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intheorangebedroom · 3 months ago

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Tonight you belong to me, chapter 5

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. Time flies, in room number 2. How much longer do you have, just for the two of you?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange bedroom besties 🧡 It's been a hot minute, I sincerely apologise. Thank you to everyone who stuck around, I hope it was worth it, and thank you to everyone who just passed by 🧡 @frannyzooey my love, thank you for your help on the Americanisms, invaluable as always 🧡

Word count: 13.8k

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Chapter 5: Time in a bottle

It’s late when you pull into the parking lot. Dusk cloaks the motel in its fuzzy veil, the surroundings fading in diffuse shadows. The single-story building stands out in the twilight, akin to an old ship. Wooden poles for masts, hanging lamps swaying gently in the briny breeze, their lights blurry in the muggy air. Tacky and warm, it wafts in through your car’s open windows, dampening the exposed skin of your forearms and the back of your neck.

On the passenger seat, your iPhone’s screen glows in the semi-darkness with an incoming call.

Adrian.

“What now?” you sigh, through clenched teeth.

Your eyes dart up to Frankie’s truck parked in front of you. The word FORD stretched in chrome letters on the tailgate, shining bright in your headlights.

The familiar pull awakens between your constricted lungs. A pounding, greedy little tug compelling you to get out of your car and cover the distance to the room as quickly as your step will carry you. But you want to calm your nerves first. Slow down your heart rate, deepen your breathing.

That discussion you had with your father, earlier this afternoon, still clings to your frame. The humiliation conveyed by his carefully chosen words like tar, black and viscous. You can almost smell its foul stench. And you don’t want to bring any of it inside.

It’s only the third time Frankie gets here before you, if you count that very first Friday back in September. And the second, since you came back from Colorado earlier this month. The pressure in your rib cage eases at the memory of that sweet evening.

All day long, you had rushed through your counting routine. Through the long, icy corridors of your glass prison. Rushed on the 589 northbound. Rushed to strangle the uncertainty of his presence there.

It was a few minutes past 7pm when you parked next to his truck, his early presence cranking up your anxiousness. You got out of your car with an anguished scowl, and you all but ran toward the porch, toward the brass number 2, shoes scuffing the gravel.

The door swung open the very second you stepped under the overhang. A flash of dimple, and his arms wrapped around your waist. He scooped you up from the floor, swift and easy, carrying you inside. Hungry kisses, teeth scraping at your jaw, down the line of your neck. A throaty husk of Happy New Year, Lee Abbott, as he tugged your clothes off your body that thrummed with his scent and his voice and his arms and his taste.

With the density of him.

He lifted you again, your short, giggly yelp bouncing across the room as he hauled you over his shoulder with an easy force. His steps long and balanced, as if your weight was inconsequential to his strength.

In the dim bathroom, he put you down directly into the tub. There, he unbuckled his belt and slid down his jeans, looking at you with a mischievous grin you’d never seen before and that fitted his gorgeous face a little too well.

“Told you I’d fuck you in this shower.”

Thirty seconds later, you were standing together under an aggressive stream of scalding water, his broad back shielding you from the high pressure, steam blurring the tiles and the mirror. You pressed your face into his neck, hands splayed over his chest, feeling it heave with his low, rumbling chuckle.

“ That’s the best I could do. This place is trash,” he scoffed, lips grazing your ear.

“ It’s perfect,” you laughed.

Another notification lights up your screen, yanking you back into the stifling cab of the sedan, to the nagging cramp poking your rib cage, to your hindered breathing.

It glowers at you, bold black letters over a steel gray rectangle.

MESSAGES

Adrian

Your eyes flicker back to the red truck, your face crunching into a grimace.

“Shit,” you grit, grabbing the phone and quickly pressing the home button before you can change your mind.

The lock screen fades as the message app pops open. You squint against the brightness of the glowing white screen.

I made it, babe. I fucking made it. You’re talking to the new senior partner of Balmer & Steigt. Fuck yeah. I finally get what I fucking deserve.

The gray ellipses start blinking underneath the bubble. You frown, bracing yourself.

I couldn’t have made it without you. This is your victory as much as mine.

You scoff, but the dread-inducing ellipses keep bouncing happily. Fantastic. There’s more coming.

I got you something. Something fancy for my fancy girl.

“Oh, hell no.”

Leaning down, you pick up the roomy I ❤ NY tote bag Ava got you as a Christmas present and dump your phone into it, before stuffing the bag under your seat.

If only you could take a full breath. If only your chest would expend. It’s not that bad, really. A few months back, you would have been physically unable to keep going with your day after that conversation with your father. Let alone drive. You’d have suffocated, chocked up on your panic, until you’d been left with no choice other than to gulp down a pill, or two, or three, topped off with a swig of gin. The bitter taste of surrendering.

Is that what it means, to give oneself some grace? You’re doing good, you’re doing better, you’re doing your best.

Closing your eyes, you exhale through pursed lips and ease down your shoulders.

He had you called into his office by his secretary, as you were about to leave, bag in hand, counting steps.

But you were expecting it. In all honesty, you’re surprised it’s taken him this long. Four weeks since you came back from Beaver Creek. Four weeks of defying his strict, outdated, misogynistic dress-code.

The very first morning, you stepped out of the mirror-lined elevator on the 15th floor wearing high-waisted, wide-legged slacks and a loose button-up, the sleeves folded high on your forearms. And flat derbies.

Nervousness, sitting heavy and queasy in the pit of your stomach, beating loud against your eardrums. Prickling under your armpits, raising the hair on your nape.

Kaytee’s eyes widened as she caught sight of you walking by her office, before she remembered to police her expression. The shock on her face turned into something else, something worse. Lurking in the lift-up corner of her lips, in the smugness coloring her cheeks. Something sardonic. Condescension.

“ You can’t spend your life trying to be someone else. ” Ava’s words through the receiver the previous night were a dizzying swirl inside your head, as you walked down the glass corridors, coworkers and subordinates watching you with a similar shocked expression, that blurred their features into one subdued, frightened face.

But who the fuck am I, Ava? you wanted to ask, the only sound on the line that of your short breathing. How did you know who you were? Always. From the very beginning of your life. How did you know how to be so unapologetic about it?

Had it been your gift to her? Does self-confidence require love? Or guidance? Is it innate?

All you know, at this point in your life, is that wearing clothes that you chose for yourself seems like a sound first measure. One that you can actually undertake.

And with that in mind, you stepped into your father’s office, your heart pulsating in your throat, to take a seat across from him, his clear desk standing like a wide canyon between you.

Now, your steps are nearly silent on the shifting gravel, as you walk across the parking lot, fingers brushing along the cool metal of the truck as you pass it by. That pull toward Frankie propelling you forward, inescapable, irresistible despite the nasty sensation oozing down along your legs like thick-flowing tar, weighing your gait.

On the porch, you pause. On Friday evenings, this is when you shed your old skin. Healing wounds, scar tissues. When you set your eyes on the canopy as it swallows the sun, pink-orange dusk fading to dark. Grainy photographs, forgotten vacations. This is when your spine straightens, when you take in the horizon and let it deepen your breathing. When you ready yourself for the life you’ve chosen, between the brown carpet and the yellow curtains and his arms.

But it’s already night. The darkness has erased the horizon and your old skin won’t shed.

The door opens, a draft ruffling your hair.

The first thing you see is the crease between his brow. The tick of his whiskered jaw, and then, his dark brown eyes, appraising the tension that winds up your body, appraising your silence. His grunt, like an echo, distant.

“You sat in that car forever. I was about to come out and get you.”

The concern in his voice rattles something deep inside your belly. You’re not bringing any of it inside that room of yours, you think, as he pushes away from the door to let you in, as you cross the threshold, but it’s stuck to you. Your father’s voice. The tremendous power it still holds over you. His disappointment. Your failures, plural. All the wrong choices.

His hat is set on the desk. His suede jacket is draped over the back of the angular wooden chair. Your gaze lingers on it, you can almost feel the comforting softness of the fabric under the pads of your fingers.

He stands a few feet away from you, giving you space. Dark mahogany searching your features, your posture. His hands propped on his hips, like that other night in the parking lot, after he’d seen the fresh scar in your hairline.

You face away from him. The smell of the room is familiar, in a comforting way. Musty. Dust and the faintest perfume of industrial laundry detergent coming from the starched sheets. He’s pulled the bedspread off the bed. It’s folded neatly on the floor underneath the window. It rises tears along your throat, the idea of him prepping himself, prepping the place, alone in this room where you’ve waited for him countless times and hours. Guilt scrambles your brain, over what, you’re not entirely certain. Keeping him waiting? You failures, plural. All the wrong choices.

“Lee.”

His voice seeps in through the blackness coating your skin, like warm and persistent little droplets of sweet amber.

You turn to face him, at last. An awkward upper-body twist, feet rooted to the brown carpet, teeth clenched around the lump in your throat. He’s wearing that gray threadbare t-shirt you love, the one with a v-neck, and your eyes find the dip at the base of his throat, the fireworks of freckles between his collarbone. Tears well up, too strong to hold back, and you shut your eyes to the muffled sound of his booted steps on the matted carpet.

You’re drifting, enveloped in his warmth, his scent, leather and musk. The contact of his skin as he curls a large hand around your nape, tucking your face into the curve of his strong neck.

His arm wraps around your waist, drawing you closer, flush to his chest, and he presses his chin to your temple. You let go, surrender, honey dripping thick and golden along your loosening limbs.

His pulse beats solid and steady against your cheek. You breathe him in, a hindered inhale at first, and when your shoulders begin to drop, a deeper one. A single tear escapes. It rolls down the round of your cheek into his skin. Your palms skim up to the plane of his back, soaking in his heat, and he presses you in harder, his forearm aligning with your spine, fingers spreading at the base of your skull.

Time stretches. He holds you. You lean in.

Later, after he’s helped you climb into the cab of his truck, you keep your eyes on him as he rounds the red hood.

Sitting behind the wheel, he puts the key in the ignition and, looking at you, tilts his head to the left.

“C’mere,” he says, and you scoot next to him, biting down a relieved sigh as you slide over the seat bench.

He leans over your lap, grabbing the middle seat belt, and buckles you in, then himself. You settle in, with your head against his shoulder, and your hand on his thigh, soft cotton, worn denim. Under your touch, his firm muscles ripple as he drives you into the night, into oblivion. The steady motion lulling you to sleep.

Alongside the deserted road, trees and bushes roll out in the headlights as the truck swallows miles and miles of asphalt.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble after a while, fighting drowsiness.

“Don’t be. You wanna talk about it?” he adds after a pause.

“No.”

You shake your head, your voice so low you’re not certain he’s heard your answer.

“Doesn’t have to be now,” he says. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Your head bobs with his bunching muscles as he releases the wheel to bend his arm at the elbow, fingers threading through your hair. Without lifting his eyes off the road, he leans in, and pecks a pointed kiss on the crown of your head.

Your eyes close. The image of the bedspread neatly folded underneath the window flashes through your mind. You can’t seem to get used to his tender gestures, to his attentions. You hope they will never stop. You hope you will never get used to them.

The emotion washes over you, a soft wave, and you float with it. In the cab of his truck, in his scent and his hold, you feel free of all doubts. Fear and pain cannot find you here. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced so far, a strange feeling, potent and all encompassing, albeit one that doesn’t need to be dulled or tamed.

The words come out of your mouth as a surprise.

“I think I don't want it to define me anymore. My family, I mean. Where I come from.”

This is a new state of mind. Or perhaps it’s been there for a while, a mere shadow on the wall, something you couldn’t clearly discern. Suddenly simple to comprehend and articulate.

“Yea. I get it,” he says.

And you know he does.

You open your eyes, and take in a deep breath, fill your lungs with that distinct old leather scent that clings about him, and the smell of vintage Bakelite from the dashboard, so specific to his truck.

“Music?” you ask.

“Sure, good idea. You like Jefferson Airplane?”

You nod, brushing your cheek against the cottony fabric of his t-shirt, leaving a little bit of you there, for him to find later.

“Yes. I like them.”

“Jefferson Airplane it is, then,” he answers.

Gently, he bends forward, mindful not to nudge you too much, and turns on the stereo. His thick fingers push the tape that’s already there into the slot, and your lips curl with an explicit thought, unlike any you used to have before meeting him. Crude, but welcome pictures that now constantly crowd your brain.

He keeps the volume low, and with the round rumbling of his quiet humming, your mind slowly drifts off again.

You’re about to fall asleep when a thought surfaces, skirting the edges of your consciousness.

“Frankie?” you quietly call.

“Mmh?”

“Are you… Were you in the military?”

The humming stops, his silence abrupt, and his shoulder tenses under your cheek. Pushing away from it, you risk a sleepy glance at his face, plunged in the semi-darkness. It’s not dark enough that you don’t recognize the cocking of his jaw.

“Frankie?” you ask again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“I’m a pilot,” he cuts in, pausing to inhale deeply. “I was in the Army for nearly twenty years. I got a discharge a couple years back.”

You remain silent. His eyes flicker quickly between you and the road, and you give his thigh a strong squeeze with your left hand, before resting your cheek against his shoulder, eluding his searching gaze.

Volunteers is crackling through the speakers, but you don’t hear the music. Fully awake now, your mind is reeling with those scattered, minute parts of him you picked up Friday after Friday to stash them away in your subconscious. His puzzle of shadows. All the things that now make perfect sense, and the ones you’re dying to unravel.

His quiet assertiveness. His hands, quick and sure. His silences. His commanding tone. That long, sideways scar etched on his left flank.

His early rage, and his anger too. The flight forward, dimming his eyes, where deep rich mahogany now glimmers.

The zip ties. Your eyes grow wide, a gasping sound catching in your throat. You’re not ready to address how much you appreciate this particular skill of his, considering where he picked it up.

Your imagination produces a clear vision of him in a US Air Force uniform, the fabric stretched over his broad shoulders, and you bite your lip, your entire body covering in chills.

Frankie has yet to say another word. Something raises your consciousness, something in the scowl sharpening his features as he scanned your face for a reaction.

Images flash through your head. The 8 × 10 picture displayed in your father’s office in its platinum frame, for every visitor to admire. Smooth faced and confident, his sleeves rolled up high on his lean forearms, your father’s shaking hands with Reagan in front of a colorful assemblage of containers, in the industrial quarter of the Tampa Bay Harbor, during the 1984 campaign. His coldly handsome face split by a smile, larger and more genuine than any of those he ever addressed you, let alone Ava.

Recollections of those dragging hours you spent in church as a child, beads of sweat dripping along your spine as you sat in the sweltering heat on a hard wooden bench, rigid and still like a marble statue for fear of being reprimanded.

The hateful, vehement speeches your father would burst into at random, your mother pinching your arm for you to listen, this is important. The uneasy feeling sitting in the pit of your stomach, like bile, like nausea. Wrong. This is wrong. A feeling, not an idea yet. It grew with you, expending, to become impossible to see past by the time you started high.

The list of names in your father’s neat handwriting, scrawled on a crisp piece of paper, that he handed you before driving the entire family to the polls for your very first election. The sheer terror, primitive in its hold over you, prickling on your nape as you systematically disregarded his instructions, choosing the names followed by the three letters DEM.

The rare political meetings you secretly attended in college, the pamphlets in loud colors and bold letters, that you read hidden from your roommate’s prying eyes, as if they were satanic verses. Reproductive rights! Demilitarization Now! No to privatized prisons! End gun violence!

Petitions you signed with a shaking hand, because what if your parents found out? What if they heard of it? A dread so profoundly anchored at the very core of your psyche that you have never told Ava any of it, even when she would chastise your lack of interest in politics, your lack of involvement, lest she’d reveal your treason to them in the heat of an argument.

Could this be when you started finding yourself? In your diverging convictions? Could it be enough? Could it count?

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask tentatively.

He huffs a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re a hell of a fast learner, aren’t you?”

“I have a very good teacher,” you shrug, trying to ignore the sharpness in his tone.

Curiosity overthrowing your ingrained fear to displease, you ask, “What kind of aircraft do you fly? Planes? Helicopters?”

He simply nods, and your cheeks heat again at the notion, your heart racing.

“I’m very impressed,” you whisper. “I can barely parallel park.”

“I’m sure you got plenty of other skills,” he answers, softer.

“No. I really don’t.”

—

Frankie walks briskly across the parking lot, carrying a take-away bag and a six-pack of beer. His head hung low to shield his face from the thin, mid-February drizzle. His denim shirt sticks to his back with humidity, and sweat from the drive. It’s pulled uncomfortably taut across his shoulders.

He steps onto the porch, hands too full to open the door or even knock on it, so he gives it three light kicks. A tiny screw pops out from the curved top of the brass number two. The whole thing swivels upside down, swinging like a pendulum.

“Jesus christ, this fucking place,” he scoffs.

The door flies open, and you’re here, with that bright, earnest smile and your wide, luminous eyes. You’ve tied your hair up in a casual do, but you’re still fully dressed. He likes those slacks on you, snug on your curves, wide on your legs. It fits you so much better than the tight pencil skirts you used to wear when he first met you. Those made you look like an 80s porn producer fever dream. But these trousers transform your gait, your entire demeanor, into something more relaxed. More confident. He could watch you strut around the room for hours. If only there was more time.

He catches a glimpse of the mesh fabric of your bra, peeking out from the cleavage of your open shirt, and he mentally curses the corporate fucks who get to work all week around you.

“Hey, Frankie.”

The sharp, familiar pang rips through his chest at the sound of your voice, light and cheery. That ache he waits for seven excruciatingly long days to experience again.

“Hey, baby.”

As you let him in, he feels the tip of your fingers brushing his thigh, as if you need to make sure he’s here in the flesh. The miracle of you wanting him, still.

“What’s in the bag?” you ask, dragging the chipped chair away from the desk, so he can set down his bounty.

His eyes fall on your graceful nape as you crane your neck to see what’s inside the bag, too well-behaved to touch it without having been invited to do so.

“Didn’t have time to eat. I took something for you too, I hope you don’t mind. Did you eat? Are you hungry?”

“I don’t usually eat before I come here,” you admit. “I drive in straight from work,” you add, heat visibly creeping up your neck and ears.

He takes off his hat, ruffling a hand through his hair to conceal a smug smile.

“And you’re not starving, by the time I’m finished with you?”

“Quite the contrary, actually. I feel pretty full when you leave.”

Your lips stretch into a wide grin you’re ineffectively trying to hold back.

“That so?” he chuckles, propping his hands on his hips. For countenance.

Pride glimmers in your eyes, as it does every time you make him laugh. He knows it’s mirrored in his eyes. Your levity is his reward.

Everything about you is unbearably endearing. He’s not sure if he’s hungry for food anymore, or if he’s not going to go straight down on you. You’ve already prepared the bed, that ugly bedspread neatly folded under the window. He could lay you prone on your stomach, lower your trousers to your knees, perk up your pretty ass and eat your sweet cunt from behind.

His hunger for you sizzles along his spine, sparkling in his loins, imperious and distracting. The sensation is delicious, and for once, he takes the time to revel in it. He’s so used to barging in here and just taking. He doesn’t savor, not really, not until after he’s had you at least once.

He’s not proud of his unbridled hunger, the consequence of seven days’ worth of pent-up frustration, chasing your perfume on his clothes and the ghost feeling of your cool, smooth skin under his palms. That ever-growing obsession for your scent, for your eyes, and that crippling craving for the sounds you produce when he moves inside you. That high he gets when he makes you feel good. Every time he gives you what you want.

And there’s the absolute black-out on all communications between you throughout the week that drives him out of his mind. He knows that’s the tacit deal the two of you struck at the very beginning. No phone number, no address, no marks. Hell, he didn’t even know your name until you gave it to him at Christmas. Only, he’s left in the dark for seven consecutive fucking days, with no means to check up on you, and no way to make sure you’re safe.

He understands the necessity for secrecy. But the more time passes, the less it makes sense.

So come Friday night, he needs to crush you under his weight. Needs to feel your flesh gushing through his splayed fingers and hear you mewl his name, eyes rolling to the back of your head, your body tensing up in his hold before it shatters around his cock.

He needs to fuck you deep and full, find you in that place within yourself and wreck you there. He needs to make sure you’re alright. Make sure you’re real. Make sure you’re his.

And his control might be tenuous, but he sure loves the way you lean into it.

You’re still smiling when he takes a step closer behind you. Lowering his face into the curve of your neck, he inhales you there, that spot behind your ear, where your subtle scent becomes heady. He feels your chest rising with your own deep breathing, and he pictures your eyes fluttering shut. His hand skims the curve of your hip, sliding up to the swell of your breast over the smooth fabric of your shirt, gripping you roughly as he takes your earlobe between his lips and sucks on it. His hips move against your ass of their own volition, his cock half-hard, fucking twitching.

“Frankie,” you whine.

“Yea?”

He licks a broad stride up your neck, collecting the tangy taste of your skin, mixed with the chemical one of your perfume.

“What’s in the bag?”

“What bag, baby? Oh, right.”

It’s a beat before he can detach himself from you. His cock is beating hard and angry against the confining fabric of his jeans. With a light brush of his knuckles along your side, he reminds himself there’s also pleasure in the anticipation. The word sits in the back of his throat, like a knife ready to bleed him dry. Concupiscence.

Ripping the paper bag open in the middle, he smooths both sides neatly over the desk, and points at the three rolls wrapped in tin foil.

“Took three burritos, and some fried beans. There’s one beef, one pork, and one vegetarian, in case you don't eat meat.”

You look at him with a twinkle in your eyes, your grin getting wider than he’s ever seen it. He braces a hand flat on the desk.

“Oh, I eat meat, I thought you’d know that.”

The words have barely left your mouth that you burst into a fit of giggles, covering your face with both hands.

“Christ, woman!” he laughs. “Alright, sit down. Let’s get proper food into that mouth of yours, for once.”

Together, you unfold the bedspread and arrange it over the foot of the bed. The thing is already stained, and you mutually agree there’s no need to make a mess of the white sheet just yet.

Letting you pick between the two richer ones, he takes the vegetarian burrito, and you start eating together, two open cans of beer at your feet.

His bites are ravenous, while you nibble gingerly at your food, holding the burrito with two hands, the foil crackling between your fingers. After a few bites, however, you start eating in bigger chunks.

“This is delicious,” you moan with your mouth full.

Is he getting jealous of a fucking burrito now? Is that where he’s at?

“What, you never had a burrito in your life?”

You wince, and he immediately regrets the teasing skepticism of his tone.

Setting the food down, you dab a paper towel to the corner of your mouth, catching a fleck of sauce. There’s grace in all your movements, even the tiniest ones.

“My mother monitored everything I ate. God forbid I put on any weight,” you explain, a hint of bitterness in your voice.

He lowers his hands, eyes trained on your averted gaze.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you tell him, looking up at him.

There’s that quiet resignation painted all over your face.

“Try me.”

“You’re thinking I’m a grown woman, old enough to make her own decisions.”

He shakes his head. “Was actually thinking your mother sounds like the exact opposite of mine.”

Your mouth curves into a sad attempt at a smile.

“I don't judge you, Lee. We all do what we can with what we got dealt with.”

A slight frown knits your brow, as you seem to consider his words.

He has spent a lot of time, lately, reflecting over his own choices, and the many places where they’ve led him, for better or for worse.

Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria. Libya and the most dangerous places in sub-Saharan Africa. Nearly everywhere in South America. Twice over.

Over the fucking Andes, and to Tom’s funeral.

Choices that also made him Lua’s father.

Crossroads that have taken him all the way to that shithole bar, last year at the end of August. Conscious decisions that brought him here, into this room. Into your arms. Into your life.

A chain reaction he wouldn’t alter, he knows it now, even if he was given the chance for a do-over.

He used to consider things as definite. Choices as absolute and irrevocable. It took him becoming a father, and meeting you, to understand his mother’s words. Paso a paso, she’d say, watching him with a tender, knowing smile as he rushed toward his life. Paso a Paso, Francisco.

You eat in silence for a while, and he keeps watching you. That sharp pain solidly entrenched inside his chest, blooming through his heart, he has to make a conscious effort to breathe around it.

He bought you the food you’re eating right now. Drove to his favorite place, stood in line and placed his order with you in mind. And you’re enjoying it. In fact, you’re demonstrating an impressive appetite, hungrier, messier with every bite. Sauce dripping down your chin. Pink flashes of tongue licking it from between your fingers.

He could get used to that. Providing for you. Taking care of you. In more than just one way. Sharing the mundane routine of a daily life together.

But this is not real. Whatever is happening between the four walls of this shitty motel is not ground for life-altering choices.

“Do you want to share the pork one?” you ask, crinkling the tinfoil wrapper into a compact ball.

“I’m good, baby,” he answers with a soft smile. “You can have it. Just make sure you’re still hungry for more meat when you’re done.”

—

Adrian has gifted you a new purse from another French luxury brand. It’s a square-shaped thing cut from some grayish reptile skin, with a matching tag and a decorative lock hanging from its handle. It looks insanely expensive and ridiculously vulgar, its tackiness almost cruelly ironic. Like a rich people’s inside joke.

Somehow, you’re vaguely aware this model is exclusive and can’t be bought online or even in stores, however high-end. It has to be ordered, and there’s a waiting list. Useless knowledge you probably gathered from one of your mother’s magazines. A family of four could most likely live comfortably for a whole year for the price of this thing.

Incidentally, there’s a new perfume clinging to Adrian’s clothes when he comes home late at night. The first time you caught a whiff of the heady fragrance, intense vanilla and white musk, it reminded you of the stunning blonde with feline hazel eyes.

The gift immediately felt less like an expression of gratitude for your support than like a reward for your silent compliance. But it’s of little to no importance. The bag sits idly at the bottom of your walk-in dressing. Unused, containing what’s left of the love and respect you once harbored for the man.

Every so often, you think about it, as you cruise along the 589. It makes you smile. A wide, Cheshire cat grin, one that bares your front teeth, and you wonder if it’s cruel of you to smile about the end of something that used to mean so much. Something that meant nearly everything. You wonder if you’ve ever been cruel before. Intentionally, that is.

Then, you conclude you don’t care. This particular kind of cruelty feels far too good. Too righteous. You could get used to it.

And you keep cruising along the 589 northbound.

—

“Mark Twain or Lewis Carroll?”

“Oh god, Frankie, I don’t know…” you moan, too distracted to think straight.

Teeth ghosting a bite over your neck, he wraps a kiss around your skin, sucking on it. Not sharply enough to bruise, but enough for you to clench hard around him.

In the past few weeks, he’s become playful. It’s new to you. Was it always a part of him, constituent but buried underneath the scars and the years, or was it born from your touch?

He’s become talkative, too. Talkative, and curious. But then again, perhaps he always was. Only, not with you.

Thus, there are new rituals between you. Secrets exchanged behind the shielding partition of the yellow curtains. Murmurs shared underneath the droning of the ceiling fan, in the golden lighting from the quaint bedside lamps.

