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cavillscurls · 7 months ago

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daddy next door | j. miller (three)

❝ trust fall ❞

You’re forced to face Joel following the events of the fair.

tags/warnings: MDNI. age gap (20s/50s). angst. depictions of anxiety. reader is a sensitive gal. foul language. blood in the form of scrapes/cuts (accidental). tending to wounds. joel lifts reader once. insufferably poor communication of feelings. pet names. yearning!!! fluff. sexual tension. impure thoughts. violence. alcohol abuse. VERBAL & BRIEF PHYSICAL ABUSE occurs in the latter half of the chapter and may not be suitable for all readers. you are responsible for the content you consume. reader wears a sundress & rides a bike. reader implied to be shorter than joel, but no other physical descriptions. word count: 5.6k

a/n: smut very soon i promise pls don’t hate me. sorry it took so long pls don’t hate me. as always, thank you to @kiwisbell for beta’ing and being my other hand. and the other side of my brain. and my whole heart.

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These violent delights have violent ends.

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

Which as they kiss, consume.

— Romeo & Juliet, Act II Scene VI

Three days pass before you summon the courage to leave the house.

Not for lack of wanting or trying, but out of fear. Fear outside, fear within. It follows you, an unwelcome shadow.

You start to believe it may be branded into your being; a mutation of DNA, carried, inescapable, and unwanted. And in those three long and lonely days, you experience a range of emotions so vast, it’s as though the Earth has tipped off its axis.

Unstable. Lost without the guidance of gravity.

The flicker of light you deemed a threat three nights prior never came to hunt you. You remained cautious, even after the laborious task of sneaking into your own home succeeded. You’d expected to meet a great wrath, look it in its eyes, and accept whatever suffering followed.

But it never came. He never came.

And on that following morning, there were no signs of your father or the destruction he carried. He left for the station long before you woke, and returned after you settled in bed.

In the days that follow, you lose any sense of self; you’re bound by the fear that follows you, and it feasts on rationale. You seem to notice everything around you, like the way the floorboards creak and how they startle you in a way they never had before. You’re glaringly aware of your father's movements, panic seizing you if he’d look too long or speak too often. The skin around your fingernails grows raw from chewing on them.

You can hardly eat.

Can’t sleep.

Not when you have this secret, too hazardous to enjoy despite the fleeting, marvelous thrill it gave you.

You haven’t allowed yourself the time to dwell on it.

To dwell on him.

His name, his eyes, his lips—you put more effort into wiping them from your memory, your fantasies, than you do clinging to the comfort of them. It's the first time in weeks you don’t devote yourself to him and, oddly enough, you feel guilty.

You’re the one who kissed him. And yet here you are, avoiding the repercussions of your own actions like a child fearful of a scolding. You suppose the rationale isn’t too far-fetched, given your circumstance, but all you’re able to conjure up when you close your eyes is the bewildered look on Joel’s face when you left him standing there in the yard.

Guilty, guilty, guilty.

On the third morning, your father acknowledges you only to order the necessary ingredients for a proper dinner to be fetched while he’s away at work. He’d be home at an acceptable time and expects it to be ready on the table when he returns.

You’ve heard the spiel a dozen times, but still only nod and grab the notepad to prepare your list while he rattles off adequate options. With longer nights at the station, your household expectations often lessen in the summer. A luxury you do not take for granted nor particularly like to push the limits of. Especially now.

Still, you sit awaiting some anticipated doom—perhaps he’s festering it, waiting for the right moment to attack—but it never comes. And all that’s left once he’s gone is the formidable silence, your erratic thoughts, and a list.

Lasagne. Easy enough.

The challenge?

Getting to the grocery store.

You’re aware of the inevitable. You have been aware of it for three days now. At some point, one way or another, whether you like it or not, you have to leave the house. Up until now, the risk had substantially outweighed the reward.

He can’t see you. You can’t see him. Seeing him makes it real. Seeing him means facing demons you’re unable to admit even exist.

It doesn’t matter that your chest aches at the thought of him.

It doesn’t matter that the smothered thing inside of you has been scratching at your insides for three days, pleading for a moment of reprieve.

What matters is completing the task at hand, the impossibility of juggling each fear simultaneously growing burdensome.

You look out the front window first. Once before tying your sneakers and once after. Your bike is propped up in the garage, and you worry about the time it’ll take between leaving the safety of the window and opening the garage door.

Speed is your only companion, and so you’re quick, diligent. Darting across the house and towards the laundry room door, making haste in clicking the garage open, and shoving your wallet and the list into the bike’s basket before mounting it. You know you have to ride past his house to get to the market, so you reach for the keypad outside the garage before you can even push the kickstand off. You take another swivel of your head in the direction of his house, no sign of any life, before you skate down the driveway, holding your breath.

The journey is considerably more climactic in your head, and when you make it down the block with not so much as a whiff of being seen, you’re relieved. Perhaps for the first time in days, your shoulders relax, your mind silences, and you find yourself enjoying the mindless task of rummaging through the market aisles. A beauty in simplicity after days of dilemma.

You’re less inclined to trepidation on the way home, silently unaware, even enjoying the breeze while you ride and the way it kisses your skin, a bit cooler today, the sun toasty, and the sights and sounds of summer in all their beauty surrounding you. A blank slate, a thoughtless mind. Numb. And there’s a comfort in it, regaining parts of yourself in tiny fragments. Believing that, just for a moment, you are allowed to resign yourself to absolution.

But the daze is a farce, and it has you weak, vulnerable. You’re nearing your house, caution loose and tenuous, to the point where you foolishly miss the glare of a front door opening and the body that emerges from it.

The sudden sound of your name being called from across the lawn startles you off balance.

You land on your hands and knees when the bike finally tips. Groceries topple out of the basket, the impact of the concrete radiating a sharp pain through your joints and stinging your eyes with tears.

“Shit. Shit,” you heave under your breath, hands scrambling every which way to collect the strewn items.

You make out the shape of a body moving towards you in your periphery, but your mind cautions you to stay focused, to get away as quickly as possible. You can hardly see in front of you, eyes blurred with emerging sobs, when the shape kneels before you.

“Here, let me help you.” The rich timbre of his drawl is a salve over your self-inflicted wounds. Don’t look, don’t look, but hands are reaching out for assistance.

“No! No, I got it. I got it,” you’re quick to combat, attempting to gather every item before he has a chance to get his hands on them.

But it’s useless. Your shaking fingers can’t find a good grasp, and the pain in your palms and knees increases by the moment, too engorged in your panic to notice the blood staining the concrete and your groceries.

“But you’re—”

“I need to get everything inside; some of it’ll spoil.”

And someone could see you. Someone could see both of you, floundering about, too close for comfort.

“Darlin’, please just—”

“It’s fine, okay? I’ve got it!” you snap, and you don’t mean to sound as harsh as you do.

He’s silent then, still. Only for a moment. Long enough to notice the way your chin starts to tremble and how tears spill down your cheeks against your better attempts to conceal them.

“Hey,” he beckons, and you notice the way he tries to tilt his head further into your line of sight. You do your best to avoid him, but, “Hey,” he tries again, and this time, it’s got an edge. Enough to startle you out of your misery-filled stupor. “Look at me.”

And fuck, you’re so weak.

He’s a sight for sore eyes. Tousled curls, an old white t-shirt, and his flannel pajama pants are all indications that his morning has just begun. The newspaper he must have been coming out for is abandoned in the grass a few yards back, his attention solely on you.

You find clarity in the sight of him.

“You’re hurt. Let me help you,” Joel says calmly, matter of fact. A wounded animal, and he’s guiding you back to safety.

And you need it more than you care to admit, the guidance. Allowing yourself the pleasure of looking into his wide, worried eyes smothers the anxieties. Silences the panic. Dulls the pain in your chest from days of denying yourself of the remedy you needed most, so when he presents you with an outstretched hand, you take it hastily.

He helps you to your feet, and when he’s sure you’re stable, stands your bike upright, gathers what he can of the mess of groceries, and tucks them back into the basket. He places one hand on the handlebars, the other steadily finding its way to the small of your back, and your body comes to life.

You welcome his stability, leaning your weight into the crook of his arm. He guides you and your scuffed bicycle up the lawn, leaning it against the banister of the front porch. You let him lead you up the steps, overbearing and doting in the way he holds you steady at the ribcage, muttering under his breath, c’mon, I’ve got ya.

You would think you just fell from fifty feet with the way he coddles you, but you don’t care. How could you? Not when your hands and knees sting, your nerves fray weak and exhausted, and your heart and soul and body crave so little outside of the warmth that is Joel.

Crossing the threshold of his door is sacred. An uncharted, forbidden territory that, up until three nights ago, you had no reason to assume you would ever explore. You wish you were more coherent, that tears weren’t blurring your eyes, and your body wasn’t in a state of panic, so you could properly take in your surroundings.

You notice a few moving boxes still pushed up in the corners of his living room; other than that, the space is pristine. There’s a wooden, rustic theme that carries across his décor, and he leaves all his blinds open for ample natural light. Bright, warm, inviting. A drastic change of pace from the stale air that always seems to occupy your home.

He’s leading you into the kitchen, and you're torn from the daze as soon as his hands are on your hips.

You yelp softly as he hoists you onto the countertop, wide, wet eyes finally mustering the courage to meet his gaze. It drops almost immediately to the state of your bloody knees, and he shakes his head, a gruff sort of displeased sound expelling from his chest.

“Stay put,” he instructs, giving you a stern look before he vanishes around the corner.

You can’t quite process the world in front of you. Simultaneously heavy and weightless, the internal conflict, the lack of sleep, catching up to you. But when Joel returns a moment later, first aid kit and damp washcloth in hand, you’re grounded. A firm, clear presence of stability that removes all weight, all sense of falling.

You feel, perhaps for the first time in your life, that someone would catch you.

He drags one of the bar stools over, settling himself in front of you. He still doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling open the kit and scouring for materials. You can feel his breath on your thighs, eliciting a warmth in the pit of your stomach.

Suddenly, the pain of your fall seems minuscule in comparison to the way his proximity sets your body alight. You’re thankful for the shorts below your sundress; intended to give you some decency on your ride to the store, now a barrier between his counter, his watchful eyes, and a part of you that always seems to ache at the sight of him.

You dig your fingers into the edge of the wood so as to not waver, sniffling back the ceasing tears and clearing your throat. You blink the haze out of your eyes, the ringing in your ears stops, and like magic, his effect makes the world seem clearer.

“Hold still.” He starts with the washcloth, tenderly cleaning off the dirt and drying blood from your skin, and you shiver when one of his hands lightly dances at the crux of your knee.

You watch him intently; focused brows, and careful fingers. Your perched position gives you a glorious view of his shoulders, firm and broad, muscles flexing below the thin fabric of his t-shirt. You’re reminded then of the day he moved in and your voyeuristic tendencies, how the sheer breadth of him had enticed you, left you lost to your fantasies long before you even knew him.

It’s hard to grasp that the same man, worried and attentive to your well-being, sits before you now.

The sudden cold, sharp sensation of an antiseptic wipe against your skin makes you hiss through your teeth, snapping you back into focus. Finally, he peers up at you through furrowed brows, a sympathetic downturn on his lips.

“Stings?” he asks, and he’s so gentle. His voice, his touch, his being.

You shrug, feeling bashful under his gaze. “A little, yeah.”

He purses his lips and nods solemnly, as if your discomfort causes him a great deal of pain, too. “M’almost done,” he promises, returning to his diligent work.

The two of you sit in silence while he finishes cleaning your wound, sufficiently less daunting with all the blood removed. The scrapes are hardly deep and you’re certain the bruises will heal in a week’s time. He retrieves two bandages from the kit, one purple and one blue, and drapes them delicately over the scuff of each knee.

