been forever since you’ve had one of those kinds of dreams, especially about losing you and McGrath’s baby. You buried your head in your hands when suddenly, your hotel door flew open while being greeted by hard footsteps. You looked up to see Mike and Marcus standing there while aiming their guns around.

“FREEZEEE…oh”, Marcus yelled, before looking over to you and Armando.

You were confused at why he looked at you and Armando with a blank and awkward facial expression until you looked back at Armando to see him standing, while covering his member with his hands.

You looked down to see that you were also still naked from you and Armando sexual games last night.

So you quickly grabbed the sheets that were on the floor and wrapped it around your body.

“This is so embarrassing…”, you whispered, getting up while looking at Armando and then at Mike.

You observed as Mike stared at you and Armando. You weren’t sure what was going through his mind but hoped that it was nothing.

“You owe me a hundred dollars!”Marcus laughed, while leaving your hotel room.

“I’m going to go…go take a shower.”, You awkwardly whispered, grabbing a towel and running to the bathroom.

ARMANDO POV

We watched as y/n ran into the bathroom and slammed the door. I wanted to take one with her but by the looks of it, I could see that not happening.

“Like Father, like son huh.”, I sarcastically replied. Grabbing the covers that were on the bed and wrapping it around my waist.

“I’m going to go and get you guys a bag that has clothes in them. Put them on and come to Marcus’s and I room.”, he sighed, walking towards the door.

“Mike, y/n and I are together now.”, I hurriedly responded while walking up to him.

I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to say that to him but I did.

“I know Armando, I saw it coming a couple days ago.”

“It's a good thing right? She liked me and I liked her and she—”, before I could finish my sentence, I watched as he turned around and looked at me.

“Look, I knew that you guys liked each other but I didn’t think that you guys would take it this far, Armando. With what you’ve both been through, you guys need to think about it.”, he interrupted, looking at the bed and then back at me.

I was lost, y/n was the one who said that he told her not to play with my emotions however now he’s feeling the opposite.

“What the hell do you mean?”

“Armando, what do you think is going to happen once we’re done with McGrath? Huh? You guys are going to run off into the sunset while holding hands?”

I had no response.

“I want you guys together, I do. Even if you hearing this from me, don’t mean shit to you but once this ends…You will still be a fugitive while y/n will be free. So it’ll be hard for the both of you to work that out.”

“Wait, you said that you were going to help me Mike?”, I replied. I knew that what he was saying was the truth however, there has to be a different route. I watched as he searched the room for answers. At first there wasn’t a thought behind his eyes, until his eyes suddenly focused back on me.

“Armando, I have an idea but I need you to trust me.”, he answered, putting his hand on my right shoulder. I couldn’t help but to look at him weirdly. The way he was looking at me, had me oddly uncomfortable. However, I couldn’t help but to be curious.

“What is it?”

“...You’re going to have to take it back…it may not make sense right now but—” “Hell no Mike, are you crazy. Y/n and I just had sex and made it official last night, she’s going to think I used her for her body!”, I loudly whispered, throwing his hand off of my shoulder. Horrible timing Mike. Horrible timing.

“I know but you have to trust me, it’ll work out in the end for the both of you, I promise you that. You have to do it, Armando or I can’t help you!”, he demanded. Before I could respond, I could hear a door shut behind me.

“Mike…Armando, is everything okay?”, Y/n said walking towards the both of us.

I looked back at y/n and then back at Mike and watched as he stared at y/n.

“Yeah y/n, everything is fine. Just son and father things, you know.”, he laughed. Leaning past me to grab the door knob. I watched as he shut the door while I just stared at it.

A part of me didn’t want to do it, however the other half felt that Mike knew what he was talking about. Shit Armando.

Y/N POV

You stood behind Armando, examining the muscles that swam across his back. You were about to touch his back, when he suddenly turned around. His breathing was short and slow. He was avoiding eye-contact with you and was looking out towards the balcony. Something was wrong.

“Armando, seriously what’s wrong? What was that conversation between you and Mike about?”, you were looking into his eyes for a response. An answer. However, he kept his glare towards the balcony.

So you grabbed his hand and guided him towards the bed. The both of you sat down and you watched as he rubbed the back of his neck. Something was bothering him, you just didn’t know what.

“I love you y/n…so much.”, he suddenly replied, turning his head to look at you while smiling.

“I love you too Armando…you know last night was—”

“But I can’t do this.”, he interrupted, now looking away.

Suddenly the room went silent, you could hear your thoughts and everything that you were feeling now being said out loud. What the hell did he mean that he can’t “do this”?

“I mean..I want to do this, us but with what’s going on I—” “Are you fucking serious, Armando?”, you sighed. You were disappointed. You finally told him how you felt. You poured your heart out to him last night as he did the same but now, he can’t “do” this. Us? You turned to look at him and could see worry across his face.

“Is it..does it have to do with McGrath?”, you whispered looking at him. You watched as he turned to look at you. His mouth was saying one thing, while his eyes were saying another. So you swallowed the lump that had slowly built up in your throat and threw how you felt out the door. Nothing was going to get in the way between you two and you were sure of that.

“We don’t know what the outcome may be today and I feel that we may be moving too fast.”, he explained, throwing his hand out to you. You knew that he was lying. You could feel it and the way he was holding himself told you that he was. That’s when you thought about Mike.

“Well, I pray that this isn’t one of those “using me for my body” situations and I know that I just caught you and Mike talking about something which led to you acting the way you are now—”, you responded, grabbing his hand and caressing it.

“No, I would never do that”, he interrupted, grabbing your hand and holding it a little tighter.

“Mike said that this would be best. With everything that is happening.”, he continued, looking at you.

You were confused. Mike?

“What the hell do you mean Armando, since when did you start listening to Mike?”

“I listen to him y/n when he makes sense. He said that it’ll be best for us not to be together, just for right now. Since i’m a fugitive and you know with your life and this McGrath shit. There’s just no balance.”, he explained, shrugging his shoulders.

You knew that what Mike was saying wasn’t entirely wrong; however, you were still confused.

“He also said that he’ll help us out because he does want to see us together. Now he didn’t explain how or when but he just said to trust him. And for some odd reason, I do. Me just saying this, doesn’t mean I mean it y/n. Because I sure as hell doesn’t.”, he continued, standing up.

You stood up also and grabbed his hand while looking up at him. Although you were against what Mike said, you knew that you could trust his word.

“Okay Armando, I trust you guys so we will just “play” as if we’re not together around them, at least until all of this shit clears.”, you laughed while caressing his cheek. You could see a small smirk come across his face as he looked down at you.

“I like the way you think.”, he smiled, picking you up. You watched as he leaned in towards you to give you a kiss, which made you respond to it. His lips were soft and smooth. You could feel his goatee mustache run smooth across your face. You found yourself deep into the moment, until you opened your eyes and noticed that he was walking towards the bathroom.

“What are you doing?”, you questioned

“We’re about to take a shower.”

“Yeah but I just took one.”

“Yeah but it was without me.”, he mocked, carrying you inside the bathroom and shutting the door.

You and Armando took a shower then quickly got dressed to head to Mike’s and Marcus’s hotel room. There was a bag filled with black clothes and police attire for you and Armando to put on once you guys were finished so after you were done, the both of you helped each other get dressed, straightened the room and then headed towards Mike’s room.

You watched as Armando walked up to the door and knocked. After a couple knocks the door finally opens to the two of you being greeted by a crowded room.

“What the hell.”, Armando whispered

“What is it?”, you replied moving from behind him to see Dorn, Kelly, Rita and her husband, Lockwood in the room with Mike and Marcus.

“Took you two forever…”, Mike sighed, signaling for you and Armando to enter.

You followed behind Armando and examined as the energy in the room shifted. Maybe it could be because it is early in the morning and everyone wants to still be in bed or because of Armando’s intimidating presence.

“Why is he here?”, you asked, pointing at Lockwood and Rita.

You felt that it was odd for him to be there, knowing that he didn’t say anything about proving Howard’s innocence and with the election coming up. He had nothing to do with this operation.

“He is a part of McGraths bullshit”, Mike answered, walking over to the group and sitting down.

“Yeah, Rita found the messages between him and McGrath. He’s behind the files…”

“And the money being transported…”

“And how McGrath found out where everyone lives.”, the group explained while looking at you.

You could feel disappointment,confusion and anger fill your body.

“So, you’re telling me…this motherfucker sitting across from me is the reason why LadyBug is dead?! THE REASON WHY THAT DUMBASS FOUND OUT WHERE I LIVED!”, you yelled now standing up. You were livid. This whole time you had been blaming yourself for Ladybug’s death, when it could’ve been avoided if Lockwood would’ve been a true politician and reported McGrath instead of working with him and allowing innocent people like Ladybug and Fletcher, to lose their lives.

You watched as Lockwood stood up and threw his hands up in defense.

“Look y/n, I don’t know what—” Before Lockwood could finish his sentence, you quickly grabbed the gun that was on the table, jumped over it and held it to his head.

“YO! Y/N CALM DOWN! —”Mike yelled, walking over towards you.

“FOR WHAT!! HE DESERVES TO DIE!!!”, you yelled looking at Mike and then back at Lockwood. Fear was written all over his face and you loved that it was.

“You shoot him, I’ll have no choice but to shoot you.”, Rita replied, pointing her gun at you. You kept your finger on the trigger and pushed the gun even more towards Lockwood's head.

“Like hell you will…”, Armando whispered. You turned to see him standing behind Rita while having two guns in his hands. One pointing at the back of Rita’s head and the other at Lockwood’s.

“You guys are married right? Till death do you part? Sounds about right…you’re call y/n.”, Armando scoffed. You couldn’t help but to squeeze the gun, you wanted to see his brain be splatted everywhere in front of you. The way McGrath did LadyBug’s.

“Just wait y/n ... .I have something for you.”, Marcus whispered, walking towards the closet that was next to the bathroom.

“What Marcus?”, you replied, keeping your eyes on Lockwood. You could see sweat forming on his forehead. He was nervous and afraid. You quickly shifted your eyes to see Marcus walking up to you while holding something in his hand.

“What the hell is that Marcus because I don’t have time for these games…”

“Here.”, he whispered, pushing his hands out to you.

You turned to see glasses in his hand.

“Marcus, what the hell am I supposed to do with glasses?”

“There Ladybug’s.”, he mumbled. “Look at them.” You took a glance and stared at them, they were black glasses with thick lenses. You looked up at Marcus, then at the glasses and then back at Lockwood.

“Those could be anyone’s Marcus, I’m not stupid!”, you yelled. You grabbed Lockwood’s head and held him down. Now pointing the gun at the back of his head.

“Take a step closer to her and I'll kill you instantly.”, Armando whispered, stepping closer to Rita while keeping his eyes on you.

“Y/n just read the arms, they have his initials on it. “L.B” C’mon y/n. We’ll make sure he goes to jail. I promise.”, Marcus reassured, now trying to hand you the glasses.

You sat the gun down while keeping a tight grip of Lockwood’s hair in your other hand and grabbed the glasses. How in the hell did he get these? You moved one of the arms of the glasses and could see Ladybug’s initials clear as day.

“How did you—”

“That night when we found you on the ground…Mike picked you up and took you to the car while I stayed behind and put him on the couch. The way you were crying over him, told me that he meant something to you and I wanted to make sure that you had something in remembrance so I took his glasses to give to you at some point. Once you heal, you know.”, he explained, stepping closer to you.

“Let him go y/n…”, Mike whispered, looking at you and then back at Marcus.

You looked down at the glasses and then at Lockwood.

“Okay..”, you sighed, setting down the glasses and the gun.

“Thank God.”, Lockwood whispered, grunting in pain. Before you knew it, you threw a punch in the back of his head and watched as his body went limp.

You looked up to see everyone shockingly looking at you as if you killed someone.

“He’s not dead, he’s just knocked out. Give him thirty minutes.”, you scoffed, grabbing your gun and glasses, climbing back over the table and sitting back in the seat that you and Armando were on.

“Lucky girl.”, Armando whispered into Rita’s ear, lowering his gun and walking to sit back next to you. You loved the fact that you didn’t have to say anything for Armando to jump and support your actions, even if others were against it. He was there. Supporting and protecting.

“Well while he’s half dead can we please discuss a plan about how we're going to get McGrath.”, Dorn sighed, walking over to pick up the papers that fell off the table.

“We don’t need a plan, we know where he is since we were able to track him from Lockwood’s phone. So let’s just go to him.”, Mike replied, grabbing some guns out of a bag and strapping them onto his leg.

“I agree, no plan, just action. That’s how we roll.”Marcus supported, folding his arms.

“And that’s how we get killed.”, Rita sighed, rolling her eyes.

“McGrath just plans on leaving the country after he kills us and receives the money…”, you added, pointing at Marcus, Mike, Armando and yourself. “So really, we just need to be in hiding and meet him at whatever transportation he plans on leaving on.” You stood up and walked over to the bags filled with weapons.

“No time needs to be wasted so we should probably be heading out in the next ten minutes.”, Kelly replied, gathering all of the information.

Everyone nodded and began to get ready. Strapping up, making sure their hollister were on good and that their bulletproof vests were on tight. You could sense Armando looking at you; however, you ignored him.

“Something happened between the two of you?”, Mike asked, looking at you and then back at Armando.

“Nope, he just doesn’t think we should be moving so quick.”, you whispered looking over at him. You watched as he looked at Armando and then back at you again. You gave a small smile, hinting to him that you knew about their conversation from earlier but by the looks of it, he was lost.

“Oh well, I'm sure it’s for the best with that being said… I know that killing McGrath is important for you as it is for me so I want the both of us to be the ones going after him. That way we know that he won’t be spared.”, he whispered. Putting the bag across his shoulders and turning to face you. You finished getting ready and tied your hair back that way it wouldn’t be in your face. You were happy that Mike was on the same page that you were on.

“For sure.”, you agreed, looking over to the group. You watched as Mike grabbed the keys that were on the counter and signaled to everyone to start heading out.

“This should be fun.”, Dorn mumbled, picking up Lockwood and throwing him across his shoulders. You watched as he walked past you, allowing Lockwood’s head to be slightly thrown everywhere. You couldn’t help but to chuckle until Armando walked up to you.

“You ready.”, he smiled looking down at you.

“Yeah lets go—” Before you could finish you were interrupted by Kelly walking up to you.

“Y/n, do you remember that video that I told you Howard left for you. The personal video.”, she whispered, looking back at Rita and then back at you. At first you were lost but after a while of allowing your thoughts to catch up, you were able to recall the conversation between the two of you.

“Yeah I remember, you were going to send it to me.”, you replied

“Yeah, I decided to not send it to you but to put it on a disc…I couldn’t help it, I felt that what he said was extremely personal and that you would need to hear it maybe alone. Nothing bad just very, heartwarming you know.”, she smiled, handing out the disc to give to you.

You grabbed it and then looked at it. You were very curious about what was on here however, you wanted your mind to be sat on today’s operation.