Some of his questions can pose a challenge. You’re not always certain about the proper answer. The right one. You were raised to say what was expected of you. Taught to speak to please, not to speak your mind. To wait for your cue, and hold your thoughts in between.

Frequently, you hesitate, afraid to trip on your words.

But he doesn’t easily relent. He’s playful and curious. But above all, he’s patient and persistent.

“I don’t know,” you repeat.

“You know. Come on.”

“Okay, um… Lewis Carroll. I love– I love Alice.”

“Oh yea? You do? You like following big white rabbits to strange places, huh?”

His chest shakes with his raspy chuckle, and you laugh, until he pulls you in closer, sheathing himself deeper inside you, and your laughter plummets into a throaty groan.

Seamlessly, these new ceremonials have replaced the old ones, the ones that were carried out under wary gazes, in appraising silence.

Now, you don’t always count your steps on Fridays, but you leave work earlier, and when you arrive at the motel, you try to engage Raul in conversation. His discomfort is obvious, bordering on annoyance, as you disrupt his concentration while he’s busy drawing charcoal landscapes of jagged mountains. But these past two weeks, he seems to have loosened up a bit. Either you’re wearing him off, or he’s trying to get rid of you faster.

On the porch, in front of room number 2, you watch the sun slowly sink into the canopy of trees in an explosion of tangerine pink. Every week, the sunset creates a different palette of orange, but your emotion continues to be whole and unaltered.

Before stepping in, you flick the upside-down brass number. It smiles in greeting, swinging on its one remaining screw.

You wish the place carried Frankie’s scent. It never does, of course. As you fold the comforter and prop it under the windowsill, the only smells wafting around are that of laundry detergent, dust, and the faintest hint of mold.

There’s nothing tangible for you to hold on to in his absence, and this is by far the most difficult. It creates a vacuum, a fertile soil for foul, festering thoughts. Doubt, dread, agitation. During those seven days apart, there is no text or voicemail on your phone you can turn to for reassurance. No photo booth pictures stashed inside your wallet. No clothes of his to drape over your body and keep you warm and safe. Keep you sane.

Every so often, when you cannot find sleep, you convoke the memory of his gray t-shirt, the one with the v-neck and the pilled fabric. The sensation of the slightly rugged cotton under the pads of your fingers. The immediate comfort gently lulls you to sleep.

There is one thing, one thing only: the receipt from the burrito place, that you retrieved from the wastebasket after he’d left, that one time he brought you food. It’s tucked between two pages of your Moleskine planner. You’re not sure whether it’s cute or downright pathetic.

You had thought the want, the yearning, would ease with time. It only kept spreading to every corner of your existence, every aspect of your life. Instead of only missing his touch, you now miss his voice, too. His choice of words, the cadence of his speech, the pace of his gait. His crinkled-eyes, dimpled smile. The way he rolls up his sleeves, leaves the top buttons of his shirt open, and the way he undresses. His three-finger hold on his glass. His long reflecting pauses before he speaks. The freedom and safety you experience with him.

You just became better at handling the longing. Recently, you have become very good at handling numerous things. Quietly but steadfastly defying your father’s injunctions to comply with his dress code. Adrian’s glaring eyes of blue, their silent judgement. Ava living a life of her own, far away from you.

Reading helps. You hadn’t read in years, and you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed it. Now, you carry a book with you everywhere in your I ❤ NY tote. In these last moments before he walks into the room, you lie on your side across the motel bed, your head propped on your hand, and you read.

And when Frankie arrives, everything makes sense again, everything is justified.

The wooden door creaks open, the brass number swiveling frantically, and his relief upon seeing you lights up the dim room. Hushed greetings, his large hands curling at your waist, pulling you into him, a husk of Hey, baby, his lips barely leaving yours while he tugs at your clothes, undressing you already.

There’s rarely any other form of preamble beyond an occasional variation of Fuck, I really missed you, Lee , his teeth trailing down the line of your throat, sinking in just shy of a bite. Out of breath, out of time.

The wait is over.

Does he still come here to escape? Does he come here for you? His urgency hasn’t abated. But his intent feels different.

Stop me, skin on skin, chest to chest, the weight of his body covering yours, calloused hands hooked on your shoulders for purchase, pounding into you loud and ruthless.

Stop me, crouched over you like a devouring beast, his face buried into the crook of your neck, shallow breaths and gripping hands, grinding deep inside your heat.

Stop me, and what you hear is, I trust you.

Deep grunts thrumming out of his throat, tumbling from his plush lips into your skin, a searing branding, an invisible mark.

His plea. Lee.

He comes right after you do, pulling out just in time to spurt hot and thick over your arching body, or inside your wanting mouth.

Later, when his spend has dried on your skin, when he’s kissed the soreness better, when your breathing has slowed, he brings you a glass of water, and waits until you’ve drank it all to bury his face between your legs, or fuck your throat if you begged him to.

And on some Fridays, he goes by the desk to sit on the rectangular chair. He positions it sideways from the framed mirror. Says the reflection distracts you. It’s true.

You could spend hours watching him. Watching him move, watching him sleep. Watch the care he puts in the way he handles his clothes and his truck and your pliant body. Watch him button up his jeans or tie his belt around your wrists. Watch his curls catch the light as he combs his fingers through them, the working of his throat, the pulsating throb of his heartbeat in his strong neck. The dip in his collarbone. The darker scar on his side. The muscles of his shoulders and his back, rippling under his freckled skin. Watch, and map those freckles with your lips.

You could spend the rest of your life with him.

“C’mere,” he beckons, with a little tilt of his head, and a light pat on his thigh.

You get up from wherever he left you lying, the bed, the rough carpeting, the bathroom tiles, and walk over to him on wobbly legs. There, he draws you into his lap in a face-away straddle, his hands on your waist guiding you, firm and gentle, as he makes room for himself inside of you. The tip of your toes barely reach the carpet once you’re seated, and you have to rely entirely on him for balance. You like that.

He braces his strong arms around you, and you keep your fingers curled around them, reclining against him, against his warmth. You like the sticky sensation of your combined sweats gluing your loose bodies. Your back molds to his chest like it was shaped for this very purpose.

Your head tips back onto his firm shoulder, and he props his chin in the curve of your neck. The slight swaying of your hips is languid and slow, barely perceivable, in the same way the earth’s revolution around the sun is imperceptible to its inhabitants.

Time lingers, in long lazy stretches, infinite moments in the amber lighting of the room, in the friendly shadows. In the heart of the night, and the folds of your existence. The low husk of his voice like honey in your ears, his words vibrating from his chest to your back, to your core.

You can hear the smile in his tone. If you close your eyes, you can see it.

He asks about your taste in books, music or movies, food and entertainment, and tells you about his. Silly games of Would you rather? and Never have I ever.

Scrunching up your nose under your pinched brow, brain cells scrambling back together inside your hazy brain, you try to produce coherent answers as his lush lips trace intricate patterns along your skin, your throat, your shoulders, nimble fingertips rolling your nipples into hardened peaks. A scrape of his teeth, followed by the wet glide of his tongue, soothing over your flushed skin.

Sometimes, you feel so full it’s overwhelming. The sensation, the emotion strangles the air out of you. Your cunt flutters around the thick, stiff girth of him, and he lets out a gravelly groan, cock throbbing inside your snug walls. Your slick pools down onto the coarse curls at his base. It’s like a virtuous circle. Everything feels right with him.

After a while, when you’ve melted inside, when amber twirls in your bloodstream and your thoughts have turned to swirling molasses, his hand slides down along your stomach. His calloused fingers parting your folds, he starts rubbing at your clit, telling you that it’s time to come for me, baby.

And when you do, he comes with you, shoving you down and deep onto his pulsating length, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. His mouth pressed to that sensitive spot over your pulse point, his feverish grunts sizzling against your damp skin.

When he comes inside you, when you come together, you are made brand-new. Anything’s possible. There’s nothing you can’t do.

The elating sensation is your favorite daydream, sitting at your desk, over dinner, stuck in traffic, or in the blue hours before dawn. It sustains you throughout the week. The promise of it tingles in tense anticipation, from the crown of your head to the tip of your toes, when you watch him walk over to the desk and fold his tall, massive figure into the ugly chair.

Week after week, question after question, you come into focus between his arms. It��s terrifying, and exhilarating. You keep getting better at it.

It’s a bittersweet ache, tender and addictive, to learn about his existence outside this room of yours. The borderless confines of his life. Of him. The details he chooses to confide in you, about his childhood, his past, and his present, in the dead of the night, his body wrapped around yours, chasing the contact of your skin. Chasing your touch, your softness, your understanding, when he used to grunt away from it. Like a threat, with bared teeth, and a shake of his head. A forbidding. A not yet.

It makes sense to you now. There’s an absolute about him. An all or nothing. You’re not sure when it happened. The tipping point. Perhaps in the bathroom, on that sunny morning after Christmas, when he crowded you against the sink with a wolfish look turning his gorgeous face dark and threatening. You think it was meant to scare you. One last attempt. Your last chance to recoil and escape.

You didn’t. You kept blooming, unfurling into your own limbs under the dark depth of his gaze, reflected in the black-edged mirror. You pressed back into him, the solid, steadying bulk of his body, of his broad chest. You pushed back and sunk deeper into his world.

Today, he had to scoop you up from the floor where you were lying, boneless, in the wet mess he drew out of you.

When he stormed into the room, you could still hear the engine of the truck revving. A scowl shadowed his face. Fidgety, tightly wound up, he began undressing you without a word. Unceremonious in his need, an echo of those early days, when he was imprisoned in his past, when his strength was unrestrained, when violence was his sole language.

Fingers digging into the tense muscles of his shoulders, carding through his hair, you sought eye contact, softly cooing, I’m here, Frankie, I’m here, until your voice got through him. Until he heard you, slowing down, drawing you close. His forehead smearing sweat over your temple, his ragged breathing fanning the shell of your ear. His fist clutching the fabric of your shirt in a ball, with a push-pull motion, torn and primal, I need it, Lee. Please, I need you.

You relented, gave into it, lose and pliant as he bent you over the desk with a press of his palm, flat between your shoulder blades, as he pulled your panties to the side and lined himself up, as he thrust into you in one ruthless shove, down to his base. The clasp of his watch biting into your flesh. He was still fully clothed.

Pulling on your wrists with an iron grip, he drilled into you at a brutal pace, skin catching at your entrance along his length, and you bit your lips through it, nearly drawing blood, until, at the very center of you, the pain turned into something blindingly pleasurable, bright and searing. A shockwave, erupting from your core, fast spreading along your limbs, lighting up every nerve-ending.

Tensing under his constraining hold, bucking against his grip, you cried out his name, your back achingly stiff. Slick gushing out of you fast and hot, as your legs trembled uncontrollably, and through the din of it all, his rumbling growl, a guttural string of Fuck, before you slumped onto the desk and he fucked his own release into you.

When he let go of you, he had to lay you on the carpet, where he collapsed next to you, chest heaving with exertion. Time blurred, you might have spent the whole night lying there, staring blankly at the popcorn ceiling, but he got up to undress.

He’s cradling you on his lap now, gently rocking into you. The slow and steady rhythm of his heartbeat aligned with yours, you’re bathed in his warmth, enveloped by his musky scent. You play along, searching your brain for answers. To his questions, and yours.

There’s no evidence of his earlier outburst, saved for his thumbs drawing circles on your wrists where his fingers left a bruising indent. And of course, the wet spot on the carpet.

Nuzzling your jawline, he trails a path of messy, lazy kisses down the column of your neck, capturing the tender skin between his plush lips, his tongue peeking through them.

“I should read it again. Alice. Read it so long ago. When I was a kid.”

Humming distractedly in agreement, your head lolls back on his shoulder.

“Did I hurt you, earlier?”

Your eyelids fly open. His voice is barely a murmur, no more than warm breath grazing your ear, and you feel him throb inside you.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you.”

The vulnerability in his words shoots through your heart like a bullet. You free your arms to twine your fingers with his.

“What happened today, Frankie?”

His chest stiffens underneath you.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. It’s more… It’s the date.”

The overhead fan hums over the room, louder than your breathing, louder than his.

“A year ago, I agreed to a mission. With my former teammates. It was… It was bullshit. From the start. Nothing went as planned.”

He pauses and you wait, still and silent.

“One of us got killed.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, squeezing his hands with all of your strength.

A chilling, bone-deep dread settles over your body in the sweltering heat, so cold he can probably feel it. You don’t want him to.

“You said you resigned a couple of years ago?”

“I did. I worked for the private sector, on occasions. It’s over now.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Fuck no,” he snarls. “But some of my friends did. I– I had to go.” He clears his throat. “I chose to go.”

“Do you miss him?”

He doesn’t answer for a while. Lifting his hand in yours, you give his knuckles a long, open-mouthed kiss. His forehead rests heavy against the back of your head, his eyelashes a fluttering caress on your nape.

“For a long time, I felt responsible for his death.”

His words are dense with defeat. With sadness, and fatality. They sink heavily into you, into your bloodstream. You don’t need a mirror to know what his face looks like at this very moment. Your body will remember it, even if you live long enough to forget your own name. The pitch-blackness of his beautiful eyes, the stern crease splitting his brow, imploring for your touch. The tightness in his jaw. The downward curve of his plush lips.

That first night at the motel comes back rushing like a flood, like a wildfire. His roughness, the urgency saturating his actions, the anger in his grief. His bleeding wounds, invisible, evident, glaring. He reached for you through his despair, clutching your body, clinging to the idea of you.

Are you real?

I don’t know.

A dry sob wells up in your throat, but you swallow it down.

“What do you think now?”

“I think it doesn’t matter who’s responsible for his death. His girls are still orphaned.”

Between your lungs, the wild creature curls up into a ball. Its tears fill up your heart. There isn’t any pill or alcohol strong enough to numb this pain of yours. But it doesn’t matter. You want to feel what he feels.

You turn around. You kiss him.

—

“What about this one?”

He should be leaving soon. But your body’s soft and relaxed, curled into his side on the rumpled bed. Pleasantly cool in the muggy atmosphere of the motel room, in the dawn’s indigo hues. Your thin fingers hover gracefully over his skin, tracing the outlines of his scars, and it’s like you’re reshaping his entire body, all of his wounds, and his whole life, with the gentle touch of your fingertips.

“Frankie, what’s this one?”

He should be leaving soon. The sun’s about to come up.

“Did you save it for last because it’s the largest?” he deflects with a smirk.

Folding an arm over his chest, you prop your chin over it, frowning exaggeratedly with your jaw shifting to the side. He laughs so hard that your head bobbles with his shaking belly.

“That supposed to be an impression of me?”

“You recognized yourself,” you smile, sitting up next to him.

He should be leaving soon. And you know it. You’re giving him the space he needs to get up and get out. He fucking hates it.

“Stay here,” he says, curling his fingers around your arm as you’re about to get down from the bed.

The look you give him awakens the pain in his chest. You peer through the curtains, into the blue morning sky, and your gaze returns to him with a silent question.

“Come on. Please. Just a little longer.”

It’s not lost on him that he should be the one getting up. Not pleading.

The mattress creaks in protest as you move over it on your knees, sitting in a straddle across his hips.

“Yea, that’s better,” he smiles, smoothing his palms over your thighs. His left hand slides up to palm your breast, and he notices he hasn’t taken off his watch, tonight. It’s the second time this month.

“What’s this one?” you ask again, entirely undistracted, measuring up your hand to the length of the darker patch of skin.

“Okay,” he sighs, “I crashed a chopper near– wait, I can’t actually tell you that.”

“Jesus, Frankie,” you gasp, spreading both hands over the old wound, as if to stop a ghost bleeding. Your eyes have grown so wide, they eat up half your face.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s old. Wasn’t a big deal.”

It had been a big deal, at the time. There had been talks of awarding him a Silver Star for that mission.

“Did it hurt?”

“Mostly my pride. It wasn’t that bad, don’t worry. Nothing compared to what my sister threatened to do to me if I didn't leave the Army.”

“I can’t say I blame her. I would have probably done the same.”

“Ok, my turn. What’s this one?”

His left thumb skims along the thin line on your inner thigh, and he feels you tensing under his touch.

“It’s nothing,” you snap, taking your hands off his skin as if you just got burnt.

He presses his thumb into your soft flesh. The pain in his chest accentuates, radiating down to his stomach.

“You’re cheating,” he says, as softly as he can.

You face away from him, gaze flickering up to the window again, and you start moving away, but he holds you firmly in place with both hands on your waist.

“Lee. Tell me what it is.”

Seconds turn into minutes, the only sound in the room that of the ceiling fan’s motor, and the pain grows stronger, pulsating from his neck to his gut. Your eyes remain trained on the window, lost somewhere beyond the curtains.

“I had several more like this,” you start. Your tone is detached, your voice distant. “Smaller ones. On the back of my arms. When I was 17, my mother took me to a dermatologist. He removed them with laser treatment.”

You pause, and look down at him.

“She got me fixed, so I could find a good husband.”

His fingers dig into your flesh. It’s a full minute before he remembers to breathe, through his nose, because he can’t unclench his jaw. The chest pain turns into blinding, white-hot rage. His truck is parked outside and in his mind, the sequence of actions is crystal clear. Get you dressed. Get you in the cab. Drive away with you as far as the road goes, and never come back here.

“It burnt like hel—“

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he cuts in.

“I’m really not, Frankie,” you calmly answer. “What I am is a coward.”

He sits up with a cinch, cupping your face so you can’t recoil from him. Somehow, this would be easier if you looked upset. If you were crying. Showing any kind of emotion, really. But you’re far beyond that.

“I can’t let you say that. Not when you risk everything to come here every week.”

“Alright, so I’m a selfish coward,” you say with a joyless little smile.

“No. You’re perfect. You’re my perfect girl. Say it.”

It’s there. Your unbending will, your steel-hard determination. In your defiant gaze and your pinched lips. In the distance you're trying to put between your body and his.

“Okay, fine. Don’t say it. I’ll keep repeating it until you believe me. I can be fucking persistent, you know?” he adds, falling back onto the pillows.

“I know you can,“ you say, lifting a leg off the bed.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he nearly growls, a bruising grip on your thigh, “I’m not done with you.”

His clipped tone appears to be more effective on you. You sit back down, let your shoulders relax, and the palm of your hands find his skin again. Distant gaze, cold touch.

“What’s this one?” he asks, the blunt fingernail of his thumb grazing the grid-shaped scar on your left knee, his tone barely a question, and to his surprise, you come alive with a spark in your eyes.

“Oh! This one’s a good scar. I like it.”

You adjust your position over him, slotting your folds over his resting cock, and a coiling heat stirs in his loin.

“I had a bicycle when I was a kid. The most beautiful bicycle in the entire world. Red, the exact same shade as your truck. With a round cushion protection on the frame, I don’t know how you call that, and the letters MBK painted in white over it, you know the kind?”

He nods, and you continue talking.

“I would spend hours riding it. I would disappear for entire afternoons. It was heaven. And maybe you’re not going to believe me, but I was pretty reckless on that thing.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

You’re smiling again.

“Well, one day, I was too reckless. I hit the brakes too abruptly and I skidded over gravel. I flew ten feet away from the bike and I tore my knee open. I got home covered in blood, my parents were furious.”

A vengeful smile curves your lips, one he’s never seen on your face.

“They confiscated the bike. My mother said it wasn’t ladylike, and my father said– I can’t remember his exact words, probably 'you can’t damage my property,’ or something along those lines. They never let me on a bike again after that.”

“How’s that a happy story?” he frowns.

“I didn’t say it was a happy story. I said it’s a good scar. I got to keep this one. It reminds me of what I’m capable of. Even when I want to forget.”

The sun is rising. A new day colors the sky in vivid bronze. The light filters into the room through the yellow curtains, dust particles suspended in the air, suspended like Frankie’s life when he can’t be with you.

He should leave, but instead, he’s going to fuck you one more time. Pump you full of his come. Brand you with his essence, mark you as his in the only way he can before he has to let you go back to face those people who put murder on his mind.

His hands skim along your thighs to the swell of your ass, roughly kneading the round of your cheeks. His grip settles on your hips, and he bucks up into you, ever so lightly, his length hardening between your lips. He sees it on your face, on your profile bathed in the first ray of sunlight. The moment when you register his intention. The shift in your body, the echo to his desire. So powerful, so immediate, it’s almost like black magic. Your mouth parts open, your back arches. You press down on him.

“That serves him well, your father,” he says, sliding you slowly over his cock.

“How’s that?” you ask, voice laced with lust.

“Look what you’re riding now.”

—

The pillow is damp underneath your back, sweat exuding from your every pore. The last days of March have been unforgiving. You find yourself longing for a room with a proper air conditioning system, instead of the motel’s weak, outdated fan that only swishes hot air.

Frankie’s searing touch doesn’t help. Stroking the back of your arm in a repetitive up-and-down motion, he’s laying across the bed, his head resting heavy on your lap, his long hair curling in every direction in this sweltering atmosphere.

Instead of shying away from the discomfort, you embrace it. With your fingers twined in his locks, you lean into his touch, focusing on his high forehead, and the crease in his brow. On his long eyelashes, the curve of his lips as he speaks, the working of his throat.

Ignoring the dark blue rectangle of night sky, gradually lightening up behind the musty curtains.

Dawn used to be a deliverance. From your thoughts that the night painted black. From the wait, when Adrian wouldn’t come back. From a forced rest that never really came, another disappointment, another let down, another part of your life requiring the artificial help of chemicals.

Now, you resent it. Dawn is when Frankie leaves you behind to go back to his family. Dawn is when he’s the happiest, with his child, without you, in a realm over which you have no grasp.

A rational part of you acknowledges that it’s easier if he leaves before the sun rises. It prevents you from yearning for things you’re afraid to want. Things you cannot have. A life with him in broad daylight. A life without shame.

Recently, he’s become increasingly reluctant to let go of you. Dawn finds him wrapped around your body. Last week, he stayed past daybreak, and fucked you in the sunlight.

The brighter tone of his skin, the lighter shade of his curls, the depth of his mahogany irises hit by a sunbeam, everything was like a knife through your chest.

“Lee?”

The caressing timber of his husky voice brings you back to the soft amber light from the dusty lampshades, to the humming fan, and the blue rectangle.

“I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

“I asked if you like it. Your job.”

“God no, I hate it! Sales productivity statistics and accounting manager, can you picture me?”

He huffs his breathless chuckle, the one that sends tremors rippling through your chest.

“Not really, no.”

“I’m terrible at it, and it’s a problem, but no one says anything because daddy runs the company. I don’t understand why he insists on maintaining me in this position. It’s like a power play. He needs me to be miserable.”

Frankie’s hand pauses, fingers digging into your flesh, and he cranes his neck to peer at your face. You give him a reassuring smile. A genuine one.

“Is that what you studied at university? Accounting and statistics?”

You wipe your sweaty brow with the back of your hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yes. But university was a golden parenthesis. I minored in Russian literature. Not a skill that easily translates to the employment market, but Richard was thoroughly pissed,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows.

“My little punk.”

His smile is brighter than the midday sun. Your index finger darts to the dimple in his right cheek.

“I really like this,” you whisper, your voice dropping, thick with heat and arousal. With affection. “And these,” you add, scraping your fingernail over the bare patches on each side of his jaw.

“Mmh. I’ve noticed,” he says with a smug expression.

“Oh, you have?” You try to laugh off your embarrassment, but what comes out is a quivering sound, betraying the want that hinders your throat.

He grabs your hand and brings it to his mouth, closing his plush lips around your index finger, wrapping his tongue around it. Your belly quakes. You clench around nothing.

He releases your hand, and you hope he’ll get up and move over you, but instead, he reaches for your arm again, resuming his rhythmic strokes.

“So what would you do, if you didn’t do this?” he asks.

You sigh, glancing up, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror above the desk.

“I’ve no idea, really. I never allowed myself to consider the possibility.” And before he can prod any further, you add, “What about you? What would you have liked to do, if you hadn’t become a pilot?”

The diversion doesn’t fool him, you know it. You’re acutely aware of his gaze, scrutinizing your face. You picture the familiar, pensive frown. His hand leaves your arm as he suddenly gets up, air hitting your damp skin where his head was lying.

A few strides, and he steps into the bathroom, disappearing behind the partition wall. The tap runs for a moment, and there’s the distinct sound of wrung out fabric before he comes out, holding the hand towel.

You watch him walk back toward you, his naked body glistening with sweat, highlighted in shadows in the warm lighting. You think about how beautiful it is, about your extensive, intimate knowledge of it. How it feels under your touch, every single part of him. How this knowledge is now constituent of the woman you have become.

You know the callousness of his palms that catches at your clothes. You know the silkiness of his curls around your fingers, the smoothness of his chest against your breasts, the taste of his mouth and the bobbing of his pebbled throat between your lips. The thicker skin of his shoulders, tanned and freckled. The coarseness of the darker hairs under his navel, and how they feel rubbing at your clit. You know the weight of his cock in your hand, on your tongue, inside your walls.

And if you know all this, then, isn’t he yours?

He circles the bed over to your side, by the window, and sits next to you.

Delicately, his fingers circle your wrist. He lifts your arm, and brings your hand to his lips, nuzzling the relaxed curl of your fingers open, to press a kiss inside your palm. His eyes briefly flicker shut as he inhales the transparent skin of your inner wrist.

Lowering your arm, he starts running the towel along it and you jolt at the contact of the cold, wet fabric, letting out a short whimpering sound.

The sensation is sudden, seizing like an electrical shock, but the relief is immediate. The coolness radiates on the surface of your feverish skin, soothing your thoughts. Eyes fluttering shut, you relax into it.

“Maybe an architect,” he starts, the towel gliding up to your shoulder, “or a carpenter. Build stuff, for a change. Instead of destroying them.”

Goosebumps break out along your arms, on your nape, as he skims the towel over the plane of your chest in slow, meticulous movements. As he rounds your breasts with reverent care, one, then the other, your nipples tightening in peaked buds, the low rumble of his voice filling your mind, his words boring into your heart.

The towel brushes up, tracing your collarbone, left, then right. Higher along the column of your throat, curling to the side of your neck. A droplet of water rolls down between your breasts, running along your stomach to end its course into your navel. You sigh.

“I could… run a small business, building houses or crafting furniture. In a small town, somewhere up north. Somewhere with seasons,” he says.

The towel wipes over your trembling belly, over your mound, down your inner thigh. He’s slow, precise, thorough. Careful and gentle with your limp limbs. You’re sinking into the mattress, and floating over it all at once.

You lift a heavy eyelid, your dazed gaze landing on his gorgeous face. He’s solemn, focused on his task.

He readjusts his position on the mattress, so lightly the bed barely moves, and twists his torso to reach down your leg.

“You could be my accountant.”