“Hands,” he requests, and you present them to him palms up. He takes each wrist between his fingers, lifting them to his chest in examination. No blood, just the burn of the concrete on the heels of them where you clumsily caught yourself. “Don’t look too bad; may just be sore for a little while.”

You’re nodding even though you hardly hear the words that come out of his mouth, too enamored with the way his fingers warm rings around your wrists.

He catches you staring, and surely now, he’ll send you on your way. Now that he’s done his due diligence, he’ll make up some polite excuse to get you out of his space. He’ll choose avoidance, just as you had, and you’ll be forced to endure the misery of the unknown, to be complicit with a life of no risk and missed opportunities.

But he surprises you, a frequent trend, when he leans forward and presses two, soft kisses to each battered palm.

Your breath catches audibly in your throat, and he shoots his eyes back up to you, lips still dangerously close to your skin. His own inner turmoil is so plain, so clear, in the way he studies you that you don’t even try to mask the emotion that creeps back into your eyes.

“Better?” he whispers, the brush of his breath on your skin raising goosebumps up your exposed arms.

Untrusting of your voice, you breathe a wavering mmhm, the urge to melt into him overwhelming by the way he looks at you. It’s a familiar look. One you’ve seen before, only once. Three days ago. Dire and conflicted, and god, you want to kiss him again. You think he must lean forward, or maybe it's you, because his breath is on your face now too, and you can see every line of worry that plagues him.

“Joel…” you whisper, and it’s a question, a plea, a warning all at once. You see his eyes flicker, if only for a moment, your lips and back again, a frown creasing at the edges of them.

He sighs a despondent sound, abruptly standing, jarring you, losing your hands in the process as he drags the barstool back to its designated spot. Suddenly, he’s got his hands on his hips, and he’s pacing the modest kitchen space, eyes and thoughts amiss. It may be the first time you see him as anything other than the picture of composure, save for the fateful moment three nights prior where the same eyes and thoughts screamed retribution for Trevor rather than strife for you.

“Listen,” he finally breathes, and it’s painful, “we needa talk about what happened.”

And there it is. The unavoidable.

“O-okay.” Your voice wavers and your stomach drops, and you suddenly feel like a child under scrutiny. The first words that come to mind tumble out in an attempt to lessen the tension. “I’m… I'm sorry, Joel. Really, I am—”

He rapidly shakes his head. “Stop. Stop. I’m not askin’ you to apologize, alright? I’m the—” he stops cold, and you stiffen. You can’t read his mind, but you know his eyes, and they speak words you’d rather not hear.

I’m the grown-up here.

I’m the older one.

I’m the responsible one.

You cringe at the plausible fill-in-the-blanks, conscious of their validity, and you think he does too.

He expels a heavy, tired sort of sigh. “I’m the one that shoulda put a stop to it,” he settles on.

You consider what he says for a long while, unsure of whether to scream, or laugh, or cry, or all three at once; unsure if his confession soothes you or crushes you from the inside out. You know you should be grateful for the apology, thankful that he willingly takes the burden of fault off of you. But in seeking forgiveness, he makes another notion, a far more painful one, abundantly clear.

Regret.

“And I understand if you want me to leave ya alone from now on,” he continues, and you can’t help but feel like the spiel is rehearsed. As if he spent hours talking to himself in the mirror, debating the right things to say. Questioning, now that the line has been thoroughly crossed, what is even right or wrong. “But I couldn’t do that without talkin’ to ya first. Settin’ things right.”

“I don’t want you to leave me alone.” You jump on top of his words, and Joel’s brows shoot up on his forehead. He stops pacing.

You curse your eagerness, eyes falling to your hands in your lap where you aimlessly pick at the skin around your nails. “I mean… I’m not–I’m not mad. I’m not mad at you for what happened, I just”—you look back to him, uncertain—“want things to go back to normal.”

As if there is such a thing. As if one taste of him hadn’t changed the world as you know it. As if there is any version of you, then and now, that wouldn’t want him.

You know nothing as familiar as wanting him.

The silence that follows is torturous. He takes you in, unreadable, for what seems like eternity. You see a boundless bounty of emotion in his eyes—eyes that have become familiar, comforting in the way that the thought of losing them seems too grand to endure, even if you never have them in the capacity you long for.

He’s nibbling on his bottom lip, tapping his foot, and his hands fall from his hips to fold his arms across his chest. “Well, then I think we oughta just… go on s’if nothin’ happened. Put it behind us.”

And still, a dagger in the heart would have been less painful.

You wait, staring at him for a long while with the false hope that he would go back on his words. That he didn’t want to forget, and you search for it desperately. The truth behind his eyes and his words, that you assume he imagines will protect you, protect the both of you.

Sensing no form of retraction, you take a deep breath hoping the excess oxygen will calm your racing heart, and straighten yourself up on the counter.

“Alright.” His mind has already been made up; arguing would make you a desperate fool. Still, you find yourself adding: “If that’s what you think is best.”

Surprise flashes across his face, and you watch the way his mouth falls open only to shut rapidly. He presses his lips into a thin line and his nostrils flare. There’s a beat of adrenaline, challenge. And the caged thing inside of you, something you have recognized as the sliver of hope you still carry for your life, comes to life. A bright sensation, wondering if she’s succeeded in breaking down the final choice of savior.

“Yeah,” Joel mutters, and the light goes out. “Yeah, I think it is.”

Rejection.

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

You try your hardest to feign acceptance.

“Okay. Well”—you’re sliding off the counter, blood rushing to your head when you land on your feet—“thank you for um, for taking care of me.”

You think he knows you well enough by now to hear the familiar warbling in your voice, but if he does, he doesn’t say anything. You keep your eyes fixed on your feet so he doesn’t see the way they gloss over.

You wonder if life's circumstances had always been the root of your downfall, or if it really is hope herself.

He offers you the option to stay a while longer, give yourself a chance to regroup, but you politely decline. The air in his home is suddenly suffocating. You mumble something about needing to get the groceries inside as you shuffle towards his door, hoping he won’t follow, but alas, he’s walking you to it, stepping around you to reach for the handle himself.

“You’re sure you don’t, uh… you don’t need anythin’ else?” he asks again, hand steady on the door but making no effort to open it, arching his brow over his shoulder at you.

Please, don’t make this harder than it already is.

You give him a trained, tight-lipped smile. Polite. The same one you give everyone in town, lackluster. “No.” And it’s a lie. You need everything from him. “No, thank you. I’ll be alright.”

If he’s unconvinced, he doesn’t say so, and there’s another pang of hurt in your belly.

When he finally turns the handle, Joel peeks out the door first before allowing you to pass. Good, you think. At least he’s just as aware of the risk of you being here. A minor thing to cling to, but you take what you can get.

You shuffle past him silently, reaching for the handles of your bicycle still tucked safely beside the door. You do a quick scan to make sure you have everything, but really, you’re stalling. Attempting to let the past hour marinate so you can form some sort of cohesive thought, say something of substance, something true.

When you look back, he’s still in the doorway. You give him a once over, taking your missed opportunity to admire him. Comfortable, poised, a little disheveled from the morning in the best of ways.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and you snap your eyes back to his. His lips part, and there’s a rush of it again, that hope deep inside of you. But again, he clenches them shut without a word, and disappointment regains its leverage.

You don’t look at him after that.

“I’ll see you around, Mr. Miller,” is the last thing you say to him before hoisting your bike off the porch stairs and carefully rolling it down the driveway.

On the walk back over to your house—damn near a sprint despite the searing in your knees—you think the duality of your relationship with Joel Miller may finally drive you to insanity.

On the one hand, your agreed-upon boundaries are nothing short of practical. Safe, sustainable with minor difficulty, and realistic.

On the other, you’re unable to count the number of times you’ve experienced the urge to break every rule, practical or otherwise. And worse, how easy it’s become to convince yourself he feels it, too. There shouldn’t be such an assuredness in it, but it lives. Feeding and festering and waiting for one of you to bend.

Only this time, you’re certain you would break.

Once inside, you mindlessly shove the groceries into their respective spaces and drag yourself up the stairs. You’re tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally, every ounce of you drained. And it’s welcomed, the exhaustion. It’s the first time in three days you feel unburdened enough to even entertain the idea of settling. And you’d like to chalk it up to handling your own bullshit, but you know it’s because of him.

Even if the outcome would leave you solemn for days to come, seeing him, feeling him, it eased you. There is a lingering feeling of closure. It would take time to accept, but is far better than the alternative of sitting with your unanswered thoughts.

He doesn’t hate you.

He isn’t shutting you out.

He’s still there if you need him.

You’re nearly certain of it.

You flop your body onto the center of your bed, nestling your head into the pillows. Your limbs feel like weights melting into the mattress, and it’s not long before your eyes feel the same heaviness.

You let yourself drift off, clinging to all that is nearly certain.

The window is already dark when you wake, and you're roused by the sound of banging and grunting. Despite the commotion, your eyes don’t open at first—your body’s subconscious attempt at protection from the horrors in front of you. But as you gradually blink awake, the sight before you leaves you scrambling up in your sheets.

Pages coat your bedroom floor, toppling from the bookshelf in the corner of the room. Your father stands before it, clumsily tearing out row by row of your most prized possessions.

“What are you…?” The terror doesn’t register, not until the sound of ripped paper and cracked bindings become loud, thunderous, in your ears.

“No, stop. Stop!” Pleadingly, you cry out to him, twisting the sheets off of you and darting across the wooden panes. You hadn’t meant to sleep this long. “Stop, please! Please!” you screech, foolishly grasping for his shoulders as you trip over the growing pile of tarnished literature.

He shrugs you off, a mere nuisance in his pursuit of destruction. “If you’re gonna be so damn distracted you can’t get somethin’ as simple as dinner done, I’m gonna get rid of the distractions,” he seethes, a vow he intends to keep, and you’re tugging on the back of his shirt, grabbing at his hands and trying desperately to pull them away from the shelves.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It won’t happen again, I swear it! Please just–ugh!”

The wind escapes your lungs when he whips around and a firm hand presses to your throat, your back making sharp contact with the wall adjacent to the bookshelf.

Liquor and tobacco, his breath is hot against your face. His eyes are void of all feeling, and you struggle for air against the stronghold on your neck. Your sinuses burn, your eyes fill with tears, and there’s a moment, brief, where you wonder how long it would take your heart to stop. How much oxygen would need to be deprived to slip into blissful mindlessness.

You know he wouldn’t be so forgiving.

“Don’t you ever put your hands on me like that again, girl, you hear me?” he barks, slamming his unoccupied hand against the wall beside your head. “Do you hear me?!”

Your mouth gapes open, and you try to speak but nothing comes. The salty taste of tears coats your lips, and in an act of desperation, you dare to claw at his wrists, mustering up the strength to nod as well as you can. When he still does not release you, the fight or flight kicks in, and the blur that washes over your vision and the dizziness in your head fills you with fear. Genuine and unadulterated, how easy it would be for him to make nothing out of you.

“Yes,” you croak, and the sound of your own voice startles you. “Y-yes, sir!”

He lets you go, and your knees give out. You slide your back down the wall, heaping over on yourself. You hug your knees close to your chest, gasping breaths and wet, watchful eyes as he prowls across the room.

The final blow is the most devastating, and you think you may actually be sick to your stomach. As he steps over the debris towards the door, he picks up what you assume to him is only a random book. But you catch the title, fine calligraphy sprawled, Romeo & Juliet, just before he mercilessly tears the spine in half, letting the pages fall amongst the wreckage.