“Give it to me after the operation, so that I can have something to look forward to watching.”, you smiled, handing it back to her. You watched as she grabbed it and nodded her head in response. Walking back towards Rita and sparking a conversation with her while she helped her finish packing.

“What was that about?”, Armando asked, turning around to follow you out of the room.

“Some video Howard left for me to watch by myself, I don’t really know.”, you replied as the both of you walked down the long hallway.

“Well, What I do know is that…whatever happens today, I want you to be—”

“Tell me after the operation Armando.”, you interrupted, keeping your focus on the elevator.

“Huh?”, he asked as the both of you stood in front of the elevator doors waiting for it to open.

“Tell me once we kill McGrath and we both make it out alive, not now.”, you whispered, walking onto the elevator.

You watched as he followed behind you onto the elevator. There was a weird presence in the room, it wasn’t tense, but it was soft. Accepting. Danger was slowly creeping towards you while you were running towards it. This was a suicide mission, and you knew it and so did everyone else. You must’ve gotten lost into your thoughts because you suddenly felt Armando’s hand slowly hold yours. You looked down at it and then up at Armando to see him looking at you. Although a word wasn’t said, his eyes were having a conversation of its own and you understood every bit of it. You turned your head back towards the doors, held his hand tighter and let go of the breath that you didn’t know that you were holding. Allowing the silence to consume the both of you and for time to slowly reach its ending point.

#armando x reader #jacob scipio #armando armas #bad boys armando #bad boys ride or die armando #bad boys ride or die #x reader #bad boys #armando aretas #armando aretas x reader

265 notes · View notes

wannab-urs · 6 months ago

Text

Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 39

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks!

Welcome back to the Spreadsheet Digest! It's been.... a while. In order to make up for that, I have a nice long list of fics to rec. Also, surprise! I'm posting this on thursdays now.

All tags and summaries provided by the authors unless they didn't provide one, in which case I filled it in.

Wildest Dreams a Dave York series by @janaispunk

You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

explicit smut (18+ only, mdni), dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamic (reader becomes very dependent on Dave), dom/sub dynamics, angst, feelings, daddy issues, secret/forbidden relationship, corruption kink, able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, Dave doesn’t kill people in this

the hitman’s guide to getting the girl a Dave York seriesby @kiwisbell

It's just another job, until Dave York decides to kidnap an enemy’s wiseass daughter. It’s just another job, until he falls in love.

kidnapping, murder, violence, the world being horrible to women, reader having a very terrible sense of self-preservation, unprotected piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), dave york finding his second calling as a pussy-eating god, pining, possessive sex, jealousy, daddy issues, (stockholm syndrome?), dirty talk, actually filthy talk, hitmen and politicians, revenge, scary man with a soft spot for his woman, philosophical foreplay, tramp stamp worship (you'll see), a little sprinkle of breeding kink if you look hard enough, obsessive behaviour, anal fingering, anal sex, implied age gap, light dom/sub vibes, light bondage

Obscenery a Dave York/Tim Rockford series by @sin-djarin

Dave is worried about the day ahead and Tim offers him some advice.

M/M, Established D/s dynamics, edging, orgasm delay, these two come with their own warnings - in particular Tim's mouth and how much Dave really likes it.

Heaven is Hell a Dieter one shot by @inept-the-magnificent

Writing prompt: “I don’t get it,” says the demon, “This person’s lived a perfectly good and virtuous life. Why are you sending them to hell?” The angel nervously rubs the back of their head. “Honestly? We’re pretty sure they’d be happier in hell than heaven.”

demon!Dieter, Angel!marcus pike, mild angst, fluff, mention of drugs, alcohol, orgies, etc. The usual dieter rabble.

Scars and All a Din series by plaidamoosette (AO3)

Hidden away in the desert land of Jakku, you are slowly chipping away at the debt that you and your mother had accumulated following the death of your father to the horrible Denga Niima. But, after the recent passing of your mother, the debt has fallen on your shoulders. Using your skills as a mechanical engineer, you accumulate wealth for your slave master in the hopes that one day you will be free. Free to explore and live as your parents had always wished for you. But things change when you meet a certain bounty hunter when he comes to you to repair his ship. But, nothing is as it seems, and as the lies that were built around your life begin to crumble, you find yourself sucked into a journey of truth, betrayal, and... love.

Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Drama, Deceased Parents, Indentured Servitude, Soft Din Djarin, Soft Dominant Din Djarin, POV Alternating, Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Protective Din Djarin, Intimidation, Male Masturbation, Touch-Starved, Loss of Virginity, MC doesn't know how to take care of herself, Female Masturbation, Burried Trauma, Readers knows how to fight back, Mandalorians (Star Wars), Mandalorian Culture & Customs (Star Wars), Some Canon material, A whole lot of other made up stuff

Just Can't Say Goodbye a Din one shot by @saradika

a final night is spent in the arms of your bodyguard, before your arranged union the next morning.

sorta medieval vibes, references to antiquated societal expectations, mentions and references to virginity, arranged marriage, technically infidelity because of said arrangement, light angst, sneaking around, first time, fingering, PiV, creampie

Back to You a Din series by @kyberblade

You’ve been friends with Mando for years, and he drops by your hole in the wall bar from time to time to catch up. This time, however, he’s carrying an extra little green passenger with him. They are on the run, which is unsettling because Mando doesn’t run from things. Things run from him. A tracking fob, a dead body, and a confession later, all three of you set out to help the child find it’s kind. (Aka: a really typical Din x Force Sensitive reader plot, but instead of the going from stiff scary Mando to friendly Mando it’s gonna kinda go the opposite way. Not in a bad way but she’s gonna finally get to see what exactly he was running from all those times he came back to see her.)

Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Angst, Humor, Friends to Lovers, Introspection, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Romantic Friendship, Emotions, Grogu | Baby Yoda Being a Little Shit, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Protective Din Djarin, Good Parent Din Djarin, Soft Din Djarin, Force-Sensitive Reader, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Spicy thoughts, but no smut

Familiar Strangers an Ezra one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

When your boyfriend's band opens for Familiar Strangers, you get the chance to meet the lead singer. A man whose work you've long admired. A connection sparks a flame that may change your life forever.

Rockstar!Ezra, Infidelity, reader's boyfriend is a huge asshole and deserves it though, Smut, Mildly Dubious Consent, everyone is consenting but they are impaired by alcohol

Brat a Frankie one shot by @freelancearsonist

You've been torturing Frankie, so he decides to return the favor.

short and filthy lil giflet, unprotected p in v sex, power dynamics kind of

Down the Hall a Frankie one shot by @frannyzooey

Your bedroom, just down the hall from his own, proves too tempting for Frankie to resist - even if he is your mother's boyfriend.

age gap, explicit smut, mom's boyfriend!frankie

All Through the Night a Jack one shot by @baronessvonglitter

after it's made clear that you're not welcome as a Junior Agent for the Statesman organization, Whiskey takes you under his protection for an unforgettable night

18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, mentor/mentee relationship, forbidden relationship, vandalism, nightmares, 'only one bed', first time, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, no use of y/n

Is Joel Okay? a Joel one shot by @djarinmuse

Based on this edit that @/iamasaddie shared, and the tag by @/wannab-urs, thanks Gin for the input "#Joel has a menty b and shaves his head". Reader is there for him. No idea who did the original edit but thanks.

Joel cuts his hair, the utter horror of that alone. No explicit smut but 18+ physical intimacy. Depressed Joel, soft Joel. Established relationship but no background given.

Unearth a Joel one shot by @ezrasbirdie

When your normally strict parents go out of town for two weeks and leave you on your own for the first time with little warning, you're left reeling and afraid of being on your own for so long. Luckily, Joel Miller, your father's best friend, very generously offers to let you stay with him. Your long time crush on him shouldn't be a problem at all.

smut, yearning, Joel is a little manipulative, loss of virginity, dad's best friend, nice big age gap (reader is 21, Joel is 40), liberal use of baby girl, religious trauma of the Christian variety (no denomination noted), reader wears a sundress, shaming of sexuality, bad relationship with reader's parents, insecurity, flirting, trouble orgasming, pussy pronouns (she/her), humping/grinding, masturbation, unprotected PIV, oral sex, references to early 00s media, soft Joel

What it is to grow a Joel one shot by @burntheedges

Joel knows he can't keep running from it – from Her – forever.

angst, hurt/comfort, hope, mentions of the canon depths of Joel’s depression (pills, alcohol, darkness, etc.), canon character death (Sarah), AU with Greek lore/gods & goddesses in the TLOU universe, character study

Birthday Boy a Joel one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Even with a house full of party guests, Joel can't resist when he finds a moment alone with you in the bathroom.

Masturbation, Frottage, light d/s, orgasm denial. Just general Joel Miller filth. There's like a smidge of plot right at the end.

Duality of a Man a Joel series by @wildemaven

A woman shows up at your door looking for your boyfriend

Mentions of food, Mentions of killing, death, birth, birth trauma

Consider it a Favor a Joel one shot by @chaotic-mystery

Your AC breaks in your car and the one person around to help is your neighbor, Mr.Miller.

Age gap (Not specified but I put Sarah in college) DILF Joel mowing his lawn, reader is able-bodied and is wearing a swim suit/coverup, reader has hair Joel can pull, kissing, swearing, (1) blowjob, size kink go brrr, pet names (good girl, sweetheart, baby) facedown ass up, babey, a little manhandling, unprotected penetration (don't look at me okay, the whore in me jumped out), dirty talk, Joel hyping up his ego, pussy ownership, creampie, a little glimpse of aftercare and what really happened to your AC.

Absolution a Joel series by @pedgito

Moving in with your soon-to-be stepfather under the roof of his brother, Joel, ends up being a turning point of change in your life.

DDDNE - stepcest, religious trauma, parental trauma. addition warnings: no outbreak, step-uncle!joel (reader's mom is engaged to marry tommy) age gap (20/late 40s), inappropriate relationships/behavior, slight dubcon (voyeurism), eventual smut (will tag with specific on each chapter), skewed morals, joel using alcohol to cope with life and loss, reader is in the depths of deconstruction.

Imperfect for you a Joel one shot by @joelscruff

you never thought joel miller would accidentally call you baby.

age gap (joel is mid 40s, reader is 23), fluff, very brief instance of blood, tending to a wound, joel is eepy, soft kisses, cuddles

rotten a Joel one shot by @alltheirdamn

Sharing land with Joel Miller has always been infuriating, but when your bad attitude finally gets his attention...things get messy

No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, explicit language, brat taming, semi dark!joel, dubcon elements, degrading, choking, rough spanking, hair pulling, face slapping, throat fucking, touch of dacryphilia, rope/bondage, rough unprotected piv sex, hint of a subspace moment, orgasm denial, squirting, creampie, no aftercare because joel is an old, grumpy asshole

Lost Cause a Joel one shot by @Joelalorian

Joel thinks you shouldn’t waste your time on him. You disagree.

Explicit MDNI; Jackson-era Joel; canon-ish but also not; drinking; mentions of cigarettes, drugs, dark thoughts, and death; unprotected p in v; oral (m and f receiving); interesting use of red wine; unspecified age gap; despair and hope

rosemary by the garden gate Joel/Tim Rockford/Dio series by @marisferasiop

(set in an approximate late nineties/early aughts timeline) Shane, turned out by his family after being outed, is sleeping rough when he is abducted by a sex trafficking ring. Joel is Tess' lead enforcer in her gang. His twin brother, Tim, is a highly decorated detective in Major Crimes for the NYPD. Together, they help Tess and her investments navigate both sides of the law. When Shane is given to Joel one evening at a truce meeting between Tess' gang and their rivals, a human trafficking syndicate, he calls Tim to initiate a bust on the opposition. His one request: he wants the kid. Problem is, once Tim meets him, so does he. Most importantly: what does Shane want once his freedom is granted? Or does he even want his freedom, if these two are holding the reigns?

dead dove!! Human trafficking, unhoused gay minors/unhoused gay youth, abuse (physical, sexual, mental/emotional), sex trafficking, sex work, homelessness, food insecurity, stealing to survive, abduction, sex slave trade, gagging/choking (later consensual breathplay), rough oral, "painal" kink, non-con drugging, enemas, forced sex work, bondage for sex and for binding/imprisonment, non-con sex/rape, mafia-esque work and associated unpleasantness (gore and violence), mean but soft Joel, face slapping, spanking as foreplay, caning as punishment, orgasm delay/control, spitting in mouth, body modifications, marking, cum play, all the soft life-affirming gay sex after rescue (Joel and Tim are twins and don't fuck e/o but they do fuck Shane together at one point) a mention of the Meat Rack, the gay sex worker alley where serial killer Des Nilsen abducted his victims.

Win a Date With Javi G + Part 2 a Javi G/Jack Daniels/Reader series by @absurdthirst and @wardenparker

You and your best friend are huge fans of Spanish pop star Javi G, and she managed to convince you to enter a contest to win a date with the singer himself. No one is more surprised than you when you actually win. / Going home with Javi and Jack after the Grammys might be the most important decision you've ever made...

Cursing. Food/alcohol. Pure fluff and flirting. A little dirty talk/dirty flirting toward the end./ Dom/sub dynamic. MMF threesome. *This story features an established MM relationship!* Sex toys, collaring, dirty talk, enthusiastic use of 'Daddy', oral sex (f and m receiving), hand job, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, dom!Jack, sub!Javi, cumplay, rimming, light choking, spanking, double penetration, double vaginal penetration, after care, exploration of power dynamics.

Waffles and Cigarettes a Javi P one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

After you are attacked during a night out, your ex boyfriend comes to your rescue

Attempted sexual assault (not Javi), violence, descriptions of blood and injuries, fingering, spit as lube, unprotected PIV, kinda rough sex, creampie, angst. absolutely feral, protective ex boyfriend Javi

Midnight Rainstorms a Javi P one shot by @thundermartini

Javier is coming home late, escaping from a storm. You’re trying hard not to drown in the incessant rain.

no y/n, female reader, reader is not physically described (except she has long hair), javier and reader are married, mentions of anxiety, mentions of trauma, mentions of guilt, mentions of narcos plot but it’s a blur, nightmare so it may be triggering, grief, no beta.

Crawl a Max Phillips one shot by @proxima-writes

Gym owner Max Phillips offers to let you use the sauna. In return, he uses your mouth.

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), no use of y/n, able bodied reader, dirty talk, crawling, oral (m receiving), no aftercare, semi-public sex.

Dancing Phantoms on the Terrace an Oberyn one shot by @janaispunk

You show up to Oberyn's party

(somewhat) modern!Oberyn, able bodied reader, reader has hair that wind is "whipping through", no use of y/n, alcohol consumption, once again it's all aboard the angst train i'm sorry babes

Happy Reading!

#fic recs #the spreadsheet digest #fanfiction recommendations #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

79 notes · View notes

freedelusionshere · 3 months ago

Text

I don't want to set any unreasonable expectations, but the sleight of hand and legerdemain mention in S3 could also be referring to the status of Syd and Carmy's relationship.