Your eyes shoot open. He’s facing away from you, wiping the towel under the arch of your foot.

“The last thing you want is to have me as your bookkeeper,” you whisper, your heart beating in your throat.

He turns around, looking straight at you. Soft sad eyes, cold hard stare.

“That’s all I want for the rest of my life, Lee. Be with you night and day.”

—

Everything seems to hinge on you now.

His balance, his happiness, his redemption.

You filled a void, a hollowness inside his chest, he carries you with him wherever he goes. A pale shade of yellow and celadon green.

He tries to convince himself it’s harmless. That he’s not doing anything wrong. That it’s easier this way. Easier than the drugs, easier than placing that burden on his daughter’s shoulders. He tells himself the peace you bring him makes him a better man, and a better father. Makes him worthy again. There might even be some truth to it.

He’s not so sure if he deserves the second chance. If he deserves the parts of you that you confide in him. Your past, your regrets, your secret victories. Your hindered aspirations and the shores of your inner island, within his reach. The touch of your cool skin. The strength of your embrace. The veneration in your eyes. Your trust, your faith. Your time.

But he wants to believe it. It’s more of a fundamental need, really.

And as long as he’s with you, the illusion holds. When you’re sitting next to him in the truck, singing along to the tunes playing on the old crackling stereo as he drives to nowhere, when his body’s wrapped around yours in the dark, when he murmurs against your temple everything and anything that runs through his mind, when you’re coming undone between his hold, with his name on your lips. He believes he can be as good for you as you are for him.

But it’s a thin fabric. One that tears the very minute he steps outside the room, leaving your sleepy form tucked under the starchy sheet.

Day after day, until the next week, he’s left on his own to fence off the thoughts that plague him.

The voice inside him, relentless, somber, asking how much longer this can last. How long before the consequences on your life are irreversible? How long until that man who’s not your husband finds out, and takes action? What repercussions would you face, then?

He knows what he’d be capable of if he ever met him. He doesn’t like to think about it.

You won’t open up about your life with him, no matter how much he prods and pry. He knows your strength. And he chose to trust it.

Seven months, and one week. He sat down with the cardboard calendar hanging above Lupe’s desk at work, and counted. His mind crowded, overflowing with what ifs.

What if he took you out of this shitty motel, for once? Not just to drive into the night, but on a proper date. Dinner. A movie. Fucking lunch. A weekend somewhere. An entire vacation.

What if he took you out of your life?

Lupe started dating this Marcus guy back in December. Now she’s staying at his place every other night. The man is decent, one of the best paramedics he’s worked with, honest, reliable and steadfast. The kind of man Lupe deserves, and that he doesn’t mind around Lua.

He should move out of the house. Lupe hasn’t said anything yet, but it’s just one more grace she gives him that he hasn’t earned. Every time they see each other, Will hints at it, the allusions becoming increasingly less subtle.

The truth is, he sees no point in moving forward with his life if it’s not with you. If it’s not to take care of you, and provide for you. Watch you thrive, keep you safe.

A couple of weeks back, when he’d first thought about it, he’d deemed the idea crazy, painfully aware of all the frustrations a couple’s daily life entails.

Now, it’s the only choice that makes any sense to him.

—

The airport terminal is bustling with flocks of tourists. Noisy families with children too young to travel, transient businessmen and women, groups of youths of dubious soberness flying out after spring break.

Ava stands out in the crowd, her tall frame topped with a short bob of bright purple hair, and you spot her immediately. Standing on your tiptoes, you wave at her until she sees you and starts running in your direction.

She all but leaps into your open arms, and you both grab at each other, leaning into the embrace, laughing. You inhale her scent, searching for that baby smell in the crook of her neck.

“Oh my god, pup, your hair!” you exclaim. “You look terrific!”

“Yeah? You like it?” she asks with a broad smile, running her fingers through her locks.

“I love it! It’s perfect for you!”

In turn, she takes you in, looking you up and down, and lets out a low whistling sound.

“You look good, too. You look better than good. You look gorgeous!”

“Oh shush,” you gesture bashfully, but you can’t hold back your own smile.

The two of you walk to the parking lot to retrieve your car, immersed in bubbly conversation, oblivious to the moving crowds around you.

Driving out of the airport, you glance at the sign indicating the 589 northbound and smile at your precious secret, before making a left turn south.

“Where are you taking me?” she asks, “I’m hungry! Feed me! Feedmefeedmefeedme!” she chants, before breaking into a high-pitched giggle.

“Alright, alright! Hold tight, I’m taking you somewhere special. Do you like burritos?”

“Who doesn’t like burritos? Wait, what? Burritos? Do you even eat burritos? Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

You had to type the address from the crumpled receipt into your GPS. Until today, you’ve never allowed yourself to go there. Not on your own.

It’s a small cantina with tiled walls and concrete floors, colorful trinkets arranged in pyramidal displays behind the counter, chalkboard menus and an endless list of drinks. Star-shaped lanterns are hanging from the ceiling, and the staff is busy but jovial.

Lunchtime on a Saturday, the place is packed with couples and kids, and your pulse accelerates. You hadn’t considered the possibility of running into Frankie and his family.

You place your orders, and after a short wait, you secure a spot in the back of the restaurant. Sitting on high metal stools behind a round table, you catch up on the past three months as if you hadn’t texted every other day, speaking with your mouths full, sauce dripping down your fingers.

The life she’s built for herself in New York treats Ava better than anything you could have hoped for, anything you could have helped her achieve, had she stayed here. A job in a cutting-edge art gallery, where her vibrant personality and her flair for networking are not only recognized but valued, a bustling social life, more thrilling projects than you can keep track of, all of it balanced by Polly’s grounding presence by her side.

Your choices and sacrifices, justified.

Ava puts down the crumbling remnants of her vegetarian burrito to wipe her mouth, and takes a sip of her margarita.

“You sure you don’t want to drink anything?”

“I’m drinking something,” you answer, pointing at your iced tea.

“Whatever you say, girl,” she shrugs.

“It’s too bad you’re not staying with me. It’s idiotic, you’re only here for a couple of days and you have to sleep over at Jules’.”

“Listen, even if your douchebag of a fiancé had agreed to have me, which I know he didn’t, I don’t want to see his ass face.”

“Alright,” you concede, “valid.”

She nearly chokes on her margarita. Setting her glass down, she gives you a pointed stare, emphatically scrutinizing your face.

“Okay, seriously, what’s going on with you? How are you? I mean, that’s obviously the wrong question, you’re fucking thriving. What happened? What’s happening? New medication? Are you finally leaving him?”

“I’m not taking any medication,” you answer with unexpected satisfaction. “But no, I’m not leaving him.”

You catch yourself before you can add another word.

“Are you still seeing that other guy?”

You nod, dipping your head, heat creeping up your neck. Why are you like this?

“I take it he likes burritos, am I right?

“You are correct in your assumption, detective,” you quip with a grin.

There’s a pause as Ava seems to consider her next question. It’s always so easy for you to forget that she’s a grownup now. That she knows you at least as well as you know her. That she has the capacity to outsmart you. The notion flares pride in your chest.

“Is he married? Is that why you haven’t run off together in the sunset yet?”

“I’m not sure if he’s married or not.”

“What does he do in life?”

“I don’t know.”

Ava throws up her hands.

“Girl! What do you know?” she exclaims with only half-feigned exasperation.

I know what’s important. He’s a father. He’s a friend and a brother. A pilot and a veteran. He's thoughtful and observant. He’s organized and practical. And a reluctant sentimental. He learned to swim in the Pacific Ocean. He’s capable of cold-blooded violence, but it will break him. He’s capable of infinite tenderness. And it will save him.

You pull a face, communicating how little you care about what you don’t know. Your sister shifts on the hard stool. She frowns, and when she speaks next, her voice is low, her tone conspiratorial.

“Adrian doesn’t suspect anything?”

“Of course, he does. Or he did. His attention is elsewhere, for now. Seems serious.”

“Again?”

“Again,” you nod.

Ava squirms on her stool again, probably trying to restrain her temper.

Your mind wanders, jumping back through time at light-speed, to when you first met Adrian. To the way he used to hold your hand when you started dating, squeezing your fingers with his. Letting you choose the wine, opening doors for you. To the affection in his smile, and how fast he started calling you babe . The glimmer warming his cold blue eyes when he introduced you to his family. The way he leaves the bathroom mirror splattered in toothpaste every time he brushes his teeth. The way he lets his alarm ring off forever after he’s gotten up even if you’re still in bed, even on weekends.

The ease with which he admitted to all his flings, whenever you confronted him, but never confessed to the one with his coworker, the ambitious young lawyer.

Would you admit to having an affair? Would you use that ugly word that make you crawl out of your skin? Would you deny it? Could you answer No, I’m not seeing anyone? Could you bear the betrayal of denying Frankie’s existence? The truth of what you share, but can’t define?

“Your fiancé is a bag of dicks,” Ava finally says, shaking her head.

“His obliviousness suits me for now,” you remind her.

“I don’t understand why you don’t leave him,” she snaps back, forsaking her reserve. “He got his big promotion, he got what he wanted! And Richard loves him, it’s not like he’s going to fire him just because you two broke up, right? You don’t really love him anymore, do you?” she adds on second thoughts.

The words spill out of you unchecked, once more. Just like in the truck with Frankie, back in January. Months, years for the idea to mature below the surface of your conscious thoughts, the reflective process unbeknown to you.

“I’m scared, Ava. I’m scared shitless. I want to leave. I’ve been wanting to leave for so long. Adrian, the company, that fucking ugly apartment.”

“Well then fucking do it, Lee!”

“If I leave, I have nothing. No job, nowhere to go.”

And if you could give up a relatively comfortable life, would you be able to renounce the refuge of your sadness? Of your life between the folds?

“You have money,” Ava counters. “You have shares. Sell them. Richard can’t stop you. Get a lawyer, if you have to. One that’s not on Adrian’s payroll. And then you can fuck your man Friday every day of the week, how’s that?”

You think about the folded bedspread under the windowsill. About the wet hand towel brushing up your skin. The trucker hat on the desk, and his fingers splayed on the steering wheel. The pleading arch of his brow.

You think about that space between Frankie’s chin and collarbone, that contains your safety, your desires, and all of your hopes.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I should leave a man for another one,” you whisper.

Ava’s eyes widen. She sits up straight, a smirk tugging the corner of her lips.

“I don’t know either, but it looks like this one fucked some sense into you. The irony.”

She’s withholding something, you realize. It’s in her uncharacteristic pauses, her sideways glances. Surprisingly, human interactions were simpler when pills kept you numbed and oblivious. Being attuned to everyone’s minute expressions is a daily trial.

“Why don’t you move to New York with us?” she eventually asks. “We can take you in until you find a job there, for as long as you need.”

There’s that we again. People talking about you in your absence, judging your choices, plotting your future.

“I don’t know how to do anything, Ava. I have zero skills.”

“First off, that’s not true,” she retorts, relentless with her well-rehearsed arguments. “And then, Polly can help you find something. Lee, if you can leave this company, there’s literally nothing you can’t do.”

Suddenly, you feel exhausted. Weary and old. A bone-deep lassitude. And at the heart of it, the realization that this is a liminal sequence in your life.

“Is that why you flew here for the weekend? To ask me to come away with you?”

“Are you mad?” she asks with a face. A little girl’s expression, afraid of being scolded. Your little girl.

“No, I’m not mad, pup. I can’t be mad. You came back for me.”

“Of course, I came back for you. I was never going to leave you behind, silly.”

****

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pimosworld · 9 months ago

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Read it again- part I

I wanted to start a list of recs that I find myself going back to when I’m happy or sad or just in need of something to distract me from the crazy world we live in. This will be multiple parts so consider this the first installment. These will be old/new/current wips and fics.

Please head the warnings in each fic or series.

Triple Frontier

The devils backbone- @ezrasbirdie

Feed your ego- @whatthefishh

War makes thieves and peace hangs them- @brandyllyn

Messy Pile of Affection Series- @flightlessangelwings

The homecoming series- @astroboots

Awakening Series- @romanarose

Switch to channel 2- @autumnleaves1991-blog

My best friends girl- @tropes-and-tales

Moon Knight

Prized possession- @melodygatesauthor

Third ones the charm-(part I, part II) @missdictatorme

Egg Fried Rice- @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

The Jake problem- (part I, part II) @bensolosbluesaber

For science- @projectionistwrites

Joel Miller

Pink- @netherfeildren

The checklist- @thetriumphantpanda

Trick or Treat- @morallyinept

Meet me in the back- @atticrissfinch

Honey do- @kiwisbell

Take care of you- @theidiotwhowritesthings

Javier Peña

It’s never too late- @javierpena-inatacvest

Paranoid heart- @goodwithcheese

Late night texts- @undercoverpena

D.I.Y.- @swiftispunk

Please comment and reblog the authors works that they pour their time, heart and soul into.

Feel free to leave a comment with your favorite re-read or message me directly to include in future installments.

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romanarose · 10 months ago

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Puzzle Pieces Drabbles part 1

Ben Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're dating Tom, a whirlwind romance that came at a low point in your life. Within months, you live with him and he's not as nice as he was in the begining. Tom does things that upset you, Benny finds a way to make it better.

Warnings: IDK what to call this but it's def shitty behavior throughout. Will progressively get worse during the series but let's start with this. Drinking. Messing up something that you spent time on. Emotional cheating and eventually some kissing cheating. Im not doing full series warnings because I don't know what everything will contain. We'll do it chapter by chapter.

A/N: This will be a short series of comfort drabbles where Tom does something shitty and Ben makes it better. No smut. I'm at a low point rn and just want softness.

*****************

Tom was supposed to text you before he brought people over.

It wasn't that you disliked his friends, they were all very kind and respectful of your home. If one was dropping by or it was a spur of the moment thing it was no big deal, but you didn't like having all of them over without warning. There was laundry on the couch and no snacks ready. You were sure they'd be drunk.

"Hey baby!" Tom greets loudly as he walks in, finding you in the kitchen putting some chips in a bowl. He squeezes your ass as he kisses you. You didn't like when he did that around others, he said he was just showing off his sexy girlfriend.

"Hi!" You kiss him back, so excited he's home early you don't mind the booze on his breath. You turn around and set the bowl at the kitchen island, smiling brightly at Frankie, Will, Santi, Ben and a few friends you only sort of knew. It was Ben your eyes lingered on the longest, he was your favorite, always so much fun when he came over.

Ben grinned at you. "I see you finished the puzzle!"

"I did!" Sliding to the kitchen table, giddy to show off your project, you grab the corners. The puzzle was huge, a giant baby Yoda puzzle you were proud of after all the hours spent on it. Ben was over a few days ago when you were working on it. "Look!" You'd seen it on tin tok, practicing pulling a puzzle off the table and keeping it intact. With pride, you hold it up for Tom and his friends to see, beaming. A few so's and ah's came from the guys.

Tom laughed. "oh, is that what you were doing instead of laundry?" And you catch Will glaring at him.

You mumble an apology, and begin to try and lay it down when Tom insists you hold it up again. For a moment, you're happy he wants to see your hard work.

Until he smacks it down.

You watch in shock as all the pieces tumble to the floor, clattering at the tiles. Heat burns at your face in embaressment, unable to look up to see who is laughing at you, because some people are.

When you hear Frankie shout 'What the fuck, Tom!', Tom retaliates that it's just a stupid puzzle from a stupid show.

You're ashamed at having been excited for something Tom thinks is stupid.

The argument escalates but you can't see, kneeling down to pick up the mess. Fuck, the floors needed to be washed too. Tears burned in your eyes and you willed yourself not to cry. You hear Frankie say he needs to step out, and out of the corner of your eye you see Will taking him outside, being the only one who could match his height and weight.

You're tears blur your vision, you don't even realize someone is helping you clean. Wiping them, to see Ben on the floor with you picking up the last few before standing and putting them in the box. Christ he was tall.

"Thank you." You whisper, sniffling.

"Don't thank me." His voice was deep, a thick southern drawl you liked. He sat at the table. "C'mon, honey, let's get started."

When you stand, you look at him in confusion. "Huh."

Ben smiles at you. "The puzzle. Ain't gonna let you do this without me a second time. I love baby Yoda."

Tentatively, you sit at the table with him and get to work on fixing your puzzle. Chunks were still intact, so it wasn't a complete wash.

By the time the guys came back in, you were smiling and laughing again, halfway through the puzzle once more.

**************

That's it, super simple.

I know I should be doing my DBF Joel fix today but I've had an awful time and just want soft rn

I'll do a separate tag list for this bc it's Garret, not Pedro or Oscar so lmk if you wanna be tagged.

or follow @romana-after-dark for updates

Tagging a few people I know read Benny fics

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction@itspdameronthings @miraclesabound @missdictatorme

#ben miller #benny miller #Benjamin miller #ben miller x reader #benny miller x reader #bejmamin miller x reader #Garrett hedlund #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #ben miller fanfiction #benny miller fanfiction #fem reader

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avastrasposts · 1 year ago

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The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 30

We left Frankie in a pretty bad state at the end of the last chapter and now we need to get through that as his girl and the guys begin to really worry about where his actions are leading him. And Joel steps in of course, but perhaps not in the best way.

I just want to add too, that this chapter included a conversation that has been a long time coming but it was very hard to write since neither man wants to talk about it and I can just hope I did them both justice.

I just want to add too, since some people are nervous about it; I LOVE hearing your thoughts and comments on what I write, even if the chapter is months and months old! It's my favourite thing about posting here and on Ao3, hearing your thoughts as you read through the fic, so please, share with me!

Series Master List

Chapter 31 - Warnings have their own post - Word count: 7.7k

You wake with a start, your body jerking you awake with panicked breaths. The bedroom is light, the window faces south and a weak sun is glinting through the closed curtain which means you slept far longer than usual, the sun rises late in the Massachusetts winter months. You rush to push back the comforter and hurry out into the living room. The blanket is pushed back on the couch and Frankie is not there, and not in the kitchen either. As you turn to the bathroom you see what’s missing, his boots, his jacket and backpack.

“Fuck!” you groan loudly and run back to the bedroom, grabbing your clothes from last night and rushing to put them on. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You feel an urgent need to get to Frankie, to talk to him. It’s not like him to leave, certainly not in the middle of an argument, and never, ever, has he left in the morning without saying anything to you. Something is not right, it feels like the two of you have crossed a line that you need to get you both back behind.

You tie your boots and shrug your winter coat on, your first stop is Pope’s place. You hammer on his door and he throws it open, his face falling when he sees your expression.

“Frankie came home drunk last night and now he’s left again, I don’t know where he is!” you blurt out as Pope lets you into his apartment.

“Slow down, hermana,” he says, grabbing hold of your shoulders, steadying you, “From the beginning.”

“Frankie and I got into an argument about what he did when he was on that run with Will, he couldn’t understand why I thought he was too violent,” you say, trying to calm yourself, but your hands are shaking and Pope grabs them, holding them together between his own. “Then Joel came by, right in the middle of it, something about planning a new run, and Frankie just left with him, saying he needed to think. And then he came back late last night , really drunk and passed out on the couch, and now he’s gone! He never leaves without saying goodbye and I don’t know where he is!” Your voice breaks on the last word and Pope lets go of your hands, bending down to grab his boots.

“We’ll go find him, we’ll go to Benny’s first, Tommy said something yesterday about meeting there.” He looks up at you while he laces his boots, “Don’t worry, hermana, it’s early still, he can’t have gone that far.”

…

“Tell me again what this FEDRA guy told you about the raiders?” Benny asks Joel as they duck under a broken piece of the highway and head into an old sewage tunnel.

“A small FEDRA patrol saw a bunch of them down in Dorchester, if we take them out, we get to keep the supplies,” Joel replies, stepping around a dead rat.

“And you trust this guy?”

“Yeah, he owes me a favor, I saved his ass a couple of times. And he’s given me tips before, they’ve always been solid, nothing this big though.”

“Alright, as long as you think it’s a legit tip,” Benny nods and falls back a bit, Frankie’s right behind him, Tommy taking up the rear.

“You ok, Fish? You look a bit pale,” Benny says, his voice lower for the benefit of his friend.

“Yeah, just slept like shit, and we had a fucking early wake up call,” Frankie grumbles, pulling the bill of his cap down lower over his eyes.

“Tell me about it,” Benny sighs, “Eve just woke up to say goodbye, then she went right back to sleep. Wish I could’ve stayed in bed with her.”

“Mmhm, same,” Frankie mutters, pausing as they come to the end of the tunnel.

“Ok, on your toes now, we've got to go out in the open here,” Joel says, waving the other three men forwards.

…

The trek down to Dorchester is smooth, and it doesn’t take long for them to find the raiders' small camp. They’ve set up on the top floor of an office building and Benny and Frankie silently take out the two guards at the bottom of the stairs. It gets messy when they reach the top and they have to open fire but Joel tosses in a homemade smoke bomb and after that they can just pick off the raiders as they come stumbling out.

They pick through the raider’s supplies and fill their packs, it’s a pretty good haul and Benny starts searching for any food they might’ve hidden, coming across a door that’s been blocked off with a filing cabinet.

“Hey, Catfish! Give me a hand with this!” he calls to Frankie, “Cover me in case they’ve locked a fucking infected in here or something.”

Frankie stands a few feet from the door with his rifle raised as Benny puts his shoulder to the filing cabinet and pushes it out of the way. The door swings open and Benny jumps out of the way.

“Oh fuck, shit! Man, that’s foul!”

The dead boy of a young woman falls out across the doorway, her body must’ve been propped against the door, and judging by the stench, she’s been dead a while. The body of another young woman is curled up on a dirty mattress, she’s less far gone, her emaciated features still clear. Both women are naked and Benny swallows hard and glances back at Frankie as they both realize why the women were locked up.

“We should’ve killed those fucking raiders slower,” Frankie growls, turning away from the room and Benny follows him.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here and back to the QZ”.

Back down at street level again Joel takes the lead and moves down the way they came, covering a couple of blocks before Benny suddenly signals for everyone to halt.

“Heads up, I hear a car,” he calls in a low voice to the others.

“More raiders,” Joel says, “C’mon, we’ll ambush them, this is the only cleared street.” He looks around the block they’re on and points to cars that have been pushed aside on either side of the street. “Frankie, Benny, hide behind either car, cover me. Tommy, get behind me. I’ll make them stop, usual way should work, if not, just shoot ‘em.”

“Joel, you sure?” Benny interrupts, “How do we know they’re raiders? We should hang back and observe, see if they go for the base we cleared.”

“No, then we just have to clear them out again and this time they’ll be on their guard,” Joel scowls, “Get in position!”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Benny shakes his head, looking over at Frankie who’s already moved into cover, “Fish? You ok with this?”

“Joel’s right, it’s probably the same group of raiders, we need to take them out.”

“Get in position, Benjamin, or stay the fuck out of our way, they’re almost here,” Joel points to the other car, staring at Benny. The younger man takes a deep breath, glancing over at Frankie again who motions with his head to get behind the car.

“Fuck!” Benny growls and grips his rifle, ducking behind cover with an angry scowl.

Joel quickly gets into position as the rumbling engine comes closer, keeping an eye out for the car. As it gets closer Benny sees it, it’s a small beat up sedan with several bullet holes in the sides. He glances over at Frankie and gives him a hand signal, indicating three people inside. Frankie nods and passes on the message to Tommy just as the car drives down the block they’re on. Ahead of him, Benny suddenly hears Joel give up a loud shout, stumbling out of the alley into the path of the car, his hand clutching his side, the other raised to the driver.

The others watch, guns ready and hidden out of sight, as the car barrells towards Joel, who’s staggering across the road. Suddenly the driver slams the brakes and the car skids to a halt in front of Joel. From his hiding place Benny sees the driver open the door and step up on the instep, aiming a gun at Joel.

“Hey, I-I need help, p-please,” Joel stutters, holding up the hand that’s not holding his side, where he’s conveniently hidden his handgun.

“What’s wrong with you?” the driver calls as Joel stumbles closer, the man is still half hidden behind the door and Joel’s trying to get around to his side so he half falls to the side, taking several stuttering steps sideways.

“You infected?” the driver says, following Joel with his gun, “Can’t help you then I’m afraid.”

“R-raiders,” Joel coughs, “ran into a whole bunch.”

Benny looks over at Frankie, he’s got a clear shot at the driver and he’s aiming at him. Benny signals at him to hold his fire, these guys don’t sound like raiders, but Frankie’s shaking his head, squeezing his rifle as the man continues to keep his gun on Joel.

“Be careful, Dan!” a man in the car suddenly calls and Joel straightens up, pulling his gun, aiming at the man. A shot rings out and the driver slumps forward, a clean shot though his head.

“God dammit, Frankie!” Benny yells, lifting his own rifle as the man in the car dives for the fallen man’s gun. Joel fires on him but misses and the man takes off running. On his right Ben hears Tommy open fire on the third person in the car as Joel yells.

“Shoot his leg, Frankie, take him down alive!” The man is running as fast as he can down the block but two shots ring out and he yells, tumbling to the ground as blood bursts from his thigh.

“Secure him, Benny,” Frankie yells and advances on the car, rifle raised. Benny keeps his gun on the fallen man and moves up to him, he’s splayed on his back, gripping his thigh, whimpering.

“Oh fuck, please, please don’t kill me!” he says, trying to crawl backwards away from Benny.

“Just stay still, I’m not gonna hurt you unless you give me a reason,” Benny says, keeping his distance as he glances back at the car. Frankie’s jogging towards him and behind him, Joel steps into the car and a woman screams.

“No, no, don’t hurt her! She’s my sister!” the man on the ground shouts and Benny turns his head back to him as Frankie joins him.

“What’s going on, Fish?” he says in a voice low enough for the man not to hear.

“The third passenger is a woman, Joel’s questioning her about who they are and where they’re going.”

“Fish! These guys are obviously not raiders, what the fuck are we doing?” Benny glances back at the car as another high pitched scream comes from the woman and the man on the ground shouts.

“Get off her you fucking prick! I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

Frankie raises his rifle and aims at the man, “Easy there, he’s just questioning her.”

“What the fuck, Frankie, this is not how we treat civilians!”

“What fucking civilians? We can’t trust anyone, Benny, you saw what the raiders did to those two women!” Frankie growls.

“Yeah, but these guys are barely armed!” Benny nudges the dropped gun on the ground with his boot, badly maintained and rusty.

“And how the fuck were we supposed to know that?” Frankie asks, his rifle still trained on the bleeding man who’s whimpering, clutching his leg and looking towards the car.

“Maybe we don’t attack just anyone who drives past!” Benny hisses at Frankie, his eyebrows drawn tight with anger and frustration. “This is so fucked up, Fish!”

“Is he still alive?” Joel barks as he walks over, leaving Tommy to watch over the woman in the car.

“Yeah, but he’s bleeding, we need to get a tourniquet on that leg soon,” Benny replies, “Joel, what the fuck are we doing here? These guys are not raiders.”