No sound comes out of your open mouth. No feeling reaches your fingers or toes, and you wonder if your state of shock has allowed you to finally leave your own body. Teleport somewhere else, somewhere far away, to not endure another moment of a pain you cannot decipher what you ever did to deserve.

It is, was, your only copy of the play.

And it belongs, belonged, to your mother. One of the few things you pulled out of the sparse pile of her tucked away deep in the attic. One of the only pieces of your life that confirmed she was ever even real, that your memories were real.

And much like her, it’s gone in an instant.

“Clean this up,” is the last thing he slurs before your bedroom door slams shut.

You sit there, unmoving, for what seems like an eternity. You’re hollow, and yet, the space you inhabit isn’t yours to fill anymore. Succumbing to the numbness has always been easier, but there is an overwhelming bough of raw anguish that lingers in you now.

It’s moments like these, disappointing in their frequency, where you wonder what you truly are to the man called kin. Burdensome. A lingering reminder of all that he once had and lost.

A matter of circumstance. Something disposable. And with that realization, you feel the impending need to get out.

You wait until you’re certain he’s asleep before you plot your escape. You won’t get far, but luckily, you don’t have to.

You move on autopilot, numb to anything other than putting as much distance between you and this house. This room, once a sanctuary, now tainted. The tears fall steadily, but no sounds escape you. You wouldn’t provoke him, nor give him the satisfaction of hearing your defeat.

Echoes of thunder rumble in the distance, a summer storm upon a somber evening. And when the sun sets and the world sleeps, bolts of lightning illuminate your path to refuge.

You find an old zip-up sweater left out of winter storage, pulling it over the clothes you had no energy to change, and shielding your damp face with the hood. You take the back door; there would be less suspicion in leaving it unlocked. Scattered drops fall from the darkened sky, and the grass tickles your bare feet as they carry you to the only place you know you’ll be welcomed. The only place you seek.

When he first opens the door, Joel looks confused. The street lights reflect off the panes of his glasses, and you wish you had more time to appreciate the gentle reminisce of sleep in his eyes. But when the sob finally tears through your throat, confusion makes way for concern, and he’s blinking away the fatigue.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he demands, pushing the whole of himself through the doorway until he’s standing toe-to-toe with you on the porch.

You peer up at him, trembling, the picture of desperation. “Can I stay here tonight?” you beg, and there’s little care for how feeble you look. “Please, can I stay?”

Joel shakes his head, disbelief, looking you over with such uneasiness as if you would shatter before his very eyes.

“Christ,” he sighs, and maybe you are breaking. Maybe you’re finally falling apart piece by piece, and he is to be the sole witness. “C’mere.”

But the part of you inside, shriveled and forlorn, still seeks reprieve, and she knows where to find it. His voice is a beacon, a promise.

The anchor of his arms when you rear forward is the only thing that keeps your body from sinking to the ground. You bury your face into his chest, hands clinging to his shirt, while tears stain his skin. He shushes you, raking his palms up your spine in soothing sweeps, keeping you snug against him.

“‘Course you can stay. You can always stay.”

There are no questions or explanations necessary. No price to pay for the gift of solace. You take it at face value—much like the last time you cried to him, three days prior, when he told you to never be sorry for feeling the way you felt—and allow him to pull you back into the house.

You cross the threshold, still sacred, still uncharted, yet wildly more freeing.

A great weight leaves your shoulders as soon as he shuts the door.

His face is in your hair when he whispers, and you think the scent of him alone could heal you.

“Always.”

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Ao3 | Kofi

#fic: daddy next door #daddy!joel #neighbor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction

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roosterforme · 10 months ago

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Explicitly Yours | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: When Bob met you, he fell for you hard and fast. He thought you might be his perfect match, the one that would make his days feel full instead of lonely. He never would have dreamed you had a secret. But secrets are known to be revealed at the most inconvenient of times, and Bob's surprised hesitation could cost him the thing he wants most.

Warnings: Smut, oral, fluff, angst, misogyny, language, mentions of adult film industry

Length: 11k words (what have I done?)

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Former Pornstar!Female Reader

This was written for International Bob Floyd Fucks Month hosted by @attapullman. Check my masterlist for more! Banner by @thedroneranger

Bob was fresh off of a long deployment when he returned to work at North Island on Monday morning to find he would begin training as part of a new taskforce. He was tired and antsy, still overstimulated from being around so many people on the aircraft carrier, but he was also realizing how lonely he was.

He'd arrived back to a sterile, empty, dusty apartment, slept for two days, and now he was back to work. He couldn't even have a cat or a houseplant. He really would like to have a cat or a houseplant. Mostly he thought about how nice it would be to have a girlfriend. A sweet one who would wait for him to return home so his apartment didn't feel so sad. One who didn't mind that sometimes he preferred it to be quiet. One who would let him dote on her a little bit when he was home.

When he was told to report to Classroom Six in his uniform instead of the tarmac in his flight suit, Bob knew it was going to be a long day. That idea only grew as soon as he walked in and was accosted by his friends. "You're back!" Natasha screeched, streaking across the room like a brunette cannonball and slamming into his arms. "It's not even fair that we weren't deployed together. I missed you!"

"Missed you too, Nat. Thanks for all the emails."

Then he felt Bradley, Jake and Javy all jostling him around until his glasses were crooked on his face. That's probably why he did a double take when he saw you. There was no way you were that beautiful. His glasses must need to be adjusted on his face. But he was wrong. You looked the same after he pushed his wire frames back into place.

He swallowed hard and whispered, "Who's that?"

The guys all looked at him with matching smirks, and Javy told him your name. "Civilian. She's Warlock's new assistant. Got reassigned from a different department last week."

"She's real cute," Jake added. "And she looks so familiar."

"Why does she look so familiar?" Bradley asked, and Bob realized that the whole group was staring at you where you were conversing quietly with Warlock. "We've been trying to figure it out for a week."

You didn't look familiar to Bob. You just looked pretty with bright eyes and a friendly smile, both of which were trained on him now. Of course you were looking his way now, because everyone had mussed up his hair and wrinkled his uniform. He didn't mind so much that you caught him staring, because you were the kind of woman who must get that a lot.

"Lieutenant Floyd," Admiral Bates said as he stood, and Bob saluted his superior officer immediately. "Welcome back."

"Sir," Bob replied, doing his best not to let his gaze drift back to you. "Thank you."

Then Warlock called the room to order, and Bob ended up sitting in the front row, directly across from you. Barely six feet away. You were so pretty, it wasn't even funny. The curve of your face and your neck and the way you moved were mesmerizing. Smooth and fluid. Confident. Beautiful. You kept Warlock on task and seemed to have all the pertinent information about the class memorized. But all of it was lost on Bob, because he was way too distracted.

By lunchtime, he had sweat through his undershirt, and he was sure his uniform shirt wasn't looking much better. The way you turned to look directly at him with a slightly guarded expression when you stood made him blush. It must be obvious to you that Bob couldn't keep his eyes off your face.

"Hi," you greeted. "Lieutenant Floyd."

Bob swallowed hard before something that sounded vaguely like Hello came out of his mouth.

Your smile was tinged with a little sadness as you stuck out your hand. "I've been looking forward to meeting the last team member. Welcome back from deployment, Lieutenant."

And then you were walking away, but Bob was still sweating.

--------------------------

For the next four days, Bob got there early to ensure he had that same front row seat. He had a full blown crush. Heart pounding, palms damp, unable to focus on anything other than his crush on you. When he wasn't at work looking right at you, he was daydreaming about you. When he wasn't daydreaming about you, he was asleep and having actual dreams where you were his girlfriend. In one of them, you gave him a back massage, and he woke up with an erection.

He could barely even look at you for the nauseous feeling that took up residence just below his pounding heart, but he couldn't look anywhere else. He'd never been like this before. Sure, he'd been attracted to many women in the past, but this was something else entirely.

"But why is she so familiar looking?" Jake asked Bradley at lunch. "You sure you didn't fuck her?"

"Oh, I think I'd remember fucking someone that looked like that," Bradley replied with a chuckle. "Wait... did you fuck her?"

"I don't think so?" Jake replied, looking a little panicked. "She's not the one I went home with on my birthday, is she? Because you know I can't remember that night. And if I fucked her and can't remember it, then I deserve to be executed."

They both erupted into laughter with Javy, and Bob felt deflated. One of the three of them was definitely going to ask you out sooner rather than later, and instead of getting an occasional guarded glance in his direction, Bob would have nothing.

That night at the bar, he sat with his cup of peanuts and talked with Nat about work while everyone else played pool. "I guess we have another week or two of lectures ahead of us, but I can't wait to get back in the air."

"Yeah," Bob replied, glancing around the room in case the Hard Deck was your Friday night scene. It wasn't really his, but he came for his friends. And if he got to spend another week or two in the classroom, he wasn't going to complain; there would be no way for him to look at you when he was in the cockpit.

"Bob!" Javy called as if he'd been trying to get his attention for a few minutes. He was waving a pool cue. "Take over for me. I need to go shoot my shot."

As Bob stood, he watched Javy head off into the crowd toward a woman who looked like you. He did a double take, his heart leaping up into his throat as Bradley started to push him closer to the pool table. Javy saw you. He was going to ask you out. A feeling of devastation filled his lungs, but then the woman turned around, and it wasn't you. Her smile wasn't nearly as pretty, and she didn't have the same eyes.

Relieved, Bob sank the seven ball before running the table like he was some sort of pro. But he knew deep inside that he was going to have to ask you out himself or miss out on even having a chance with you.

Every day the following week, he tried to give himself a pep talk. He could do this. Even if you said no, it would be fine. It would be good practice for him. But he knew it would not be okay. He liked the sound of your voice and the way you moved, and he thought about you in every room of his apartment doing a wide variety of things. Some of them made him blush.

He couldn't tell if it would be worse to never even try or to have to live with himself after you looked at him and said you weren't interested. At least if he kept things quiet, the guys couldn't find a way to make fun of him. And although they all liked to talk about you at lunch, to his knowledge, none of them had asked you on a date. Maybe they were as intimidated as him.

On Wednesday, you dropped your pen, and Bob picked it up for you. He got a "Thanks, Lieutenant Floyd," in response along with a cautious smile. Then on Thursday, he helped you move the projector before class started, and you said, "Thanks. You're a lot stronger than I am." He felt like he floated to his seat after that.

On Friday, disaster struck. You were organizing your stack of notes at the end of the day when Bob stood. But then Bradley was there, leaning on the table in front of you after everyone had been dismissed. "Hey, so the guys and I were wondering if you ever made it out to the Hard Deck on Friday nights? I'd love to buy you a drink."

Bob nearly collapsed back into his seat as he watched your eyes searching Bradley's face like you were trying to tell if he was lying. "No, actually. I play Dungeons & Dragons most Friday nights."

A strangled sound escaped Bob. "You play D&D?" he asked before he could think better of it.

"Yeah," you replied easily, giving him a little smile. "Been into it for years."

"Me too," he added, and you set down everything you'd been holding.

"It must be hard to be part of a campaign when you deploy on occasion?" you asked, and Bob was convinced he wouldn't notice if a freight train was about to hit him.

He nodded and took a step closer, watching you stand up. "It can be, yeah. But I've been in the same campaign for a few years, so I'd like to think I'm an integral enough part of it that everyone else doesn't mind waiting for me."

You laughed. It was so pretty. "I'm sure they don't mind one bit, Lieutenant Floyd."

"You can call me Bob," he blurted out, eyes going wide as you licked your lips and grinned.

"Okay. Bob."

He could do this. He was already part way there, he thought. Just a little further. "Maybe you and I could get coffee this weekend and talk about our characters?"