While I think it definitely refers to the fine dining smoke and mirrors going on (while The Bear is broke, changing the menu everyday Jeffery Ballet, trying to recreate Empire), and Carmy being trapped in his own illusions of grandeur (and trapping others with him, primarily Syd, who shields the others), it could also be about their relationship.

There is plenty of subtle evidence of stuff happening, and maybe more off screen. First and foremost, their comfort at showing resentment of each other while sticking it out regardless. They behave like a married couple bickering in several scenes. There is a subtle progression here:

Syd calling herself his accomplice is a big one for me. Seems a bit resigned, doesn't she?

Carmy' wanting to lock down Syd by promising her the star and a partnership agreement to make it legal. Which she is hesitant to do for a number of reasons.

Syd making the margins wider for him after the funeral of Marcus's mother, where the message we know they hear is that they have to look at each other close up. It indicates Syd reaching for him emotionally.

Carmy telling Syd she's dressed nice and obviously wondering where she's been outside the restaurant. The way their voices both get soft in this scene. I know people think stuff will happen with Luca, but really, it set up Syd as "cheating" on their restaurant this season just like he did last season with the C-person.

How did Syd get her apartment lease when she has bad credit and would likely need someone to co-sign? It's not her dad's doing, the show made sure we knew that. It's likely Carmy. And she's on deferred pay.

Carmy saying he's sick of this shit. He is sick of the restaurant. He is very clearly not sick of Syd, though!

Syd treating Nat, Pete, and the baby like family and looking out for them. His whole family pressuring her to sign the agreement.

Carmy telling her to go home and get some rest and he'll finish up in Apologies, and also asking her to be his plus one in public outside the restaurant.

Him cleaning his side of the street up, spraying off shit in the back of The Bear and seeming somehow mostly unbothered and feeling hopeful about the future even after Cicero tells him about pulling the funding and pressuring him to talk to his mom. Why? Because he knows he's going to see Syd later.

Carmy getting ready to go to the Ever dinner. We see he has a scrunchie and there are hairpins on his dresser. Syd pins her hair up for the Ever dinner. She wears scrunchies. It's on the prayer card and Syd is associated with Mikey constantly. Carmy makes sure to get there before her so he can introduce her and have her be seen with him.

Despite what happens with Chef David, he comes out on the other side seeming more clear-headed about what he wants. Then, the other shoe(s) drop in true cliffhanger finale style.

In S4, my expectation is that we're going to get a lot of Syd POV about all of this.

#sydcarmy #the bear meta #Carmy is in love with Syd #whether Syd wants Carmy still is what we're supposed to wonder

54 notes · View notes

galway-girlatwork · 9 days ago

Text

I wasn’t tagged for this but Jana and Jo encouraged me to do this. And of course I am doing it last minute. 😊

So long story short…I do not do self-love. I find it actually mentally and emotionally painful. Years of trauma does that to a person.

I also do not believe that I am as good of a writer as others here. I read fics by Freya, Jett, Emily, Ali, Jana, Jo and so many more talented people, that I think, why the hell bother.

But I keep writing because I hear the stories in my head, no I am not crazy. Something will trigger a scene or an idea and then BAM, here I am with more WIP’s than I can shake a fuckin stick at.

So, here I am, trying to do self-love. Thank you, Jana, for making the incredible banner and encouraging me and thank you Jo for your encouragement as well. Without you two’s amazing messages, I never would have done this.

Joel Miller-

Fragile State

This was written for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Writing Challenge-

I wrote this from Tara’s POV. I wanted to show how devastating it was for a wife to lose her husband, temporally, and how it affects those around him.

Beyond the Wall

This was inspired by one of Jett’s boyfriend vibes. Not the best smut as I really do suck at writing it but the angst with Joel and Stacie was something I felt. We never see what life was like in the QZ, how the struggle to survive was real.

Echoes of Hope

I know we were supposed to only include a series that was finished. This beast has one more chapter to it but to be honest I do not know when I will complete her. I started this in March and it took on a life of its own. Joel and Raven are in a good place right now. So many have told me how I need to end it but none of those ideas can be put to paper. I honestly feel that they deserve the peace they have right now.

Marcus Pike

Shadow and Flame

This was inspired by a beautiful mood board gifted to me by the amazing Freya. I had fun with this and I loved writing Daciana. She gave poor Marcus a run for his money. I would like to think that eventually they ended up together on a beach somewhere.

Marcus Moreno

Some Bodies

This was another writing challenge. Back at the end of July, @iamasaddie posted a “create your story” video. The concept was to screen shot each segment and you would get a story outline. Well, this where Marcus meets Priestly in Rome. Strangers to lovers. I love Priestly and there is nothing wrong with being an insecure Mafia boss. Marcus was a little surprised by how straight forward she is.

Last but most certainly not least is Frankie.

Deliver Me

Was yet another writing challenge, this one by written for Steph’s writing challenge. She let me know that yes kindergarten teachers can have sex. LMAO. But it’s really a love story and how the patience of one man can deliver a broken woman to the other side.

Beyond Times Edge

Oh Frankie and Una. I truly believe the epilogue was written better than the story. I had so much more detail in it but I loved Frankie in this. He realized witches and fairy rings were real. I can't thank Freya enough for the mood board and letting me know I could go anywhere with him.

So those are the favorites I’ve written this year. Some of the fics I’ve written were absolute bombs, I don’t do fluff very well but if you’re interested in those, they are on AO3. All of them have songs they’ve been written to. Music drives me so much. So if you want some of my favorite songs I’ve written to, let me know.

HAPPY NEW YEAR.

Oh and Jana and Jo…Thank you so very much.

Love, Dez.

PS. Thank you to @saradika-graphics for making beautiful dividers and for the book cover template that we all used this year. You are amazing.

Tagging below the peeps who've read my stories and those writers that I've read and absolutely love. @guiltyasdave @jolapeno @morallyinept @almostfoxglove @toomanystoriessolittletime @iamasaddie @604to647 @seven-seas-of-rhye-bread @pearlessance @wintrwinchestr @justagalwhowrites @whocaresstillthelouvre @pedgito @burntheedges

#jo: tootathon #joel miller #frankie morales #marcus pike #marcus moreno #pedro pascal #faves #ao3 writer #happy new year

46 notes · View notes

letters-adressed-to-the-fire · 7 months ago

Text

pov: you’re addicted to the “if-onlys” (or me when I’m over-analyzing Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus)

Yes, I’m gonna analyze the entire song. No, I don’t need an introduction. Yes, let’s dive into it.

Let’s start with the very interesting use of the word "hologram".

"Your hologram stumbled into my apartment"

We’ve seen Taylor use "phantom" and "ghost" to talk about past relationships in other songs (for example: loml), but we’ve never seen her use "hologram." Why? Well, this suggests she might be talking about something more present, as if the relationship had become so worn out that he stopped being a real person to her and turned into a hologram—something close yet untouchable.

But, this line, followed by “hands in the hair of somebody in darkness” paints a picture of someone cheating. So, even if Taylor intended this, the ambiguous nature of the verse means it’s necessary to approach it from a different angle too.

Yes, the idea of her coming into her apartment and being followed by the presence of the person she loved, does resembles the idea of a ghost. But the use of "hologram" indicates something different this time, she’s talking about the person’s current actions, and given Taylor’s past relationships with famous people, it makes sense that she would know when they started seeing someone new.

So, what does this mean? With these lines Taylor is bringing a completely different emotion to the song, one that permeates throughout: The rarely discussed how, when someone you loved starts moving on, you’re left wondering, "Why am I staying behind?" and "Why does it still hurt?"; and how this can lead to drowning in "what ifs" and trying to remember why it didn’t work out.

"As the decade would play us for fools And you saw my bones out with somebody new Who seemed like he would've bullied you in school"

In the same note, this part of the verse mirrors Taylor's narrative but from the guy’s point of view. She’s now saying the same thing happened to him.

There’s something common in both perspectives tho, Taylor is not just saying “you’re with someone else”, she’s saying “you’re with someone else and that makes me angry”. In the first lines, the mention of names like "Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus" emphasizes her anger and condescension, showing that she doesn’t care about the specifics of who he’s with, just that it’s not her. Paralleling this, the line “who seemed like he would’ve bullied you in school” suggests she’s trying to provoke her ex by mentioning something that would bother him, not because the new partner is a bully (obviously), but because it’s a sore spot for her ex.

"And I just watched it happen" "And you just watched it happen"

Here, we are already introduced to one of the key elements of the song: the act of watching. Throughout all the song, Taylor will resort to this bit to depict a sense of helplessness.

In the first verse, it is used to portray how both parts of the relationship watched each other drift apart without trying to reconcile.

“And I couldn't watch it happen” “And you just watched it”

In the second verse, she couldn’t bear to watch, indicating she took action to stay away from him; which was also possible because the guy didn’t do anything to stop her.

“Like it never happened?” “It just didn't happen”

By the third verse, she dropped this act of watching, now she’s stating facts and contemplating whether pretending it never happened is a viable way to move on.

Now, we’ll move to the chorus.

To start, we need to discuss the double meaning behind the line “I loved you the way that you were”: Did he love her for who she was without needing to change, or did he only love a past version of her? Both interpretations are equally devastating.

“If you wanna tear my world apart Just say you've always wondered”

Then we are presented to the most heart-wrenching part of the song. Taylor is already wondering, and it would destroy her to know she’s not alone in this. This could mean either she’s hoping to get back together, or she fears she’ll never move on. Imagining a scenario where they meet years later and he admits he’s always wondered about their potential could terrify her, showing how significant this person was to her.

*Part 2 in a few days!!! I'll be discussing some metaphors and some alternative interpretations (because I'm me and I love to complicate things)*

#in this essay i will #chloe or sam or sophia or marcus #taylor swift we need to have a chat #taylor swift #ttpd #lyric analysis #song analysis #chloe et al #the anthology #the tortured poets department #ts ttpd #this was longer than i expected #that's why there's a part 2

30 notes · View notes

thelittleangryitalian · 5 months ago

Note

who is your favorite villain/antagonist who didn't get a redemption? like giselle, sebastian, marcus, krane, etc

and also who's your favorite of the three original rats?

i'm doing a little study :)

Sorry it took me so long to get to this! Personally my favorite villain is Marcus, I’m such a sucker for teens who have the pressure of the world (and their parents hopes) on their shoulders. Now Marcus was obviously set up differently from Adam, Bree, and Chase. But he still had a lot of pressure on him from Douglas to trick the rats. He was just a kid trying to do his best. In that regard you could probably argue for Sebastian getting a redemption arc, but I lean towards Marcus because he wasn’t offered any kindness. Sebastian was taken in and offered support and family, and yet he still turned on the rats. So I would go with Marcus for sure.

If you’ve ready any of my fics I’m sure you’ve noticed from my fics but I definitely write a lot from Chase’s POV, and I love him dearly. Until Leo came into their lives he was the youngest and a little nerdy, I’m the youngest in my family and was also the little nerd in our family so I vibe with him lol. I also just love writing him and diving deeper into his thoughts

#lab rats #lab rats bionic island #chase davenport #bree davenport #adam davenport #leo dooley #marcus davenport

22 notes · View notes

for-a-longlongtime · 1 year ago

Text

Songs and musings in the Key of Peña-Rockford

(Those gun holsters have me all fucked up. Seriously.)

I warned y'all about how obsessive my hyperfocus can get, right? Damn ADHD. The choke hold (all the puns intended) that this fic idea has on me is unreal, haha. But all of your comments and encouragements about this Rockford Pena WIP are making me so happy and relieving some of the stress I feel about writing it - thank you! I don't have another snippet to share just yet (so I hope this post isn't too much of a cock tease), but since I always love to read about character thots and writing processes (e.g. the extra posts by @mysterious-moonstruck-musings about her Destiny & Deliverance series, and @gracieispunk with her White Lotus posts), I figured I'd post a little update with some musings and songs I'm associating with this fic.

My Spotify currently is curated by @sin-djarin, who somehow knew just the right songs that relate to this WIP. Particularly these three tracks are on constant repeat. Going back and forth with her about little things that come up, or question ‘why this and not’ has been so much fun really. It makes me giddy because it turns the fic into something collaborative rather than just something from the inside of my brain, you know?

youtube

Whisper - Morphine

I included this track the other day already with the WIP snippet; it’s sexy and slow and that bass line really gets to me, then the saxophone ups it even more. @sin-djarin sent me several Morphine songs (I have to admit that somehow I wasn’t familiar with them) but this one stands out. The push and pull that’s happening in the lyrics is also delicious, and a lot of it feels like it’s coming from Rockford’s POV about Javi - that’s all I’ll say about it for now.

youtube

A Perfect Twist - Mike Patton

This song has an exuberant, rather bombastic vibe to it that I would’ve never associated with anything related to Peña. Although, those lyrics... they are definitely about brat taming.

I'll bend you over my knee Let's see what you can take You're never gonna break

And I'll squeeze that noose a little tighter Breathing like a snake How much can you take? You're never gonna break

And I'll turn those screws a little tighter You can hardly wait You're never gonna break

Just one more twist of the pliers Got you on the brink How much can you take? You're never gonna break

There’s something about the dizzying tune and pace that somehow evokes the noir-like Rockford vibes in the Merge Mansion clips, laced with liquor and cigarette smoke and things spinning kinda out of control.

Wait who said Masquerade Mansion? 🎭

In relation to these two?

Shhhh let’s pretend you didn’t see that. Keep your eyes wide shut. 🎭

youtube

Broad Daylight - Gabriel Rios

This is the only song that suddenly came to me re: this fic, and I was all… the fuck is this. I like the song, it's catchy, but it just didn’t make any sense to me with regard to Javi and Tim. The only thing I could think of in relation to the track was maybe a vague reference of Peña getting caught up with Los Pepes, things that were done in the dark and shouldn't come out in the daylight:

Back in the old days, tight like a fight Used to hang with the devil in the broad daylight

But still, it puzzled me. I think something in one of the Morphine songs musically led me to Broad Daylight, weird as that may sound. After way too many replays of that song (and @sin-djarin joking about 'what are those Polaroids Tim has on Javi?', since the song mentions polaroids), the relevance of the song finally clicked with me;

Look at you shaking you can't find his plight Got you scared of ghosts in the dead of night While you're making up stories trying to make it ok He'll be bringing them in to let them out and play In the broad daylight

We'll see how it goes from there.

At some point, there's also going to be a bit of Marcus Pike in the fic (pancakes!). I have to be honest - I don’t really read a lot of Marcus!fic, so I’ve been trying to figure out how he fits in and some of his character traits etc. But the wonderful @secretelephanttattoo was very quick to offer me some insights about Marcus that I needed! Go read it here.

TBH, I had absolutely not planned to write anything about Peña any time soon, because why I love him in canon and in the many fics I've read, I didn't exactly feel like I had a good enough handle on writing something about him that has some plot rather than just fucking. But then this fic idea popped up. If there's anyone who knows him really well, it's @goodwithcheese (you'd better be reading her incredible new story Paranoid Heart about Javi!). So I dropped some questions and fortunately she was totally up for some character chat right here, which is really helping me figure out some things. Thank you babe, and I hope more people will contribute thots to your 1K Celebration Confessional about their sins!