Joel doesn’t reply, instead he walks up to the man on the ground and kneels down, Frankie’s gun is still trained on him, but Benny has let his drop, pointing it at the ground instead.

“You sister is it?” he asks of the man, putting his hand over the gunshot wound on the thigh.

The man nods, looking petrified under Joel’s hard stare.He yelps loudly when Joel’s hand squeezes the injured area, digging his fingers in.

“Your sister told me where you came from, and where you’re going. You’d better tell me the same thing she did, or I’m telling my guy over there to shoot her knee off, you understand?” Joel’s voice is hard and low, slowly squeezing the man’s leg tighter.

“Worcester!” the younger man blurts out, “We came from Worcester, and we’re heading for the Boston QZ but we got attacked and got lost. Please don’t hurt her, she’s my only family!”

“Have you got any supplies apart from what’s in the car?”

“No, no, I s-swear, we’ve got n-nothing!” the man stutters, groaning under the pain of Joel’s hand digging into his injured leg, “Please, we’ve got nothing!”

“Good boy,” Joel growls, easing off the man's leg and standing up.

He comes back to Benny and Frankie, wiping his hand on his trouser leg, “They both say the same thing. I say we leave ‘em and take the car, we can trade for it or stash outside the wall, might come in handy sometime.”

“Fuck, Joel, we need to take them with us, we can’t leave them out here,” Benny says and looks to Frankie for support but he just gives a hesitant shrug.

“I don’t know Benny, we can’t trust them,” he says.

“What fucking choice do we have? Leave them injured out here with no guns?” Benny snarls back at him.

“They’re not our responsibility!” Joel snaps, “Let’s fucking- “

All three men freeze as the first tell tale sounds echo between the buildings, the snarling shrieks of dozens of infected reaching them.

“Runners! Runners!” Tommy yells from the car, “Come on, we need to fucking go!” He rushes to the driver’s side of the car, jumping in and the woman sees her chance, bolting from the car and running for the alley.

“Leave her, just leave her!” Joel yells as he grabs Frankie and starts running towards the car, “Just start the car, Tommy!”

“Benny, no! Leave him!” Frankie shouts as he sees Benny moving towards the injured man on the ground. “Fucking leave him!”

“Please, please…just kill me” the man begs, looking back over his shoulder and Benny follows his gaze.

“Fuck!” he gasps, frozen to the spot for a second before he raises his gun and fires, the man slumping onto the asphalt. Benny spins around and starts running after Frankie, the horde of infected barrelling down the street screeching loudly.

“Benny! I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Frankie yells, “Get in the car!”

Tommy’s already got the car moving as Benny catches up, grabbing hold of Frankie’s arm and getting pulled into the back seat.

“Floor it, Tommy!” Joel shouts, looking back over his shoulder, out the back window.

…

Thank fuck Tommy’s a good driver, he speeds through the streets, leaving the horde far behind. He only slows down once they enter the area around the QZ and turns off onto a narrow street that Joel directs him to.

“Here, down there, park between those two cars and we’ll throw some trash on it.”

The four men quickly make the car look unusable and head towards the QZ, splitting up as they get inside, stepping out into a quiet alley a few blocks from the wall..

“Alright, good run, except for the fucking infected,” Joel says, clapping Frankie on the back, “I’ll see you guys at the bar in a couple of days.”

Frankie nods and Benny throw the brothers a two fingered salute as they leave.

“Hey Fish, wait up, we need to talk,” Benny says as Frankie turns to leave too.

“If you’re gonna yell at me for how we handled the people in the car, fucking save it, I already got an earful from Will after our last run,” Frankie says, his shoulders hunched and eyebrows pulled tight, “I don’t need another lecture on how we’re using army tactics on civilians.”

“Frankie, man, c’mon, you’ve got to admit, that was pretty fucking bad? We should’ve just observed them, not fucking attacked,” Benny rubs his hand over his face, “I mean, why the fuck did Joel even pull that stunt with forcing them to stop? And why did you open fire? I’ve never seen you jump the gun like that, Fish.”

“The guy in the car, I thought he was about to pull a gun on Joel, so I shot first.”

“And the interrogation technique? You taught him that?”

“So what? We do what we need to do to survive.”

Benny shakes his head, “That was not about survival, I don’t know what the fuck that was!”

“Just fucking leave it, Benny! Ok?” Frankie snaps, scowling at his friend, “I’ll see you later, I need to get something done.” He shoulders his backpack and heads off in the opposite direction of the apartment.

“Fish, c’mon!” Benny calls after him, but Frankie just gives a dismissive wave of his hand without turning his head as he rounds the corner.

“Fuck…” Benny mutters and stalks off towards the radio office, he needs to see you.

…

It feels like deja vu when you find Benny outside the building where Sean lives and has the radio office.

“I’ve got to talk to you about Frankie,” he says and you feel like your heart stops, you’d been trying to find Frankie all morning, until you had to go to the radio office. Pope promised he’d keep looking, checking back at the apartment during the afternoon.

“Did something happen to him? Pope and I have been looking for him all day!” you say, grabbing hold of Benny’s arm and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“He didn’t tell you we were going on a run with Joel and Tommy today?”

“Benny, is he ok?” You feel like shaking him but you limit yourself to grabbing his arm tighter and Benny nods.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine, he’s fine, he came back with me but he said he had to do something when we got back.” Benny takes in your anxious looking face as it slips into relief and returns your grip on his arm, putting his hand over yours. “He didn’t tell you and he hasn't come to see you yet? Is something going on with you guys?”

You sigh and feel yourself deflating, your shoulders sagging with relief that Frankie’s ok, but at the same time, that lead weight settles in your stomach as you worry about his behavior again.

“Walk me home, Benny, please,” you ask, “if you have time?” You feel like Benny’s friendly presence next to you is the only thing that will make your feet move down the street as you chew on your bottom lip.

“Sure, I’ll walk you, I need to get back to Eve but...but maybe that can wait, what’s going on?”

“Tell me what happened when you were with him today,” you say, taking his arm and leaving the front entrance.

Benny looks around the two of you as you start walking down the street, checking that there is no one near that can overhear first and then he tells you the whole thing.

“Fuck…” you sigh for what feels like the twentieth time as Benny ends by telling you that Frankie took off after they got back. “His PTSD has been getting worse and both Pope and Will brought it up in the past few days. That last run with Will, things went bad and Pope’s been noticing his behavior being off too.”

You’ve reached the door to your building and you stop, looking up at Benny’s frown. “Yesterday I tried telling him that I think he shouldn’t go on runs with Joel anymore. Joel triggers something in Frankie and…I don’t know…I feel like maybe they aren’t good for each other. They’ve both suffered an unimaginable loss, in the worst possible way, and when Frankie got help, Joel seems to have had to deal with it on his own and it’s made him…just…very dark, like he’s just ‘existing’ and doing what he needs to do to survive…”

“And he has no empathy for others,” Benny fills in, “he didn’t even stop to consider that the people in the car could be just people trying to get to the QZ, and he left them with no second thought when the infected came, it was all about eliminating a potential threat and then about saving himself and Tommy.” Benny swipes his cap off his head and drags his hand through his hair, sighing. “I’m not even sure he would bother to save Frankie and myself, if we hadn’t gotten to that car in time.”

“But Frankie doesn’t see it,” you say, “and when I asked him to not go on runs with Joel anymore because I think it makes his PTSD worse, we got in a huge fight,” you sigh deeply, dropping your eyes to your toes and you feel Benny’s hand on your shoulder. “He got really mad when I said I thought he was too violent with this guy, Frankie threatened to gouge his eye out. But Frankie said he only did what was needed to get the antibiotics for Sean’s grandkid.” You swipe your hand over your cheek as tears start to drip down, “Fuck, I don’t wanna cry again,” you say, anger seeping through your voice, “Fuck!”

You tilt your head back up and look at Benny’s worried eyes, “Come on, it’s you and Frankie, you’re everything to him, one fight doesn’t ruin it,” he says, rubbing your shoulder

“He walked out, Benny, right in the middle of the fight. He’s never done that before, he just took off with Joel. And then he came home really drunk and we started arguing again and he passed out on the couch, he said he thought I didn’t want him in my bed anymore. And then this morning he left again, without saying anything. He went outside the wall and didn’t even say goodbye.” Tears spill over properly now and you sniffle, trying to stem the flow, but the nerves of the day catches up with you. Benny starts rubbing his hands up and down your arms, trying to comfort you.

“Let’s get you inside, Frankie might be home already, you two need to talk it out, c’mon,” Benny gently hooks his arm around your shoulder and guides you through the door and up the stairs. You fumble out your keys and unlock your front door, opening up to a still dark apartment.

“Alright, he’s not home yet, but he’ll be here soon, I’ll wait with you until he turns up,” Benny says and starts to lift off his still heavy backpack and you stop him.

“No, please, go home to Eve. I know she’s worried about you since you went outside, get back home. I’ll be fine, and Pope’s next door if I need anything.” You put your hands on his chest and try, and fail, to nudge the big man towards the door.

“You sure? I’ll wait for him, and slap some sense into him if needed, just say the word,” Benny replies, tilting his head down to catch your eyes properly.

“I’m sure, Benny, please go home,” you give him another pointless shove and he gives with a small smile.

“Ok, if you’re sure I’ll go, but give me a hug first,” he says and bends down, capturing you between his long arms. Benny’s signature bear hugs are all encompassing and he lifts you up, shaking you gently and making you giggle through your tears.

“Just remember, it’s you and Frankie, you’re the love of his life. All he does, he does for you, if he’s lost his way, all he needs is for you to bring him back home. To you.”

“Benny, when did you become so insightful?” you smile weakly as he puts you down on your feet.

“Not insightful, I’ve just watched you two over the past, what is it? Eleven years now? And with Eve, I get it, what you two have. I’d do anything for her, and I know that’s all Frankie ever wants to do for you.”

“Get back to her, Benny, before you make me cry again,” you say, giving his arm a final squeeze before he steps through the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll come by the radio tomorrow and check on you, ok?”

“Ok, Benny, stay safe, love you!”

“Love you too, sis!” he calls as he jogs down the stairs.

…

You try to keep busy while you wait for Frankie; preparing dinner, cleaning the apartment, you even pull out your gun and start disassembling it on the coffee table to get it cleaned. It’s dark before he comes home, you hear his footsteps in the hallway first and then the key. Even before he opens the door you know something’s wrong, he struggles with the key in the lock, fumbling with the handle and you stand up, leaving the pieces of the gun on the table.

“Frankie?” you ask as the door shuts behind him, “Are you ok?” You walk over to the front door, and he glances up at you before he drops his backpack by the door.

“Yeah, ‘s fine,” he mumbles, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the hook. “Went out with Benny today.”

“I know, Benny stopped by the radio,” you say, your body freezing as he shuffles past, only briefly pausing to drop a peck on your cheek, perfunctory. He smells of whiskey, fresh whiskey, like he’s just been drinking.

You don’t even know where to start as you follow him into the kitchen, the argument last night, him leaving this morning without saying anything, his run with Joel today or the way he stumbles around the kitchen table towards the stove.

“Frankie…” you say again, making your voice soft, you feel like you’re talking to a child, or a wild animal, not your sweet Frankie who you know so well. When he doesn’t even react, let alone look over at you, you dig your nails into the palms of your hands, reminding yourself that this is his PTSD, this is not your Frankie.

“Frankie, talk to me please,” you start again, coming up next to him at the counter, you put your hand on his arm.

“What did Benny tell you? That we went out again?” he says, still not looking at you, his tone clipped.

“Yes, he said you took out some raiders and then…” you pause, you don’t know how to phrase it but Frankie does it for you. He steps away from you, and leans against the counter on the other side of the kitchen.

“H-he told you we took out three people in a car, that I shot one of the guys when I shouldn’t have, right? That’s what he told you? T-that I’m out of control and violently torturing civilians?” His voice is harsh, there’s an edge to it you don’t recognise and he’s still not looking at you.

“He’s worried about you, Frankie, and I’m too,” you say, “you haven’t been yourself these past few months.” You try to find his eyes but he’s got the bill of his cap pulled low, eyes on the floor two feet in front and his fingers are twitching, nervously.

“I already told you, I do what I need to do, to stay safe,” he mutters, the edge still sharp in his voice, crossing his arms tight over his chest, crossing his legs too, closing himself off from you.

“Benny said they were civilians, just trying to get to the QZ- “ you start to say but Frankie suddenly flares up.

“We’d just taken out a gang of raiders! It could’ve been more of them! The guy was about to pull a fucking gun on Joel, so I took the shot!” He throws his arms out, meeting your eyes for the first time. “You can’t fucking trust anyone, it’s us or them and I do what I need to do to survive! They could’ve attacked and killed us instead, then what?”

“But you were never like that before, Frankie!” you can’t help but raise your voice in frustration. When he worked with Pope in Arlington, or when you traveled up to New York with Benny and Pope, he was never so calloused, so distrusting and rash. “You used to observe, calculate the risks, you never rushed into situations, but since you started working more with Joel…I don’t know Frankie, it’s like he rubs off on you.” You drop your hands to your sides, you suddenly realize you’ve mimicked Frankie and thrown them open but now you sigh, lower them and take a deep breath.

“Frankie…I know you’re capable of real violence,” you shake your head, sighing, “but you’re not a violent person, it’s like it’s getting away from you when you work with Joel and I do-”

“Maybe I am a violent person now? This is the person I need to be now, to keep myself safe, to keep us safe!” Frankie slams his hands against the cupboard and stalks out of the kitchen, turning and gripping the back of the couch as he gets to it, looking back at you. “I do it for you, don’t you get it?! Maybe this is the person I have to be now to keep myself safe, for you, to stay alive for you because I have to keep you safe!”

“Then stay here, stay in the QZ,” you follow him towards the living room. “I don’t want you to go out any more if this is what you have to do. It’s destroying you!”

“That's all I can do!” he shouts back at you, “That’s all I’m tra-trained for, I’m the b-best at it! It’s the only thing that makes a difference!”

“Frankie, you don’t have to-” you begin, but Frankie just shakes his head and starts pacing the living room like he can’t hear you.

“E-every time I leave you make me p-promise to come back safe, did you ever stop to think that this is what I have to do to keep that promise to you?! I have to stay alive to keep you safe, I promised you that and now you think I’m a monster for what I have to do?”

Frankie slams his hands hard against the wall and spins round, stomping across the living room again and you’re worried now, he’s spiraling out of control, his voice becoming more and more unstable. “I d-do this for you, I stay a-alive for you, don’t you get it! I would’ve fucking ki-killed myself after she died! I was so fucking close to it, so-s-so fucking close to just walking into that fucking lake and ending it! If-if it wasn’t for you still in that cabin!” His voice is rising to a shout, spinning around and slamming his fist into the wall again, “I just..I promise to come back every time, I have to come back but you still think I’m just violent, just a fucking monster, just a mo-monster, I-I can’t- “

“Frankie, c’mon man!”

You didn’t even hear the front door open but Pope suddenly walks into the living room. You’re frozen by the kitchen as Frankie paces, more and more agitated, back and forth, his arms waving in front of him as his mind whirls. You can see his glassy eyes, his breathing is starting to get erratic but you have no idea how to stop this. But Pope strides over to his friend and stands in front of him, forcing him to come to a halt.

“Francisco, cálmate, hermano. Por favor;” he tries to catch Frankie’s eyes, gently placing his hands on his shoulders and holding on as Frankie tries to shrug them off, looking at him with almost unseeing eyes.

“Frankie…fuck…” he sighs as he scans his face, “you’re high as a fucking kite. What did you take?”

At that Frankie’s eyes snap up to Pope’s, “Fucking nothing!” he snarls, wrenching himself away and stumbling back towards the couch.

“Fish, I’ve seen you high more times than you can remember, I know when you’ve been using, man,” Pope says as Frankie grabs the back of the couch again, hiding his eyes beneath the bill of his cap again, refusing to look at you or Santi.

“Frankie…” you try, your voice wobbling as you recognize the signs in him but he just shakes his head.

“I had a few drinks with Joel, I’m not fucking high,” he mutters but Santi shakes his head.

“C’mon, Fish, I know you’re struggling, she knows it too, we just wanna help you,” he takes a few steps towards Frankie, the frustration seeping through into his voice and Frankie backs away, turning around and going for his backpack.

“I’m not fucking high,” he snarls over his shoulder, rifling through his backpack.

“Fine, you’re not using,” Santi says, “then show us your pack.” He motions towards the bag at Frankie’s feet and the way Frankie reacts makes your stomach sink another notch. His hands clench instinctively around the opening, pulling it closer but Pope steps in and reaches for the bag. Frankie abruptly stands up and stumbles back, grabbing it but his movements are slow and Pope’s faster, he snatches the backpack from Frankie, holding it away from him.

“Coño, pendejo!” Frankie snarls, trying to grab the bag back from Pope, “What the fuck are you doing?!” “What the fuck are you doing, Frankie?” Pope replies with a sneer, shoving him back and Frankie, already unsteady on his feet, stumbles backwards and falls onto the couch. “You told me yourself, never trust a fucking junkie.”

Keeping an eye on Frankie, while you stand stunned by the kitchen door, your hands gripping the door frame so hard your fingers ache, Pope opens the backpack and digs through it. It doesn’t take him long, under Frankie’s dull eyes he soon pulls out a small baggie with white pills. Pope sighs and holds it out to Frankie.

“What is it?”

“Painkillers,” Frankie mumbles, but his eyes drop from Pope to his feet, his lie so obvious it forces tears into your eyes.

“Frankie…” you whisper and he glances up at you and meets your eyes for a second before he looks away. But even in that brief glance you see the pain and guilt in his eyes and it pushes you to move, walking around the coffee table and sinking down on the couch next to him. You raise your hand to put it on his shoulder but before you touch him he’s on his feet, snatching the bag from Pope’s hand.

“It’s fucking painkillers, ok?!” he yells, his aggression flaring up as he stumbles towards the front door.

“Catfish, for fucks sake,” Pope shouts as his patience snaps, “get your fucking shit together, man!”

“Please, Frankie, you know this is your PTSD making you spiral, we’ve been here before,” you plead with him, standing up again as he stops with his back to you and the room. But whatever is in his system has control of him now as he shakes his head, his fingers twitching around the small baggie in his hand. Neither of you are getting through to him now, his body language closed off, even with his back turned you see the walls go up. But still, you go up to him where he stands by the door. His chin is on his chest, his shoulders up by his ears, you can feel the tension rolling off him as he fights whatever demon is in his mind. Gently you put your hand on his arm, and he trembles under your touch, giving the smallest shake of his head.

“Frankie…” you whisper, “please, stay with me, we’ve done this before, we can do it again, I love you.”

He shudders, a long held breath rushes out of him and he shakes his head again.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “I love you, I’m sorry.” He pushes open the door and his arm slips from under your hand. You hear him run down the stairs and Santi comes up behind him, he’s got his coat on.

“I’ll follow him, I won’t let him get into more trouble, I’ll get him back,” he gives you a quick squeeze and hurries after Frankie.

…

Frankie rushes through the streets, the bag of oxy burning a hole in his pocket. He has no plan for where to go, he left his coat back at the apartment and the cold March air is making him shiver. Picking up his pace he turns at random, down a street, and then another, losing himself in the narrow alleys of North End, but it doesn’t surprise him when he finds himself in front of Joel’s apartment building, a dirty red brick block. It makes sense; to end up here. He pushes the door open and stumbles up the stairs.

Joel’s slow to answer his front door, Frankie’s almost given up, prepared to sit and wait by the door, when the older man finally opens up and looks him up and down. “Hey Frankie, what’s up? You’ve got no jacket on.”

“I ran out on it, left in a hurry,” Frankie mumbles in reply, his mind is still foggy, he can’t quite focus on Joel. “I got some of your supply on me, Pope found it in my bag.”

“Ah, bet he wasn’t too happy about that,” Joel says, waving Frankie inside. “He ain’t too happy about me wanting to trade what we got up in Concord.�� He closes the door and motions to the couch and Frankie slumps down on it as Joel goes to the kitchen and pulls out two glasses and a bottle.

“Give me one of those too,” Joel motions to Frankie’s pocket and sits down at the other end of the couch. Frankie pulls out the baggie and pour out the pills on the coffee table, handing one to Joel, taking another one for himself and they both down it with the whiskey.

Joel’s not one for talking much and Frankie’s grateful, he just needs a place to forget everything for a while. And for a long time both men sit at opposite sides of the couch, lost in their own minds as the chemicals take over. Frankie tilts his head back, his eye following the cracks in the ceiling until they slip closed and he just feels himself breathing, finally peace takes over in his mind as the fog settles.

Joel slips in another pill and another few large mouthfuls of the liquor, leaning back against the back of the couch and rubbing his eyes with his hand.

“You lost your daughter,” he says, almost surprising himself when the words come out.

Frankie doesn’t move, his eyes closed, “Yeah,” he squeezes his eyes shut, little sparks of red and yellow blossoming behind his eyelids, but he sees something else in his mind.

He tilts his head forward, opening his eyes and focusing on his hands, “Yeah,” he says again, rubbing his thumb over the fleshy part of his hand, he can almost see the blood on it. “I did, right at the beginning.”

“She got infected?”

Frankie balks at the question, the image of his little girl, mycelium under her skin, flashes up in his mind. He’s seen multitudes of infected since, killed so many, seen the thin white strands wriggle towards him as they attack and die in front of him, but he never lets himself commit what they look like to memory. This one is the only one that he remembers.

“Yeah,” he nods, “one of the first days.”

He and Joel have never talked about this before. He never talks to anyone about Lucía or what happened to her, not even to the one person who knows what he went through in the aftermath.

He glances over at Joel, he’s still leaning back on the couch, his hand rubbing over his eyes.

“D’you ever talk about Sarah?”

“No.” The answer is fast and curt.

Both men sit in silence for a few minutes, Joel shifts on the couch, looking over at Frankie, “Everyone’s lost someone. No one wants to hear about her.”

“How did she die?” Frankie locks eyes with Joel, suddenly it feels important to know how Sarah died. Joel knows how Lucía died, it feels important to know how Sarah died too. Joel meets his eyes for a few beats before he drops his gaze and stares at the wall opposite.

“It was the first night. We were trying to get away from town, ran into the military perimeter, a soldier shot at us. She…” Joel loses his words, his jaw clenching shut as he grinds his teeth, dropping his head between his shoulders.

Frankie feels the fog swirl around his mind, letting the minutes slip by while Joel stares down at his watch.

“I shot Lucía,” Frankie says, like a confession to Joel, to the man whose daughter was also shot. As if it makes a difference how they died. The daughters died and so did the fathers, when they failed.

The fog in his head clears slightly and behind the mist he sees the gun in his hand, aimed at his little girl, who no longer recognises him as she screeches and flails under the weight of her mother’s body. He reaches forward to the coffee table and takes two more pills, swallowing them down with the last of the whiskey in his glass, letting the fog cloud his mind again.

Joel blinks and looks at Frankie as if he has to think about what the other man just said, “You shot her?”

“I had to, I’d seen what they were turning into. I couldn’t…”

Joel leans forward, refilling his own glass and Frankies before he leans back, “I would’ve done the same.”

The two men sit in silence as the fog swirls through them, making thoughts slow to appear and slow to disappear.

“Sarah,” Frankie says, pushing a thought to the front of his hazy mind, “S-she was a great kid, L-Lucía loved her, fucking loved her. Didn’t stop talking about her for days after we got back.”

He grips the glass and takes a sip, shaking his head, trying to remember the comforting thought he just had, it’s stuck somewhere in his chest, he can feel it.

“I don’t…I do-don’t believe in God, I l-lost any faith I had in the army, you know. S-so many fucked up things that I saw, that I did,” he says, lifting his glass, motioning to the world outside. “I don’t believe in any god, any-anything. But I wish I did, because if Sarah d-died on that first night, that means that wherever they went, our kids, our little girls…Sarah was there waiting for Lucía. They weren’t alone,” Frankie pauses, he feels his chest constrict, that feeling like he can’t breathe threatening to overtake him. “I’d like to believe they weren’t alone,” he whispers, but in the quiet room, Joel still hears him.

Frankie slumps back down on the couch, spilling whiskey down his shirt, his burst of clarity suddenly spent, “They would’ve had each other…”

“We failed them,” Joel says, his voice low, Frankie can hear the fog in his mind too. “We should’ve kept them safe, but all we did was stand there. Couldn’t keep ‘em safe.”

Frankie nods, he feels his brain slowing down again, “I made so many mistakes…but she was the best mistake I made…couldn’t keep her safe,” he takes a large mouthful of the whiskey, it burns on the way down, distracting his mind for a second as he coughs.

“I don’t talk about Sarah, not even to Tommy,” Joel says, rubbing his thumb over the rim of the glass. “ ‘S’no point, just makes me angrier, I get by better if I don’t think about her.”

Frankie slumps down deeper into the couch, curling himself around the glass in his hand, watching the whiskey swirl around as the fog in his brain follows the motions.

“How do you stay alive,” he mumbles to the room and Joel tilts his head to look at the younger man, curled into the corner of the ratty old couch. The question is more for himself than for Joel but Joel answers anyway.

“For family,” he nods slowly, once, to himself, “for family, for Tommy. And for your woman, she kept you alive.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement and Frankie sighs.

“She doesn’t think I should do runs any more, and she’s right, I know she’s right,” he mutters, pushing his cap off his head and rubbing his temple with his free hand, the fog is lifting again and he feels the edge of panic in his mind, but he can’t remember what he’s should panic about.

“Why not? The drugs?” Joel motions at the dwindling pile of pills on the coffee table and Frankie grabs two of them, knocking them back with the whiskey still in his hand.

“My head is fucked up. From the army. ‘S’gets worse sometimes, ‘s’gets worse when I do runs, when I do violent things.” Frankie sighs, “She doesn’t like it.”

Joel snorts, a mirthless sound, “Men like us, you ‘n me, we do the violent things so others don’t have to, you keep her safe.”

“S’what I t-told h-her,” Frankie grumbles, he can feel his head getting heavier, the fog is so thick he can’t even push his tongue through it, it’s sticking to his teeth. “I do it-do it, t-to keep he-her safe.” He sinks further into the couch, his head leaning on the back of it as he wills his hand to lift up the glass to his lips and drain it. “I-I do it t-to come b-back t-to h-er.”

Through the fog in his own mind Joel sees Frankie tip forward, the empty glass in his hand, as he passes out. Joel’s glass clatters to the floor as he stumbles to his feet and staggers into the bedroom, falling onto the bed, passing out as his head hits the pillow.

Chapter 31

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse @harriedandharassed @meveispunk @hiroikegawa @jwritesfanfics @vickie5446

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rayslittlekitten · 2 years ago

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Silver Fox

“Dad Will” Masterlist

A/N: Okay, so had this idea of Will feeling self-conscious about getting older, but also Will just being so faithful. It's a great look on him. This was actually inspired by a moment in one of the "Die Hard" movies, believe it or not.