When he was met with silence and your softly parted lips, he wanted to disappear. But your expression was trained on his face, and even though you still seemed a little hesitant, you asked, "Like a date? Because I'm free on Sunday."

-------------------------

You were laughing so hard, you had to set your coffee cup down next to your scone, and Bob was basking in the sound of it. "No, Bob! That's why I made my character a Rogue! Because I could never be such a scoundrel in real life!" He just listened to your laughter taper off while he grinned in the middle of the crowded cafe where you only seemed to be focused on him.

"Well, that's why I made mine a Sorcerer. I don't know if you knew this about me, but I can't actually cast spells."

You started to laugh again. "Could have fooled me." But he must have been looking at you for too long, because you brought your hand up to your lips and asked, "Do I have crumbs on my face or something?"

"No, your face is perfect," he replied without considering his words, but your look of slightly embarrassed delight outweighed the tinge of mortification he felt.

You searched his eyes, seemingly always trying to gauge his sincerity. Then you surprised him when you said, "You're really sweet. It's refreshing."

Bob looked down at his hands, unsure how to respond but pleased nonetheless. "Will you let me take you to a movie? Or dinner? Or both?"

"Yes."

The following morning at work, you were as focused on Bob as he was on you. The sweaty palms and erratically beating heart were back, only exacerbated by your alluring gaze and the promise of a second date on Thursday night. You agreed to dinner at an Italian restaurant, and Bob was already excited.

"Why are you acting so strange?" Nat asked at lunchtime. "You're like both weirdly quiet and also talking so much?"

Bob laughed and said, "I went out on a date yesterday." And when he said it was with you, her eyes went wide. "We're going out again on Thursday."

"Bob!" she gasped, and now all of the guys were looking at him, and there was no way he would ever recover from this as Nat told them he got coffee with you.

"Welcome to the big leagues, buddy," Jake drawled, while Bradley glared at him. "Just wish I could figure out why she seems so familiar. Like it's just stuck in the back of my mind somehow. Like I know her."

"None of you know her as well as Bob does," Nat said with a laugh that made him smile. Before you and he parted ways at the coffee shop, you'd squeezed his hand in your smaller one, and it was already one of the sexiest moments of his life.

"Fuck you, Bob," Bradley grumbled.

But it didn't matter. Bob really liked you and the fact that you talked about your Dungeons & Dragons character for a full hour. And your pretty face and your laugh. And the way you seemed interested in what he had to say. You were checking off all of the boxes for him. Smart, funny, kind of nerdy, interesting. He wondered how many dates he should take you on before asking you to be his girlfriend.

On Wednesday, as soon as Warlock dismissed everyone, you handed Bob a folded up note.

I can't wait for dinner tomorrow night. Here's my number.

He waited until he was home and sitting on his couch before he texted you. Less than a minute later, you responded. And that's how he spent the rest of his night. He didn't even eat until after nine, too wrapped up in what you had to say. Those intrusive thoughts and daydreams and real dreams about you in his apartment were starting to seem like they could be a reality. That's what he wanted. He could already picture you on the couch, wrapped up in the afghan his mom made, watching a movie with him. Or in his kitchen, helping him make dinner.

He fell asleep on the couch in his uniform, too absorbed in this conversation to even go to bed properly. But that was fine, because suddenly it was Thursday, and not only would he see you all day at work, he'd get to eat with you and learn more about you.

Once again, Bob slid into that front row seat, and you had to work at keeping the smile from your face all morning. When you did look his way, he felt his breath catch in his throat. He was sure he'd pass out if you kissed him, and suddenly that was the only thing he could think about. Warlock talked about aggressive maneuvering, and Bob thought about your lips. Warlock talked about safety protocols, and Bob thought about your lips touching his.

It would be a miracle if he made it through dinner, but he had to try. You stood and started walking out of the classroom at the end of the day, but you turned back and said, "I'll meet you there at 7:30."

Bob offered to pick you up, but you said you'd drive yourself, and now he had more than two hours to kill. He took a long shower and fixed his hair before dressing in the outfit that Nat had pre-approved for him. He made sure his glasses were straight and that he had his credit card. The only other thing he could do was hope the conversation would come as easily for him this time, as it had over coffee.

He shouldn't have been worried about that. What he should have been worried about was the way his heart stopped when you walked through the front doors of the restaurant and directly for him, wearing a pretty blue dress with your face all made up like he was someone to impress.

"Hi, Bob," you whispered. Then you kissed his cheek at the same time that he started to turn his head, and his lips nudged yours. He stood there shocked as you slipped your hand into his, and you started to tug him toward the waiting table when his name was called.

His ears didn't stop burning the whole night. His brain kept circling back to the idea of another kiss. An intentional one. A kiss after a second date was not something he'd ever attempted before, but he was going to do it tonight. Based on the way you were looking at him, he had to.

"Do you want more wine?" you asked, holding up the bottle.

"Yes, please," he replied, because that would definitely help his cause.

You smiled as you poured him some. "You have lovely manners." When you set the bottle down, you added, "And really pretty eyes."

Bob counted to three and then said, "I know we didn't even eat dessert yet, but I really like you. And tomorrow is your D&D night, but maybe you'll let me take you to a movie on Saturday?"

After dinner, in the parking lot next to your car, Bob kissed you. Intentionally. The first tilt of his head was hesitant, and when his lips met yours, he started to get nervous and pull away. But you let your fingers tangle in his hair, and you chased him for another kiss. "Which movie are we seeing?" you asked as you rubbed your nose gently along his.

"You can pick," he replied before kissing you again. "I just want to be around you." And then his hands found the small of your back and you inched yourself closer until your chest was touching his and your knee was bumping his leg.

You were smiling when he finally pulled his face away from yours. "I'll text you my address and the movie I want to see."

Bob smiled, too. "And then I'll pick you up, and we can go to the theater."

This was probably the best week of his life. He watched you pull out of the parking lot, and you waved to him through your window after you blew him a kiss. He went home and thought about what he might be able to cook for date number four. Perhaps you'd want to do the movie on Saturday and then have dinner at his place on Sunday? He'd figure it out. Either way, he was excited for more.

"A third date?" Nat asked on Friday when everyone was taking a break in the classroom. "Damn, Bob."

He eyed you where you stood talking quietly with Warlock, and you glanced his way, a soft smile on your lips. "I really like her. She's different. In a good way. And she makes me feel comfortable."

Nat rubbed his back in slow circles. "Make sure you put your arm around her during the movie. She might be expecting it. But if she doesn't snuggle against you, then you should remove it."

He nodded and swallowed. "Right. I can do that. Is it too soon to invite her over to my apartment for dinner?"

"I don't think so," she replied softly. "And maybe you should buy some condoms."

Bob's cheeks immediately flushed, but he didn't mind too much, since it was just Nat. "I don't think I'm ready for that yet."

"She seems sweet. Just tell her what you're feeling when the time comes."

Now everything was making Bob a little nervous as he drove through your neighborhood on Saturday night. He passed modern beachfront house after modern beachfront house, and then his GPS told him he had arrived. He saw your car in the driveway, but the house was gorgeous and must be worth a ton of money. Maybe you had a roommate?

He parked his old truck and headed up the sidewalk with butterflies in his stomach and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. You opened the door before he even knocked, and then you were in his arms and invading his senses. "Are those for me?" you asked, kissing his cheek and poking the flowers.

"Yes," he whispered, silently begging you to let him hold you for a few more seconds while he caught his breath and got himself under control. You turned him on in every way, and he'd never encountered this before.

Your soft voice next to his ear as you chuckled and said, "Thanks, Bob," was not helping. You led him inside, and your house was incredible. There were no signs of a roommate, but there was a view of the ocean from the windows along the back of the house. He watched you bend in your little dress to find a vase for the flowers, and he felt completely overwhelmed.

"Ready to go?" you asked, reaching for his hand a minute later. Your eyes were eager and sincere as you gazed up at him. Your fingers were laced with his, and Bob realized if he wanted to get to the next step with you, he needed to get through tonight.

"Yes." He kissed your lips softly, and you leaned against his arm as he walked you out to his truck.

You spent the drive to the movie theater telling him all about your Friday night playing Dungeons & Dragons, and of course Bob felt more relaxed. He bought the tickets, and you got the popcorn, and when he put his arm around your shoulders, you snuggled against him, so he kept it there. By the end of the movie, the empty popcorn bucket was on the floor, and you had your palm resting on his thigh.

"Did you like it?" you asked softly while the end credits scrolled.

"Yes, I liked it," he promised, accepting another of your kisses.

"It's still early. Want to grab a drink somewhere?"

Bob really only knew one place, because he spent an awful lot of his free time there. "Should we hit up the Hard Deck? And then I can take you home and hopefully get another goodnight kiss?"

You had one eyebrow raised as you considered him. "Even after the third date? You're not going to try to make a move?"

Embarrassment flooded his cheeks as he muttered, "Not yet." And then your lips were all over his like he'd answered your questions correctly, even though he felt like his thoughts on the matter were actually probably wrong according to most people.

Eventually the two of you made your way to the bar, but visiting the Hard Deck was a mistake that he didn't see coming. You were tucked perfectly against his side as Bob walked across the parking lot and listened to you tell him how much you liked working for Admiral Bates. Then you ordered two vodka sodas, and Bob had to pluck your credit card from your hand to keep you from paying for them.

"Hey!" you complained, but he just smiled.

"I'll give it back later." He was rewarded with another kiss on the cheek, this one very close to his lips.

"Well, look who's here," Jake drawled obnoxiously over the music from the jukebox and the noise from the crowd. "Bob and his friend."

You rolled your eyes and laughed, but you kept one hand linked with his as the drinks were set down. "Should we say hi to your friends?" you asked, and Bob nodded even though he really wanted to just find a small table on the other side of the room. But Nat looked excited, and the other guys looked annoyed, so Bob thought a short detour might be fun.

"Hey," Bob greeted everyone as you sipped your drink.

"How was the movie?" Nat asked, elbowing Bradley in the side before he could say anything.

"Pretty good," you replied. "You know, for one of those Academy Award bait films."

Bob laughed and looked at you. "I liked it a lot, actually." Or maybe he just liked sitting with his arm around you for two hours at a time, but he wasn't going to say that in front of everyone else.

Javy tapped a pool cue on the ground and asked, "Do you like to see a lot of movies?"

You nodded with a bit of an apprehensive look on your face that had Bob just about ready to pull you over to the table that another couple was vacating. "Yeah... I like films," you replied softly.

And then Jake's jaw dropped open and he slapped the edge of the pool table. "Oh my god!" His green eyes were wide as he looked you up and down from head to toe with a smirk that made Bob want to stand in front of you. "That's why you look so familiar! You're Roxy Luxxe."

"Oh, fuck," Javy said as he dropped the pool cue on Nat's foot, and Bradley choked on his beer.

But Bob just stood there and watched your posture stiffen and the look of apprehension on your face grow. "Who?" he asked softly, but you wouldn't meet his eyes.

"She's a porn star, Bob!" Jake said a little too loudly as he hooted. "A very memorable one, too. Played up different movie genres. Everyone I Did Last Summer. Sisterhood of the Traveling Sluts. Laid in Manhattan. Some real classics!"

"I retired," you said firmly, holding eye contact with Jake even though your voice sounded strained. "I left the industry five years ago."

"Guys," Nat said with a warning tone as she looked at Bob who was frozen in place, his head swarming with wild thoughts. An adult film star? You? But you worked at Top Gun and played D&D and liked scones. You went on three dates with Bob of all people.

Now Nat was physically moving Javy, Bradley and Jake back toward the game of pool, snapping her fingers at them as they continued to ogle you in your pretty dress. "So..." you whispered, turning toward Bob, looking anywhere but at his face. "That was... yeah..."