Also, I've been trying to put a time and place to the fic, but I've decided to not get too hung up about that because it's really not literature but Fic/Porn With Plot. It doesn't all have to make sense. But in case you're curious, I'm leaning towards this taking place in the US in recent enough times that smartphones are a thing.

Age wise, I'm seeing Tim Rockford as being 48/50 years old probably. Javier is about 40, 41 years old - just to give you an idea of 'which Javi' I'm looking at, I've got a sense of him as he is in Narcos S2 around episode 4-9, after Carillo is murdered, and Berna takes him to see Judy Moncada.

Reader insert (I know, I haven't spoken a lot about her yet!) is probably about 40 years old too. And finally, Marcus Pike is give r take about 37 years old, which corresponds with his Mentalist appearance.

youtube

BTW, I came across an edit that had all of the Tim Rockford bits from the ads without the additional stuff. A whopping total of 48 seconds. Man, I hope that Pedro is aware of how fucked up he has us about Rockford with less than a minute of his acting. Even my wife said 'I would totally watch a show or movie based on this character' when I played the Merge Mansion ads for her.

Finally, here's a video of Pedro talking about "real fantasy fullfillment in terms of getting to immerse yourself in an experience" and how he "loves being a detective, that's fantasy fullfilment for me" re: the Merge Mansion event day.

*hits replay*

Say 'fantasy fullfillment' one more time? Respectfully.

Like I said, I hope he knows how fucked up he has us all about Rockford. I sure am glad he did these ads and whatever he got paid, it sure wasn't enough.

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

Updated tag list (comment if you want to be added, or if I added you by accident!) based on folks who commented/reblogged on the prev posts:

@sin-djarin @legendary-pink-dot @imalrightllama @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @trulybetty @goodwithcheese @linzels-blog @rifflovesjoey @maggiemayhemnj @magpiepills @youandmeand5bucks @morallyinept @5oh5 @missredherring @avastrasposts @anavatazes @imaswellkid @pedrit0-pascalit0 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @survivingandenduring @boliv-jenta @prolix-yuy @sheepdogchick3 @inept-the-magnificent @northernwindd @alltheglitterandtheroar @readingiskeepingmegoing @txlady37 @rebel-held @alwaysmicado @heareball @clawdee @covetyou @bellsbluebrd @alltheglitterandtheroar @axshadows @casa-boiardi @bastardmandennis @stealyourblorbos @chronically-ghosted @katw474 @beabliss @nerdieforpedro

I don't know why some usernames don't seem to link when I try to tag them, btw. Does anyone have any suggestions on how to fix this?

90 notes · View notes

dextraicarus1994 · 11 months ago

Text

I am having a feeling that people from the Captain Laserhawk fandom are underestimating the character of Sam Fisher.😢😢😢😢😢💔💔💔💔💔

I want to blame a bit the serie for that because didn't showed his full capacity and hope in Season 2 it shows more about him and his past because man, there is a lot of plot holes that I want to be answered also that I want to remind that he is a super spy for a reason, a legend that many seems to forget, a Splinter Cell, the first Splinter Cell, one of the most respected and feared agent that the old Eden (USA) got, a guy who take out enemies using the shadows and darkness as his main weapons, his trifocal goggles being his iconic signature, just because the developers nerfed his legs, that's didn't stopped him on infiltrating inside the VR super prison to rescue Marcus Holloway, guards understimated him because of being disabled and yet they got their asses kicked with not many effort, even if the final guy got him for a second, in the end he got the upper hand.

After that, with Marcus, both planned the attack of the Wastelands, he was the strategist of the insurgents that brough a lot of troubles to Eden

and perhaps was showed that he was "killed" in the Wasteland battle, but how one can know if it wasn't a bluff from Marcus to made Sarah feel guilty for what she did to him, also we only "saw" Marcus supposed "POV", but Sam's body was never retrieved and him being able to contact Dolph in that "Undertale" limbo place, how Sam knew Dolph?

Did he retrieved some information from Eden before? Or was just coincidence? (Something that I don't believe, there is not coincides), there is more than meets the eye I can see that and really, really hope this gets answered because man, everytime I see the episodes again and again, I get questions and more questions, also what will happen to Marcus, if he denied Sarah offer, will he be killed or someone will be able to save him on time?

And about Bullfrog and Ramon, Bullfrog will be able to escape that "Retribution Day"sentence, because the last scene was him being tied in that electric chair and that fake Rayman postponing the death sentence, Ramon will rescue the frog? There is not many survivors in this situation and I hope this questions can be answer, but still my big concern is about the whereabouts of Sam, Dolph and Sarah and Marcus, what will be the final draft to this retro cyberpunk adventure? Man I am sounding like those old TV cartoons, but you get what I mean, we need answers and hope we get them this year or to the next one.🥺🥺🥺🥺🙏🙏🙏🙏💔💔💔💔

#splintercell #splinter cell #videogames #sam fisher #splintercellsamfisher #captain laserhawk #captain lazerhawk #captain laserhawk spoilers #captain laserhawk a blood dragon remix #clhsamfisher #ubisoft #ramblings #I am very protective with my beloved spyboy #I blame the show for not showing yet his full capacity #Hope he gets to share some of his story woth Dolph to people to know him more #Sam deserves better #Also speaking about an animated Sam Ubisoft when we will get the Splinter Cell Animated serie?#When will we get some news about the serie I am dying to know what timeline will you take from the franchise #Will you take the Dragonfire timeline or since Blacklist timeline? Questions and questions and not answers

40 notes · View notes

daydreamgoddess14 · 1 year ago

Text

Aspirations pt. 6 - The Finale!

Sydcarmy Masterlist

Aspirations previous chapters: CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5

Full Masterlist

Here we go, it's the end 😥 I hope this chapter wraps everything up for you and you enjoy it. I've had an absolute ball writing this - loved every second! Thank you so much for reading, commenting, sending the sweetest messages - you guys are AMAZING! 😘

We switch it over to Carmy's POV and there is also some smut in this here chapter 🔥

I listened to a couple of songs in particular when I wrote this chapter - Hozier Take Me to Church just had me picturing Carmy worshiping Syd for like, the rest of his damn life, and Taylor Swift Dress - in particular the bridge:

There is an indentation in the shape of you

Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo

All of this silence and patience

Pining and anticipation

My hands are shaking from holding back from you

Anyway, enough talking. Fingers crossed I stuck the landing with this 9k (wtf?!) final chapter! 💜

~~~~~~~~

From the moment she stepped into his office and asked what he was doing in Chicago, he knew he was in trouble. She'd painstakingly won over every member of the crew one by one, called him out on his bullshit and helped build The Bear up from literal rubble. She'd stabbed Richie and then become one of his closest friends within the space of 6 months, she'd been a source of support for Nat, and she'd raised up Tina and Marcus in particular. In short, he had no idea how he'd gotten to this point of his life without her in his corner, but he knew now that he couldn't live without her. She was his constant, his north star, his fucking guiding light. He could acknowledge that to himself right away, but it took those final days before opening for him to realize that Syd was also pure love. Real, raw and honest. Not some dreamlike, fictional, glossed over version, but messy and sometimes very fucked up. The last thing he'd wanted to do was destroy it, so he'd taken what he'd thought was the safest path - to hold it at arm's length and protect it. Protect her.

“I thought… I thought we could get over what you said in the walk-in. I thought I could be the one to show you that you can have the things you talked about. That damn restaurant doesn’t have to run you into the ground - you can have a life as well, you know?” He didn’t say anything, looked at his hands and tried to find the words to apologize.

“The restaurant is my life, Claire. It was never fair for me to expect you to put up with that. I promise I never intended to make you second best, you deserve so much fucking more than that. But I can’t be the one to give it to you. I’ve got too much shit going on and I can’t drag you into it.”

“So you’re finally calling it?” She sighed. He nodded,

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too, Carmen. I don’t know what you think you deserve or what you're looking for… but for what it’s worth I do hope you find it. Don’t end up like Mikey.” He studied his hands, he could make out a faint crescent shape on his palm, in the soft pad under his thumb, from where Syd had gripped his hand with her own last night in the kitchen. Their kitchen. He had a faint bite mark on his shoulder as well, a small bruise. He wondered vaguely if she had similar marks.

“I’m sorry, Claire.”

He felt like a weight had been lifted. Not from breaking things off with Claire, although that was certainly the catalyst, but from the weight of expectation. He’d gone from the restaurant to take Syd home, where they’d shyly said goodbye. He’d then gone home and slept for all of three hours before deep cleaning his apartment. He was on Claire’s doorstep with coffee before 9am and in Natalie’s kitchen by 11am.

“I broke it off with Claire.” He said quietly, taking the bottle of milk and checking the temperature on the back of his hand.

“I know.”

“Did she call you already?” Satisfied with the temperature, he leaned Mikey back and put the silicone teat to his mouth.

“No honey, I just know. Sit him up a little more, it might take him a minute to settle - breastfed babies don’t always take to bottles, so sometimes he needs a little bit of encouragement. That’s it, perfect.” She guided his elbow into a more comfortable position and watched with pride as Mikey fed.

“Aren’t you going to ask why?”

“No. I want you to want to tell me.” She put her feet up next to his on the coffee table. “Y’know, it’s not the best time to learn shit - immediately after having a baby. Hormones, lack of sleep, you’re bleeding like a fucking murder victim… but they just kick you right out of that hospital and say ‘see ya later’ and you’re expected to know how to breastfeed them, how to burp them, change them, understand their every need… it’s fucked up. And no one mothers the mother, y’know?”

“You have a Pete.”

“I do have a Pete, and he is incredible. Gets right in there with the shit and the vomit.” She laughed, “It’s not Mikey’s job to teach me those things. It’s not his responsibility to be a ‘good’ baby, whatever the fuck that means. His job is just ‘baby’.”

“Where’re you going with this, Nat?”

“You don’t call me Sugar anymore.” She stated.

“No. I try not to.”

“Why?”

“I guess I don’t want you to feel put down. It’s not a nice nickname, it didn’t come from a nice place.”

“No. It was a way of belittling me. It was another way for mom to make me feel shitty about myself. And you recognizing that, Carmy? Tells me you’re on the right path. Sit him up and put your hand under his chin, now rub his back.” He did as he was told, waiting for her to continue. “I… I’ve realized a lot in the last few months. Pretty much since mom didn’t show up to Family Night?”

“Oh yeah?” Mikey let out a loud burp, making them both smile.

“I’m not responsible for her, I never was. We didn’t fail her as kids, she failed us as a mother, Carmen. She was emotionally manipulative, she didn’t always care for us properly and now as adults, we are fucked up because of her.” Carmy turned to look at Nat, expecting tears, but she looked at peace. “I have had to work really hard to unlearn some of the stuff I thought was right but really isn’t.” She turned her full body to address him properly, “Claire told me what you said when you were in the walk-in? I didn’t get it word for word, but something about not needing to give or receive amusement or enjoyment?” Mikey balled his little fists as he finished the bottle, Carmy sat him back up for another burp under Nat’s watchful eye. She nodded as he put his hand under the baby’s chin to help him.

“Yeah, I said some pretty dark shit.”

“It’s not true. You do need to receive those things - that’s what makes a life, Carmy. And just because you feel like you didn’t deserve to get those things from Claire, or want to give them to her, doesn’t mean you don’t already provide them unintentionally. You do it for everyone who works for us, our friends. For Richie, for Syd, for Mikey… I think you need to think about the difference between doing something intentionally and unintentionally. They’re not a party piece or a grand gesture. They’re supposed to be as natural as breathing. So when you buy Richie a pack of smokes cos you know he’s about to run out, when you give Tina a random night off just cos she looks a bit tired?”

“That’s just… it’s -”

“It’s love, Carmy. It’s love. And if you found it hard with Claire, if it didn’t come easily, then it’s not because you’re a disgustingly horrible human being! It’s simply because you don’t love her. You can’t force that feeling. It’ll destroy you.” He felt her eyes on him, watching him as he put the baby on his legs so he could sit up and face them both. “I love you, Carmy. You have got to stop being your own worst enemy and actually let us love you.” Mikey gurgled and held up a little fist, “or this kid is gonna kick your ass.” She teased, Mikey giggled.

“You’re right.”

“I know I am. You gonna stay for lunch?” She asked, getting up and clearing their coffee cups.

“Yeah. Yo, Nat?” She turned back to look at him, “I love you too.”

On Monday, with Nat’s words still ringing in his ear, Carmy made his way through the front of the restaurant and locked the door behind him. He could see through the window to the kitchen immediately, Syd was at one of the stations with her back to the window, swaying on the spot and… singing?

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy - no, no Chef, that’s Auntie Syd’s knife and your mama would fucking kill me if you touch it. I’ll teach you when you’re a little older - when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take - please don’t take the broccoli, you are just like your Uncle Carmy, do you know that? - Please don’t take my sunshine away.” She turned and he could see that she had Mikey in a baby carrier strapped to her chest and facing outwards, “You’re too cute. Oh! Happy smile! You like being called a cutie, huh? Well, it won’t last forever so take it while you can buddy. Although, Jesus kid, if you keep those baby blues then we’re all doomed. Trust me, I was totally fucking gone the day I stepped into this place.” He watched her wipe down where she’d been chopping vegetables and put the knife away. She moved out of sight but came back with a small cup of flour which she sprinkled onto the work surface, “there you go baby Bear, shall we draw in the flour? Shall we make a chef outta you when you're older? Just like Uncle Carmy and Uncle Mikey. That’s right! You like Uncle Carmy, huh? Me too, Chef, high five!” The baby babbled and waved his hands wildly in the flour, covering them both in fine powder, “I didn’t know Uncle Mikey, but I promise mama and Uncle Carmy will tell you all about him. Hey, Chef, we don’t put our hands in our mouth when we’re working, ok? It’s gross. For other people, I mean.” She pulled a towel from her apron and wiped his hands and mouth. Her voice dropped a little and she spoke so quietly he couldn’t hear her for a few minutes, but he stayed near the door, watching her brush flour out of Mikey’s curls and clearing up their mess. “... and when you’re 16 you can come and work here with me and Uncle Carmy and we’ll teach you everything. You’ll get so good when he teaches you. And then when you’re bigger you can go with Marcus to wherever Luca is and learn pastry.” He cried out a little, “I know, I know. I feel the same about pastry, Chef, but you gotta learn the whole thing if you’re gonna be as good as Uncle Carm, right? Shall we get you one of those bullshit fuckin’ stars? Yeah? Baby Berzatto, the youngest Michelin star holder in the whole fuckin’ world?” She twirled on the spot as he giggled. He felt his breath catch in his throat as he watched her moving around the kitchen, getting ingredients out and putting them in the correct sections, checking off the list on what needed to be done and when. So busy, and yet taking time with his nephew with such care and love. He was blown away initially, but instantly remembered what he’d said to her under the table at Family night,

“You love taking care of people.” He pushed through the swing door and she looked up with a smile,

“Hey Mikey, look! Uncle Carm’s here.” She said brightly, ignoring his statement. Mikey kicked his legs in free air from his carrier and waved his chubby arms around. “Is it me or does he, like, age so much so quickly?”

“He rolled over yesterday,” Carmy told her with a smile,

“Fuck off, no way?!”

“For real. And uhh, I think I just unlocked a new favorite kitchen memory.” She looked up sharply, a shy smile breaking out across her face.

“Hmm. Well at least this one is family friendly.” She retorted.

“Ahh yeah. Think I’ll keep the other one quiet. Where’s Nat?”

“Just running a couple of errands. I said I’d watch Mikey so she could get them done quicker. I was here early.”

“Trouble sleeping?”

“Something like that.”

“Heard. Can we talk later?”

“Sure. We’ll find some time.”

“Ok, good. Can I take him, is that ok?”

“God, please do, he’s heavy!” She put a hand on Mikey’s belly and unclipped one of the straps so that Carmy could lift him up and out of the carrier, then she unclipped the whole thing and went to hang it up in the office.

“So you’re gonna coach him to a star, huh?”

“How much did you hear?” She asked warily. He waved a hand, brushing off her embarrassment,

“Just the star.”

“Good. I’m taking advantage of being able to talk shit about you while he doesn’t understand.” She teased. He didn’t call her out on the lie. Nat came back and the others started to arrive. Mikey was happily passed around various sections all morning while Nat worked. Carmy took him through to the office just as she was packing her bag,

“Ready to take him back?”

“For sure, I’ve missed him! Hi sweetheart - have you had fun with your kitchen family out there?!” She cooed. “You ok, how’re you feeling today?” She asked Carmy.

“Yeah, I’m good. Been thinking about everything you said yesterday. I’m gonna just… soak this in a little, I guess?” He gestured out to the kitchen where there was happy chatter. Tina was telling a dirty joke, and as the punchline landed, he heard Syd and Richie’s roars of laughter.

“I think that’s a very good idea. Be with the ones you love, Carm and for fucksake let us love you back.”

“Yes, Chef.” He smiled.

“It’s not a cure to being a better person, but it’s a start.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m… I’m really… it’s good to get back to this, right?” He pointed between them both,

“Getting along? Yeah, Carm. It’s good.” She put the baby into the carseat and stood to hug him tightly. “I love you.” She whispered.

“It’s fucking freezing out here.” Syd complained, he could see her pulling her jacket tighter around her, trying to shrink into it further. Underneath, she’d pulled on his sweater - yet again - and Richie’s gloves which were miles too big for her hands.

“Next time, I’ll find somewhere warm for us to talk?” He teased,

“That’d be ideal, thanks. So what’s up?”

“Just thought we should… y’know, check in?”

“After Saturday night?”

“Yeah. You ok?”

“Well, it’s a little weird. And totally fucked up. But I don’t want to go back to barely speaking to you. Like, I’ll put up with this insane awkwardness just so I don’t have to avoid you.”

“I hated when you avoided me.”

“Me too.” She said, studying the broken glass shards mingling with the concrete on the ground.

“I broke up with Claire.” She didn’t look up, but he saw her eyes widen a little.

“Oh. How’d it go?”

“About as well as you’d expect.”

“Yeah.” She breathed, puffs of air visible. They fell silent again.

“And I had a really good talk with Nat. About, like, fuckin’ parental trauma and all that shit and how it effects us as we get older? It’s fucked up.”

“It is. I’ve talked to her about it before as well.” He looked up, surprised, “You weren’t talking to her. Not really. Or not listening, at least. She just wanted to feel heard.” He nodded,

“I just… I want you to know that I want to be a better person. I know I’ve said it a million fucking times, I was always trying to do it for someone else though? I thought I should be doing it for you or Nat, but I should be doing it for myself.”

“You can’t be better for us if you’re not doing it for yourself. My dad’s sister always said you can’t pour from an empty cup.” She mused.

“How do you do it?” He asked, curiously.

“I listen to my heart. Figure out what it needs. I watch movies with my dad, I laugh with my friends in there,” she pointed into the restaurant, “I cook for them. I cook for you or Nat or my dad. I hang out with Mikey. I watch you cook. I let my family look after me and love me when I need it. Like you said, I love taking care of people, but it’s nice to have it returned.”

“You’re too fuckin’ smart for this place.”

“Fuck off,” she pushed his shoulder,

"You watch me cook?"

"Yeah, I do. It's… therapeutic. Oh, and if you think that just because you broke up with Claire I’m gonna jump -”

“I would never expect that. Never. Let’s just… get back to where we were and then see what happens?” He suggested, taking her hand. She nodded,

“Great idea, Chef.” He kissed her palm and listened to Tina singing from the kitchen.

Carmy could tell Richie was about to hit the roof. He bounced on his heels and fidgeted for the last hour of service but everytime someone asked, he’d give them the brush off.

“Chef, could you tell Richie to take a step back please?” Syd sighed, rolling her eyes at Richie who was standing so closely behind her she could hardly use her knife. Carmy laughed,

“C’mon cousin, back it up. Whatever it is, why don’t you just tell us?”

“Can’t, we need to wait til we’re closed.”

“Well then get the fuck outta our kitchen and encourage people to finish up?” Carmy smiled at Syd’s use of our kitchen.

“Fine, fine but you guys wait. You just fuckin’ wait.”

“Can I have another 3 duck and 2 sirloin please?”

“Yes, Chef.” The crew chimed back to him. Tina brought the plum sauce over for him to try,

“Needs something, Syd, check this?” He handed her a spoon,

“Half a teaspoon of the winter spice mix.”

“Exactly. Thank you. Tina, you ok with that, Chef?”

“Sure thing Jeff.”

“Let it incorporate for another five minutes, we’ve got time.”

“Make it eight minutes, Chef? My dauphinoise are fucked.” Syd asked, shooting her potatoes a look of disdain.

“Heard Chef. Eight minutes, Chefs.” He looked over at Syd, “Yo, you good?”

“Yeah, too much garlic.”

“No such thing!” At least three people replied, including Carmy.

“I’ll save it for you then, Chef.” She smiled at him over the pass. Richie bounced back and forth with plates and information until he was finally able to lock the front door. He burst back into the kitchen as Syd and Carmy were sharing the extra garlicky dauphinoise.

“Here we go.” Carmy murmured, receiving an elbow to the ribs.

“What you got for us Richie?” She asked, pointedly ignoring Carmy.

“Would you like to hear a review?”

“From?”

“A Mrs Beata Jerimovich, my wonderful grandmother -” Carmy threw a towel at his head,

“Fuckin’ dipshit.”

“Kidding, kidding. It’s only the motherfuckin’ Food and Beverage Magazine!” There were whoops and cheers all round, but next to him, he felt Syd tremble. He discreetly brushed her little finger with his own and heard her sigh softly. “Ahem!” Richie cleared his throat, “The Bear, Chicago…” he held them in suspense, Marcus beat a drumroll on the counter while Tina bellowed at Richie,

“Richie, fuckin’ tell us, pendejo!”

“Five. Fuckin’. Stars. Chefs!” They were euphoric. Manny and Angel banged pots together, Tina wrapped her arms around Syd and Richie hugged Carmy. As soon as he saw Tina let go of her, he first reached out for the shorter woman who patted his cheek, and then for Syd. He counted down from 10 in his head so as not to hold onto her for too long. He made every second count. His senses clambered to be reminded of the softness of her skin, the fullness of her lips, how perfectly her body fit against his. He felt rather than heard the faintest moan drag from her body as his lips grazed her earlobe, and then he reluctantly let her go. “If you’ll allow me to read some of it to you, Chefs?” Carmy leaned back on the counter and felt Syd do the same next to him, innocently close to those around them but the smallest amount closer than she had been standing before. He let his arm rest against hers and let their knees knock gently together as Richie spoke. “I had the wonderful experience of dining at The Bear around a month ago, during the first week of their festive menu. It was a Saturday night and they had been fully booked for months… Hey, wasn’t that the weekend of bad dates? Fish guy is still salty that he can’t get a date around here anymore.” Carmy locked eyes with Syd, she bit her lip to hide her small smile.

“Good, I’m sure he’s working on a wonderful relationship with his right hand.” She pointed out to sniggers.

“Hey, I object to that.”

“Gross Richie, carry on please?”

“Ok, ok. I tried the spiced pumpkin soup with plaice, the scallop ceviche, the duck in plum sauce and blah blah blah, those are the new dishes, looks like they tried everything though, man. Ok, here we go, here we go - the food was nothing short of miraculous. Every element and ingredient held its own, the service was personal and impeccable, the atmosphere was joyous.” He paused for long enough for the squeals of delight to die down, struggling to be heard, “Exec Chef, Carmen Berzatto - formerly of Noma and The French Laundry - and his partner, CDC Sydney Adamu, have created close to perfection. Whatever their secret is, may they hold onto it. I am already booked back for another visit, my only disappointment is that I have to wait 6 months for it! If they aren’t already looking at this spectacular place for recognition in March, the Michelin guide needs to get it on their list very quickly. A star certainly cannot be too far out of reach.” Richie’s voice quivered with emotion, “It goes on and on… that’s us, man. This is talkin’ about us.” He said, holding the magazine aloft. “I fuckin’ love you guys.” Syd pushed herself off the counter and into his arms. He leaned down to rest his forehead against hers, “you did that, Chef. You fuckin’ did that.” He said to her, “fuckin’ love you Syd.” There was another mass movement of people clinging to each other. Carmy noticed Syd slip into the walk-in once Richie had let her go. He got caught up with Ebra and Marcus before he could get there,

“You good, Chef?” She was leaning against the back wall with her head in her hands, she nodded without moving them, “in front.” He whispered once he was standing directly in front of her, not wanting to startle her. She threw her arms around his neck, he could feel her tears in the neckline of his jacket and wrapped his arms around her tightly.

“Thank you.” She said, her warm breath against his collar. He laughed,

“No, this is all you, baby. All you.” She pulled away from him, allowing him space which he used to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “C’mon, Tina’s looking for you.” He told her, knowing there were too many eyes outside for them to be alone. She went for the door handle but it was pulled from her reach and Richie joined them,

“I’m only in here so that when you both leave, it doesn’t look like you’ve been makin’ out in here, ok?”

“Richie, I came in here so I didn’t cry in front of everyone.” Syd told him, giving him a gentle shove.

“Seriously? Fuck me, I wish I’d been right first time. Syd, honey, I bawled my eyes out - they’re all cryin’ out there. No one cares!”

“Fuck, I’m not tellin’ em when we get Syd’s star. That’s on you, cuz.” Carmy pointed to Richie.

“Can we stop talking about stars? And stop calling it mine? I’m gonna hurl.”

“No, no hurling, we’re goin’ out. Tina wants shots and karaoke.”

“Oh fuck no. No shots.” Syd pushed between them to get out of the walk-in.

“It’s a yes to karaoke though, right?” Richie called out, following her. Clean down had never been so fast or willingly taken on, Manny turned up the radio and the atmosphere was electric. Anyone crossing the room was hindered by hugs along the way and no one seemed to want to let go of each other. Carmy looked out at the crew and for what felt like the first time in forever, didn’t mask his smile or hide his emotions. The door to the office was partially closed and he couldn’t see Syd so he knocked softly. He heard his sister’s voice via Facetime.

“I swear to god Syd, this is so exciting! Michelin are gonna come knocking. I can tell. They might have already been!”

“I hope they didn’t come before November, it’s gonna be that plum sauce that clinches it.” She smiled at Carmy as he came in and joined her on the screen,

“Carmy! I’m so proud, I wish I could be there to celebrate with you all.”

“It’s just a review, Nat.”

“But it’s an incredible review, and that magazine is, like, insane! It’s a precursor to more, trust me.” He stood close to Syd, leaning down over her shoulder so they could both fit into the video call, his cheek almost pressed against hers. "This right here,” she held up Mikey, “100% of The Bear right in this call! Ok, you guys go have fun. I am so ridiculously proud of you both and I love you both so much.”

“Love you sis, see you later.” Syd smiled, Nat’s eyebrows raised a little as Carmy turned to look at her.

“Bye guys.” She hung up the call with a smile.

“Sorry, I just thought she’d want to know and I knew they’d never let you escape. I’m amazed Tina has let you go.”

“Yeah, me too. She’s stronger than she looks.”

“Right?! It’s crazy! Are we done out there?” She stood from the desk,

“Yeah, we’re heading out now.”

“Ok, I’m on my way then.” She cocked her head towards the door, “C’mon. I suspect the first round is gonna be on us.”

“Did you just call Nat, sis?”

“Yeah,” she shook her head, “never underestimate the strength of female friendships, Carm.” She told him sagely, leaving him alone in the office.