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,855

Pairings: Dad!Will "Ironhead" Miller x Wife F!Reader; Dad!Will & Daughter OC (Lucy); Dad!Will & Uncle!Benny; Dad!Will & OFC

Plot: Will gets self-conscious about getting older.

Contains: silliness, banter between brothers, humor, proud parents, some flirting, a crude joke

Will has been trying to avoid the inevitable for a while now, but it’s getting harder to do so when it is literally looking him in the face. He grimaces as he takes a closer look at his hair and beard in the mirror. While it blends in better with the blonde on top of his head, the grays don’t do so with his beard. As years passed, it gradually evolved. Right now it’s a multicolored mix of blonde, red and brown with salt and pepper sprinkled throughout.

It started with a few stray strands on his chin and now there is a very noticeable patch right under his lip. He’s clean-shaved it all off once before but Lucy was not a fan at all so he vowed to never do it again. He's considering dying it. Maybe he'll give it a shot.

Since staring at his whole face more intently and up close so much more these days, he’s also taking note of all these wrinkles and fine lines. Where did all this come from?

Don’t even get him started on his body. His back has been hurting more these days and can hear something crack whenever he bends down. Is this what midlife crisis feels like?

"Babe, how much longer are you going to be? We're gonna be late!" you ask him on the other side of the bathroom door.

"I'll be right out!" he shouts before finishing up.

When he steps out of the bathroom, you hold up his gray tie to him.

"Do I have to?" Will groans.

"You wanna look your best for Lucy's graduation, don't you?" you ask.

"Can I wear the blue one though? It makes my eyes stand out.”

“Okay. Your eyes stand out as they are though,” you shrug as you walk over to the closet to switch out the gray one.

“Actually maybe the gray one would make the gray less noticeable,” he thinks out loud, reconsidering.

“Make your gray suit less noticeable?” you ask, confused.

“No, my gray hair. Look at this!” He scrubs his chin and then shoves the top of his head into your face, revealing his scalp to you.

"So what?" You shrug and pop his crisp white shirt collar up so you can slip the tie around his neck.

"I look so old," he frowns.

"Babe, you look fine. It's only a touch. No one's gonna notice." You finish the knot and straighten up the tie and collar.

"Besides, you're still devilishly handsome. Grays just mean your transformation into a silver fox has started," you quickly spit out and caress his gray sideburns before giving him a lingering kiss on his lips. He smiles against you.

"Silver fox? What is that? Like a werewolf?" he asks.

"Oh, it's so much better. If you think your prime has passed..." you smirk and breathe out a chuckle.

Lucy suddenly interrupts the moment when she calls out from downstairs.

"MOM! HAVE YOU SEEN MY GOWN?!"

"It's hanging in the laundry room!"

As you rush out the bedroom, Will examines himself one more time in the mirror, approving the tie color, even though he's still not feeling so confident about his signs of aging.

***

During the graduation ceremony, you and Will proudly watch Lucy make her way to the stage to receive her diploma. He thought he was subtle, but you caught him sniffling as soon as her name was called out: Luciana Sadie Miller. She carries the family name with so much pride and you both couldn’t be more proud. You reach over for his hand and squeeze it.

It’s official: his little girl is growing up. He’s always expected this day to come but not this soon. He wishes time could slow down. He doesn’t even dare to think of when or if the day comes when he has to give her away. That day is super far away, he convinces himself.

He quickly dabs his eyes after clapping and cheering for her. There is no doubt that Will is Lucy’s biggest cheerleader but right now Benny and Gary are literally the loudest ones.

"Woo! Yeah! That's my niece!" Benny shouts.

After the ceremony, the family waits for Lucy while she has a few celebratory moments with her friends and classmates, hugging and sharing their joy and excitement at this huge milestone in their lives.

When Lucy finally spots her family, she runs over and hugs both you and Will.

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo,” Will says to her, squeezing her tight.

She pulls back and looks up at her father with a wide grin. He plants a kiss on her forehead before returning the smile. She then goes to hug Benny and then Gary, who puts her in a headlock, making her cap fall off, and gives her noogies. Lucy is able to counter, nearly knocking her cousin to the ground with a swift leg sweep.

"Come on, guys!" Benny scolds. "Not here."

Now it's Lucy who has Gary in a firm headlock, making him tap.

“I told you I can fight in a dress and heels,” Lucy tells Gary before releasing him.

***

Frankie wanted to see his goddaughter walk the stage but because of limited tickets to Lucy’s graduation, the Moraleses agreed to meet up with the Millers after the ceremony to celebrate her big day.

When the five of you arrive at the restaurant, you and Lucy stop by the ladies’ room while the men wait by the bar for the rest of the party.

“Oh man, when did your hair start getting so white?” Benny asks while staring at his brother’s head.

“They’re grays,” Will corrects him while loosening his tie and slipping it off over his head. “And they have your name all over them.”

He stuffs the tie into his pocket and undoes the top button of his shirt, feeling less stuffy.

“Nah, I’m sure Luce has her name literally written on most of them. She probably wrote on them herself,” Benny jokes.

“She did and she’s worth every single strand.” Will leans his arm against the bar top next to Benny. “You though?” He shakes his head disappointingly.

“You’re starting to look like dad-- no, papa!” Benny slaps the bar top and points at his brother. “He used to give us that same exact look when we got in trouble.”

“Screw you! I don’t look that old. You look more like him than I do!” Will scoffs.

“Yeah, I got his good looks and you got his grays,” Benny smugly runs his fingers through his smooth dirty blonde hair.

Will rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“Can I get you fellas anything to drink?” The bartender asks.

“Yes, can I please get a Stella?” Benny requests.

"Sure. And for you, sir?" She asks Will.

He turns to the bartender and politely smiles.

"Actually, yes, uh, can I please get a whiskey neat?" He orders.

"You sure can," she replies enthusiastically while raking her eyes over him.

Will watches as she reaches for a bottle on the top shelf.

"Whoa! House whiskey is fine," he jumps in.

"Don't worry about it," she says. "I'll only charge you bottom-shelf."

"No, you really don’t have to," he shakes his head. "I don't want to get you in trouble or anything--"

"It's fine. I won't tell if you don't," she winks.

Will simply nods while pulling his wallet out. Her comment doesn’t go unnoticed by Benny.

“I got this,” Benny jumps in, pulling out his own wallet and gesturing to Will to put his away.

“Dad, can I get a coke?” Gary asks.

“And a coke for the kid, please,” Benny adds.

She acknowledges it with a nod while pouring Will his whiskey. She grabs a cocktail napkin and slides it in front of Will before placing his drink on it.

“Thank you,” Will nods.

“So what are you guys arguing about?” The bartender asks while pouring Benny’s beer.

“Ah, nothing. Just old men stuff,” Will waves a hand.

“What about it?” She puts Benny’s drink in front of him.

“Aging and all the crap that comes with it. The gray and white hairs, wrinkles on my face that I��ve never seen before,” Will starts. “And you can forget about eating fast food ever again. One chicken nugget will bring you down to your aching and cracking knees,” he adds and then takes a sip of his drink. “Wow, this is smooth.”

“Like your skin,” she compliments.

Benny nearly chokes on his beer while Will just looks back at her dumbfounded.

“You make yourself sound like you’re 100,” she says and then places Gary’s soda in front of him, then topping it with a straw.

“You can’t be older than what? 40?” she guesses. “If you tell me you’re anything over 45, you must be lying or you have amazing genes.”

She takes the credit card dangling from Benny’s hand and Will feels the blood rushing to his tanned face.

“You’re very kind,” Will chuckles, not confirming or denying his age. “You look like you have a long life ahead of you so enjoy your youth while you still can.”

“I’m 23, but age is nothing but a number anyways, right?” She shrugs while punching some buttons on the POS system and then charging Benny’s card. “It’s all about how old you feel.”

“Well, it really depends on the context,” Will replies. “I might feel like I’m 25, but my back feels otherwise.”

“Well, I could maybe make your back feel 25 again,” she offers and then gives Benny his card and receipt along with a pen.

“And how would you do that? Are you a physical therapist or something?” Wills asks innocently.

“I get off in an hour if you wanna grab a drink or two while we talk about that,” she proposes, leaning on the bar top across from Will. “Or I can show you.”

Will takes a moment to process what he just heard, thrown off by the bold flirtation. Both Benny and Gary quietly enjoy their cold beverages while their wide eyes ping pong back and forth between Will and the bartender.

"Listen, I am very flattered," Will finally says, bringing his left hand over his chest. “Really.”

"But..." he then flashes his wedding band to her. "Sorry, I'm already spoken for."

Will punctuates the statement with a wink.

“And quite frankly, you’re a bit too young for me. You’re not that much older than my daughter,” he adds. “In fact, we’re here to celebrate her graduation today.”

"Shoulda known a good looking man like you is already taken,” she nods, feeling dejected. “Your wife is very lucky."

His smile widens, reaching his baby blues, and he blushes.

"Oh, trust me. I'm the lucky one," he states, then licks his lips before taking another sip of his bourbon.

She excuses herself to serve another customer.

”Bro, you can cover the tip,” Benny says while signing his credit card receipt. “Since it’s the only one you can give her.”

Will rolls his eyes and shakes his head at him, but a smirk sneaks through.

#charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam fanfiction #will ironhead miller #will ironhead miller x fem #will ironhead miller x f!reader #will ironhead miller & daughter oc #will ironhead miller & benny miller #will ironhead miller fanfiction #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #dad!will

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pimosworld · 2 years ago

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"Easter dresses make winter babies. It's a fucking fact."

-Benny to Frankie, probably.

#benny miller x female reader #triple frontier x you #triple frontier x fem reader

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romana-after-dark · 1 year ago

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Room's on Fire: Pilot

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: The Delta is a commune in the middle of nowhere established by Santiago's mother. Since Divine Mother's passing in a rebellion a decade ago, Santiago, known as The Pope, and his half-God brethren Francisco, Benjamin and William have ran the commune. Now it is time for them to take a collective bride to breed, to bring the savior into the world.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

This is not meant to be a statement about religion, Christianity, or Catholicism, this is simply my take on a cult. I am a religious person. I understand that some of this may be very offensive to religious people so if you don't like thing like AHS Asylum or Black Mass, maybe consider not reading.

"Come on home, girl, he said with a smile You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile But try to understand, try to understand Try, try, try to understand That I'm a magic man." ~Magic Man, Heart.

"God dammit Benjamin, what the hell is wrong with you!”

Will smacked Ben upside the head as Frankie chided him.

Ben tried to defend himself. “Hey! You guys act like you don’t sleep with ‘em too, why are you blaming me?”

“You’re fucking a new woman every goddamn week, you have no fucking class, we’re not even supposed to be sleeping with these women,-”

Santiago’s voice, strong and comanding, broke through the bickering. “Gentlemen, please, this is not becoming behavior for Gods.”

With their leader’s command, the other three settled down, Frankie’s eyes casting away. “Sorry, Pope.”

Pushing himself off from the wall he had been leaning against, Santiago walked toward the group. “That can’t be all the options. There’s no way Benny’s made his way through every of age virgin in our compound, we have over 5 thousand people here.”

The men thought through the women they knew, the various families at the massive compound who could accomplish their task. She couldn’t just be a virgin, that was the thing.

They needed their Madonna.

Before her death, Santiago’s mother informed their group that the prophecy would not be fulfilled through Santiago, that he was not the promised savior. Instead, he was destined to lead after her passing and that Santiago, Francisco, William and Benjamin were all demi-Gods. This was a step up for the Millers and Francisco, who had spend their youths in the privileged position of foster brothers to Santiago and living under The Divine Mother’s roof and direct guidance. To Santiago, however, this was a humiliating demotion.

His childhood was never one of whimsy, growing up told that he was a God, that he was the second coming, that he was the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned… All that changed in his pre-teens. Suddenly, his mother was less pleased with him. His divinity was constantly dangled above his head. When his 20’s came and he failed to be what his mother wanted, she stripped him of his full God-hood.

So why, pray tell, were him and his fellow leaders and brethren searching for a virgin? Since Santiago had failed, they needed to father a new child. A new savior. Divine Mother’s instructions were clear; they were all to wed and breed a virgin from their compound. She was to live in their home as their wife for them to use not only whenever they wanted, but whenever they could. A sacred duty to be fruitful and multiple. It didn’t matter whose child grew in her, as long as there was a child. The world would be saved, and Santiago would earn his mothers favor from the heavens.

So, she couldn’t just be anyone. She needed to be a virgin, pure and holy. She needed to be beautiful, strong, faithful to their ways, faithful to the Divine Mother, faithful to the Pope, William, Benjamin, and Francisco.

“What about Marcus’s kid?’ Will asked, breaking their silence, causing everyone to turn to him.

Frank frowned. “You think the daughter of a traitor is the best option for the Madonna?” The sarcasm was clear. He didn’t like this plan as it was. He didn’t want strangers in their home, breaching security, putting his brothers at risk.

“That might actually be the solution to the problem.” He waited until Pope gestured for him to go on, not immediately shutting it down.

“The rebellion was when she was 12, the interrogations found she had no knowledge of her father’s plans. Ever since, she has been isolated. Lydia says she has caused no problems in the women’s home, been obedient but has no friends, no connections.”

“So you think she’s intact?”

“Santi, I doubt she’d had her first kiss.”

Since the rebellion 10 years ago, Will has set up measures to identify problems before they become something like that, and that meant keeping tabs on people. Single women lived in a few group homes throughout the compound. Each home had prefects that reported to house mothers, and house mothers that reported to Will. Anyone that was of any concern, Will checked in on, that included daughters of rebels.

“And she danced at the fire?” Pope asked, arms still crossed but listening.

Will nodded. “She did. No signs of disloyalty.”

Muttering, Frankie asked Ben if he’d slept with her in recent years.

He shook his head. “Nope. Forgot she existed.”

Frankie watched as Pope thought things through, his mouth shifting. Frankie asked, “How are the other viable women going to take it if the daughter of a traitor is chosen above them?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ben said, defensive of Pope. His loyalty to Santiago went above everything. “If she’s the right person, she’s chosen divinely.”

Santiago held up a hand, stopping another argument. “A redemption. She has the option to purify herself from the sins of her father through the pain of childbirth.”

“Biblical precedent…” Will murmured in agreement.

“And if she fails to produce a child, then we can say we were deceived-”

“Like Eve deceived Adam. Damn, Pope, I think it’s a winner.”

Santiago smiled at his fellow leader, clasping his hands together. “Alright, let’s go visit her, make sure she’s suitable.”

You were dead. It was over. Lydia had cleared all the other women out of the dormitory room and told you that the Pope and the other divine leaders would be coming to speak privately to you and you assumed that you had slipped up somehow and it was the end for you. You didn’t know what you possibly could have done. You never ever spoke badly about anyone, none the less your beloved leaders! You adored them all, worshipped them as they deserved, as you had Divine Mother…

Had they decided you were too much of a liability after what your father had done? How was that possible, it had been a decade… why now…

You gasp. Fransisco… he was clairvoyant… had he seen into your dream? Had he seen what you saw oh-so often, the dreams that forced you awake crying?

You prepared yourself to grovel, to beg for mercy, to plead that these dreams of fire were not what you wanted, that they tormented you. Would you forever be labeled a traitor for what your father had done? Hadn’t you proved your loyalty to The Delta?

The door opened and you dropped to your knees, silent until spoken too. You can hear Benjamin whisper a damn. The floor creaks in front of where you knelt, arms prostrated out and for a moment, everything stood still. Warm hands were on your chin, guiding you up to see him.

He was so much more stunning up close. You’d heard tales from other girls of the men, of the way they bedded them, how it was glorious, the most holy form of worship to allow them inside you… You had taken note that you had not been allowed that honor, you had accepted it as the punishment for the sins of your birth, you never thought you’d be worthy of close contact, but right now… Pope was touching your face, your chin tucked between his thumb and forefinger; his eyes were so close to yours, his plump lips keep a soft smile. “Do not be afraid, darling girl. If we are correct, you may outshine us all.”

“But it is, of course, your choice.”

Your choice…

This phrase was preceded by the reminder that if you said no, there would be no savior.

There was no choice.

“I am a servant to my lords.”

Santiago smiled at that. “Excellent. Now, let’s begin the inspection.”

The what?

“Oh… is it… I swear I am a virgin, I’ve never been touched-”

“I know.” Francisco said. Oh, right. Clairvoyant. “We need to make sure you’re… healthy.”

“Oh. Yes, of course then.”

Francisco undressed you, his calm demeanor and soothing touch eased you as he slowly stripped you of your clothing. He pulled the loose shirt over your body as you raised your hands, the pail bra underneath had a lot of coverage (everything was meant to be practical) but you still felt exposed.

“Just down to her underwear, Francisco.” Will instructed as he watched. Will was a healer, that was his gift.

Francisco pulled down your pants slowly, and you feel eyes scaling you.

“Strip her down fully, Frank.” Ben tells Francisco, and you jolt when you feel his hands on the bare skin on your hips.

Francisco sighs, but Will puts his foot down. “She doesn’t need to be naked, this is invasive enough as it is”

Ben gave a short laugh. “More invasive than fucking her.”

“BEN!” All three of them shouted, discomfort and fears coursing through your body.

“Pope, she’s shaking.” Francisco asserts with his hands on your shoulders and you watch Pope give Ben a look.

“You behave, your brother knows what he’s doing.” He turns to Will, jerking his head at you. “Handle it.”

Will approaches you, his hands on your face. He holds you different than Pope, more firm, more all-encompassing. Will’s hands were larger, and he placed them at the side of your head, like he was holding you together. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s like a medical examination, okay?”

You nod within his grasp. “Okay.”

He smiled at you. “Good girl. I’m going to touch you, just stand there and take it. Trust me.”

You did. You’d follow him anywhere if he spoke like that. His hands move down your neck, slowly over your shoulders and down your arms, sending a chill through your body. He squeezed your hands. “Doing so good princess. Gonna check your backside now, can you straighten up for me?” You square your shoulders as he walks around, towering over you. You lock eyes with Ben; he looks hungry, like he’s ready to pounce but smiling at you with his boyish charm you can’t help wonder what that pounce would feel like. Ben had slept with almost every girl in your dormitory, and you’d been privy to all kinds of colorful descriptions as you overheard girls talking. Not to you. Never to you.

Will rubbed his hands together and breathed on them to aid the warmth before placing his fingertips at the top-most part of your back. Slowly, he dragged 8 fingers down, applying pressure, sending a tingling down your spine as his fingers traced it. “Excellent posture, just need to check a few things.” His hands went back up, fingers bracing at your sides as his thumbs searched certain spots, rubbing over aching parts of you with pressure, but not pain.

“Got a few knots.” Will comment’s, and you turn slight back towards him, suddenly scared.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no. Nothing to worry about. Just means you’re stressed. It hurt there sometimes?”

He continued massaging you, your next words coming out with a moan. “Yeah.”

“I know it does, sweet girl. Don’t you worry, I’ll help you take care of that. You will be my wife, after all.”

The thought brings a small smile to your face. The smile falters when his hands wrap around your front, William’s body pressed up against your back. His hands are pressing into your stomach, making their way up until he cups your breast, a small groan escaping his mouth that had somehow found its way into your hair.

“She likes that.” You here Ben say, drawing your attention, his grin made you swell with pride. You’d spoken with him before; Benjamin knew all the women. Still, he never chose you to bed and you had thought you weren’t appealing but now, now you see it. Now, as Ben began to touch himself over his pants as he watched his brother examine your body, you realize you were meant for a higher purpose. You were being saved, protected, put on a pedestal for this moment, to be the mother of their child, to be their Madonna.

Will continued him ministrations, soft grunts as he ground his hips into your ass. You can se his eyes are locked in with Pope. Pope, is watching the scene with hooded eyes and parted lips. With a soft but powerful moan, Will stilled behind you, panting a soft kiss on your neck before his fingertips trails your panty line. “Now, for the vaginal exam.”

All the pleasure you felt stops, your body freezing up again. “B-but, you said I wouldn’t-”

William turned you around to face him. “I have to check out your privates, gotta make sure you’re safe. It’s just me, it’s just external, don’t worry. We’ll face away.” He knelt down.

You were acutely aware your ass was still out for the other men when you heard Ben groan when your underwear is pulled down, the distinct sound of him summoning Francisco, who had been quiet so far, and the unzipping of pants.

“Goddamn…” He says, notching your legs so they spread and lifting one foot so it is resting on his bent knee. He touched your sensitive skin. “Pope, you gotta see this… the girls wet.”

“But-” I wanted to protest that he had said it would only be him, but there was no point. Soon, you’d be married, and they be able to have you as much as they wanted.

“Holy shit, she’s dripping…” Pope marvels as the slick running down your thighs.

Will continues prodding at you, fingers running through your glistening folds. In the background was a sound you couldn’t quiet pinpoint, and something that sounded like kissing, but who would be kissing? There was only Ben and Francisco there. Will dips his finger slightly inside your hole, making you gasp.

“Careful.” Pope warned. “She needs to stay intact.”

“I know.” Will groans. “But she’s so fucking tight, Pope.”

A muffled but strong groan behind you, and Pope looks like he’s about to fall apart when he pulls away.

“William, Franisco, Ben. Go to Lydia, tell her the wedding will be at her next ovulation.”

The men reluctantly made their exit leaving Pope alone in the room with you. He pulled up your underwear and pants before helping you back into your shirt. “You are perfect.” He grabbed your face again, pinching your chin and guiding you to look up at him. “Pack only personal items. You’ll have new clothing, everything will be taken care of. From now on, as long as you are what we need you to be, whatever you need, you’ll have.”

He leans in and you open your mouth to him, beautifully alluring, gifting him your first kiss and the spark was ignited. He was everything now.

“My Madonna.”

WE'RE LIVE! So excited to do this, I was a little too excited, I didn't wait until january like i said lol. After this I'm gonna try and finish Blessed be the Fruit and Awakening before going forward which shouldnt be long

PLEEAASEEEE LMK YOU'RE THOTS AND THEORIES!!!!

Special thanks to my BELOVED @hon3yboy for encouraging me so fucking hard with this series!!! she is so wonderful and has written great work including WEREWOLF MARC SPECTOR!!!!

How to keep up with the story!

Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates (If you ask to be tagged, I ask you at least like the fic. Likes dont do anything to spread the work, but it at least lets me know you're still reading.)

Follow @romana-updates and/turn on notifications

Follow the tag Rooms on fire

TAGLIST:

@hon3yboy @winniethewife @femmeanonymelives @yorksgirl @pockcock @neverwheremoonchild @casa-boiardi @meveispunk @survivingandenduring @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @obscurexsorrows @hellfire-state-of-mind @christinamadsen @pimosworld @princessanglophile @rubyfruitjungle @simple-lovebot @missdictatorme @campingwiththecharmings @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @javier-penas-wifexx420 @stefani-topaz @alwaysmicado

if I missed you LMK!!!!

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crazyk-imagine · 1 year ago

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Gym Crush

Pairing: Benny Miller x Gym crush!reader

Characters: Benny Miller, William "Ironhead" Miller, Francisco "Catfish" "Frankie" Morales, Santiago "Pope" Garcia, Gym Crush!reader, Samantha (reader's friend)

Warnings: Fluff, cursing (briefly), gym, gym things, reader is a trainer and trains with her friend, I'm sad, I know gym things because of work, Benny is like horny but also not, Frankie is a tired old man, Santi a big flirty hoe, I feel like Will feels like he has no personality :(

Word Count: 1,959

A/N: Not gonna lie, while writing this... I had a thought. This is the first part of the non-official series/ universe for the TF boys called (in my mind) "Gym World"

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The boys, Will, Santiago, and Frankie have always known when something’s up with the baby of the bunch. It’s hard not to.

It consumes him until he barely has anything left to offer. That’s why they knew this was something different.

Instead of running to the woman (he deems to be the woman of his dreams) he, instead, runs from her. Or, in better words, avoids her entirely.

Ever since they came home after their last mission, they’ve been living their lives the way they want to… or at least Frankie and Santiago are.

Will is slowly working a little more on himself, not wanting to scare off anyone else in his life like he did with his ex-fiancée.

And now, Benny’s life mainly consists of working out, preparing for his fights while working at his annoying side job as a convenient store clerk.

Today was no different for him, train and then go out for a celebratory drink.

Usually with the way he acts when he sees you, none of the guys want to come with him anymore and it makes sense since he’ll either stare while you work out and he thinks you don’t notice (you do) or glance in your direction and check to see if you’re getting closer, wanting to try and ask you out (never happens).

Will shakes his head, “you’re shameless.”

Benny hangs from the pull bar, smirking at his brother. “Better to be shameless.”

“Then?” Frankie chimes, finding himself intrigued.

“Nothing, just better to be shameless.”

"He's back." You move your headphones over your ear to hear your friend, Samantha better. "What'd you say?"

She purses her lips, "you know exactly what I said."

You smirk, "no I don't."

She groans and throws her head back. "Why are you like this?"

"Like what?"

"Next is the rower."

Your cheeky attitude quickly falls from your face.

Samantha points at your fallen expression and starts laughing.

Benny hides his humor when he sees you stomping over towards the rower.

You pout, strapping your feet in, “I hate this!”

She smirks, “I know! But we’re gonna do,” Samantha pauses, thinking about how bad she should torture you. “Three reps for five minutes with wall sits as your forty second break.”

Your eyes widen at her words. “No.” You shake your head, “nuh uh. No way.” You start to remove the straps.

“I have four back-to-back clients in an hour, and I need to be able to crawl and not walk.”

He drops down from the bar, wiping himself dry with the towel he keeps nearby (curtesy of Will).

Frankie nods to the older Miller, “you go get him, I’ll deal with Benny.”

Will sighs and runs after Santiago who’s trying to flirt with some of the other girls around. They’re not going for it, and he doesn’t want to have to talk to another security guard because his friends an idiot.

The younger Miller takes a step forward only to be stopped. “Ben, your fights in three hours we need to go.”

“I-” he sighs, glancing back at you. “Yeah, alright. Let’s go.”

The next couple of days are quiet and you don't see much of “your” mystery guy, it makes you a little sad to be honest.

And then, there he is, as if he was reading your mind, he shows up with the other guys he’s almost always with.

"Guess who's back to cure you of your depression?"

You roll your eyes and shake your head, shoving Samantha away from you. “Stop it.”

She chuckles as you head out of the employee office, grabbing your phone on the way out. “I’m going to work out while I wait for my next client to arrive.”

She nods before heading out.

‘Maybe today’s the day.’ You can feel his eyes on you. You continue to think about what to do while stretching. You catch his gaze in the mirror and a decision’s been made.

Santiago smacks Frankie’s shoulder when he sees you coming closer. “What?”