He had no idea what to say right now, and the longer he went without saying anything, the worse he felt inside. You used to have a job making adult films? Bob couldn't even handle watching those without blushing and stuttering. You must have had sex with dozens and dozens of different men and probably women too, and Bob suddenly realized he could go home and watch them for himself if he really wanted.

"Right," you said, finally looking at him as your eyes started to fill with tears. "Well... no hard feelings, Bob. I'll see you at work on Monday." Then you set your drink down, covered your mouth with one hand and made a beeline for the door.

Bob looked at the drink in his hand, and then at the one you set down. He left his on the table next to yours and followed you out to the parking lot. He looked around, calling your name and checking to see if you were by his truck, but you didn't respond. You were gone.

Roxy Luxxe. That name was made up, and he didn't think it suited you as well as your real name. That one was perfect, and he liked it. He liked you. He could drive back to your house, but if you didn't want to talk to him, then what was the point? He'd already embarrassed himself by clamming up. But even worse, he thought he might have embarrassed you.

"Damn it," he muttered, angry at Jake and all of them for making you feel small, and angry at himself, too. He got in his truck and drove himself home.

----------------------------

Well. You got three perfect dates before it all blew up in your face. Three amazing dates with Bob who was going to look at you like you were no longer worthy of his time now. Sure, you would have told him eventually. After another date or two, you would have brought it up in such a way that perhaps could have been a little bit more flattering or at least slightly tasteful. But of course you should have been expecting this. It wasn't the first time. Getting older only did so much for your face, and it didn't matter how much you changed your hair and makeup: Once Roxy Luxxe, always Roxy Luxxe.

You really thought none of them recognized you. It was almost refreshing that Bob had never heard of your alter ego. He probably never saw a single video of you having sex with Sam Slick or Dickie Divine. He didn't know exactly what your tits looked like, because you'd never taken your shirt off for him in person. He didn't know how you sounded when you faked an orgasm. As you ran down the block and got an Uber, you could hear Bob calling for you.

You weren't ashamed or embarrassed. You were not. This was your life, and you made every decision along the way for yourself. Nobody else. You put yourself through school. You bought the house of your dreams. You had an amazing job at Top Gun now for fuck's sake. But Bob was the first guy you met in a long time who made you think you could have a relationship with someone who wouldn't judge you for your past.

You walked from your Uber into your house and kicked your shoes across the entryway. More tears were filling your eyes, but you didn't want to cry again. Not over this. "But he was sweet," you whispered to your reflection in the hall mirror. His friends were kind of assholes, but he wasn't. Even if he didn't want to be with you now, which was understandable, those three dates were something else. Dungeons & Dragons discussions and coffee and pasta.

You sighed wistfully at the flowers in your kitchen. Maybe a few more years and you'd look even less like Roxy Luxxe. That might make things easier to navigate. You made yourself a cup of tea and grabbed some crackers and sat out on your back deck where the moonlight reflected off of the ocean. The way Bob had wrapped his arm around you during the movie made it easy to imagine him here with you, keeping you warm. Instead you grabbed a blanket and snuggled in as you thought about how he would have been an excellent boyfriend.

"You win some, you lose some," you told the night sky. If he was bothered by your past which you had designed so you could have a future, then he wasn't the one for you. You fell asleep outside in your dress, and the rising sun eventually woke you up. When you stretched and stood, the chilly air sent you running inside and toward your shower.

The memories of last night were hanging out in the periphery of your mind. Going to work tomorrow was going to be awful. If you didn't like Admiral Bates so much, you'd request to work under someone else. But then again, why should you have to go to work feeling bad? Yeah, it was going to sting to see Bob, but it was still your job, and you deserved to be happy.

You showered and took your time until all of your skin felt fresh and new, and then you threw on some oversized sweats after you moisturized. After breakfast, you could see if one of your friends from D&D was free to hang out. You were finally just about to check your phone to see if Bob had attempted to reach you when you heard a knock at your door.

Bob's truck was parked in your driveway just behind your car. You could see it through the front window. According to your phone, he tried to call you twice, and he'd send you a handful of texts. But now he was here and knocking again. It was obvious you were home, so you wrenched your front door open and stood before him with your chin held high.

"What do you need?" you asked, already feeling weak at the sight of his pretty blue eyes and his glasses.

"Hi," he said softly, just staring at you. He looked exhausted, like maybe he hadn't slept. Then he fumbled around in his jeans pocket and pulled out your credit card. "This is yours."

You plucked it from his hand and started to close the door. "Thanks for returning it. I'll see you at work."

Then he said your name. Your real name. "Wait. Please?"

You pressed your lips together. "What do you want, Bob?"

The soft rise and fall of his solid chest held your attention while he started stuttering. "L-Look. I'm really sorry about last night."

You nodded. "Me too." It wasn't like you wanted to know, but you couldn't stop yourself from asking, "I take it you went home and looked up my videos?"

His eyes went wide as you crossed your arms over your chest. "I didn't."

You actually believed him, but you felt like making yourself hurt anyway. "Your friends have all seen me naked. Watched me getting fucked."

He seemed surprisingly calm as he half shrugged and kind of nodded. "So what?"

As you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, you said, "I'm not ashamed of anything I've ever done, okay? And I would have told you about it after another date or two... before we slept together." When he remained silent you added, "I started out in the adult film industry when I was eighteen. I quit when I was twenty five. I just turned thirty last month, and I guess I was silly for thinking enough time had passed. But last night was a prime example of why I haven't even tried to date anyone. Ever, really."

Bob was gaping at you now. "Not ever? But you're... you're so..."

"I know," you said, cutting him off before he could finish. "I'm hot enough to do porn, but nobody wants to date me."

You started to close the door again, but he scrambled. "N-No, that's not what I was going to say. I was going to say you're flawless. A-And I shouldn't have let you leave the bar like that last night."

Your fingers loosened on the door, and soon it was drifting away from you, opening wider for Bob as he stood there with an eager expression. God, you just really liked him. And he seemed like he was being sincere. "What would you have done differently last night?" you whispered.

He started to reach for you before tucking his fingers in his jeans pocket. "I would have taken your hand in mine as soon as I saw tears in your eyes." You bit your lips as he added, "And I would have told you that I like you so much. And if you wanted to leave, then I would have driven you home right away and walked you to your door."

He liked you so much. If there was a chance that Bob could be the kind of guy who still liked you with your past as Roxy Luxxe but also wasn't just trying to get in your pants and meet her for himself, then you wanted to give him a shot. "What would you have done after you walked me to my door?"

He was breathing deeper like he was nervous, and you wanted to touch him. "I would have asked you for that goodnight kiss that I'd been hoping for all day."

You were rushing for his arms, clearly surprising him in the process, but he held onto you as you gave him just the softest kiss. "I would have let you have it." Bob's hands found their way to the most respectful spot on your back, and you kissed him a little deeper.

As soon as you broke the kiss, his fingers flexed against your back, and he said, "I want to go on another date with you. A bunch more. But I want you to be sure about me. I don't really care about Roxy Luxxe. I'm sure she was lovely, but I like you." You laughed. You couldn't help it. And he smiled as he asked, "Maybe you can think about it today and let me know at work tomorrow?"

"Okay."

He nodded and let out the breath he was holding. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

Your back felt cold where his hands used to be as you watched him walk back to his truck. He waved to you as he pulled out of your driveway, and you waved back with a different feeling in your heart than you had twenty minutes ago.

---------------------------

Bob was disappointed to find he would be in the air on Monday. When he arrived on base, he changed into his flight suit instead of his khaki uniform, wondering what that would mean when it came to seeing you. He'd slept poorly, wondering what your answer would be, hoping you'd say yes to another date.

"Hey, Bob," Jake drawled as Bob zipped up his flight suit. "How was your night with Roxy Luxxe?" He had a devilish smirk on his face, and Bob's skin was crawling. All of the other guys were looking at him now, and he knew his face was beet red.

"I guess she was as good as she looks on film if she rendered you speechless," Jake added with a laugh.

"Whoa, no," Javy said, shaking his head at Jake before looking at Bob. "Cut it out, man."

Bob counted to five, took a deep breath and then raised his forearm, and at least Jake had the decency to look panicked. Bradley stepped into the fray as Bob used his arm on Jake's chest to push him back against the lockers. Sure, Jake was more muscular, but Bob was no slouch, and he had a couple inches on him. "Don't call her that again. Don't even talk about her. While you're at it, don't look at her either."

Jake raised one eyebrow and nodded slightly, and Bob released him, walking right out of the locker room and making a quick detour to the classroom. But you weren't there. He ran his hands through his hair before he headed outside to find Nat.

"Hey, there you are," she said gently. "You okay? After the bar and everything?"

"I'm fine," he replied, still looking around. "Have you seen her?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed, pointing behind Bob, and he whirled around in time to see you walk out of the tower with Warlock and Cyclone. You looked as pretty as you always did, and Bob found himself wanting you the same way today as he had last week. All of the daydreams about making breakfast together after holding you in his arms all night were still there. So were the thoughts about you snuggled up, laughing on his couch. But now he could also imagine taking walks on the beach where you lived.

Your gaze met his, and he watched you excuse yourself from the admirals before heading his way. Nat squeezed his bicep, and muttered good luck before making herself scarce, and then Bob was standing there with you a respectable three feet in front of him.

"Lieutenant Floyd."

He smiled softly. "Good morning."

"So..." you began, looking down at his boots and pressing your lips together. "I'm free on Wednesday night. Or pretty much all day Saturday." Your eyes trailed up his body until you were nervously examining his face. "What did you have in mind for our fourth date?"

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He'd been so apprehensive, afraid you were going to tell him to beat it, he hadn't bothered to come up with an actual date idea. "Cooking dinner at my place?" he blurted out.

You nodded like that sounded good to you. "Wednesday night then?"

He couldn't remember if he already had plans, but if he did, he'd cancel them immediately. "Yes. Wednesday. The day after tomorrow. Wednesday."

Your soft laughter filled him up as you turned and started to walk away, giving him just one word. "Wednesday."

--------------------------

You showed up to Bob's place with just a bottle of wine. He promised to take care of the rest. An hour later, a completely homemade pizza with fresh mozzarella and herbs was baking in the oven, and you had your arms draped around his neck. His lips tasted like the pinot noir the two of you had started drinking while you made the pizza, and his body felt strong and sure. As of right now, you thought you'd made the right choice by coming here.

"I really like you," he whispered for the third time this evening, and you believed him. You liked yourself. Why shouldn't he?

"I like you, too, Bob." You reached up and adjusted his glasses before letting your fingers trail back through his hair. As his hands slid slowly down to your hips, it was easy to imagine how he might be in bed. Authentic. Meticulous. Earnest. Just like he was at work. The thought thrilled you to no end, but you were also afraid of the way you'd feel afterwards if you rushed it just to get the first one out of your system. So you let him hold you like you were important.

The timer buzzed, and Bob laughed as you jumped further into his arms. You buried your face against his neck. "It's not funny." But you were laughing, too, and his lips met your hair. "Okay, it's kind of funny."

His stomach was growling, so you slowly pulled yourself free of his arms so he could put on his oven mitts. "Looks good," he remarked, but your gaze was fixed on him. "What do you think, Honey?"

Bob's eyes went wide as he set the tray down, like he couldn't believe what he'd said. Your heart was absolutely thundering in your chest. "Looks good," you whispered in agreement. You hadn't looked at it. You were sure it was fine. You'd eat anything anyway. But he called you Honey, and you didn't mind it one bit.

You shared the pizza side by side on his couch along with the rest of the bottle of wine, and Bob listened to you tell him about your friends you meet up with on Fridays. And then he told you about his deployment as he finished the last few drops of wine.