The bar was hot and crowded, standard for a Saturday night. The karaoke was predictably awful, and Richie was wandering between the three booths they'd managed to grab trying to get people to sign up and sing. Carmy was grateful for the spare jeans and t-shirt he kept in his locker, and it turned out nearly everyone else kept some kind of 'to go' bag either at work or with them, ready for those magical evenings where they finished early, had a date after work or got 5 star reviews in one of the biggest hospitality industry magazines in the world. He was pinned into his booth by Ebra on one side and Neil on the other, both talking over the table to each other and leaving him stuck. Tina was talking Marcus into a duet and it looked like Gary, Manny and Angel were playing some obscure drinking game. Richie had an arm slung over Syd’s shoulder and pointed to the stage with his beer. The combination of humor and terror on her face as she tried to decline his offer of a song was currently making his night. He watched her pinch Richie's stomach and move out of his grip, laughing at him as she hopped into the seat next to Neil to get away.

"Whatcha singin', CDC Sydney?" Fak asked.

"I'm not Fak, but Rich is desperate for a partner on Cruel Summer if you think you can handle it?"

"I can do that!" He exclaimed, "Syd, I can nail that bridge, I fuckin' hand to God… I'm gonna do it!" She moved to let him out and raised her beer to Richie in support of his new karaoke partner. He was about to take advantage of Syd sitting next to him when Ebra pulled him into a far-fetched story he'd probably heard a million times before. He stuck around long enough to listen to Tina and Marcus and Richie and Fak before leaving enough cash for another round and saying his goodbyes. He sat in the car for 10 minutes, phone in his hand, weighing up the pros and cons of texting Syd. He decided against it and put the car into gear, before a tap at the passenger side window stopped him.

"You ok? I thought you left ages ago?" Syd asked with concern.

"Uhh yeah, I was uhh… y’know what, jump in." She did and immediately put her hands to the air vents already pushing warm air through the car.

"So, you were what?"

"Trying to decide whether to send you a message and see if you want to cook tomorrow."

"I'd love to," she nodded, "at the restaurant?"

"Or my place? You could always…"

"Take the couch?"

"Yeah. Or I could." She glanced down at her phone, seemingly weighing up her own pros and cons.

"OK, let's go." He made his way through the dark streets, finding a space a few meters from the main door of his building. He led the way up and unlocked the door, letting her in first so he could lock up behind her.

"You sure you wanna stay?"

"I'm sure. Yo, it looks great in here, Carm?"

"Thanks. I thought I should start making it feel a bit more like home, y'know? Cleared up, no more denim in the oven,"

"For real?" She asked, opening the door to check, "Fuck me, Carmy that's… that's good." He felt the blush bloom in his cheeks. Since he'd decided to deep clean the place over a month ago, the night before he ended things with Claire, he'd slowly been emptying boxes, hanging pictures and sorting through his cookbooks. "Dude, is that a fucking plant?" She asked, looking to the kitchen window.

"It's been alive for a whole month." Not just alive, it had been half dead when he'd brought it, so he'd actually brought it back from the brink.

"A better man, huh?'

"Trying." He offered with a shy shrug. "Beer?"

"Please. Netflix?" She asked, loading up the cooking shows,

"Yeah, there's one I haven't seen yet, Nadiya?"

"Oh, she's so great! You'll love it." She put the first episode on and clinked bottles with him as he sat next to her. "I need to watch Salt Fat Acid Heat." She muttered, he watched her add the note to her phone before crossing her legs and focusing on the screen. It didn't take long before he was reaching out for his sketchpad and looking around for a pen. She pulled one from the knot of her bun and handed it over without looking.

"Rhubarb glaze." He stated. She moved to kneel next to him so she could look at his drawing. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder to keep herself from falling forwards.

"In the spring? Change up the duck dish and serve it with something super fresh?"

"Like a slaw." He suggested, she nodded slowly,

"Like a slaw." She didn't look away from the sketch, "Fuck. You really are so fucking good at this Carm." She said, barely above a whisper.

"You make me better at it." He countered. She absentmindedly rubbed the cotton of his t-shirt between her thumb and index finger. He hesitated before reaching out to cup her cheek and turn her face towards his. She leaned into his palm. He watched her eyes close, a trembling breath on her lips as he leaned in to kiss her briefly. Her hand on his shoulder gave her some leverage to turn and straddle his lap. She stayed further back though, not bringing their bodies flush. She sat back on his knees,

"I don't want to do this if -"

"You're not ready?" He finished.

"Me? I meant you. You've been doing so much better this last month. I don't want to fuck that up for you?"

"You couldn't."

"So you… we could…?"

"We could just take things easy and see what happens? Have some,"

"Fun? We could both stand to have some fun."

"Exactly. No pressure." His hands rested lightly on the top of her thighs.

"No pressure." She repeated, sliding deeper into his lap until their chests were pressed together. He waited for her nod of agreement before kissing her again. She hummed with approval, her head tilting to slot against him perfectly. His tongue swept across her lower lip, demanding access which she willingly gave. His hands moved to squeeze her hips, and she let out a needy whimper he knew he’d spend the rest of the night trying to get from her again. He bit her lip lightly as she ground down against him. “Bed this time.” She mumbled against his neck, “please Carmy, now.” He could feel the reluctance radiate off her as she considered letting go of him long enough to stand so they could move. He stood quickly with her in his arms, making her squeal in surprise. They made it the handful of steps to his bedroom where he sat her on the edge of the bed and knelt between her knees. She was bathed in the streetlight from the window, but it wasn’t enough so he clicked on a small faint lamp at the bedside. He tugged the hem of her top up over her head and she lay back to unbutton her jeans and lift her hips to slide them off, he brushed her hands away and pulled the tight denim down her legs. He rose to climb over her on the bed and she moved further back into the center, reaching for his t-shirt. He unclipped her bra and pulled it off before covering her body with his own pressing kisses along her collarbone. He could feel her heart racing against his chest as he chased each breathy moan that fell from her lips. He kissed a hot path down her body, cataloging every noise she made. He took his time, savoring the way she responded to his touch,

“You’re so beautiful,” he marveled, grateful at last to have her where he could actually see her. He paused with his chin on her stomach to look up at her. She’d covered her face with one hand, suddenly bashful. He reached out to link their fingers, gently encouraging her to look at him, “this ok?” He felt her body shudder as her breath hitched, she nodded. “Need to hear you say it, baby.”

“Fuck you,” she huffed out a tiny laugh, “please, I want this. I want you.”

“I need to taste you, Syd, please?” He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and slid them down her thighs. He nudged her knees further apart and looked back up at her, holding eye contact as he swept his tongue into her folds and circled her clit. Her back arched off the bed and he used his free hand to hold her still. It was akin to worship, every touch designed to bring her closer to the edge. He’d spent years learning the art of consistency and this was no different, he filed away every sigh, every grip of the sheets and every moan of his name. She practically wailed his name as she came, and he watched her come down, boneless from her first orgasm. He let her think he was done before he went back for more. By the time she was pulling him back up the bed to her, the need to have his skin against hers was sinful.

“Jesus fuck, Carmy,” she panted, reaching out to kiss him. He was painfully hard and he knew she could feel him against her. She tried to undo his jeans with shaking hands, giving up with a frustrated groan. He took over and pushed the denim off, giving her the opportunity to push him onto his back. “Condom?” She whispered, still breathless. She reached past him to the drawers by his bedside to grab one as he bit the underside of her breast. He took the condom from her and ripped it open, rolled her onto her back once more and pushed into her in long, slow strokes, his whole body weighted against hers. The closeness was both intense and intimate, and when he kissed her it felt so much like a promise it was almost overwhelming. He held her tightly, pressing her into the mattress as he fucked into her deliriously slowly, lewd noises filling the air. Her legs wrapped around him, holding him against her. He felt her walls flutter around him, she sighed his name as she came again,

“F-fuck, Syd,” he rasped, shuddering against her as he came. He moved just far enough off her so that he didn’t crush her as his arms gave out, his chest heaving.

“Oof,” she huffed as his weight pinned her to the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and down his back as far as she could reach before gliding back up again.

“Fuck, that was… wow.” His breath tickled her neck as he spoke,

“Yeah.”

“Should move.”

“Yeah, no, I can’t do that.” He mumbled an apology and moved off her completely, tying off the condom and throwing it to the bathroom. He pulled her to him as he got back into bed, asleep almost instantly.

He woke alone to the light streaming in from the windows, noting that their discarded clothes had been picked up and a damp towel hanging over the bathroom door. He pulled on boxers and a clean t-shirt and went through to find their beer bottles disposed of and the TV off. He vaguely recalled waking briefly in the night to the quiet sounds of a cooking show, but he’d been so warm and relaxed that he didn’t think to move and turn it off. Not that he’d have been able to with Syd buried into his side. He followed the sounds in the kitchen where she had her back to him, looking after whatever she was cooking.

“Hey, mornin’” He said, voice still heavy with sleep. She turned with a shy smile, wearing his t-shirt from the previous night and little else.

“Hi, did I wake you?”

“No, no way. You making breakfast?”

“Thought I’d bring it to you in bed, but -”

“I can go back,” he joked. She turned back to the pan and cracked four eggs into it. He moved to stand behind her, hands on her hips and his head in the crook of her neck. “Shakshuka?”

“Yeah. Imagine my surprise when I opened your fridge to find it fully stocked.” She laughed.

“Told ya, I’m trying.”

“I legit spent twenty minutes trying to decide what to make you.” She turned down the heat on the pan and twisted in his arms. “Did you sleep ok?”

“Yeah, I think I might have figured out the secret.”

“To sleep?” He nodded, kissing along her jawline.

“You.”

“Pfft, shut the fuck up.” He pulled them backwards so he could sit at one of the dining chairs, bringing her down into his lap with her legs either side of his. “Hmm don’t get any ideas, I don’t think this chair will survive.” It creaked under them as if in response as she squirmed in his lap.

“How long on breakfast?” He asked pulling the t-shirt over her head,

“Long enough.” She confirmed, reaching out to turn the stovetop off completely.

“Baby, you look all flushed, you good?” He heard Tina ask Syd as she finished off the canapes.

“Yeah T, just warm.”

“You look beautiful, don’t get anything down your dress!” She warned, Syd had tugged an apron over her dress but had left it untied. As she moved along the counter piping blinis with sour cream, the thigh split opened further. He turned away as Tina looked at him with a curious eye,

“I’m gonna unlock, Chef?” He asked,

“Ok, sure. I think we’re good.” She turned to the servers with a nod and took the apron off, throwing the piping bag into the sink.

“Let’s party!” Tina beamed, leaving Syd to turn off the lights and join her in the restaurant.

Syd’s dad took another canape as the tray passed by them, Carmy shook his head as the server offered the tray to him as well.

“These are incredible.” Her dad beamed,

“Aren’t they? She was working on them until about a minute before we opened the doors.”

“Sounds like Sydney.” He chuckled, “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you on Family night. It was a very special night.”

“Yes Sir, it was. I had some things to take care of in the kitchen though, so I didn’t spend any time out here. I'm sorry I missed you, it's good to meet you at last.”

“I guess that’s the trouble when you’re the one in charge, you don’t get to enjoy the spoils.”

“Fortunately I’ve got everything I need back there.” Carmy replied with a smile. They both watched Syd in a beautiful one-shoulder copper coloured dress as she crossed the room to speak to Tina’s family. She studiously avoided eye contact with either of them and instead got swept up with talking to Tina’s elderly mother. She dropped down onto her haunches to bring herself below eye level to the woman, and held her hands. He took in her taut calf muscles in her heels and the curve of her thigh as the dress pulled tightly. He was flooded with the memory of taking it off her earlier in the evening as she was trying to get ready, her hands swatting him away before pulling him back in. The reason they were late and the reason she was still in the kitchen as they opened.

“She’s really something. I wish her mama could have seen her.”

“She is. You must be very proud.”

“I am. I hope you’re good to her?”

“I’m sorry?”

“She tells me she’s staying with friends two, three - sometimes even four nights a week. You and I both know that her closest friends are in this room right now, and I don’t think she’s singing lullabies to your nephew four nights a week.” He chuckled as the blush crept across Carmy’s face. “I may be an old man, but I’m not blind.” He put a hand on Carmy’s arm, “thank you for believing in her.”

Her laugh sounded around the room as she pushed back up to standing and turned to talk to Pete who’d lightly tapped her arm. She nodded at whatever he’d said and made her way back past them towards the kitchen. Her dad managed to catch her hand just before she stepped out of reach,

“Honey, Carmen and I were just talking about everything you’ve both achieved here. It’s tremendous.”

“Thanks Dad, I’ve just got to see Richie about something. Can I come back to you in a few minutes?”

“Take your time sweetheart. I’ll be right here.” He smiled, Marcus coming over to talk. Carmy managed to catch her eye briefly with a small smile. She made her way to Richie who was holding court near the center of the room. Christmas songs filled the air and he was once again forced to admit that Nat had been right - a less formal Christmas party for family and friends had been the right way to go. She took Richie’s arm, but he grabbed her hand instead and spun her around, twirling her under his arm and pulling her into some empty space to dance. She tried to pull away, laughing, but let him spin her a couple of times and dip her before she could escape. With Syd’s dad in deep discussion with Marcus, Carmy went through to the kitchen to check what was left in the walk-in. The heavy door swung partially closed behind him and he heard the tap of Syd’s heels as she came through the swing doors not far behind him. He went to call out to her, but Nat’s voice spoke up.

“You can’t escape out here, Syd!” “I just need a minute, my feet are killing me. C’mon, gimme a break.” He could almost hear rather than see Nat roll her eyes.

“Fine, you can hold Mikey while I go to the bathroom before I feed him." Nat rushed past the walk-in to the staff bathroom.

“What’s the time baby Bear? How long til I can be in Uncle Carm’s bed again, huh?” She muttered, bouncing the increasingly hungry baby. “Are you ready for bed too? Party animal.”

“I thought about a sitter but then I figured, it’s family night?” Nat said, coming back in and taking Mikey. “Oh, he should be here for sure.”

“You ok?” He heard Nat ask, softly. "You've barely stopped all night?" He could hear her settle Mikey and the baby fell silent.

“Yeah. If I tell you something can you promise not to lose your shit?”

“I can try?”

“So Carmy and I have been… hanging out. And it’s good, and I don’t want to push him too fast too soon on anything,”

“Wait, hanging out somewhere other than here?”

“Yeah. Like, his apartment… specifically.” Syd wrung her hand together, presumably waiting for Nat to catch up.

“Ok, so what’s new about that? Oh. Oh! Fuck! You guys are hanging out hanging out?”

“There we go. Yep, that’s what’s been happening.”

“Since when?!”

“About a month ago? Not long. Long enough?”

“So what’s the problem?”

“There isn’t one, I guess? I just… What if it all goes horribly wrong? What if this ruins everything? For all of us, I mean. It could ruin both of our careers, could kill this place? Everyone I love is in that room -” she paused, “I don’t want to push him, but I also kind of want to know how he sees all of this… ending up?”

“Syd, relax. I guarantee if you look into that room right now, he’ll be the happiest you’ve ever seen him,” Carmy frowned, hoping they didn’t actually look for him, “that’s because of this place. Because of you, honey.”

“I guess…”

“I know. The good thing about doing this together, is that you’re in this together. Don’t stress, whatever happens happens. I mean, look at you! You’re the CDC of one of the hottest new restaurants, it’s your Christmas party and yet you’re in the kitchen in your dress and heels making sure everything is as it should be. There is nothing at all that you can’t do. You’re nothing short of incredible, you’re a force of nature Syd. If I had to bet on one thing, it’s that you have Carmen’s complete support in everything you do. I fucking love you.” He heard the shuffle of fabric, and from Syd’s muffled response, assumed they were hugging.

“Thank you, I love you too. Maybe you’re right.”

“I keep telling you both this, I’m always right. Now please, let’s go drink some more champagne and have some fun. You’re not wasting that dress in this kitchen. Jesus, I can't believe I didn't realise you're fucking my brother!” He heard the door swing and sighed, leaving the walk-in to go out back for a smoke.

“Cousin, yo, what’s goin’ on - you comin’ back in?” Richie stuck his head out a few minutes later, breaking the silence.

“Yeah man, I just needed to burn one.” He held one out for Richie who came to join him and let the door shut. “It’s goin’ ok, right?”

“Carm, it’s fuckin’ amazing. I am legit so fuckin’ proud of this place and everyone in it. You an’ Syd, man, you guys have made this place.”

“S’good you two get on now.”

“Aww she’s pretty great. Don’t fuckin’ tell her I told you.” He warned,

“I think she knows, dude. If it makes you feel any better, she was tellin’ me this morning that the nights you do expo are her favorite.”

“Fuckin’ knew it!” He laughed, then paused suddenly, “Wait, how’d you see her this morning?” Carmy felt Richie’s eyes scouring his face, widening in shock “No fuckin’ way, cuz!”

“I meant last night. Here. At work.”

“Bull fuckin’ shit. How long?”

“About a month. The night we got that review?”

“I mean, I thought you guys were eye fuckin’ over the pass, like, a little more than normal… but I did not expect that. Fuck, I owe Fak 20 bucks.”

“Great, thanks.”

“Hey man, don’t be mad at me. Are you… I dunno, are you happy?”

“I think I might be, yeah. Feels fuckin’ weird.”

“I bet. And Syd? She good?”

“I think she’s happy, yeah.”

“You in love or what?”

“I think I might be, cuz. I just… how do I know if I'm ready? Like, what if we fuck this place up?”

“No one is every fuckin’ ready, man. Never. And what if you make this place even better?” Carmy let the thought sink in, “Like, separately you’re both freaky fuckin’ geniuses and together it’s, like, even better. I know you’ve been on that ‘self care bein’ better for yourself’ kick cos you feel like you don’t deserve her,” Carmy sighed, “but you complete each other, cuz. There’s no other fuckin’ way to say it.”

“Fuck me, Richie, you should get a fuckin’ talk show.”

“Fuck you. I’m bein’ nice to you for once in your damn life.”

“I know, I’m still in shock.” They nudged each other. “I should tell her, right?”

“Yeah man, you should tell her.”

“Thanks cousin. Hey, don't say anything to her, yeah? That you know? She’s really stressed and I don’t want to make it fuckin’ worse.”

“Nah man, my lips are sealed. Love you dude, we’re gonna build a fuckin’ empire here.” Richie grasped his shoulder and joined their foreheads.

“Heard, Chef. Let it fuckin’ rip.”

“Anything for you, cuz.”

Though Carmy was right behind Richie going back into the party, he wasn’t quick enough. He entered through the swing door just in time to see Richie smile graciously at Syd and her dad before taking her elbow and pulling her to one side. He leaned down to talk in her ear. Carmy saw the way her eyebrows flew up to her hairline and the panic that crossed her face as she tried to pull away from him. She caught his eye briefly as Richie leaned down again and continued to talk, as he did so, she visibly started to relax.

“Your CDC is something fierce Carmy.” Uncle Jimmy said, handing him a beer. Carmy laughed,

“Yeah, she is pretty great.” They watched as Richie was joined by Nat and the baby, with Pete hovering beside them, Syd took the baby and held him to her like a human shield as they laughed together.

“I gave baby Mikey my 1% for a reason, you know?”

“Oh yeah?”

“This place, it’s 100% Berzatto. It has to be, Carmy.”

“Syd’s not a Berzatto, Unc,” Carmy raised his beer to his lips,

"Well yeah, not right now. But she will be. I could tell when you all came creeping for $500k. She matches your ethics, your outlook. She's your equal. I mean, look at her," They watch her with the family, with Richie and the team, with Nat and the baby, even with Pete. “She’s already a Berzatto. You might want to rescue her before they scare the shit outta her though?”

“Nah, she’s got it. She’s fuckin’ fearless. That’s why I love her,” he shrugged. Jimmy beamed, clapping him on the back,

“He’d be so proud of this, Carmen. He really would.”

“Thanks Uncle Jimmy.” He picked up a glass of wine from one of the trays and took it over to Syd who swapped him for the baby. “Can we try and get out of here for a sec?” He asked quietly. She nodded once and he passed Mikey to Pete. He followed her to the kitchen. Their kitchen.

“So Richie knows?” She sighed,

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Nat knows as well,” she admitted, “I told her earlier.”

“Your dad too.” He said with a sheepish grin,

“Oh my god.” She muttered, “how?!”

“I guess we’re shitty at hiding it? I know we said about just taking it easy and no pressure but,” he caught the frown that crossed her face,

“Fuck. I knew it, I knew it. This is why I said we had to stop, and now everyone fucking knows and it’s all gonna -” she stepped away from him

“No, Syd, fuck you’re so fuckin’ impatient. Would you just,” he took her hand, “would you let me finish? Please?” He sighed, dragging a hand through his curls. “I would go to the fuckin’ ends of the earth for you if that’s what you wanted. I don’t care about easy, or too much fuckin’ pressure, I only want you, and I want to be by your side when you take over the world and get three bullshit fucking stars - not just one. I can’t do this without you and I don’t want to, and I know I said that before but it was because I was too much of a fuckin’ coward to tell you that I’ve been in love with you since the day you walked in here.” She stared at him. Didn't say a word, just stared. "Syd?"

"Are you sure?" She asked eventually, still wary. He closed the gap between them again and took her hand.

"Am I… am I sure?" He laughed, "Yeah sweetheart, I'm fuckin' certain. And I will spend every day proving it to you if you'll let me?"

"I think I could live with that." She said softly.

"Yeah?" His hands slipped around her waist, drawing her closer.

"Yeah. The most excellent chef, occasionally a piece of shit," she teased.

"Only occasionally now? I'll take that," he smirked.

"Occasionally a piece of shit, rarely a total dickbag, thankfully," she assured him. "the best former CDC, now Exec Chef I've ever seen?" she leaned into him with a contented sigh as he kissed her. "I love you too."

"Thank you for showing me that none of this is a waste of time." He kissed her again, the stainless steel counter cold through the thin fabric of her dress. She broke the kiss, breathless, and looked over his shoulder and out to the restaurant. Their restaurant.

FIN