The latter turns, “oh shit.”

“What’s going on with you two?” Will asks, glancing between the two of them, waiting for an answer.

Santiago points to the space in front of Benny.

He doesn’t see you there at first, focusing on finishing his last set before getting off the machine he was using. “Oh shi-”

You chuckle, crossing your arms. “Hey, there.”

“Hey.”

“I noticed you’ve been staring at me for a bit. You got something you want to say?”

If he were a cartoon, his eyes would be as wide as his head followed by a nosebleed. “It’s- it’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?” You cross your arms. “I’m thinking you’re planning something hinky and quite frankly it worries me-”

His eyes widen even more. “No, no. I mean- I just- I didn’t mean to…” He pauses when he sees the way you try to hide your laughter. “Oh, you’re messing with me. Awesome.”

“Sorry, it was just too easy not to. But seriously, about the staring. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. I- you’re really,” he gulps, “good.”

You raise a brow.

“I’m just saying, I don’t normally see people pushing themselves as hard as you do… or when your friend does.”

You chuckle, “that’s true. But it’s not really anything worth admiring, it’s your average trainer workout”

“Well, I can tell you that you do a damn good job. I’m impressed.”

“Well, consider me flattered. A handsome guy like yourself, commenting on my workouts, kind of makes a girl want to ask said guy for his number and make him her workout partner.”

He glances behind him before pointing at himself, earning a nod from you. “You’re serious?”

“I don’t joke about these kinds of things,” you pull yourself up on the pullup bar, something you’ve noticed he goes on more than anything here. “Which is something you’ll learn about, the more we talk.”

He’s never pulled his phone out of his pocket faster than he did right now. “You want to hand me your phone?”

“You’re gonna do this one handed?”

“No, I just wanted to try and impress you.” You jump down and smile at him.

He is more than willing to offer his phone to you. “I sent a text to my phone so now you have my number.”

“Great.”

“If I don’t hear from you before nine tonight, I can’t promise I’ll be as speedy with my responses.”

“So, I should text you now?” He jokes.

You shrug, “whatever you think is the smartest decision.”

The dopey smile on his face never leaves even after Santiago starts teasing him again. “Wow, I never thought you’d ever talk to her and look at you, you didn’t burst into a puddle of desperation.”

“Can I hit him?”

“No,” Will shakes his head, “you can’t, Ben. You know that.”

“She’s coming back.”

“What?” He whips around and almost bumps into you. “Hey, you’re back.”

“I am. I’m impatient and I want to go out with you.”

He owlishly blinks, trying to get his brain to move faster so he can understand. “Really?”

“Yeah. My friend would say I’m acting desperate and insane for asking the weird guy with a staring problem out.”

He scratches the back of his head, “you guys caught that, huh?”

You pinch your fingers together. “Little bit.”

“And you still want to go out with me?”

“Don’t read too much into it. Text me when you’re done here and when you’re free later.”

You turn around and walk away, leaving the Miller, Santiago, and Frankie speechless.

“I never thought I’d say this this,” Santiago pats the younger Miller’s shoulder. “Can you teach me how you- show me your ways, wise one.”

Benny shrugs him off, pushing him away from him. “Shut up.”

“Guess we’re done here?”

Frankie glances at Will. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s going home to shower and then call her so he can finally go out with her.”

Santiago shrugs, “I mean, I guess.”

“He’s right. If you two aren’t done, you’re on your own.” Benny throws his bag over his shoulder. “Come on, Will.”

You hit the call button, “Sammy!”

“What?”

“I did it.”

“I know you did; I was there.”

“I don’t know what outfit to pick you bitch.”

“How do you even know he’s going to call? Stupid question, I know. Moving on. Do you want to look slutty or a little conservative?”

“What makes me look better? Slutty or not slutty?”

“Where’s he taking you?”

“I don’t know.”

“How am I supposed to help you pick an outfit when you don’t even know where you’re going. I’m hanging up.”

“Wait- no.” You groan and are about to toss your phone down onto your bed when you get a text from Benny.

Hot Gym Guy

‘Wear something comfortable I don’t know if I already told you where I plan on taking you it's not gonna be some anything too crazy’ 4:36pm Sent Read

You smile holding your phone just a little closer to you.

Eye Candy

‘It’s like you knew what I was thinking’ 4:38pm Sent Read

‘Makes sense seeing as you’ve been watching me over the last few months every time you were in the gym’ 4:38pm Sent Read

He chuckles hoping this is going to be a good start to the date. He’s happy he kicked Santiago and Frankie out of the house now and thankfully Will had other plans.

Now he's debating calling you to invite you over or take you out to a restaurant followed by you coming over, not for anything that would be normal for his past self (as the other guys would say).

Hot Gym Guy

‘Would you rather do something fun and casual at my place or something new and different at a restaurant?’ 4:41pm Sent Read

You don’t think he has an ulterior motive because you know that he’s being genuine and asking you so you’re not uncomfortable.

Eye Candy

‘Are you a good cook because if not I think should go to a restaurant’ 4:43pm Sent Read

‘Not to offend you, I’d like to not have food poisoning tonight’ 4:44pm Sent Read

‘We should*’ 4:45pm Sent Read

Hot Gym Guy

‘I could whip up something decent and if it’s not up to your standards then we can either go out to a restaurant or have something delivered’ 4:46pm Sent Read

‘It’s up to you.’ 4:46pm Sent Read

You shake your head, even though Sammy really thought that he was creepy; turns out he’s really the sweetest guy you've ever talked to.

Eye Candy

‘Send me your address and I’ll tell you in person’ 4:51pm Sent Read

You knock on the door and wait.

The door opens less than a minute later. “Hey.”

You smile. “Hey.”

“Have you,” he clears his throat. “Have you made a decision?”

“I hope you're as good a cook as you are handsome.”

“Oh, baby. You have no idea.”

And let’s just say the next time you guys went to the gym (together, of course) everyone you knew was thanking all the gods that you two finally got together, until they realized that your guy's fawning was going to be ten million times worse because you’re together.

"Another day of him staring at her," Frankie comments, watching you two.

"How long are we going to see this?" Will asks, working on his bicep curls.

“I don't want to see him drool again; I'm going over towards the smoothie bar." Santiago walks away.

“I don’t know but I think we need to go back and grab Santi before he does something stupid,” the ex-pilot tells the older Miller.

“For fucks sake,” Will grumbles, putting the weights back in its place. “Let’s go.”

Taglist

@casa-boiardi

#triple frontier imagine #triple frontier imagines #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier #benny miller imagines #benny miller imagine #benny miller fic #benny miller x reader #benny miller fanfic #benny miller fanfiction #benny miller x you #benny miller x female reader #benny miller x fem reader #benny miller x fem!reader #crazyk-imagine

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hopeamarsu · 2 years ago

Note

I adore the softness in here.

And everything here sounds perfect for after work, buddles included.

Here is my Benny idea. He gets worried his baby work nights. Reason why he takes her to and from work. Go out to their favorite hangout for a late dinner. Then spoil her as soon they get home.

Take Care of You

Pairing: Benny Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 1100+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: Thank you for being so patient while I wrote this!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Benny Miller Masterlist

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I never understood why Benny insisted on taking me to and from work. I thought his concerns about me working night shifts were silly and there really was no need to make such a fuss.

Until that lady was mugged, barely making it out with her life.

Benny never did the “I told you so bit”, only relived I had the night off that day. If he wasn’t insistent before he is now, arranging his own schedule so he can bring me to work and drop me off.

One night, he notices the extra exhaustion in my eyes, my shoulders slumping from a particularly difficult shift, and he quietly steers his jeep to one of our favorite late-night diners.

“I figured you could use a burger and fries. Maybe a milkshake?” His blue eyes are full of concern as they scan my face.

“I fucking love you, Benny.”

He chuckles. “I love you too, sweetheart. Come on.”

He escorts me inside and orders 2 giant bacon cheeseburgers with a large basket of fries, getting me my favorite milkshake. He listens to me vent about my day, nodding and making helpful comments when I manage to pause my rant.

Once we get home, I kick off my shoes, groaning at the instant relief I feel. Benny comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around me and kissing the top of my head.

“Why don’t I fill you a bath?”

I groan again at the thought of submerging my body into a hot tub.

He chuckles. “I take that as a yes.”

He kisses me again and heads down the hall to the bathroom, the sound of water filling the tub floating down the hall a minute later. I follow him, watching as he tests the water, adding a homemade bath bomb to it and giggling when the water turns a fun color. When the bath is full, he turns to me, gently helping me out of my work clothes, his fingers brushing lightly against my skin leaving goosebumps in their wake. His lips brush against the spot where my neck meets my shoulder and I shiver, letting out a quiet moan. He holds out his hand and helps me in the tub, making sure I settle down into it, my entire body submerged, head resting on the little neck pillow he’d insisted on buying.

He grabs my loofah and soap, eyebrows raised in question at me, a silent ask if I want him to wash me. The warm bath water is seeping into me, making me feel lazy. I nod, leaning my head back a little further on the bath pillow. Benny lathers up my loofah and takes my hand, giving the back of it a little kiss before he starts to gently scrub my hand and up my arm, repeating the motion on my other side. He scoots back reaching down into the water to pull up my foot, gently setting it down on the side of the tub. He grips my foot, fingers applying some semi firm pressure as he massages the stress away. I can’t help the moans that escape me, missing the way Benny squirms where he sits.

“Oh God Benny! That feels so good.”

He hums to himself and I crack and eye open to see a smile on his face, eyes focused half on my foot and half on my boobs as they poke out of the water. He repeats his massaging on my other foot, earning himself more praise as he works the knots out. He picks up my loofah, lathering it up and starts to gently scrub at my foot, moving slowly up and around my leg. He gets to the spot where my thighs meets my hips and pauses, glancing up at me before he slides the loofah over my cunt, putting slightly more pressure as he gently moves in circles. I moan, my hips moving up to meet the pressure, but the loofah is in the way of what I really want to feel. Reaching out, I still his wrist, an apology forming on Benny’s lips as I pull the loofah from his grip, setting it off ot the side. I take his hand and place it back on me, returning my arms to their original place of leisure.

Benny understands what I’m asking for and immediately starts to slide a finger through my folds, softly rubbing circles into my clit as he does so. I groan, trying to shift my hips a little closer, but then he pushes 2 fingers into me and I sigh, his name on my lips as he curls his long fingers, seeking out that spot that makes my toes curl. He finds it fast, tapping lazily on the spot while still rubbing circles into my clit. The warmth of my impending release spreads through me rapidly, my head pushing into the pillow as my legs tremble, a soft cry of pleasure escaping me as Benny pushes me over the edge, still gently caressing those spots he knows will make me feel good.

Once I’m down, Benny removes his hand, moving to grab the loofah and lather it up, washing my other leg, pausing to massage my foot there too. A soft smile plays on his lips as he keeps glancing up at me, his smile growing wider as he watches my heavy breathing. He takes his time, washing the rest of me and giving me one of the best scalp massages I’ve ever had. When he’s done, he empties the bath, helping me to stand and get out of the tub, which I’m thankful for because my legs are made of jelly at this point.

He helps me into some pajamas, chuckling darkly when the towels brushes across my oversensative core and I twitch. I slide into bed, Benny pulling the covers up my body, leaning over to kiss the top of my head before he turns, starting to walk away.

“Wait - where are you going?” I ask, my hand reaching out for him.

“You want me with you, sweetheart?”

I nod. “I need…”

Benny smiles. “Do you need some buddles?” (Benny Cuddles)

I chuckle at his made up name. “Yes please.”

Benny slides into bed, pulling me to him, practically purring as I burrow into his chest, inhaling the scent of him. Immediately I feel the last bit of stress melt away, and before I know it, I’m asleep.

Benny pets my hair, somehow managing to lean over and kiss the top of my head, speaking into my ear how much he loves me.

—----

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed @ladykatakuri @marrianena @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics

#benny miller #benny miller x fem reader #musings of a rose

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flightlessangelwings · 11 months ago

Text

My Boys

Frankie Morales x fem!reader x Benny Miller (Messy Pile of Affection universe)

Word count- 1.9k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), mmf threesome, established relationship, pegging, anal, fingering, oral (m receiving, hint at f receiving), soft dom reader, sub!Frankie, praise, pet names (babe, baby), fluff, feelings, no use of y/n

Notes- A bonus for Peg That Middle Ages Man Campaign!!! Thanks again to @wannab-urs for putting this event on!! And while this is et in MPoA-verse, this can be read on it's own since it's just smut lol! But I love writing this thruple so much so I'm happy with how this turned out! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on new posts!!

“Shit…” you breathed as you soaked in the sight before you, “You guys look so fucking hot right now.”

Benny looked up from where he concentrated on Frankie in front of him and smirked at you, “So do you, babe,” he winked.

You bit your lip as you grinned back at one of your boyfriends. The way his gaze bore into you made your skin tingle. Absentmindedly, you ran your hand down the front of your body, testing Benny with a squeeze of your breast before you grabbed the dildo that sat snugly in the harness you wore- the only thing on your body. Benny let out a soft moan at the show you put on as his cock twitched just against Frankie’s face.

Between you and Benny, Frankie was positioned on his hands and knees, just as bare as both of you. His skin glistened from sweat from the fingering you just gave him, and generous amounts of lube dripped from between his asscheeks. Benny had watched as you prepped Frankie for your dildo, his hand stroking his cock the entire time as he enjoyed the show the two of you put on.

“You alright, Frankie?” you murmured as you caressed his back, running your hand up and down his spine.

“Great, babe,” Frankie smirked as he looked over his shoulder, “Fuck you do look hot with that strap!”

Heat rose in your skin as your tone dropped, “I like you on your hands and knees too, baby.”

“Fuck, me too!” Benny interjected enthuastically.

Frankie turned back and looked up at Benny with his mouth open. His mouth watered at the sight of his cock, so beautiful and yet just out of reach of his lips. “Ben…” he breathed.

In a rare display of soft tenderness, Benny cupped Frankie’s face, running his thumb across the soft stubble as they locked eyes. From behind, you still ran your hands up and down Frankie’s sides in a soothing manner. Heavy breaths filled the room as the three of you stayed hypnotized by each other. Hands roamed all over, touching and caressing wherever you all could reach.

It was you who finally broke the silence, “You ready, Frankie babe?” you asked in a hushed tone, yet one that still held all the need you felt as the tip of your dildo tickled the skin of his ass.

He let out a low groan, “Yes,” he replied to you as he adjusted himself slightly, “Fuck me, baby.”

Benny let out a low groan of his own as you coated the dildo once more in lube and positioned yourself. “She’s gonna fuck you so good, Fish,” he moaned, knowing first hand just how proficient you were with your strap.

You glanced up for a moment and gave Benny a knowing smirk before you turned all your attention on the toy that you had poking at Frankie’s entrance. Before he could come up with a clever comeback to Benny’s comment, you pushed the tip in, causing any thought he might have had to vanish from his mind.

As Frankie moaned loudly, all he could think about was how good the stretch of your cock felt as you slowly pushed into him. You kneaded and spread his ass as you watched the toy disappear into him inch by inch until your hips met his ass. Benny too watched in awe, frozen in captivation.

“You doing ok, Frankie?” you asked in a whisper as you gave him a moment to adjust.

“Y-yeah,” he whimpered as his arms trembled to keep him up. He then looked up to meet Benny’s piercing gaze, “Your turn, Ben.”

“Fuck…” he breathed as Frankie’s mouth dropped open for him in an invitation.

Without a word, you gave your hips a thrust, catching Frankie and Benny both by surprise. And the sound that Frankie let out went right to your core and made you clench around nothing. “Fuck,” you echoed Benny’s curse under your breath as you thrust again, pushing Frankie forward this time.

As he lurched forward, Frankie aimed himself right at Benny’s hard cock, and the moment he was close enough, he wrapped his lips around it. Benny gasped as the warmth of Frankie’s mouth engulfed him, and he grabbed his shoulders to make sure he didn’t let go.

Together, you and Benny found a rhythm on either side of Frankie. The slow thrust of your hips made a squelching echo in the room as Frankie’s moans were muffled by Benny’s cock in his mouth. Benny, however, moaned loudly as he felt Frankie’s tongue along his length. And you couldn’t help but moan as you watched your boys in front of you.

Picking up your pace, you felt the room warm as the need grew exponentially. Overwhelmed with emotions, you reeled your hand back and slapped Frankie’s ass hard as you thrust even deeper into him. The moan he let out, while muffled, still filled the room as Frankie jolted forward in surprise. Benny’s eyes widened as he watched you rock your hips harder and faster into your shared boyfriend.

“Shit baby,” Benny groaned, “Do that again.”

“You like that, huh?” you purred as you did exactly that. Slapping Frankie’s ass again, both men groaned and you felt dizzy from how hot it was. “Yeah… I think both my boys like that,” you added as you slapped Frankie once more, squeezing it hard this time.

“Fuck…” Benny growled as his own hips stuttered into Frankie’s mouth, driving his cock down his throat.

Frankie had never been so helpless in his life. And he had never been more turned on. Though his own groans and moans were muffled by Benny’s cock in his mouth, he knew you both could tell he was enjoying this. The muscles in his ass clenched as he squeezed your dildo as you thrust into him over and over again, mirroring the way both he and Benny would fuck you.

Benny could feel Frankie’s moans around his length, and it sent shivers of pleasure up his spine. “Shit…” he groaned as his mind went blank too. Normally Benny had a lot to say during sex, but tonight he was speechless. Watching you fuck Frankie while his own cock was deep down his throat was almost too much in the best way possible.

“My boys are so fucking good for me,” you cooed as you grabbed Frankie’s hips to angle yourself differently. As you gave one harsh thrust, Frankie’s mouth dropped open, allowing a cry to spill out unmuffled. “That’s it,” you purred as you started rocking your hips back and forth again, “That’s my Frankie baby.”

“Fuck, baby,” Benny’s eyes started to roll back into his head as he felt his climax start to build, “I’m the luckiest fuckin’ guy to get you two… Ahh… Fuck….” The way Frankie groaned into his cock sent wave and wave of pleasure up Benny’s spine. And Benny couldn’t help but thrust his hips into his mouth in time with your thrusts. “Fuck I’m gonna cum…”

That was the only warning Frankie got before Benny’s cock exploded in his mouth. He gagged for a moment until he closed his lips around his cock and sucked hard, letting his boyfriend ride out his orgasm in his mouth. He was rocked back and forth by your pounding on the other end, but Frankie concentrated hard on swallowing every last drop, not wanting anything to go to waste.

“That’s it, Frankie baby,” Benny cooed as he gave one last thrust.

You stilled yourself for a moment, burying your dildo deep inside Frankie as Benny slowly pulled out of his mouth. You allowed him to take one deep breath as he tasted fresh air for the first time, but then you started up again. “Let us see you cum now, Frankie,” you murmured as you reached around and wrapped your hand around his cock.

Frankie’s moan filled the room as he was able to voice his pleasure for the first time that night. He leaned forward, resting his hard on Benny’s chest as he listened to the sweet nothing’s he whispered in his ear as you pounded into him.

Pumping his cock at the same time, you let out a moan of your own as you listened to the chorus of your boys together. Even after having cum, Benny wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked it lazily, sending chills up his spine and overstimulating himself. And you couldn't help but notice.

“Fuck…” you breathed as you clenched your jaw and sped up your pace.

“Fuck!” Frankie cried out as the sensations almost got too much for him, but in the best way, “Baby…”

“Cum, Frankie.”

That was all it took to send him over the edge. Gripping into Benny for dear life, Frankie came hard with a loud groan. He saw stars as you thrust into his sweet spot over and over again while you worked his cock with your hand. And feeling Benny as an anchor only added to the emotions. Frankie made a mess between their bodies as his seed splashed them both.

With a final grunt, you thrust fully into Frankie once last time, pumping his cock to squeeze every last ounce of orgasm from him before you knew he had enough. Heavy breaths filled the room as you leaned forward, resting against Benny as well.

“I’ve got you, babes,” Benny murmured as he wrapped his arms around you both, awkwardly holding his boyfriend and his girlfriend in his arms, “Fuck that was so hot,” he added in a whisper.

“Fuck yeah it was,” Frankie replied with an exhausted laugh.

You just hummed with a smile on your face as you enjoyed the feeling of Frankie under you. It was almost as if you could feel the cock inside of him, much like the way they each liked to stay inside of you for several moments before pulling out.

Benny was the first to open his eyes, taking in the sight of the two loves of his life in his arms, “I love you guys,” he blurted out.

“I love you too,” you blinked your eyes open.

“I love you guys too,” Frankie groaned as he pushed himself up, causing your strap to pull out of him in the process of adjusting to see you both.

He turned to you first, cupping your face and placing a deep, passionate kiss on your lips. He swallowed the moan you let out, and savored the taste of you on his tongue. Then, Frankie broke away with a gasp for breath before he turned to Benny and kissed him the same way. Hand roamed all over each other as you leaned in and joined in on the kiss. The three of you became a puddle of lips and tongues as you all tried to kiss each other at the same time, emotions overpowering the fact that it was awkward and messy. But that was perfect for how the three of you always were.

This time, it was Frankie who broke the silence as he turned to you, “Now how about Ben and I eat your sweet pussy until you can’t fuckin’ think anymore, baby.”

You whimpered in response as your skin tingled and warmed. In the heat of the moment, you almost forgot that your own needs weren’t taken care of.

“Shit I love when you talk like that, Frankie,” Benny groaned, “But I am starved so…”

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intheorangebedroom · 1 year ago

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Tonight you belong to me

Series, ongoing

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town.

Week after week, under the crushing weight of his body, you learn to find yourself. Week after week, under the reverence of your touch, he allows himself to heal. Why can’t this last forever, when you’re so good to each other?

Set a few months after the TF events.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC fem!Reader Written in reader format but Reader is an OFC. There are sparse but still present physical descriptions, she has a thorough background, and a name.

Rating: Explicit 🔞

TW: THERE WILL BE NO TRIGGER WARNINGS ON INDIVIDUAL CHAPTERS. So please tread carefully because there will be (blood) (kidding, just mine) mentions of: PTSD, death, infidelity, suicidal thoughts, self-harm, stomach bug & hospitalization, light bondage, rough sex, size kink taken to the next level, lots of bodily fluids (come spit and sweat, sweat come and spit, the usual suspects), questionable (very bad) decisions, unprotected sex like woa, intense darker Frankie, where’s my feminism at, this man, this man, this man. You know the drill.

A/N: alright orange besties, here we go again, I once more locked up Frankie in a bedroom with a girl... More or less an alternate exploration of my favourite tropes: love at first sight, soulmates, forever love, pleasure and pain, hard sex/sweet love, flourishing through a lover's care and attention, Frankie being a B I G boy... Are you in? 🥺 Also, I’ve never set a foot in Florida, bear with me, I'm trying my best. This is going to be a little rougher kind of Frankie, but still our Pilot™️. I hope you enjoy the flight 🧡

A very special and heartfelt orange THANK YOU to my love @deadmantis for the moodboards & inspos that went straight into the header for this series 🧡 Deadmantis, I love you in every colour.

Chapters

Prologue - In The Beginning

Chapter 1 - Dirt

Drabble - Wrecked

Chapter 2 - Closer

Chapter 3 - The Man At The Frontier

Chapter 4 - Frankie

Chapter 5 - Time In A Bottle

Chapter 6 - ...

Epilogue - ...

Playlist

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pimosworld · 2 years ago

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The story of us masterlist

Pairing: Triple frontier boys x f!reader

Summary: Set before reader and the boys are officially together and how it all came to be.

CW: 18+ MDNI, eventual poly relationship mentions of ptsd,verbally abusive boyfriend, cursing,threats of physical violence,alcohol consumption,mentions of past drug use,flirting,sexual tension,mentions of sex, smut in later chapters,minor character death, angst,fluff and happy ending. No description of reader.

Notes: I’ve taken some liberties with their lives after leaving delta but nothing too ooc. Frankie doesn’t have a kid and he lives with Benny and Will. Reader is a nurse for her occupation and her call sign is honey. The story will go between readers pov and the boys throughout. The boys have a group chat without reader named The golden girls, and a group chat with the reader named DF4L. It starts off heavy on the angst but it gets better I promise.

No set posting schedule and I’m not sure how many chapters this will be.

Chapter 1-Boundaries

Chapter 2-I’m no damsel

Chapter 3-The deal is off

Chapter 4-Going steady

Chapter 5-Flying without falling🔥

Chapter 6- I can fix that

Chapter 7-Weak in the knees🔥

Chapter 8-Keep you safe part I, part II

Final chapter

#triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier poly #triple frontier x fem reader #triple frontier boys x reader #francisco morales x reader #santiago garcia x reader #will miller x reader #benny miller x reader #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier fanfiction

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romanarose · 4 months ago

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Puzzle Pieces: Part 3

Ben Miller x Fem!Reader

Join my taglist : Masterlist

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me

Part one; Part Two:

Series: Read is dating Tom and he's not kind to her. Luckily, Benny always is.

Summery: Tom make you feel bad about your dress

Warnings: Toxic relationship (reader and Tom), body shaming, shaming reveling clothing, beginning of emotional cheating type thing.

Immersivity: Afab reader, fem reader. I guess maybe its implied reader is thick? But you know the 2000's everyone was called fat for literally everything lololoool

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Ben and Santi were dding tonight. Santi picked up Frankie and his lady, Mel, and Will and his wife Laura got in Ben's truck and went to pick up Tom and his girl. Ben volunteered to get them, earning him a side eyes from Will who was suspicious, but Ben insisted he just thought you were cool. He didn't tell Will he thought you were the coolest, prettiest woman he'd ever seen and that he thought Tom didn't treat you good.

You were excited. Tom actually invited you to hang out with his friends! He rarely did that, even when later you'd be on snapchat or facebook and see the other guys brought girlfriends... It was fine though, because you were new. Sure, you were living with Tom... but the Mel and Laura had known the guys for years instead of a few months with you. You had to earn it.

So, you found a nice dress in your closet, and did your make-up all nice, wanting Tom to show you off the way Frankie and Will did. After hearing Tom yell upstairs to hurry up, you clip a bow into your hair for extra measure and skip downstairs, your smile grows when you see Ben. Ben was always nice to you. Not that the others weren't! It's just you and Ben got along easy.

"About damn time!" Tom says in a way that sounds like he's joking, but always makes you feel confused, like he isn't. 'It's just a joke, babe' he'd tell you constantly.

"Sorry!" You did a little spin, showing off the dress. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah" He said, chugging a beer down before leaving. Will cleared his throat, so Tom added on. "You look great! But... I thought we were giving that one to goodwill? You said it was too small."

You can feel your excitement deflating. "Oh... um, well I changed my mind... I didn't say it was too small though... I just never got the chance to wear it."