"I never really talk about this with anyone but Nat. This is nice," he said softly.

"Is it lonely?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper as he set down his glass and looked at you.

You didn't want to rush him, because you could tell what he was going to say was important. And it was. His voice was a little rough as he looked at you and said, "Somehow it's lonelier when I come home. It's worse than being on an aircraft carrier in that I can't really have anything for myself here. There's nothing waiting for me. And a lot of the time, I feel like it would be too much to ask someone to do that. To wait for me. It would be a lot for someone to accept."

When you crawled onto his lap, he didn't stop you. And when you tilted his face up to make him look at you, his cheeks flushed pink, but his hands found your hips again. "I understand exactly how you feel."

Then you kissed him, and you didn't stop for probably hours or maybe days. It felt that good. When you ended up beneath his warm body, you were so happy he came to your house on Sunday morning with your credit card. "Bob," you whimpered, and that seemed to bring him back from wherever his head was while he kissed his way down your neck and along your chest. His hair was a mess from your fingers, and his lips were a little puffy from the kisses, and you were pretty sure he wouldn't let you down again even if his friends were idiots.

You'd broken the spell, but he didn't seem to mind as he stood and pulled you to your feet. "It's getting late. We have work in the morning. Let me walk you to your car?"

At this rate, you were afraid you'd let him do anything he wanted, because he held your hand the whole way there. And he kissed you just right and told you he'd love to spend part of Saturday with you.

"Come over," you told him, and he promised he would.

----------------------------

It was chilly as Bob watched the sunset over the ocean from your back deck, but his body was warm from the combination of having you and your fleece blanket wrapped around him. You fit perfectly in his arms. Frankly, you seemed to fit pretty perfectly in his life. He wouldn't mind spending all of his Saturdays like this, listening to your gaming recap from the night before while you occasionally kissed the side of his neck. Your fingers were laced with his, and when you asked if he wanted to share a bottle of wine you got when you were in Napa Valley, he responded with a different question.

"Is there any chance you'd want to be my girlfriend?" You shivered in his arms, so he wrapped you up a little tighter. "I can't stop thinking about you being the one waiting for me to get home from a deployment."

You didn't speak right away which made him apprehensive. He'd somehow been the one to push things too fast. This was something he'd never managed to do before. You tightened your grip on his hand as you said, "Bob... people are going to recognize me. It's going to happen sometimes, no matter what I try to do about it, and I-"

He cut you off with a kiss. "I don't care about that, Honey." Then more kisses. The bottle of wine in your kitchen was left forgotten as you carefully slipped one leg over Bob's lap and sat straddling him. You kept the blanket wrapped snug around both of you, your body nestled against his as your foreheads met. "I just really like you."

The sun had disappeared below the horizon. Everything was pink and purple and dusky and dreamy as your cheek nudged his glasses making him smile. "If you think you can handle being my boyfriend, then I'm not going to try to stop you."

Heart pounding, he asked, "So is that a yes?"

"Yes." Your kisses were slow and soft, and Bob kept chasing the smile on your lips, because he couldn't get enough. With his eyes closed, all he could hear was the ocean below and the soft sounds you made. All he could feel was your body everywhere. You smelled familiar. You tasted good.

As you ran your fingers through his hair, your other hand trailed down to his shoulder, along his bicep and then across his chest. When Bob dared to let his hands dip from your waist to your hips and butt, you scooted a little bit closer. He realized when your fingers skimmed his abs that he had an erection.

Embarrassed, he tried to break the kiss and move his hands, but as soon as he started to move, you pulled away first. In the dying light, he could see your wide eyes and the alluring rise and fall of your chest. Part of your lace bra strap was showing, and your nipples were obviously hard. His cock throbbed in his jeans as you asked, "Do you want to stop?"

He knew you could read the desire on his face. When he started to shake his head, you rubbed yourself against his jeans where he was hard for you. "No," he grunted, head tipping back as he panted. "I don't want to stop."

"Good," you whispered next to his ear, lips barely grazing him. "Neither do I." You took his hands in both of yours and brought them back up to your body, encouraging him to touch every curve.

He gasped your name as he watched you slowly rolling your hips against him, seemingly in no hurry as you bit your lip. When he reached for the hem of your shirt, you didn't stop him, and he tossed it aside. Your body looked magical in the twilight, and as he reached for your bra clasp, realization hit him.

You were used to a certain caliber of partner for these kinds of activities. Standards he probably couldn't meet. "You're hesitating again," you whispered, voice breaking a little bit on the last word. "If you don't think you want to do this with me, I completely understand, Bob."

It was getting difficult to read your expression in the darkness, but when you stopped touching him and pulled your arms to your sides, he started to panic. "It's not that," he promised. "But you've been with... p-professionals. Guys who know what they're... doing." He ran his hands through his own hair. "And I'm not the most experienced. I've only had two partners."

"Oh, Bob," you moaned, and his cock ached at the sound. He wanted you. His whole body was screaming for it, and then he watched as you unhooked your own bra and let it slide down your arms and fall from your fingers. Your body was flawless, back arched, every curve designed to make him crazy. He made a sound somewhere between a groan and a whine as you leaned in closer and kissed him. "You'll be so much better."

Your bare skin was everywhere as the blanket slipped from around you. Bob's hands splayed across your back to keep you warm, but the supple feel of you had him thrusting against your core as he gingerly ran his thumb along the side of your breast. "So much better!" you whispered before pulling his bottom lip between yours.

He was still a little nervous, throbbing against you in his pants like a teenager as he cupped your breast in his rough palm. When you trailed your lips down his neck, he said, "I just want to be good enough for you."

Bob was thankful it was dark and you couldn't see him blushing as you nipped his earlobe and giggled. "Bob. You're better, because you're real. And you're turning me on, because we're not faking anything." You moved your right hand down between your bodies and squeezed his cock through his jeans as you sucked on his neck. "There's nothing fake about this."

He was gasping as he reached for your hand. "Honey." He couldn't take too much more teasing, or at this rate, he'd finish before his pants were off. "Can we go inside?"

You were off his lap and reaching for him with both hands, pulling him to his feet and closer to you. "My bedroom sound good?"

"Yes."

It was honestly difficult to walk. You led him through the sliding glass door and inside where the soft lighting somehow made your topless body look even more stunning. You brought him down the short hallway to your room, walking backwards and looking up at him with a smirk as you unzipped his jeans. He made another unintelligible noise as he watched the way your breasts swayed and bounced with each movement.

Your bedside lamp provided the only light, and Bob was still looking around, trying to get his bearings, when you pulled his shirt and undershirt off. "Oh," you gasped, running your palms up his flat stomach to his slightly broader chest. "God." He couldn't fathom that you liked what you saw and felt enough to leave you panting his name, but you definitely were. Then your hand was down the front of his unzipped jeans, and he grinned as you tried your best to wrap your hand around his length, your eyes growing wide. "Bob."

And now he wasn't really nervous, because this actually felt really easy and good with you. You were giving him all the queues that you wanted more. You were kissing him as you stumbled to the bed. You were trying your best to get your hand around his cock, but you couldn't. He picked you up and hauled you up to the pillows, and you squealed. All he could see was your beautiful smile as you kissed him over and over, only pulling away to run your nose along his cheek and whisper his name.

He watched you shimmy out of your yoga pants and underwear and push them aside, and it was no wonder you were able to make a career out of using your body the way you did. But if most of that was just acting, then he wasn't going to let you down now. He watched as your head tipped back, and you pressed yourself up against his hands when he gently squeezed your breasts. Mesmerized by all of this, he let his hands drift down over your ribs and along your sides until he was met by your hips.

Bob worked his hands slowly back up your body and down again, pausing to press his lips to your breasts as you arched for him again. You felt soft, and you were sensitive, running your bare foot up and down his leg as you whimpered. When he squeezed your hips again, he let his gaze fall below your belly button.

His voice was soft and deep as he asked, "Is it okay if I taste you, Honey?"

You instantly spread your legs a little wider, grabbed him by his hair, and said, "Please."

---------------------------

Bob's hands were huge, with thick veins and graceful, calloused fingers. All he was doing was touching you and kissing you, and you were very fucking worked up. This was already a treat, just being with a guy who wasn't grabbing at you and trying to shove his cock in your mouth. But it was more than that. It was the soft tone he used when he said your name and the way he was looking at you.

Gentle but strong. That was how you'd describe your newly minted boyfriend. You smiled at him as he stroked his fingers down your sides. You hadn't had a boyfriend in years, and Bob was so sweet and handsome, it was absolutely outrageous.

"Is it okay if I taste you?"

All of that and he wanted to go down on you? "Please." Your voice was needy, and your body was so ready for him. You eased your thighs further apart so he could see all of you, and you let your fingers tangle in his soft hair. You were so excited, and when the wire rim of his glasses brushed the inside of your thigh, you shivered with pleasure.

Then his lips met your pussy, and you almost went through the fucking ceiling. Those big hands were at your waist, holding you in place on the bed as he licked up along your slit, slowly tasting every inch before he hummed softly. You wanted to watch, but you could barely lift your head off of the pillow as he licked up again and again before kissing your clit.

When you managed to prop yourself up on one elbow, you got a great view of his big cock hanging out of his unzipped jeans when he lifted his head away from your body. "Does it feel good?" he asked, and you laughed. He pulled away from you further, concern on his face as you started to reach for him.

Your nails scraped along the day's worth of stubble on his cheek as you sat up and kissed him, tasting yourself. You licked at his lips and chin, cleaning up the wetness before you whispered. "It feels better than good."

A few seconds later, you were on your back again, legs over his shoulders as he ate your pussy with fervor. All of your nerve endings were singing his praises. He had you spread with his rough thumbs, and when he looked up at you, even his nose was wet. Your hands were fisted at your sides while you gently rolled your hips against his mouth and whined at the perfect feel of him. "Shit. Fuck," you gasped. He sucked on you with just the right amount of pressure, and your toes were literally starting to curl. "Bob!"

All you got in response was another hum of pleasure that made you squeal followed by some seriously lewd, wet sounds. His broad shoulders pushed against the backs of your thighs, and you felt him teasing at your opening with the tip of one finger. Tongue circling your clit, he glanced up at you over his crooked glasses. His cheeks were pink, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead as you reached for his hair again. "I want you to fuck me."

"Okay," he agreed, nodding his head like he hadn't brought you close with his mouth. He looked a little dazed and pussy drunk, and you thought you could fall in love with that expression on his handsome face.

"Come here," you whispered, kneeling so you could kiss him. "You taste like me," you added, licking his cheek and chin. "And I love it."

"Honey," he growled, and when you looked down, you could tell he was aching. You pushed him onto his butt and helped him the rest of the way out of his jeans and snug briefs, his thick cock bouncing for you. Then you looked at him there in just his socks and glasses, and your entire body clenched with a need you'd never known before.

You took his cock in both hands, leaned down and kissed away all of his precum while every muscle in his abs and both legs tensed up. "Holy shit," he gasped. When you tugged on his shoulders, he moved with you, covering your body with his own. His weight and warmth against your bare skin felt essential to your happiness, and when you kissed him, he said, "And you taste like me."

His cheeks flushed a pretty pink as you ran your tongue along his lips. You couldn't get enough. He shifted his body slightly, and his cock came to rest on your slick clit, making you moan into his mouth. You arched away from him, moving your hips back and forth a few inches at a time, using his body to bring yourself pleasure as you clung to his arms. "God, Bob. You haven't even been inside me yet, and I'm a mess."