~~~~~~

51 notes · View notes

radiowallet · 2 years ago

Text

Promise

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Marcus Moreno Summary: Dieter gets a gift while away on location. WC: 1.9K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Sexual content. Exclusive M/M dynamics. Written in third-person POV, male protagonists, allusions to smut, and dirty talk. Mentions of food and drug use. Small angsty moments. Yearning. So much yearning. AU Marcus Moreno (no wife, no Missy). A lot of purple prose and waxing poetic in this one, besties.

A/N: We're back with more of these boys. What can I say? I am obsessed with their dynamic and as long as my broken brain keeps sending me ideas for them, I intend to keep writing them down. Big thanks to @magpie-to-the-morning and @jazzelsaur who are patient as patient can be while I barge into their DM's to screech about these two soft, vulnerable boys. I love you both.

Pretend Alleyways Masterlist II Main Masterlist

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

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

The bouquet had been delivered to set, the candy cotton pink petals hard to miss amidst the cranes and cameras and all the rest of the hardware it took to put a film in the can. Everyone had fawned over the flowers from the moment they arrived, their delicate shape a marvel beneath the heat of the Moroccan sun.

But when the courier called out Dieter’s name, the room almost erupted, everything from squeals of elation to nosy questions being tossed his way. Dieter couldn’t help himself, cheeks warming and chest puffing, as he accepted the vase, the increased attention not only from the crew but also his fellow actors, stroking his ego in a way he couldn’t help but relish in.

Maybe some would be embarrassed at the sheer honesty in that one single thought but Dieter found peace in the sentiment. Hell, he was an actor. What else was there to say other than the truth in validation, hoping that enough of the attention could one day fix the broken pieces inside his heart.

“One of your many admirers sending you flowers now, Bravo?” A well-meaning production assistant asks in passing.

“Something like that,” he hums, taking care to tuck the card into his pocket for later.

After that, the flowers find a place on the craft service table, and if an extra take or two is needed because Dieter’s eye line strays just a tad too far left no one makes mention of it.

The day is called just as the last of the light is lost, the sun setting far behind the rows and rows of beautiful blue houses. There’s an offer for drinks and dinner brandied about, a few cast and crew breaking away. Dieter quietly bows out, and again, if anyone notices the once infamous party boy choosing a quiet night in over a raucous night out, not a word is said.

Once back in his hotel room, Dieter is instantly restless, the flowers moving from room to room, the vase twisted left, then right, then right again. Self-doubt starts to dig at the base of his spine, the very beginning of a panic attack creeping up his back, tight and hot and painful, a wicked whisper telling him he should have just gone out, damn all and any consequences. There is only a bouquet of pink peonies in this hotel room to keep the loneliness at bay tonight, and not for the first time, Dieter feels the icy cold fear that he’ll forget all he has waiting for him back home.

He does his best to ignore it, breathing slowly around the rubber band across his chest, counting each second with the tick of his fingers. One, two, three, four, in. Five, six, seven, eight, out. Twice more is enough to chase the feeling away, giving Dieter the space he needs to finally breathe fully, his head clearing just enough to ground him back to the moment. The blossoms finally find a home right beside his bed, the low light of the bedroom illuminating the pretty pink petals, and only then does he actually start to settle down for good. He fishes the card from his back pocket, dragging his thumb across the seal.

It’s nothing remarkable; a white envelope, only his first initial scratched across the front. But it’s enough to have his cheeks warming all over again, the tip of his nail finally piercing through the thick paper. The card is equally unassuming, but when he opens it up, the words are anything but.

Dieter reads it over once, then twice, then one more time for good measure, lips moving along with the lines, one promise after another infused to each and every one. It’s enough to have him scrambling for his phone, dialing with shaky hands and a breathless laugh. It only rings once before it clicks over.

“Hey, baby.”

“The flowers…” Dieter starts, his mind racing faster than he can manage to speak, any sort of coherency lost at the sound of Marcus Moreno’s soft baritone on the other end of the line.

“They were too much.”

“No! Fuck no!” Dieter is quick to cut the other man off, refusing to let him think that for even a second. “No, sweet boy. I love them!”

Marcus would do this from time to time, doubt himself and his place by Dieter’s side. It always brings him back to the moment in that lavish hotel room, Marcus’s warm breath painted across his cheek, lips bruised and fingers grasping, when the heroic had admitted that most couldn’t handle it. To this day Dieter can’t help but wonder if he was maybe talking about more than just superpowers.

He thinks maybe Marcus doesn’t realize. That he doesn’t see what it means to possess a heart so big. Bigger than anyone deserved, the weight of it nearly dragging him down, away from the light and into the shadows. The very ones he tries so hard to protect the world from. And Dieter knew that when the man fell, he fell fast. Fully. All of him hanging out on a precarious line, waiting for the other inevitable shoe to drop.

Dieter wishes he could figure out a way to convince him that both of his feet were firmly planted on the ground.

There’s a beat of silence and he swears he can hear the words neither of them dare to say. Not yet. Not with things so new. But he can feel them. Always feel them. With each kiss Marcus pressed into his skin, every drag of his fingertips, each scrape of his teeth, there was the promise of an affection too great to imagine. It was there, on the tip of the other man’s tongue, quietly unspoken but still so very very present.

“I love them,” the actor says again, determined to make his point stick this time.

Marcus hums, and Dieter can almost picture him then and there as if he was sitting beside him on the 1000 thread count duvet in Morocco instead of miles and miles away, in an empty apartment, his only plans for the night a crappy tv dinner. He could chide the heroic, remind him to have fun, take more chances, but that’s a sticky subject all its own.

It had been a running theme of the last few months of their lives, the two of them stealing what little time together they could. Marcus would plan, meticulously, weekends away explained under the guise of training or intel or some other bullshit excuse. Dieter would make a stink to his manager on those days, stomping his feet and demanding a mental health break. Maybe it was the fact that he returned from those weekends brighter and lighter than ever before, but Marissa never fought him too hard.

They would lose track of the hours as easily as they lost themselves in the other, tangled sheets and broken sleep bookending their pleasure. The give and take between them deepened with each weekend that rolled around. Dieter delighted in Marcus’s company, preening beneath the wonder of having him all to himself. The way his whole heart became the center of the universe, genuine affection and care feeling better than any late night or black out bender.

Marcus would watch Dieter paint, only a sheet around his waist as his eyes traced the curves and colors inspired by his own tender touch. And Dieter would marvel at the bend of the other man’s form, following his steps to the gym, his own eyes wide as twin blades cut through open air. They stayed in. Always in. The pair of them forgoing even ordering in, digging through Dieter’s freezer in search of mini pizza bagels and knock-off taquitos rather than risk breaking the peace of their privacy.

And if he showed up to the set of the big budget action movie with his belly still soft, it hardly mattered. His heart was full, his mind at peace, and even as the director rolled his eyes, all Dieter could see was Marcus dropping to his knees, nuzzling into the patch of coarse hair smattered across the swell of his stomach, before swallowing him down to the base.

Those days gave them both something to cling to when life and work and reality would push them back to opposite sides of the country. Memories they could remember in the between, when it was only phone calls and FaceTimes the touch of their own hand to chase away the anxieties hiding around the corner.

Dieter learned in great detail how to coax those little whines from the heroic, memorizing the ragged sound of his cries as he whispered all manner of filth into the crease of his skin. Marcus matched the energy in kind, splitting up inside the actor, lips on his throat and hands in his hair. Dieter called him sweet boy and Marcus declared him his whole sky, a promise of more following every goodbye.

And Marcus always keeps his promises.

When it came time to leave for Morocco, six months of loneliness looming in the distance and one awkward farewell party behind them, Dieter did his best to remind Marcus to not linger in his solitude. It would be too easy for him to fall back on old habits; long nights on rooftops chased by haggard days in the gym, but Dieter hoped the hero would make time to tend to his heart in ways he had forgone for so long.

Marcus took care to meet Dieter where he stood, urging him to hold onto every word he ever said, his whole heart following Dieter, even when he physically could not. The actor clung to the sentiment, doing his best to remember every weekend spent wrapped around the other man. He held onto every ripple of pleasure and each drip of afterglow.

Dieter shakes his head, refocusing on the present, even as he wishes for all the little things he so desperately wanted here and not there. Plush lips and dimpled cheeks, brown eyes wide as he nods and quietly accepts the truth in Dieter’s words.

“I’m glad.”

The silence is back, but more of a comfort now, the blend of their breath lulling the last of the sun and sand and stress away from Dieter’s heart. His eyes are heavy in the best way, his fingers loose where they curl around the phone, still matched to the curve of his cheek.

“You should shower, Dee. Then sleep,” Marcus prompts, his voice somehow even softer.

“Mmm, jerk off with me first,” he half whines, free hand already pulling at the threadbare sweats he had worn from set.

There’s a chuckle, low and sweet and steady, one that Dieter has learned means a promise is about to be made.

“I’m at the office now, mi cielo, but call me when you wake up and we will.”

It’s enough for now, Marcus’s gentle voice in his ear and the catch of pink petals in the low light, giving Dieter the push he needs to let sleep find him. In a few hours' time he’ll wake up, his stomach empty and his neck sore, but the fresh scent of peonies and an aching promise have something else curling deep inside his belly. And when he dials, the answer comes on the first ring.

After all, Marcus always keeps his promise.

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

Pretend Alleyways Masterlist II Main Masterlist

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

#Marcus Moreno #Dieter Bravo #Marcus Moreno fic #Dieter Bravo fic #marcus moreno x dieter bravo #dieter bravo x marcus moreno #we can be heroes #the bubble #pedro pascal characters

83 notes · View notes

the-blind-assassin-12 · 9 months ago

Note

Made up fic titles:

Left Our Future To The Right

Ever Since You Walked In

Hungry For My Skin

(You know me and my song lyrics)

Thanks for these, Rachael!! I do know you and your lyrics, and you know me and my penchant for song prompts.

Here's what I got:

Left Our Future To The Right - Jack Daniels x F!Reader This is the one I struggled with and I'm still not convinced I'm right about it, but this is a standalone from Jack's POV. And it's very sad :(

He promised you. More than once. Promised that he would be done with the agency, done with the danger, done with the secrecy and the double life. It terrified you, knowing the risks he took on a daily basis, and you'd made it very clear to him that you had no desire to be made a widow before you were even married. Or ever, for that matter.