He rolls his eyes, that playful look still on his face but it made you nervous. "Oh, I guess that's my fault for never taking you nice places"

Were you fighting? You couldn't tell. You smile big, trying to keep peace. why was this so hard? "No! No baby that's not it. I just mean it's not my go to, you know? But I think it'd be nice for tonight." You reach a hand out to his shoulder.

Laura chuckles nervously, "I love the dress! Next time you me and Mel should coordinate. I'd don't dress up enough either." Laura was wearing jeans and t-shirt.

Tom turned to you. "Yeah, you should've coordinated with the girls."

"That's not what I meant, Tom." Laura glares at him.

"Well now you can look over dressed because we're just going to the corner bar."

You can feel embarrassment burning at the back of your eyes, throat feeling tight. You couldn't tell if you were being joked with or made fun of. "Well you wouldn't tell me where we're going!"

"Because I didn't wanna hear you bitch about it not being nice!" When turned to you, there was a flash in his eyes you didn't like. He grabbed your hand on his arm and took it off.

Ben watched as Will took the most subtle step forward. "Hey man, relax, there's no need to yell at her."

When he turned to the other, the glint in his eye was gone and his smile was back. "Relax babe, it's just a joke. Of course you'll look nice." He kissed your head, hand on your hip keeping you still as he gestured everyone out the door. "C'mon lets have a good night."

When they were on their way, tom turned you too him. You look up into his eyes, seeing the softness you loved in him, the strength, the traits that made you fall in love. He held one arm around your waist, the other at your shoulder. "You know I love you, right?"

"Yeah, I know. And I love you."

He nods, smiling. "Good girl." Tom's hand reaches for the boy clipped into your hair. "Let's keep this at home, okay? It's a bit too... preschool teacher."

You tried not to look hurt as you let him take it out, placing it on the counter.

Ben watched it happen. He watched it all happen, the ways Tom tried to knock you down, to play hurtful things off as a joke... But then he saw Tom take that bow of oh your hair, the pretty bow Ben thought you looked so beautiful in, and he was done just watching.

"Hey, I gotta piss real quick." He jogs up the front steps, Tom passing him the house keys to lock up after. Once inside, he found the clip

At the bar, they found the table with Santi, Frankie and Mel. Mel told you how hot you looked, making you smile which made Ben smile too. Ben couldn't tell you you were hot, even if he thought it.

"Oh! Hey," Ben called your name. "I think this fell out of your hair when you were leaving."

He pulls the bow out of his back pocket, walking up to where you were sitting with Tom's arm around you. Ben smile softly, trying not to give himself away as he watched you beam up at him as he fastened it into your hair.

"There we go! Beautiful, don't you think, Tom?"

Tom's voice was clipped and short. "Yeah. Beautiful."

He felt Tom's glare and several other eyes on him as he walked all the to the other end of the table but he didn't care. Someone had to treat you right, and it wasn't Tom.

********************

THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!

I love my sweet benny boo <3 hope to start his part in the leather and lace universe soon.

How to keep up?

follow @romana-updates, join my tag list linked above, join my tumblr community, or follow me on ao3 @romana_rose !!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @itspdameronthings @miraclesabound @missdictatorme @rubyfruitjungle @axshadows @pimosworld @casa-boiardi @ramadiiiisme

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avastrasposts · 1 year ago

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The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 27

First of all: look at this beautiful banner @i-own-loki made for my fic! It's amazing, I love it and she is my saviour since I cannot figure out Canva! I'm going to go back and update all the previous posts so this will now be the official fic banner.

Also, chapter 27! I've been looking forward to this one for a while and I hope you enjoy!

Series Master List

Chapter 28 - Warnings have their own post - Word count: 10k

Half the morning passes before you stir, only moving because Frankie slips away to the bathroom. When he comes back you stretch, yawning widely as he wraps around you, his hand running down your side.

“I woke up wondering if I’d dreamt that Will was back,” he mumbles, “I can’t believe you found him, couldn’t fucking believe my eyes last night.”

“Imagine my face when I saw him, they put a hood over my head and Will pulled it off, he’d recognized my voice and I was just dumbstruck, started crying straight away.”

“You’re in good company, I’ve never seen Benny that emotional before, except,” he hesitates “except with Hannah, at the end.”

“That was hard, telling Will about Hannah,” you sigh,” I wonder if Benny told him the whole story, all the details, or if maybe he wants to spare him that? I’m not sure I’d wanna know, it can’t be changed.”

“I’d wanna know,” Frankie says, shifting in bed so that he can look at you, “It would fuck me up, but I’d wanna know anyway.”

You shudder, shaking the thoughts off you, “I don’t wanna think about it, I’m happy Will is back, I wanna leave it at that.” You go to push yourself off the bed but Frankie grabs hold of you, his hand behind your neck, and pulls you down to his lips in a hard kiss. There’s an edge of desperation in the way he grips your neck and holds you close to his mouth while his tongue licks into you, all teeth and urgency.

“Yesterday, before you came back,” he says, pulling back a little so that he can look at you, his eyes almost black, “I imagined what I’d do to them if they got even close to doing what Myers did to Hannah. I’d wanna know every detail, because I would do a hundred times worse to them.” His tone is rigid, harsher than you’ve heard from him before, and the intensity behind his words makes you frightened, not for you, but for him.

“Don’t go down that route, Frankie, please,” you say, taking hold of his hand, “don’t even think about it, it’s not a good head space to be in.”

“I can’t help it, the thought of that happening to you…” he trails off, you feel his fingers flexing around the back of your neck, “I just wanna fucking make them-”

“Stop, Frankie,” you cut him off, “I don’t want you thinking about it, and if anything was to happen to me, I don’t want you doing anything,” you take his hand from behind your neck, putting the other one on his cheek. “If I go missing, come find me, please, tear the world apart if you have to, I’ll do the same for you. But don’t lose yourself to revenge, I don’t want that for you.” Frankie’s eyes soften at your words as you run your thumb over his cheek, “You’ll break my heart if you let hatred take over, I want you to be my sweet Frankie, even if I’m not here.”

“Please don’t talk about not being here,” he says, his voice thick, “that thought fucking kills me, that’s what scares me more than anything.”

“Being without you scares me the most too, Frankie, but promise you won’t wreck yourself trying to get revenge if something happens to me.”

He takes in your worried face, your eyes searching his for assurance. The very thought of someone hurting you, or worse, makes his heart stutter, his first instinct is to think of all the ways he can bring retribution. But your pleading eyes, your hand on his check as you beg him to promise you a different path, makes him squash it down, he can’t deny you anything, even this.

“I promise, cariño, I promise I won’t lose myself.” His kiss is gentle this time, his arms wrapping around you, as you cup his face. You let yourself stay wrapped up by him for a few, quiet minutes, breathing in his warm scent, his soft lips and hands on your skin.

“We should go downstairs and see the others,” he mumbles, still close to your lips, “see what Will has to say about the smugglers.”

You nod and pull away a little from him, taking his hand and tugging him off the bed. It’s a couple of quick showers for the both of you and then you go downstairs. Will and Benny are on the couch as you walk in, Pope making coffee in the kitchen.

“Morning, sleepy heads!” Benny greets you, he’s got a wide grin, looking happy and relaxed next to his brother.

“Morning,” you say as Will pushes off the couch and comes over for a hug.

“Did you sleep ok?” he asks, tilting your head up to check on the cut his men left on your cheek.

“Out like a light,” you say, and it was true, you hadn’t even had a nightmare. “You ok?” you ask in a lower voice and he catches your meaning, giving you a nod and a small crooked smile.

“I’m good, it’s surreal to suddenly have breakfast with you guys like nothing changed, and about Hannah…” he shakes his head a little, “I always hoped, a little at least, that she was still ok. But to know that she was alive until just a few months ago…that’s gonna take some time to process.” He shrugs and you nod, leaving it at that for now.

Will, Benny and Pope have obviously been talking before Frankie and you arrived and they fill you in on the details while you have breakfast.

“So, the thing with Conway yesterday,” Will says, “had been brewing for a while. The guy’s an asshole, he was only part of the crew because he had good connections when we first started out. He’s been pushing for us to start smuggling and trading drugs, opiates mainly, but I’ve said no to that from the beginning, not happening.”

“We heard that from Jodie Graham, she said you guys wouldn’t sell any to her,” you say, refilling your coffee mug.

“Jodie’s good to trade with but that was always our disagreement, but she was fine with it, didn’t push it.”

“So what’s the plan for your crew now?” Frankie’s looking over at Will, “We talked about approaching you guys and working together before but now,” he glances over at you, “I’m not gonna trust them, they attacked us and we’ve taken out a lot of your guys, there’s gonna be bad blood.”

“Yeah, the idea of you joining my crew died when you killed Conway’s brother in the warehouse,” Will says, shaking his head. “They had orders to scare you, ‘bit of intimidation, not kill you, but that obviously backfired.”

“Ok, so collaboration is out of the question,” Benny says, “then what the fuck do we do? Take them out?”

Will sighs and leans back against the counter, uncrossing his arms to rub one hand over his face. “I don’t think that’s gonna work, I mean, yeah we can take them out, we can handle them, no problem. But first off, I don’t wanna, not all of them are bad like Conway, and I’ve been working with some of them for years, I don’t wanna turn around and kill them, or give them a reason to kill me. But,” he shifts on his feet, crossing his arms again, “the guys who you’ve killed, they had family, and friends, in this QZ. And I’m not saying you did the wrong thing when you killed them, they attacked you,” Will’s holding up his hands as both Benny and Pope start to object. “But, as a result, the guys in the crew are out for your blood, and as they start spreading the word about who killed their friends and family, we’re toast, we can’t stay in this QZ.”

You breath out a low fuck….and sink your head into your hands. You’ve just settled in New York, you just fucking got here, and now you’re all stuck with either leaving, or watching you back at every step.

“Great, back into no man’s land,” Pope growls.

“We should’ve just come to you straight away, Will,” you say, looking over at the other three guys, “We were being fucking stupid.”

“I’ve been keeping a low profile, and my guys wouldn’t have trusted you, you’re new in the QZ, unknown, too risky. And,” Will shrugs, “what’s done is done, and the Conway situation would’ve blown up anyway.”

“So we need to leave again,” Frankie says, seemingly shaking himself out of inactivity, “when, how and where to? We need to figure out where the fuck we’re going this time.”

“I think I can answer the ‘how’,” Will says, “I talked to Jodie in private the last time I saw her. She was willing to let me sail with them up to Dartmouth, outside Providence. They trade up there. Their ship is big enough for the five of us, and them, so as long as we pay our way, they’ll take us.”

“That gets us a long way away from New York,” Pope says, “sounds like a good idea. And getting to Orchard Beach is no problem, we’ll just have to be extra cautious and avoid your guys, Will.”

“And then what?” you ask. “Is there a QZ in Providence?”

“Yeah, there is,” Will nodded, “Jodie says it’s small but decent, might be good to check out, if not, the Boston QZ isn’t much further north and that’s a big one.”

You look over at Frankie who nods at you, “I’m in, if we have to leave, that sounds like a solid idea.”

“I’m in too, and sailing sounds like a really nice way to travel,” you look back at Will, nodding your agreement.

“Alright, if everyone’s in, I’ll get in touch with Jodie, set it up. In the meantime, we need to lay low,” Will says and everyone agrees.

The next few days are spent collecting supplies and going over the resources you have while trying to stay out of sight. Frankie and Pope do a short trip outside the wall to clear a cache they’ve got stashed. You pace the apartment while they’re gone, glancing out through the window every time you hear a noise. When they get back you breathe a long sigh of relief, pulling Frankie in for a long hug. He tangles his fingers in your hair as he holds you close, letting his solid body under your arms sooth you.

You choose to leave just after the curfew comes into effect at six pm, jogging through the empty QZ until you get to a tunnel you rarely use because it’s broken up and slow going. Slipping into it, the five of you stop just inside the entrance, waiting for anyone who might’ve followed you. After fifteen minutes you continue on, nothing moves behind you. You get through to the other end without any issues and quickly make your way through the Bronx towards Orchard Beach. Nothing stirs in the night and it’s almost worse, you’re expecting something to happen, something to go wrong, but you arrive at the beach with plenty of time to spare.

You camp out on the side of the beach, waiting for Jodie and Damon to show up. You’re nervous while you wait, pacing back and forth until Frankie stops you by pulling you to the side and wrapping his arms around you. He doesn’t have to say anything, you just bury your face against his soft flannel shirt, and let him rub his hands up and down your back.

By the time the ship sails into the bay, a thin new moon has risen over Long Island and there’s a steady breeze. Jodie comes in with the small dinghy and gets you all out to the ship, it takes two trips to get you all and your bags onto the sailing vessel. Once you’ve climbed onboard and look back towards the shore, you feel your shoulders relax, leaving New York QZ and the exposed world outside the walls behind. Damon and Jodie get the sails up, helped by Pope, the only one of you with any kind of sailing experience, and the ship starts moving north. Damon sets a course that takes the ship out through the Long Island Sound and as it widens the shorelines on both sides disappear from view.

“I’ll take the first watch,” he says, “Jodie will take the second one so you’re all welcome to sleep in the bunks below deck, might be a bit cramped though but there’s plenty of room to sleep on deck.”

Benny, Will and Pope disappear beneath deck and you poke your head down too. There’s two bunk beds set up on either side of the narrow hull. At the aft of the ship there’s a small bedroom where Jodie and Damon sleep.

“I wouldn’t mind sleeping up on deck, what about you?” you ask Frankie, eyeing the one single bunk bed available.

“Sounds like a very nice idea,” he smiles, “Will snores.”

“I do not,” Will grumbles in reply from the top bunk he’s climbed into, already inside his sleeping bag.

Frankie chuckles and pulls you back up top. There’s plenty of room on deck and you roll out your sleeping mats, cushioning them with a few thick pillows Damon offers you, and zipping your sleeping bag together. The night air is cool but fresh and salty as Frankie pulls you close, your head on his arm as you both look up at the sky. The stars are impossibly bright out here on the water and in a low voice Frankie points out the different constellations, showing you the north star, a bright light in the sky.

“It’s less than one degree away from the north pole, so if you see it, you always know where north is.”

“Did you ever use it to navigate with?” you ask, tilting your head to get a better look at it.

“Several times, it’s a quick reference when you’re moving at night.”

“You’re such a boy scout, Francisco,” you tease him, “Big, scary, Delta Force boy scout.” You giggle as he growls into your ear, his fingers finding the soft skin at your waist and tickling you.

“If we were in a bed I’d show you how I got my knot tying merit badge,” he chuckles as you squirm under his fingers.

“Pretty sure we’ve already done that,” you smile as his hands return to their soft caresses over your skin.

“Pretty sure you really enjoyed it too,” Frankie smirks, the memory of several occasions when he’d used his one tie to restrain your hands making you squeeze your legs together. Something to remember for when you’re next in a safe location and on your own. Right now you’re getting sleepy and you turn, your back pressed up against his chest.

“Sleep well, hermosa, te amo.” Frankie nudges his nose against your neck as he gives you a soft kiss.

“I love you too, my sweet Frankie,” you mumble, his arm a warm weight over your body.

Damon and Jodie make sure the ship sails safely through the night and when the early morning sun wakes you, the ship has already passed New Haven. It’s another full day of sailing before you reach Dartmouth according to Damon and you’ve already agreed to spend a second night on the ship so that you can disembark the next morning in daylight. A whole day on a sailing ship turns into what feels like a well deserved holiday and you’re starting to think Jodie and Damon really have the best idea about how to live in the apocalypse.

“Do you ever see other ships out here?” You ask as Damon brings out the fishing rods after breakfast.

“Not much anymore,” he says, “in the beginning there were a lot of boats around, both sailing boats and motor ones, nowadays we only see sailing ships but even they are rare. Might get one passing on the horizon.”

“Do you ever approach them, see if anyone is alive?” you ask as he hands you one of the rods and a tub of homemade bait.

“Sometimes, depends on how badly we need supplies or gear. We follow them for a bit, see if anything stirs, most times the ships are empty or have infected on them. In the past year we’ve only come across two other ships with people on them. Trade with one of them, the other one wanted nothing to do with us.”

You cast out, following Damon’s instructions, the other guys are also casting out around the ship, Frankie’s next to you, he’s been listening to Damon speaking.

“Do you ever go ashore?” he asks, “For supplies?”

“No need any more, we trade for what we need most times, scavenge ships for the rest.”

“And eat a lot of fish,” Jodie sighs from the steering wheel, “I used to love eating fresh fish, now I’d be happy if I never ate fish again in my life.”

“I’ll see if I can catch a burger for you, Jodie,” Will jokes from the stern and everyone laughs, it’s a nice relaxed, holiday feeling on deck. Frankie insists on you wearing his cap as he sees you squinting at the sun, it smells like him and you give him a grateful kiss on the cheek. The sun has already given him a deeper tan and more freckles and he looks irresistible as he pulls off his t-shirt, he catches you staring and winks at you with a grin.

“You look like a snack, Frankie,” you whisper into his ear as you kiss his cheek again and he smiles, turning his head and kissing your lips.

“Never thought I’d be getting a tan in the apocalypse.”

Between the six of you fishing, you catch plenty, more than you need. But Damon has figured out how to extract salt from the ocean water, and shows you all how he preserves the fish by drying and salting it. He gives you plenty of what he’s already dried as extra rations, and prepares what you’ve caught while the best catch gets grilled straight away.

None of you have eaten fresh fish in years and it feels like a feast and even more like a holiday when Damon serves up what you’ve just caught. You stuff yourself, tipping back on the deck after lunch with your hands on your belly, groaning at how full you are. Frankie smiles down at you from above, his unruly curls waving in the breeze as his eyes crinkle at the corners with a smile, sunlight filtering in and out between the sails and lighting up his tan skin. You’re suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia, a memory of your first date with him, lying back on his blanket in the park, your belly full of tacos and smiling up at this gorgeous man who’d just taken you up for your first helicopter ride.

“Do you remember when we had tacos in the park?” you ask and put your hand up to his curls, running your fingers through them.

“How could I forget,” he smiles, “our first date. I fell asleep on your chest and if you keep doing that I’m going to fall asleep again.”

You smile up at him and rake your nails across his scalp, always his favorite thing. He drops down and puts his arm over your waist, head on your chest just like he did in the park and it doesn’t take long before you can hear his soft snoring. You catch Will glancing over at the two of you with a smile but when he turns away it slips off his face, replaced with something more doleful. He turns and looks out over the empty ocean and you see his hand curl, white knuckled, around the railing and you know what he’s thinking about. You blink back sudden tears as you look up at the blue sky, dotted with little white tufts. You’d give anything to have Hannah safe on this ship with Will too.

By the time the sun slips under the western horizon, you’ve reached Dartmouth, the old town dark but still relatively unbroken by the looks of it. Damon takes the ship out further into Buzzards Bay and anchors up. You’re sleepy and relaxed after a day in the sun when you curl up next to Frankie on deck, falling asleep almost instantly as the ship gently sways on the waves.

The following morning the fog is thick over the bay, but Jodie and Damon have sailed here many times and they easily navigate to the shore, bringing you in at Nonquitt Beach outside Dartmouth. Jodie rows the dinghy in, bringing Pope, Frankie and you in last.

“Thanks for everything, Jodie,” Pope says, as he unloads the last of the bags. “Safe sailing, we’ll try to get word to you about where we end up.”

“Take care of yourselves now,” she gives you all a final wave before pushing off the shore again.

“Ok, back on dry land,” Benny says, looking over across the beach, towards the residential area behind it, “What does the map say, what route?”

“We head north up to route six, follow that to Taunton River, route six crosses it but if that bridge is out, there’s another one just to the north,” Pope says. “After that it’s a straight stretch into Providence.

Will looks over Pope’s shoulder and points at the neighborhood beyond the beach, “I suggest we try to get through this area and then go inland up to route six. Less houses when we’re away from the coast here.”

Pope nods in agreement and pockets the map while the rest of you ready your guns. You’ve got three rifles between you now, and you’ve each got a handgun. In silence you all start moving across the beach, Pope in the lead, Will bringing up the rear. It’s not fast going but the neighborhood is empty and quiet. Jodie and Damon had left you here because it was a regular spot for them to meet traders and the area was regularly cleared by people who moved through it and it shows. The buildings are empty, looted, and nothing stirs.

Finding route six is easy and then you turn west, following it to the river. The trek takes most of the day, a few detours necessary to avoid infected and by the time you see the river, it’s too late to go further, but at least your first day off the ship has been uneventful. Finding a safe looking building to stay in for the night, Pope, Will and Benny go through it, making sure it’s empty, before you make camp in the top apartment. You all divvy up the watches and despite being outside the wall in an unknown city, you sleep fairly well after your watch, and the night passes quietly. You wake up on your side with Frankie’s arm around your waist and his solid body pressed up against your back, by the sound of his heavy breathing, he’s still sound asleep. Desperate for a pee, you carefully move away from his arm and step into your boots. Will is on watch, the final one for the night, and he gives you a warm smile as you step out of the apartment after a quick bathroom visit. He’s standing at the top of the stairs and you lean against the window ledge next to him.

“All quiet?” you ask in a low voice, not wanting to wake the others still sleeping inside the apartment.

“All quiet,” he confirms with a nod, “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, it felt pretty safe here, and having you four around helps,” you smile, “It’s really good having you back, Will,” you give his hand a quick squeeze and he smiles again.

“It’s good being back with you all too,” he says but then hesitates, falling silent for a minute while you watch his mind work, and you reflect over how Will was always more like Frankie with his words, never speaking just for the sake of speaking, they always consider what they want to say before they speak.

“It’s good being back with family,” he offers eventually, “and not just Benny. You, Frankie and Pope too. I had people I trusted to a certain degree in New York, mostly because I had to trust them. But they were never friends, never family. I’d forgotten what it feels like to be with family.” He looks over at you again, “I missed it more than I realized.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t find each other sooner. We heard rumors about a guy who sounded like you in the months after the outbreak, but we didn’t think it could be you because it was all the way up in New York.”

“Yeah, Benny told me about it, I don’t think I would’ve believed it myself.” He shoulders the rifle and comes to stand next to you, leaning back against the window ledge. “I...I feel guilty for not trying harder to get back to Hannah, to Arlington. Things might’ve been different if I had.”

“Or you could’ve died on the way there, there’s no point in thinking you could’ve changed anything. We did what we thought we could do.”

Will stays silent for a few minutes, you turn to glance out through the window, down at the street, it’s slowly getting lighter now. As you turn back you hear him exhale slowly.

“Benny told me about Lucía, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to Frankie about it yet,” Will says, his voice even lower, looking over at you. “I’m really sorry, Ben told me it got pretty bad.”

“It did, we were at Denny’s cabin after and he shut off, barely even spoke. I…I had moments when I wasn’t sure we’d make it, it would’ve been so easy to just stop trying to survive. Frankie didn’t seem to see a reason to live either, I had to keep him alive.”

“What got him out of it?”

“He got kinda jolted out of it when we got attacked on our way to the Franklin QZ, we were attacked by raiders, we got separated but Frankie killed them, burnt their place down and got us out. But what he had to do…to Lucía…” you trail off, exhaling slowly, “He’s…there’s something darker in him now, it changed him.”

“I think we’ve all changed, forced by circumstances,” Will says, keeping an eye on the open door to the apartment down the hall, “but that kind of trauma would break anyone, and Frankie had been through a lot even before it.” He looks over at you again, “He’d be a lot worse off if it wasn’t for you though, you know that right?” Will gently nudges your shoulder with his own, “You were good for him from the start, before the outbreak, and anyone can see now how you ground him, keep him centered.”

“I hope it’s enough,” you sigh. Frankie’s darker moments were less frequent after the years he’d spent getting help from Herb, but you’d seen them flare back up when things got heated. The anger was closer to the surface than ever, never directed at you, but always present if he perceived a threat to you, or the violent thoughts he fell into when he thought of revenge.

“Morning guys,” Pope comes out of the apartment, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, “all quiet?”

“Yeah, we’re just catching up,” Will says and you push off from the window ledge.

“Morning, Pope.”

“Morning, hermana,” he gives your shoulder a quick squeeze, “Please go wake Fish, he responds so much better to your morning kisses than mine.”

“Tonto del culo,” you smirk at him and he chuckles.

“He really is only teaching you the bad ones.”

You find Frankie still sound asleep and you almost don’t want to wake him, he looks peaceful and younger, splayed on his belly with his arm as a pillow, the other one thrown over where you’d slept. Benny has stirred across the room, sitting up and scratching his chest.

“Is it morning?” he asks, his voice drowsy.

“Yeah, the others are up, I’m just gonna wake Frankie,” you whisper and Benny nods, pushing back his sleeping bag. You sink down on your side, next to Frankie, and run your fingers through his curls, pressing your lips to his scruffy cheek. His nose twitches and a low rumble comes from his chest.

“Keep doing that, hermosa,” he mutters, his voice rough with sleep and you smile into his patchy beard, your nails scratching across his scalp.

“Time to wake up, love,” you whisper and he grumbles again, his arm coming up to wrap around your waist and pull you closer, his nose buried against the soft skin of your throat.

“Despiértate, el pececito,” Pope says, coming into the apartment again, grinning at Frankie’s grumbling.

“Don’t fucking call me that, I’m bigger and older than you,” he mutters, rolling over on his back as you sit up.

Coffee and breakfast is quickly done and then packed up before you all head down to the street again. Route six leads right up to the river’s edge, but that’s where it stops, the huge six lane bridge has been wiped out by the bombing after outbreak day. The twisted blue girders lay rusting in the water next to the USS Massachusetts.

“Alright, plan B,” Pope says, pointing north, “there’s another bridge about two miles upriver.”

“I wonder if anyone thought to make camp on the warship,” Benny says as you walk past it. Nothing stirs and it looks uninhabited but also like it would make a regular fortress with a few guards.

“Probably, but I prefer Jodie and Damon’s idea,” Frankie says, “be far out on the ocean, away from everything, that’s how I’d like to do it.”

“Wish I could sail,” he adds in a lower voice so that only you can hear, “then that’s what I’d do, take us out there, maybe find a small, uninhabited island down south for shelter during the winter.”

“I’d like that, Frankie,” you whisper back at him and he gives you a quick wink, before he turns forward again.

“ ‘Veterans’ Memorial Bridge’, how appropriate,” Benny says as you approach the smaller bridge, “But it doesn’t look too good.”

“Looks like it should hold though,” Pope says, “Let’s get a closer look.”

The bridge is low and flat and used to open in the middle to let ships through, the center section splitting in two parts and standing straight up. Most of the bridge is still in place and looks solid, but the part that opens hangs below the bridge, as if the two movable slabs have collapsed and sunk lower than their hinges should allow. You all walk up to the edge of the bridge and look out over the tilting road surface. The opposite side of the bridge sits lower than the eastern side, you have to jump across and down to get to it but it seems doable, even to you.