The veins in his neck and forehead were more prominent as he panted, a bead of his sweat rolling down to the tip of his nose. You licked it away as you shifted your hips so he was positioned at your entrance. He was thick, and even though you were soaking wet now, you had to use one hand to help guide him. You shook your head from side to side, your body taking him slowly. He buried his forehead to your neck, and the bite of his glasses against your collar bone kept you grounded.

"Honey," he moaned, clutching at your hips as he finally, finally bottomed out. You were completely full, already clenching around him softly and enjoying the rough feel of his trimmed hairs against your clit. He thrusted a few times like he couldn't help himself, and you kissed his forehead. "Am I hurting you?"

His neck was a little slick against your fingertips. You'd been fucked too rough or without enough lubrication to the point of it being painful several times before, but this was the exact opposite. "Bob, you feel incredible." He lifted his head and kissed your lips, rewarding you with another thrust. Your legs tangled with his as you pushed his hair back from his forehead and kissed him harder.

His lips found their way to your neck and breasts, and his thrusts started coming quicker, but every smooth movement left you gripping at him, your body begging for more as you whimpered and whined. He murmured your name against your skin, sucking on your nipples until you were seeing stars. And each thrust filled you somehow better than the last. And every movement left you grinding your clit up for more.

You were going to come. You were going to come so hard. You could feel it. The buildup was delicious. Lips and stubble and glasses on your breasts. Hands on your hips. Bob everywhere.

"I'm not wearing a condom. Honey," he panted. "I'm not wearing a condom."

"It's okay," you whined loudly, suddenly gasping and clawing at his shoulders for leverage. "You can come wherever you want."

He chose inside you. And you came, hard and long and loud, hands on his face while you kissed him. You knew he was going to be so much better. You called it from the start. From when he surprised you by asking you out for coffee. He was immediately better than anything else you anticipated for yourself, and even when he fumbled, he recovered. You ran your lips along his cheek and back to his ear and whispered, "You're so much better than faking it."

He rolled both of you onto your sides, facing each other while he was still deep inside you. "Please don't ever do that. Fake it," he said, voice deep and raspy as he ran his rough palm along your cheek. "I want to know I'm good enough for my girlfriend."

You smiled and tucked your head under his chin, and he wrapped his arm around you. His skin was warm beneath your lips, and his words were soft and gentle. When he climbed out of bed, he asked where he could find a washcloth, and he came back with it a minute later, ready to help you get cleaned up. He even held your robe out for you and waited while you used the bathroom, but you did that quickly, finding you wanted to be right next to him as much as possible.

Bob looked delicious in his briefs and undershirt, and you wrapped your arms around his waist as you asked, "Do you want to go back out under the blanket? With the bottle of wine? We could look at the stars. Listen to the ocean before bed."

He kissed your forehead. "As long as I'm with you."

-------------------------

Six months later...

After eight weeks away, Bob was excited to get home. He really hoped this was the start of his deployments feeling lonelier than the time between them did. Especially since he was going home to you and the house where he moved all of his stuff as soon as you asked him to live with you. He couldn't wait to hold you all night and hear all about your Dungeons & Dragons campaign and ask how you'd been enjoying work.

As soon as the aircraft carrier started docking in San Diego, he was at one of the lower railings along with the other aviators, and he spotted you immediately. You were bouncing around at the front of the crowd shouting his name and waving like a lunatic, and he had missed you so much. "Hey, Honey!" he shouted, and you just jumped higher.

"Damn, Floyd. That's your girl?" asked one of the guys he'd flown with.

"Yeah," he replied, never taking his eyes off you. "That's my girl."

Six and a half minutes later, he was practically running down the long ramp with his duffle on one shoulder to the spot where you were waiting for him.

"Bob!" you screeched as he scooped you up in your tiny dress and kissed you until you were as breathless as he was. "I missed you. I love you so much, and I missed you."

"I want to go home, Honey," he said, kissing you again. "Take me home."

"Gladly," you gushed, grabbing his hand and leading him toward his own truck. "I have big plans for your big cock," you announced to everyone around you, and Bob felt his cheeks warm up. "Well, and the rest of you, too. We can make a pizza together and eat out on the deck."

"Anything you want," he promised, tossing his bag in the truck bed and pushing you against the door. "And I love you, too."

You only let him kiss you for a few seconds, before you were pushing him away. "I know you do. Let's go home." You held his hand on the short ride, and when he pulled in the driveway, you yanked him right out and led him inside the house.

This felt incredible, knowing you wanted him as badly as he wanted you, running hand in hand to the bedroom. Then you stopped short and turned to face him as he bumped into you with a laugh. "You know how you're kind of your alter ego right now when you're in your uniform? Lieutenant Floyd?"

"Yeah?" he whispered, leaning down to kiss you, but your lips curled into a smile as you backed away.

"Well... I thought you might like to meet my alter ego?" you asked softly, easing that little dress up to your hips and along your torso before pulling it over your head. You were standing there in the tiniest black thong and bra set known to mankind. "Do you want to meet Roxy Luxxe?"

Bob just nodded and reached down to palm himself through his khaki pants as he gaped at you and grunted, "Uh huh." If Roxy was just a playful extension of his girlfriend, then yes, he wanted to meet her.

You bit your lip and coaxed him toward the bed, running your hands down your body to your hips where you played with your underwear. "Good. Because she wants to meet you, too. And she wants you to know she's only going to be available exclusively for Bob Floyd's enjoyment."

---------------------------

Thanks for reading this long one-shot! I wanted Bob to get to fuck a former pornstar, because nobody deserves such a treat the way Bob does! But then I got attached to them and had to make it special. Bob and the artist formerly known as Roxy Luxxe are adorable together. Thanks to @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger and @sylviebell for your help!

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hyuuukais · 1 year ago

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-`♡´ - APARTMENT 143

pairing -> lee know x fem reader

synopsis -> after a bad breakup, y/n needs to find a new place to live. although she's grateful for her best friend, up-and-coming model hwang hyunjin, for letting her stay at his, she can't keep living with him and his model roommates. so when an opening for somewhere nearby with cheap rent opens up, she jumps on it, despite knowing next to nothing about the 3 other tenants, only that one owns 3 cats. the three quickly learn of her breakup, determined to help get her back on her feet. but what happens when one of them begins to develop feelings?

warnings -> swearing, y/n is cheated on, references to sex/suggestive, y/n doesn't have a good relationship with her family

taglist rules -> CLOSED!

MASTERLIST

INTROS -> Y/N & CO , APT 143 , OTHER

CH 1 -> BREAKUP

CH 2 -> LONELY ST. APARTMENTS

CH 3 -> AM I IN?

CH 4 -> JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY

CH 5 -> BAD BITCH ENERGY

CH 6 -> LIVE A LITTLE

CH 7 -> WORKPLACE ROMANCES

CH 8 -> EXS AND OHS

CH 9 -> IS THIS A DATE?

CH 10 -> TAKE IT SLOW

CH 11 -> NEXT STEPS

CH 12 -> FAILED ROMANTIC ESCAPADES

CH 13 -> IT'S... COMPLICATED

CH 14 -> I'M THE PROBLEM?

CH 15 -> LIKE IT USED TO BE

CH 16 -> BIG MISTAKES

CH 17 -> PEOPLE DON'T CHANGE

CH 18 -> LISTEN TO ME

CH 19 -> OPERATION MINJI

CH 20 -> UNWANTED MEMORIES

CH 21 -> COMFORT ME

CH 22 -> BEFORE

CH 23 -> I MISS YOU

CH 24 -> Y/N TIME

CH 25 -> MOVE IN DAY

CH 26 -> OPPORTUNITIES

CH 27 -> BIG STEPS

CH 28 -> AMERICA?

CH 29 -> COMPLICATED

CH 30 -> BABY FEVER

CH 31 -> LIKE LIKE

CH 32 -> CELEBRATION

#-`♡´ - APARTMENT 143 #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know smau #lee minho smau #skz smau #skz social media au #stray kids smau #stray kids social media au #non idol au #lee know non idol au

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year ago

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The One I Want: Part 3

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Plus size!reader

Summary: You're new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: cursing, maybe. I don't think anything else. Sorry if there are typos.

Words: 1720

The One I Want Masterlist

---

Jake Seresin is a wizard. Or a mind-reader. Or some creature with wildly sensitive hearing. You’re sure of it.

In the month since you moved into the apartment, your only moments alone come when you lock yourself in your bedroom. Otherwise, Jake is near you—sitting next to you, looking at you, talking to you. If your door opens, he follows not five seconds later. If you sit down at the island with your breakfast of bland cereal, he enters the kitchen within two minutes to prepare his own meal; the same meal every morning. Eggs, Canadian bacon, and a protein shake. If you dare to switch the television on, turns out he’s been meaning to watch that show for weeks. You had no idea he was into movie special effects competitions.

It isn’t irritating, exactly—though, it wouldn’t shock you if others experiencing similar treatment would feel that way. You just can’t figure him out. He’s unfigure-outable. You’re pretty sure that’s a thing. If not, Jake Seresin just brought it into existence. And here you thought you were the mystery.

“So I was thinking,” he says.

You close your book without a second thought, having barely read and retained a line in the last fifteen minutes anyway. From the moment he came out of his room and plopped down on the couch—his leg bouncing and eyes trained ahead on nothing—you’ve been waiting for him to snap the tense band of silence between you.

His fingers clasp together, thumbs subtly twiddling when he finally looks over to you. “Maybe you could meet my friends. They’ve asked about you, and you’ve already met Nat so it’s really only the guys.”

That was perhaps one of the last things you imagined he would say. You’ve heard very little of his friends. They’re also pilots. His team. They all have weird nicknames. Half of those nicknames are animals.

There are other tidbits Jake casually mentioned as well. Coyote is his closest friend. There’s a Rooster who recently found himself a chick. A Bob and a Phoenix—who you learned is Nat—are particularly attached.

But every bit of that information you figured he was simply spilling to fill moments where you were in the same room but not speaking. Or perhaps it’s some method to draw out feelings of trust so you might participate in his little game of show and tell. In his eyes is always the hope that you’ll share something of your own, but you have yet to find the courage or need to do so.

“Oh,” you reply, trying to gather the correct words to turn him down. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not really up to meeting a group of people today.”

You hate the way his face falls. Like a puppy denied a treat. But it lasts only a second as another thought brightens the green hue of his irises.

“What if we went somewhere? You and me.”

“What?”

His body shifts on the couch, more of him now facing you. He’s wearing a shirt today. He’s been wearing shirts around you since you made the request weeks ago, but they’re weak at disguising the body underneath. Thin fabric pulled tight like a second skin.

“You said no bars,” he continues. “How do you feel about diners?”

—

It’s an odd image—Jake framed in this setting. He’s all lean muscle and neatly styled hair with a clean-shaven jawline surrounded by greasy food and booths so old their plastic seats are cracking. As others watch him—particularly the hostess who cannot for her life keep from glancing his way every thirty seconds—he watches you. Says nothing; just watches until the waitress returns to set a few plates and mugs in front of you both.

“There you go, kids,” she says. She’s older, and her hair is done up in a style that hasn’t followed the turning of the decades, but you like that it suits her; that she hasn’t paid attention to the change around her, or simply doesn’t care. With her hands on her hips, she says, “Now Jake, if I knew you were bringing a girlfriend I would’ve set aside some of that pie you like.”

Your eyes bug so much they could’ve fallen right onto the table, but Jake chuckles, smiling at you before directing it to the waitress. “Don’t spook her, Mags,” he teases. Then, “This is my new roommate.”

Her lips form an ‘O’ that holds for a few seconds too long before she blinks and tilts her head to the side. “Didn’t work out with the other one, honey?”

“Not so much, no.”