And he made that promise willingly, because he's never loved anything or anyone like he loves you. He's never felt alive the way he does with you.

But here's the thing: After so many years with Statesman, it's not as easy as he hoped it would be to walk away. One more mission, just to tie up loose ends became two more, because, you see, the ends had split and now there were two things to tie off. Fine. You weren't thrilled with that, but you understood. But then two became three, and three became just until I train my replacement, and then, of course, he wanted to tag along for his replacement's first mission, as a precaution and that's when it became clear to you that he meant his promise, but he couldn't keep it. And so, you left.

The irony, of course, being that the day you left happened to be the last - truly, the LAST - day of his service with Statesman. But he won't go back. He's done... And he's hopeful that you'll give him one more chance to prove it.

Ever Since You Walked In - Marcus Pike x F!Reader This would be part of Spectrum (aka the "you can only see in grayscale until you meet your soulmate" AU - part 1/part2) and it would be sort of a montage of Marcus and Reader getting to know one another, from Marcus' POV.

You changed his life from the moment he met you. I mean, you brought color into his world just by speaking his name. But Marcus knows that just because you matched as soulmates doesn't automatically mean it will be a perfect romantic match. It might be one of those better-as-friends situations - which would still be great, but Marcus is hopeful for more. He's just got so much love to give and he's so damn good at giving it and if he can't find someone to give it to he feels like he's going to explode, you know?

With his track record though, he knows better than to get ahead of himself. So he wants to do this right. He wants to take you out on dates. Plural. He wants to talk to you on the phone and invite you over for takeout and movie nights.

But with every day that passes and every new thing he learns about you, it becomes more and more clear that you are exactly who he's been looking for.

Hungry For My Skin - Din Djarin x Reader This would not be connected to anything I've written before, and would be from both Din and Reader's POV. High potential to become very smutty.

They always knew that rebuilding on Mandalore came with the risk of attracting enemies. Mandalorians would always have enemies. There would always be those who sought to destroy them. Over some age old vendetta, or political agenda, or simply to take their wealth of beskar. So it came as no surprise when the ships appeared above their planet.

Din knows an imminent threat when he sees one. He's been familiar with the feeling of being hunted since he was a child. Since before he even became a Mandalorian. He knows he's going to have to fight to protect his people and the life they're working to rebuild. He also knows it may be a fight to the death - at least that's how far he's willing to take it in honor of his Creed. He knows that if his enemy wants to take his armor, it will have to be over his dead body.

You know this, too. And you're willing to go to the same lengths. For Mandalore, yes. For your people, yes. But mostly for him. For your Riduur. There's nothing you won't do for him. And the night before the battle, you take it upon yourself to make sure he knows that.

#thanks rachael!#these were fun to think about #made up title game #jack daniels x f!reader #marcus pike x f!reader #din djarin x reader

8 notes · View notes

retrieve-the-kraken · 1 year ago

Note

Hey,

how are you doing? Hope you are not working to hard on finishing Nothing to Fear.

The last few updates came really fast.

Your last chapter WOW.

Did not expect Marcus POV and I have to confess have been a bit reluctant at first.

But you being so unapologetic in this one and giving Marcus a counterpart like his friend Nadiya made this chapter so so good.

Everyone go read.

Hope you have a nice day. 💜

Hello! I’m doing fine, and you?

I am indeed working hard on it, because for one thing i really want to finish this fic, especially before we get the new season (otherwise i will become completely derailed and won’t be able to think of anything else… i already fear the derailment that the trailer will cause…). But also because it’s basically finished, as in fleshed out, i have all these bits and pieces of scenes that i just need to finish tying together, and more importantly I have the conclusion, and I just really want to be able to complete it, and for everyone who has been following to get to read it too.

Yes! I’m so happy that I’ve managed to update quicker, that was always the plan, at least one chapter a week (can you imagine if I had managed that? I would have finished it months ago!!!) but sometimes i get very distracted or become busy with other stuff or get writer’s block (it has happened majorly a few times).

But it’s comments like yours that keep me going. I’m so glad that people have liked it, I’m pretty proud of it too. Not that I don’t have doubts sometimes, but then I read your comments and I seriously get so giddy and happy that it makes me keep going.

And yes, that part of the last chapter was soooooo satisfying. I was conflicted about writing a Marcus chapter, but it was so cathartic. I’m glad you gave it a chance and liked it.

And i promise he won’t be showing up anymore.

Thank you as always, and hope you like everything that’s coming.

#young royals #nothing to fear #young royals fanfic #young royals fanfiction #young royals fic

9 notes · View notes

bluestar22x · 2 years ago

Text

Second Chance Love

Second Chances (Part 4): Second Chance Love

Summary: Confessions are made and Elena and Marcus live out a dreamy Valentine’s Day night - Elena POV

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x OFC!Elena

Rating: 18+ series, 18+ rated chapter

Warnings: Smut (nothing too explicit but it is steamy if I do say so myself); Marcus is an affection king

Word Count: 2,255

Author’s Note: I think outdid myself with this one. I think I found the perfect balance. I don’t know. I hope this reads like Marcus.

xxx

Series Masterlist

xxx

You’d never felt much one way or the other about Valentine’s Day. It was just never one of those holidays you’d paid much attention to beyond indulging in purchasing some of those heart shaped candies that were offered at every chain store for the occasion (they were one of your favorites if you were to be honest). You’d dated plenty of men in the past (to you, at least) but your relationships had never managed to overlap the holiday until you dated Marcus.

You’d been going slow and steady for three and a half months, neither of you wanting to rush your relationship. You especially didn’t want to rush Marcus. In January he’d finally entrusted you with memories of his wife Reina the week of the anniversary of her death, to explain why he wasn’t available for your usual Saturday date night (he was visiting Reina’s grave with Missy and they were going to go watch a movie at the nearest theater after). He had made it up to you the next day with an early Sunday brunch at his place and an afternoon of board games with him and Missy.

While you’d spent Thanksgiving and Christmas apart, choosing to only celebrate with your families, you’d become closer since then, Marcus inviting you to his house at least once a week outside of the usual date night. More often than not Missy was there too and you loved it. The girl was sharp and funny and reminded you of why you chose to be a librarian at a middle school instead of at a quieter institution visited only by adults.

Valentine’s Day was the first holiday you celebrated with Marcus. It was also one of the few times Missy wasn’t at the house on a Sunday night, her grandmother insisting she sleep over and promising to take her to school in the morning. You were pretty sure Anita was just doing it to give you and Marcus time alone at the house and the thought made you blush, but neither of you had fought her. You’d even charged a more than willing neighbor with the responsibility of watching Ginger that night – just in case. You wanted to see how the night went. Still afraid to push Marcus without meaning to.

Supper had gone well. You had helped Marcus make a lasagna using a Moreno family recipe (the secret ingredient remained a secret per Anita’s insistence) and you’d thoroughly enjoyed the meal at his kitchen table, bonding over the delicious food and frustrating bosses who refused to fund projects that needed funds badly.

After you’d both cleaned the table and washed the dishes, you’d found yourselves on the couch together, and as if it was the most natural next step you’d leaned in and kissed him. Fear spiked in you when he didn’t immediately respond to your lips, afraid he’d push you away, but it was unwarranted. His hands soon found your face and he was deepening the kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth and finding yours.

It wasn’t like you and Marcus hadn’t made out before, but it was the first time you’d made out at his house, and it somehow felt different. At first you couldn’t put your finger on the right word for it, but when you parted to take a deep breath and he quickly ducked his head back down for another thorough kiss the word lit up in your head like a neon sign. Hunger.

Marcus Moreno was kissing you hungrily. Like he couldn’t get enough of you. The thought made your stomach flip flop and as a flame sparked in you, three little words sprung from the back of your head.

They’d been sitting there for about a month, and you’d almost said it a few times before, but had always chickened out. Afraid of rejection, especially from this man. You’d wanted him to say it first, but you thought maybe he wasn’t capable of it. Maybe it was time you did.

“I love you Marcus,” you mumbled against his lips.

He sucked in a deep breath and jerked away from you, surprise written on his face. “What?”

You weren’t sure if he thought he’d misheard you or if he was just in shock, but you repeated yourself away, heart pounding in your chest as you did so. “I love you.”

His chocolate eyes widened and his jaw dropped. You glanced away, certain he was going to reject you, push you away. It was too soon, as you’d feared.

Except that wasn’t what happened. He reached out to cup a palm against your cheek instead and gently guided your face back towards his so your eyes could meet again.

“I love you too,” he said fiercely, though you could see a hint of fear in his eyes. Knowing that loving you made him afraid broke your heart a little. Of course it would, but still. You wished you could promise him that he didn’t need to be, but you knew you couldn’t. Instead you kissed him again, hugging him against you as you did so.

Once again he was the one who deepened the kiss and his hands roamed the back of your patterned button down shirt. You weren’t quite sure how far he was willing to go, but when he shifted and started pressing his mouth up against your neck, licking over your pulse point, you suddenly understood very well how far you wanted to go. You lolled your head back to give him better access and moaned softly. “Marcus.”

He hummed. “What is it?”

“I want more,” you admitted. “I want you.”

He stiffened in your arms and pulled away just enough so he could study your facial expression. “Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly.

“I’m sure,” you replied. “If you’re ready, I’m ready. If you’re not, that’s okay, but I just…I just needed you to know.”

The way Marcus’ eyes darkened with desire after your declaration was sinful. He pressed his forehead to your shoulder and sucked in a deep breath.

“I want you too,” he confessed, his voice raspier than it was seconds ago. There was so much need in those words you felt the flame catch something on fire in the pit of your stomach.

You threaded the fingers of your right hand through his messy hair and smiled softly. “Then show me to your room.”

He did not hesitant, leading you upstairs by your wrist, kissing you at the top of the steps. You were a tangle of limbs by the time you both stumbled into his room and he crowded you up against the wall by the door, arms encompassing yours, his lips back at your throat. You relaxed into his embrace, tugging at the short tuffs of hair at the back of his head and hooking a leg around his hip. He grinded against your still fully clothed body in response and you both groaned at the added friction. You let your head fall back against the wall and squeezed your eyes shut to focus on the sensation.

“Let me know if you change your mind at any point,” he murmured into your ear.

“Ditto,” you said breathlessly, desperately hoping he wouldn’t.

He pulled you away from the wall and the next thing you knew he was laying you out on top of his bed’s comforter and you were bringing him down with you, nails digging into the fabric of the back of his plaid shirt. You couldn’t wait for that shirt to disappear.

Marcus wasn’t as impatient as you were, despite having gone much longer without physical intimacy than you had. He removed his glasses and settled between your thighs, proceeding to kiss your lips until they were puffy and your neck until your heart was racing at a near terrifying speed. It took you everything not to beg him for more. Eventually, finally, his hands traveled further down than your shoulders, slipping under your shirt, and you helped him remove it before doing the same with his. He planted a kiss over your heart and caressed your belly as you reached for the button of his jeans. More. More. More.

Your eyes feasted on every inch of new skin you exposed on Marcus and it did nothing to sooth you. It only made you more eager.

You would’ve gladly just gone for it, quick and dirty, but Marcus wasn’t the type. Instead, he continued taking his time even when you both were completely bare, his rough hands tracing every single one of your curves and dips until you felt near boneless underneath him, brimming with the pleasantness of it.

You didn’t know how long it had been since you’d first laid on the bed, but you noticed while in a haze that Marcus had taken his hands and mouth off of you and was leaning to the right, stretching out to open the top drawer of his nightstand and pluck a wrapper covered condom out of it. As he tore the package open and applied it to himself heat bloomed between your hips in anticipation and over your acknowledgment of him having purchased condoms. He’d bought them for you. The idea that he’d planned on this happening eventually made you burn like someone had poured kerosine on the flame already flickering inside you.

When he slipped inside you it was with a gentle roll of his hips and the motion sent a jolt of pleasure up your spine. This was a dream, you had decided then. It shouldn’t have felt that good, that fast. But it did.

You hummed happily into his mouth as he scooped you up slightly off the bed to cradle you in his strong arms and when he began to move, you immediately joined in.

Together you found a steady, gentle rhythm, one that was neither too slow nor too fast. His hands stayed splayed against your back as yours danced over his wide shoulders, down the narrowing plane of his back, and over his waist, eventually pulling back up to only repeat taking the same path.

“Hermosa,” he panted into your ear. “I love you so much.”

You grinned though he couldn’t see it, knowing enough Spanish to understand that first word. “Love you too, handsome.”

The last word was almost knocked out of you when he picked up the pace, enough to really start building you both up. You kept in time with him, whispering in his ear how good he felt inside you until you were too overwhelmed with it to speak, until all you could do was close your eyes and concentrate on the coil tightening inside you.

Marcus never stopped kissing you. His lips roamed your mouth, jawline, neck, and chest even as he moaned and heaved breaths.

You felt tears prick your eyes at the sheer tenderness of it, and you fought it away successfully, only to lose control of the rest of your body, reaching a sweet release that sent Marcus off the edge not long after you.

You’d remember the blissed out expression on his face in that moment for a long time after, eyes shut tight, eyebrows knitted as he shuddered and slumped down into your arms to nuzzle his nose into the crook of your neck. It made your adoration for him only grow stronger.

He playfully peppered kisses to your face after, making you giggle, especially since his beard tickled you in some of the more sensitive spots, but you let him do it anyway, soaking up all the attention like a wilted flower in sunlight. You couldn’t remember anyone before being this affectionate with you.

With your conception of time having been completely wrecked, and the lack of a working alarm clock on Marcus’ nightstand (it needed new batteries), you couldn’t guess when, but Marcus eventually separated from you to stand, looking regretful about it, and disappeared into the master bathroom. He returned with a warm wet washcloth in hand and you watched as he gently cleaned you up, surprised by his doting. You knew you shouldn’t have been because it was Marcus, but you just were not used to it.

After he’d tossed the cloth away into a hamper you opened your arms to him and he sunk back down on the bed to curl up in your embrace, his bare hips hugging against one of yours, and he tugged his throw blanket over you both before you could start shivering. You’d forgotten it was winter. (It rarely snowed in the city, but it was chilly that night.)

“You are…amazing,” Marcus told you, and you got the sense that he felt the descriptive word fell short.

You smiled and pressed your forehead against his cheek. “You too.”

You both stayed like that for a long time, stroking each other’s arms, before you had to get up to use the bathroom and when you returned, you found that he had unmade the bed and was already fast asleep. You leaned on the doorway between the bedroom and bath for a brief time, a smile plastered on your face as you watched the quiet rise and fall of his chest, then studied the peaceful look on his face fondly. You continued your way back to the bed, carefully climbing in so not to wake him, and turned your back to him, more than ready to sleep yourself.

You could feel him shift in the sheets as you started to drift off and the last thing you were aware of was his arm wrapping comfortingly around your waist.

#We Can Be Heroes #Marcus Moreno Fanfic (Mine)#Marcus Moreno x OFC #Second Chances Series

21 notes · View notes