Benny takes a cautious step onto the part of the bridge that slopes downwards, it doesn’t move under him and he tests it by bouncing on his feets, as if he was on a trampoline, finally jumping up and slamming his boots down onto the surface. The bridge doesn’t budge and Benny looks up at the rest of you.

“Seems solid enough,” he says, bouncing a few more times.

“What’s our option, Pope?” Frankie asks, eyeing the gap at the end.

“Next bridge is twelve miles north of here,” Pope replies, “Doable, but it takes us a long way away from Providence.”

Will steps out on the bridge next to his brother and does a few test jumps, moving further out from the solid section.

“It’s not moving an inch, I say we go this way, the jump at the end is easy enough.”

“Ok,” Frankie agrees, “But let’s go slowly and carefully, I don’t want a fucking bridge collapsing under me.”

“Too many arepas, fishsticks,” Benny taunts and Frankie flips him off.

Slowly you all move down the sloping road surface, it remains solid, even when you get to the end of the section and look down at the jump.

“That side tilts a bit more, be careful when you jump, Benny,” Will says, eyeing his brother as he gets ready to jump.

“Nothing to it, Ironhead,” Benny says and takes a gigantic leap, overshooting the gap by several feet and slamming down onto the road surface with a grin.

“Beat that, bro!” he calls, flexing his arms, posing for imaginary cameras.

Will chuckles and backs up, “Watch me, Benny boy.” Will takes a running start and launches himself over the gap, landing a clear foot further than Benny who scowls.

“I didn’t have a running start, that doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, whatever, big bro beat ya, kid.” Will smirks and dodges Benny’s playful swipe at his head.

“I’ll jump first, you follow me, cariño, ok?” Frankie says, “I’ll catch you when you land.”

“Ok, but it’s a tiny jump, I’ll be fine, Frankie,” you smile and he gets ready to jump, he’s not going to take part in the Miller brother’s pissing contest. He takes a few steps back and clears the gap, landing just in front of Benny who whoops.

“Still in the lea - oh fuck!”

The bridge groans and drops, the section screeching further down towards the water, the angle suddenly sharp.

“Grab the railing!” Will yells, yanking Benny towards the side while Frankie scrambles to find purchase on something.

“Frankie!” you yell, you see his boots scraping across the asphalt as he slips down the road. “Will!” Pope shouts, “Grab Fish! Grab him!”

“Take my hand, Benny!” He grabs Benny’s hand in an armlock and Benny hooks his other arm around the railing, Will reaching out towards Frankie.

Your heart threatens to jump out of your chest as you watch Frankie scraping along the road, slipping further down as he tries to get to the railing and Will’s hand. You can hear him cursing as his boots slip and he skids down closer to the edge. The bridge groans again and Frankie stumbles, at the last second launching himself forward and grabbing hold of the last part of the railing, his boots dangling over the fifty feet drop.

“Pull me up!” he shouts, “Pull me the fuck up!”

“I got you,” Will calls, scrambling down the railing, using it as a ladder, “I got you!” He hangs on with one hand and reaches down to Frankie, grabbing hold of his wrist and pulling him up. Benny manages to hook his arm around Will’s waist and together they get Frankie high enough so that he can get his feet up on the railing too.

“Climb!” you yell, “You’ve got to get off the bridge!” You can hear it groaning under them. Benny is already scrambling up the railing, Will makes sure Frankie’s got a good grip and then they both start climbing, rushing as the bridge section slips lower. It’s hanging at almost ninety degrees now and the screech of the metal hinges makes you and Santi yell at them to climb faster.

Frankie heaves himself over the ledge, Will and Benny holding on to his arms, dragging him up. They scramble to their feet and run backwards as the section rips loose and crashes into the water below.

“Fuck…” you hear Benny gasp, Frankie’s bent double, his hands on his knees as he looks over to the other side where you and Pope are now stuck.

“How far did you say the next bridge was?” you ask Santi, your eyes still on Frankie.

“Twelve miles, four hour hike if we don’t run into trouble.” He gives the guys on the other side a wave, “You guys ok, no injuries?”

Frankie shakes his head and Benny gives a thumbs up, they’re both standing up now, a safe distance from the ledge.

“Pope!” Will calls from across the bridge, “what’s the name of the next bridge?”

Pope pulls out the map, “Berkley Bridge, twelve miles north,” he calls back, “Follow the one thirty eight, along the river. There’s a high school next to the bridge, on the west side.”

“Alright, we’ll meet you there,” Will calls back, “we’ll leave markers if we get there first.”

“See you there, stay safe!” Pope calls back, giving them a wave. Frankie’s eyes meet yours and despite the distance you can see the anxiety, you know you’ve got the same look.

“Pope!” he calls, and Pope cuts him off.

“I know, hermano, I’ll keep her safe, I’ll get her back to you, don’t worry about it.” You feel Santi put his hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze, pulling you back towards the eastern shore. You raise your hand to Frankie, and he does the same.

“Stay safe, Frankie, I love you.”

“Te amo, mi vida. Stay safe!”

Pope and you head back to the eastern shore, you feel your legs shaking, the adrenaline leaving your system and you stumble slightly. Pope reaches out and grabs your shoulder, holding you steady.

“Take it easy, hermana, you doing ok?”

“Just a bit shaky after all that,” you say, “that was way too fucking close.”

“Yeah, it was,” Santi gives you a squeeze and keeps walking, “thank fuck Will and Benny were there too.”

“I wish I could be as cool as you guys in situations like that, and then just brush it off and keep going.”

“We had years of training, remember? And it didn’t always do us a lot of good, trained to do some fucked up shit but no one taught us how to deal with the aftermath.” Pope pulls out the map and scans the street for any landmarks. “We basically just need to follow the river but it curves around a bit so I’m gonna try to not get us too lost.”

Off in the distance you hear the tell tale sound of infected and you both freeze in your tracks before Pope grabs your arm and pulls you into an alley. Skirting around, moving slowly and carefully, it’s slow going for the rest of the day. You end up spending an hour hiding inside a building while a horde of at least fifty infected shamble past on the street outside.

“It might’ve been the noise of the bridge falling that attracted them,” Pope says, peeking out through the window at the last infected stragglers.

“I hope there's no more heading this way,” you say, it’s already been three hours since you left the others at the bridge and you’ve still got a long way to go. At this pace you won’t get the next bridge before nightfall.

Together you carefully leave the building and move quickly away from the horde, checking every street corner and blind spot before you move on. You manage to move a few more miles, but then a chilling screech goes up close by and Pope pulls you down behind a car, crouching down. It’s in the nick of time, four runners stumble out of an alley across the street.

“Fuck, they’re everywhere today,” Pope breathes. Glancing behind you he motions you backwards, into a shop, “In here, we need to get off the street.”

It looks like a small mom and pop dry cleaning business inside, you see racks of empty coat hangers behind a counter as Pope scouts forwards and finds the door to the second floor. The door opens up with a small tap of his boot and you both make your way up the stairs slowly. Whoever ran this shop clearly lived on top of it, the stairs leading to a small landing with a closed front door. Pope pushes it open without resistance and quickly scans the small hallway that it opens to. He motions for you to close the door behind you and it shuts with a soft click. Nothing stirs and you quietly follow Pope towards what looks like the living room. You’ve both got your guns out, Pope in front as he steps through the doorway and sweeps the room. He spots the man a split second before the butt of a rifle comes down on the side of his head and he’s thrown to the floor. The crack to his skull disorientates him but he manages to hold on to his gun, rolling onto his back and aiming at the man now advancing on him, a shotgun raised and cocked. His head throbs and he blinks rapidly to clear the fog threatening to envelope him.

“Lower the gun or your girl gets hurt.” The growl comes from a second man, holding you firm, your arm twisted up behind your back and a large hunting knife pressed against your throat. He’d grabbed you as Pope stumbled to the ground, twisting the gun out of your hand as he yanked you into the room and bent your arm painfully up behind your back. You can feel the cold blade press into your throat, just shy of nicking your skin.

You see Pope quickly scan the situation, the determination in the two men, the knife against your throat, and he drops his gun, sliding it across the floor..

“Check him for any other weapons and tie him up,” your captor orders the man with the shotgun. “On your belly, hands behind your back,” he tells Pope. You see the anger in Santi’s eyes as he rolls over, gritting his teeth. The man holding you doesn’t relent his grip, your shoulder is screaming, another half an inch and he’ll dislocate it.

“Please, my shoulder,” you whimper, “you’re breaking it.”

“Don’t worry, darlin´, as soon as he’s secured I’ll loosen my grip.” He’s still got the blade tight against your throat, forcing your head back, his voice is close to your ear and the deep drawl of his rough voice makes your skin crawl.

The man with the shotgun quickly secures Pope’s hands with a cable tie, patting him down and stepping back.

“He’s clear, Joel, now what?”

He looks over at the man holding you and your brain goes into overdrive, putting the face of the man in front of you, older now, more worn, together with the deep Texan drawl of the man behind you.

“Miller!” you gasp, your throat scraping against the knife as the man’s eyes snap to yours. “You’re Tommy Miller! We met, fourth of July, at Denny’s cabin.” You feel the man behind you tighten his grip on your arm, bending it just a little bit further back and you sob, “You’re Will and Benny’s cousins!”

“You’re Frankie’s girl!” Tommy blurts out, his eyes suddenly wide with recognition, “And you,” he looks at Pope, still belly down on the floor, “you’re one of the Delta Force guys.”

“Yeah, I’m Pope, get these fucking things off me, man,” he spits. Tommy takes a step forward but Joel barks.

“Tommy, wait! What the fuck are you doing, we can’t trust them!”

“C’mon, Joel, we know them,” Tommy says but he stops in his tracks.

“Yeah, we knew them, for a weekend, six fucking years ago!” Joel snaps back, Now the-”

“We’re with Will and Benny,” you interrupt, moving your head back as much as you can from the sharp blade. “We got separated this morning, they’re on the other side of the river, we’re trying to get to the next bridge to meet them.”

“Will and Benny are alive?” Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and he shoots Joel a hopeful look before he quickly schools his face back into neutrality.

“How do we know you’re not just lying? Who else is with you?” Joel growls from behind you.

“Why the fuck would we lie about that?” Pope growls right back at him from the floor, “We’ve been with Benny since Arlington, at the beginning, and we just found Will in New York about a week ago.”

“Frankie’s with us,” you say, “It’s just us, Frankie, Will and Benny.”

“Joel…” Tommy says, “We can’t walk away from this, we gotta see if they’re telling the truth:”

Joel remains silent behind you, you can see Tommy’s eyes on him but his grip on your arm is still firm. It’s like the two brother’s are having a silent conversation, deciding your fate as your shoulder screams in protest.

“Fine,” Joel finally spits, “but if they fuck us, it’s on you, Tommy!” He removes the knife from your throat and releases your arms. You collapse forward, stumbling away from him with your arm cradled to your chest. Tommy kneels next to Pope and cuts his ties and Pope gets to his feet with a grumbled thanks.

“Lead the way then, you two in front,” Joel says as you glance back at him. He’s changed more than Tommy, a bit more gray around his temples and on his jaw, but it’s his face, the expression in his eyes that’s made him almost unrecognizable. The Joel you knew for a long weekend six years ago had a friendly, warm face. You still remember his belly laughs when his daughter and Lucía brought him down with tickles, a friendly giant who didn’t even protest when Lucía lay flat across his legs with Sarah over his chest. The man scowling at you now looks dangerous and feral, angry lines carved into his face and a hard set jaw.

“Sure, I’ll take the lead,” Pope says, accepting his gun back from Tommy, much to Joel’s dissatisfaction. “Let me just check her shoulder first, you twisted it pretty hard by the looks of it.” The sharp tone in his voice isn’t lost on Joel and he only answers with another low growl.

Pope gently prods your shoulder and you wince under his touch. “Feels like the muscle has been torn, like a sprain,” he says, “I’ll make you a sling when we get to the others, keep your hand hooked into your jacket for now.” He briefly cups your cheek with his hand, “You ok, hermana?” he asks in a low voice and you’re reminded of how similar his eyes are to Frankie’s when they share the same look of concern.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you say, giving him a small smile and he smiles back.

“Ok, we’ve got about two hours I think, to the bridge,” he says, looking over at Joel who gives a curt nod. “We good to go?”

“Yeah, take the lead,” Joel says and motions to the door.

Pope quickly finds the back door of the shop, scanning the narrow alley before stepping out. You stay behind him, then Tommy, with Joel covering the rear. You move as fast as possible through the streets, eventually coming out into the countryside and cutting across fields. Twice you have to hastily hide from groups of infected, still moving south towards the broken bridge but after the second group has passed you see no more. By the time you see the river again the sun has just sunk below the horizon, it’s taken you almost the whole day to cover the twelve miles and you’re exhausted. As the Berkley Bridge finally comes into view you’re dead on your feet, hungry and thirsty and your shoulder aches.

“Hang in there,” Pope says to you in a low voice, dropping back and giving your uninjured shoulder a squeeze, “the high school is just on the other side of the bridge.”

“I can’t wait to just lie down and sleep,” you reply, “I really hope the others got there ok.”

Pope nods in response and steps forward again, taking the lead as you all step onto the bridge. It’s in one piece and you breathe a sigh of relief when you’re across it. It doesn’t take long to reach the high school and Pope quickly finds a marker carved into the gate post.

“Back door,” he says and leads you around the building. It’s fully dark now and it’s slow going, but you finally see a half open door to a smaller section of the school and as you approach you hear the sound of a weapon cocking.

“Stop, identify yourself!” you hear Frankie’s low voice, stern and commanding, he’s expecting two people, not four, and he’s raised the rifle, aiming at you through the darkness.

“Catfish,” Pope calls, “stand down, it’s us.”

You see Frankie lower his rifle a little bit as the four of you come out of the gloom, his finger is still near the trigger and he doesn’t put the safety on.

“Who’s with you?” he asks, his eyes landing on Joel and Tommy behind you.

“Joel and Tommy Miller, Ben and Will’s cousins,” Pope replies and you see recognition flash across Frankie’s face before his eyes widen. .

“Holy shit, what are the odds of that?”

“Pretty high I’d say,” Tommy replies, stepping forward and extending his hand, “Good to see you again, man.” Frankie shakes his hand and then Joel, who, a bit more reluctantly, grabs Frankie’s hand as he extends it.

“Come inside, and we’ll bar this door for the night,” Frankie says, stepping to the side and motioning the men towards the door before he turns to you. His eyebrows knit together as he sees your arm, still hooked into the opening of your jacket to support your shoulder.

“You’re hurt, what happened?” He shoulders the rifle and steps forward as gently reaches for your wrist.

“It’s my shoulder, Pope says the muscle is torn a bit. He’s gonna make me a sling.”

“How did it happen?” he asks, moving his hands up to your shoulder, his eyes searching yours for any discomfort.

“I’ll tell you later, I just wanna get inside and sit down, I’m exhausted, Frankie.”

“Of course, c’mere, I’ve got you,” he leads you inside and helps you off with your pack as Pope and Tommy shut the door and slide a heavy iron girder in place.

“We’re just a bit further in, we found a room with shuttered windows so we can have some light.” Frankie leads you all down a hallway and turns right, pushing open a door he steps into a classroom. The desks have been pushed up along the walls and in the middle Will’s got a couple of camper stoves set up, the smell of food making your stomach growl.

“Look who we found,” Pope grins as he waves Tommy and Joel in through the door. You can’t help but smile as you see Will and Benny look up, confusion on their faces at first and then, almost simultaneously, shift into huge smiles as they recognise their cousins.

“Holy shit, what the actual fuck?!” Benny whoops and jumps to his feet, grabbing Joel into a bear hug, “Where the fuck did you come from?!” he says as he tries to pick Joel up off the floor under loud protests.

“Put me the fuck down, Benny,” he laughs, slapping him on the back. Will and Tommy hug, big grins on both men and then Benny pulls Tommy into another bear hug, laughing as Will embraces Joel. It’s good to see the tension melt away from Tommy and especially Joel. He’d been guarded the whole way, not quite trusting that Pope and you were telling the truth. But now, seeing the four Miller cousins hug it out with big smiles, even Joel looks less intimidating.

Frankie gently takes your uninjured hand and leads you over to where his sleeping bag is rolled out, helping you sit down. You sink down gratefully and lean back against the wall, finally relaxing.

“Let me get your boots off,” he says in a low voice, the Miller boys still catching up and laughing behind him. You nod and rest your head against the wall, closing your eyes. Your shoulder is throbbing, you’re going to have to dip into your small supply of expired painkillers soon. Frankie pulls your boots off, and your damp socks, gently rubbing the soles of your feet as you sigh and shoot him a pleased smile.

“Thanks, Frankie,” you mumble.

“Anything, hermosa,” he smiles back, letting go of your feet. “But I need to check your shoulder, might be less nice.”

“Do what you have to do as long as I can have food afterwards, I’m starving.”

“You took a long time getting here, what happened?” Frankie asks, making you sit up so that he can slide your jacket off.

“There were infected everywhere, we had to stay hidden for long periods of time. Pope thinks maybe the noise from the bridge collapsing attracted them.”

“Yeah, we saw some on our side of the river, but not that many. How does this feel?” He gently prods the joint of your shoulder and you wince as he carefully moves your arm.

“Hurts and feels very stiff,” you say, glancing down at it. There’s a dark bruise forming and you can see the swelling around the joint..

“If we had an ice pack I’d put it on,” Frankie says, “But for now, keep it still, I’ll get you that sling.” Frankie steps over to his pack and rifles through it, coming back and setting your shoulder more comfortably against your chest. You watch his deft hands as he works and when he’s done you lean in and capture his lips in a soft kiss. He hums against you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb caressing your skin.

“I’m so happy you’re ok, Frankie,” you whisper, “Did you get hurt on the bridge?”

“Just a few scrapes,” he says, his mouth still close to yours as he turns up his palms and shows you a few angry looking lines. “I had to clean them with alcohol, that fucking stung,” he chuckles, “but they’re fine now. How did you hurt your shoulder?”

“Promise you won’t get mad?” you say, pulling back a little so that you can see his face clearly and he frowns at you.

“What happened?” His eyebrows come together in a frown, his body stiffening under your touch.

“We, Pope and me, had to hide in a building when a group of infected surprised us.Turned out Joel and Tommy were already in there and they grabbed us, Joel twisted my arm behind my back. But they didn’t know it was us,” you say hastily as you see Frankie scowl and look towards Joel. “Frankie,” you pull his eyes back to you, “they just did what we would’ve done if someone unknown walked in here now.”

“Yeah, ok,” he relents, his face softening again, “Let me get you some food, should be done now.”

As Frankie stands up Joel comes over, he’s got a bowl in his hand and as he crouches down he hands it to you.

“How’s the shoulder? Sorry ‘bout it,” he says, looking at the makeshift sling Frankie’s put together.

“It’s sore, but it’ll heal, don’t worry about it,” you reply, gratefully accepting the bowl of stew and rice.

“Alright,” Joel responds, clearing his throat, “Good, and thanks for…” he waves his hand over at where Benny and Will are deep in conversation with Tommy, going over what’s happened in the six years since they last saw each other. “It’s good seeing them in one piece.”

“I’m glad we were able to bring you guys together,” you say as Joel gets to his feet again, nodding to Frankie.

“Good to see you too, Frankie.”

“Yeah, same, Joel,” Frankie replies as Joel turns and begins rolling out his sleeping mat.

Frankie grabs a bowl for himself and sinks down next to you, you’re almost done with the stew, wolfing it down.

“Got you some painkillers too, cariño,” he hands them to you with his water canteen and you gratefully swallow the two pills. Once they kick in you slip into your sleeping bag, drifting off as Frankie helps Ben take care of the dishes. You barely wake as he slips in next to you, careful to not disturb your shoulder, but you reach for his hand as he puts his arm over your waist, turning your head towards him as he places a soft kiss on your cheek.

The dull throbbing in your shoulder wakes you early next morning and forces you to get up, just to get some relief. There’s thin slivers of light shining through the shutters, giving you enough light to move around and pad out into the hallway in your socks. You’d missed any talk of having a watch roster last night but it seems you were allowed to sleep through the night. Tommy is sitting on a bench close to the door you came in through, playing cards with himself, a rifle next to him.

“Morning,” you greet him and he looks up.

“Hey, how’s the shoulder?” He scoots over on the bench, making room for you as you carefully move your arm.

“Sore and swollen, it’ll take a few days to get better, but don’t worry about it,” you say as you see his apologetic face, “you did what we would’ve done in the same situation.”

“Yeah, I suppose, we all have to assume the next person we meet is either infected or the enemy.”

“Not much trust going ‘round these days,” you agree, watching him gather up the cards and shuffle them.

“I wanted to ask you,” you begin cautiously as he starts dealing. “Joel’s daughter, Sarah?”

Tommy nods, his hands stopping as he looks up at you, “She didn’t make it, she died that first night,” he says, his voice low and you sigh and close your eyes.

“Fuck...I’m sorry, Tommy,” you look up at him again as he leans back against the wall. “I didn’t wanna assume but when she wasn’t with you, I had to ask.”

“Yeah, of course, just don’t mention it to Joel,” Tommy tilts his head so that he can look over at you. “He’s not one to talk about it.”

You nod, rubbing your hand over your face, “I get it, more than you think.”

“Frankie’s girl?” Tommy says and you hear the question in his voice.

“A few days after the outbreak, she got infected.”

Now it’s Tommy’s turn to breathe out a low Fuck as he drops his head back against the wall again. “I’m sorry, for you and for Frankie, she was a great kid.”

“So was Sarah,” you say, giving Tommy a weak smile, “Lucìa wouldn’t stop talking about her after we got home, she was bugging Benny to invite you guys over as soon as possible so that they could meet again.”

Tommy chuckles softly, “Yeah, I remember them thick as thieves at Denny’s, Lucìa following her around like a puppy.” He absentmindedly shuffles the deck of cards in his hand as you both stay silent for a few minutes, the soft snores of the still sleeping men coming from the classroom.

Tommy suddenly laughs softly, keeping his voice low, “I remember how annoyed Frankie got when I flirted with you that weekend, he got really possessive, those hickeys the next morning,” he grins and you feel your cheeks getting red at the memory, even all these years later.

“Feels like a lifetime ago,” you say and Tommy nods.

“Poker? I promise I won’t suggest the strip version,” he grins, dealing out the cards again.

You play a couple of rounds until you hear people stirring in the classroom. Frankie pokes his head out of the door and comes over when he sees you.

“Morning, sweetie,” you smile up at him as he bends to give you a kiss.

“Morning, cariño, you sleep ok? How’s the shoulder?” He lets his kiss linger a little bit longer than usual, his hand cupping the back of your head, before he pulls back and sits down on the bench next to you.

“Sore and swollen,” you say, shifting it a bit.

“I’ll get you a better sling today, just need a piece of wood to support your arm.”

“What’s the plan, down to Providence?” you ask, “I don’t know if you guys made plans after I fell asleep last night.”

“Not Providence,” Tommy says immediately, “we were on our way there but the QZ’s fell, overrun by infected.”

“Shit, what happened?” you ask, “We heard it was fine just a few days ago.”

“Not sure, but we ran into a survivor a week ago and he said FEDRA got challenged by another group when FEDRA kept cutting rations. FEDRA took out the other group pretty harshly, imposed martial law and people tried escaping or rebelling, it had been going on for a couple of months.” Tommy gathers the cards up and shuffles them before putting them back in the box. “The survivor we talked to didn’t know how it had happened, but infected got in, or someone who was infected slipped through the checkpoint, it started spreading on the inside anyway. FEDRA lost control and started executing everyone, so riots broke out and FEDRA left, just took the last working trucks and just took off.”

“Did you get to Providence, what’s the situation like there now?” Frankie asks, leaning forward to look at Tommy.

“We didn’t get to the gates, got told to not go anywhere near it, too many infected.” Tommy glances up towards the door as Joel looks out.

“Morning, Joel.”

“Morning, coffee’s ready if y'all want some,” he says and you can smell it wafting through the hallway now.

“So what’s your plan then?” Frankie asks as you go back towards the classroom.

“Boston, I think,” Tommy says, “It’s the nearest QZ from here, big enough.”

You sit down next to Will who gives you a quick smile and a mug of coffee, Frankie sinks to the floor next to you too.

“Thanks, Will,” he says, taking a second mug. “So what’s our plan then, if Providence is a no go?” He looks over at Will and Pope, “Boston for us too?”

“I don’t know about you guys,” Benny says, “but I think we should stick together, with Joel and Tommy I mean.”

You see Pope frown, he hasn’t warmed up to Joel after yesterday, and by the way Joel stiffens and scowls at his coffee mug, you know he’s not all for it either.

“I think it’s a great idea, Benny;” Tommy says, glancing over at Joel, “You guys are family and we know you and Will consider the rest of y’all as family too, we can trust each other.”

“What do you say, Joel?” Will asks, he can sense that Joel’s not totally onboard and the older man looks down at his coffee, jaw working as he seems to go over the options in his head.

“Yeah, might be a good idea,” he says eventually, but there’s still hesitation in his voice, “there’s safety in numbers and y’all are ex Special Ops, and like Tommy says, we can trust each other,” he says the last thing looking over at Pope who holds his gaze for a few seconds before nodding.

“Yeah, we can trust each other.”

Joel nods to Pope, the two men seeming to come to some sort of silent agreement.

You think it seems like a good idea, it makes sense. You can’t see Will and Benny just walking away from their cousins now, even if they’re maybe not the same people they were six years ago. And like Joel said, there’s safety in numbers and it’s forty miles to Boston, lots of bombed out suburban landscape to cover. You shudder at the thought, your shoulder aches, you’re in no shape to take on anything and the thought of having to cover forty miles on foot makes you miserable. Frankie notices your body shiver and slips his arm around your waist.

“What’s up, hermosa?” he whispers softly in your ear as he leans his chin on your good shoulder.

“It’s a long way to Boston,” you whisper back, looking over at him with worried eyes, “I’m scared, so much can go wrong.”

“We’ll go slow, be cautious, and not let Benny jump on bridges.” The last thing he says with a crooked smile, nudging your nose with the cool tip of his own.

“No more bridges please,” you say, giving him a small smile.

��Maybe I should lay off the arepas,” Frankie chuckles softly, his hand now rubbing soothing circles on the small of your back. “Amor de mi vida,” he whispers after a while, “I can’t promise everything will be fine, but I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, I promise that.”

“And keep yourself safe,” you add, “you’re the love of my life too, Frankie.” He gives a little nod before his soft lips press against yours. You’re still sitting next to Will, right by the camping stove, but you’re in a bubble of your own with Frankie. The others talk about Boston, the route and possible dangers. You don’t notice Joel watching you with a frown, his fingers tapping on his thigh, before he glances down at the broken watch on his arm.

Chapter 28

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