“Well, that’s just fine. I wasn’t a fan.” Mags takes a breath and straightens out her little apron; a costume element you’d rather die than wear, but much like her hair, Mags seems to take pride in it. You can’t fault her for that. You wish you could find a job you enjoy. Or a job at all. She shoots you a grin; nothing like the rehearsed smiles from someone in a customer service job, but a genuine curve of the lips that creates a warm little ball in your chest. “You, on the other hand, look like such a sweetheart. So be good to my Jake here.”

You don’t have the opportunity to disappoint her because she doesn’t wait for a response. Be good to her Jake. Not an ask. A demand. An unspoken ‘or else’ hanging in the air. And though she’s got at least forty years on you, you’re pretty sure she’s spry enough to follow through on her sneaky threats.

Mags squeezes Jake’s shoulder and departs, leaving you in a confused state of mixed energies. Shock and discomfort radiate off of you like heat waves, meeting the cool calmness emanating from a beaming Jake.

“Will you tell me more about yourself now?” he asks.

Shaking off the questionable tone of the older woman, you reconnect yourself to the man in front of you. His words soak in; another unexpected curveball Jake has thrown you within one day. His friends want to meet you, and now your personal details are on his mind. What would come next? Does he want to know the last time you were thoroughly kissed? Your high school GPA? Height and weight? If so, he’s going to be terribly disappointed.

Steaming, wispy tendrils invade your vision, and you finally register the blueberry hint hitting your nostrils. Jake had whispered the order to Mags with the explanation that he already knew what you wanted. And being the mind-reading wizard you’re convinced he is, on a menu of nearly one hundred items he magically happened to pick something you enjoy.

You hold yourself back from digging in, instead meeting his eyes as you cross your arms over your chest. “You think free pancakes are a good trade for my life story?”

He slowly slides a mug closer to you. “I got you coffee as well.”

When you raise an unenthused brow, Jake sighs.

“Fine. You’re leaving me no other choice than to guess,” he says. “But if I get it right, will you be honest?”

With a snort, you pick up your fork and take your first bite of the sweet fluffy cake. It’s undeniably delicious. Fucking wizard. “Sure,” you say, and akin to a child, Jake’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree.

He ignores his own food and drink to once again watch you. Observing. Your eyes to your lips to your neck and back again. When he comes to a conclusion, he leans back in the booth. “You are a fan of the beach and before you die you intend to live in every beach town this country has to offer for at least two months each.”

Your fork pauses halfway to your mouth. “Are you kidding?”

“Well, since it appears that I am wrong, I’m going to say yes I am kidding because I’m very funny like that.” He stares some more, eyes narrowing. “You’re searching for a long-lost family member.”

“No.”

“You are only attracted to Navy men and thought you’d travel to a hub.”

Again, as he likes to do, he leaves you lacking words for a moment. “That better be another one of your ‘I’m very funny like that’ attempts,” you eventually manage to say. “And you know I wasn’t aware this was a Navy town.”

Jake nods and then leans forward in his seat, arms overlapping on the linoleum tabletop. You can sense the sudden shift; a new energy. The glint in his eye doesn't quite go with the steady seriousness of his voice. Like mismatched puzzle pieces. “So you’re not attracted to Navy men?” he asks.

Your head jerks back to regain the distance he lessened. “Not exclusively.”

“Damn,” he replies, full playful tone back in place. “I wanted to at least get that part right.”

There’s another bright smile from him. A wink. You look to your right to find Mags' watchful gaze; motherly and hopeful.

After another swallow of pancake, you say, “Alright, you’re done for the day.”

“Oh, come on,” he whines.

When you shake your head, he picks up his fork and begins to poke at the eggs on his plate, and you bask in the silence of his disappointment. Peace and quiet, with the exception of the diners surrounding you. No questions. No attempted agonizing small talk. You have a moment to breathe.

It’s not until you’re halfway through your food and the coffee is nearly drained that Jake lifts his head.

“I’m going to figure you out,” he says with an unwelcome note of determination.

Your eyes snap up.

The feeling behind his statement is hard to nail down. You would’ve said delving into your history was something fun for him to do. Something to pass the time with the new person in his home. But now it comes off more like a need. A little prick in his side that he can’t shake.

You so badly want to be wrong in your interpretation. You want him to give up; to surrender to your stubbornness. Ideally, sooner rather than later.

“You really don’t have to,” you say.

Jake doesn’t miss a beat. Nothing about him—not his breath, not his stare—stutters at your response. Instead, he returns with, “But I want to.”

---

A/N: Sorry it's a little short. Next chapter will be labeled 3.5 and will be from Jake's POV.

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath @coldmuffinbanditshoe

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #top gun #jake hangman seresin x y/n #tgm #tgm fic #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x plus size!reader #jake seresin angst

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jimblejamblewritings · 7 months ago

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love letters and second sons | part 2.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes),

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist

Eloise left to go right across the street while you followed the rest of the family into the dining room. It had been so long since you had a formal sit down breakfast with your family. Your siblings just couldn’t be bothered to come from wherever they were — sometimes in the same house but they still didn’t show. Your father and mother couldn’t make it most of the time. The dining room table could be very lonely sometimes.

You thanked Colin as he pulled out a chair for you before sitting down. Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you passed the decorated teapot to Daphne before reaching for the small jug of cream. The Bridgertons were very invested in palace life and wanted to know whatever you were allowed to tell them about. You looked up from your coffee when Eloise came back with Penelope Featherington.

Smiling at Penelope, you handed her the box so you wouldn’t forget before you left. Her face dropped.

“What is it?”

“Oh, I don’t want to burden the princess with frivolous matters. We have an addition to our house. My cousin, Marina Thompson has come to stay for the season. But no matter, she can wear my dress. I have plenty already.”

You shook your head. “No matter how frivolous they may be, your problems are the Crown’s problems. I will return tomorrow with another dress for Miss Thompson. Besides, each piece has been chosen specifically for each person. How could Miss Thompson possibly look good in a dress meant to make you look good?”

Penelope smiled. “Is it alright if I open it here?”

“Of course, Pen,” Anthony said.

She carefully placed the lid of the box on the ground and ruffled through the pieces until she found the dress with her name pinned on it. She pulled out a dress of emerald green, just emerald green. No patterns insight. The sleeves were flatter than the balloon sleeves normally worn but that was because they were sheer with beading on them.

“Wow. It is beautiful.”

“The princess will be glad to hear that you like it. Now, I am very sorry but I have to go now. A midmorning promenade cannot be missed.”

Everyone stood up when you did.

“Well, yes, of course,” Violet said. “Will you return for breakfast tomorrow? Or whenever is a good time for you?”

You weren’t stupid. Either the Dowager Viscountess wanted your fake persona to marry her son — probably the third son, Colin, since you were a valet. Or she wanted the princess to marry her son. In that case it must have been Anthony. You took your cloak from the footman it put it back on.

“I shall see if I can appear tomor— this weekend. Before the Danbury ball, the family wants to go to the countryside. I shall be back here then.”

“Lovely.”

You stepped outside, taking the alleyways back to the palace. Pandora let out a breath when the painting finally moved. You stepped inside.

“Have you been here the whole time?”

“Yes, I have. Was your time outside fun?”

“Absolutely, I will be doing it again later.”

“What? Princess, please.”

“Pandora, you don’t understand. It was amazing. One of the best times of my life.”

“Y/N. What if your illness st—”

“Then I shall deal with that when it happens. Oh, I met people. The houses in the ton are very nice.”

“You went to someone’s house?” Pandora’s voice rose three octaves as she tried to stay quiet.

“Just the Bridgertons. Their mother is very sweet. She invited me to a recurring breakfast whenever I have the time.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and the rumors about them are true. The daughters are all beautiful. Their youngest son seems very nice.”

“And the three eldest boys?”

“Absolutely handsome. Especially the eldest.”

The two of you giggled as you kept sharing what they looked like in person while you got ready for your promenade. The gardens were dreadfully boring but you felt better just thinking about going to the Bridgertons house next time. It could have been anyone but you were glad it was a large family and a family friend. Only your first day out and you already became acquainted with two families. That was a success in your book.

~~~

“Princess! Princess Y/N! Your Highness!”

You could hear the yelling down the hall. Looking over at your father, you smiled.

“Thank you for talking with me about the ball, Mr. Jupiter. I think I should let them know I am alive.”

“Go. I shall still be here.”

You shimmied out from under the bed, George laughing at you the entire time. The bed wasn’t your favorite place to be but it was your father’s favorite place. You preferred the wardrobe. Swinging open the door, you spotted Brimsley running down the hall.

“I’m right here!”

He turned with a quickness. “Oh thank God. The Queen and King are requesting you actually attend breakfast with them instead of in the kitchens or your room.”

“Father? How could he tell you? He’s right he—”

“Yes. He usually stays in his wing. He came down earlier this morning.”

You looked back at your bed. No one was there. George’s feet weren’t sticking out from the end of the bed. You bit your lip and didn’t say anything, choosing just to follow Brimsley to the dining room. If anyone found out you had a fit then there was no hope of your mother letting you go anywhere. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Whenever you were anxious or stressed, a fit was bound to happen. Maybe you should have been taking your medicine. But it didn’t make you feel good at all. Tomorrow you’d ask for a change in medicine or doctor.

Your father looked better when you reached downstairs, actually cognizant, and your mother seemed happy. None of your other siblings were there. Pulling out your chair you sat down. The conversation went in one ear and out the other. You answered where necessary and that was about it. You needed to be perfect. When there was a lull in the talking, you found the perfect opportunity to speak.

“Mother, may I go to Lady Danbury’s ball?”

“No.”

“I promise I will be on my be—”

“No.”

“If I have a fit then I will go stra—”

“Y/N, do not make me repeat myself.”

“But I just want to know why? All of my brothers and sisters were allowed to introduce themselves well before this age. Why am I still waiting?”

“Dear, we’ve been over this.”

“But Edward and Sophia both have the same illness and they were all—”

“Because no one is as bad as yours!” Charlotte looked up from her plate when you grew silent. She sighed at the sight of your crestfallen face. “Y/N, dear, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I’m only talking about your illness, not you as a person… give me four months. Four months to prepare everything, then I will let you go, whether an incident happens or not. Just follow the rules and keep yourself safe.”

“Thank you, Mother. I do have one more question.”

“Yes?”

“May I stay at Kew?”

“Kew?” Both your mother and father said at the same time.

“I have incidents whether I am here or with Father or by myself. We don’t have strong evidence that anything makes it better or worse. Kew is far enough that I’m not tempted by the city but close enough that I will not miss it. And I can still speak to the people.”

In reality it’s because your parents never went to Kew. You wanted privacy and to not be under such a watchful eye. And if you could bring your court then absolutely no one would find out that you went into the city.

Charlotte gave George a look. “Yes, the people do seem to love your letters. Okay, alright. I will allow you to stay at Kew but your father and I and your physician will be coming every Sunday to check on you. Brimsley and Reynolds will be going with you.”

“Okay.”

Buckingham wasted no time packing your things and taking them to Kew after the Danbury ball. You flopped onto your bed, happy to be left alone finally. Only half of your court came with you to Kew. The others were “dismissed” for the season — you wouldn’t need them again until you introduced yourself to society. Really you just needed them to stay at Buckingham and report to you what was happening. Naturally, Pandora came to Kew.

The home looked just the same as when you were younger. The first thing you did was instruct every curtain to be open. The grounds were extensive and private. You weren’t in London but just outside of it. No one could see the place at all so there was no need to hide behind window decorations.

“I should like dinner outside,” you said as you sat down in the short grassy part of the front lawn.

“Outside?”

“Yes. It’s very nice today. I would like to sit outside and eat and plan my new schedule. You and Reynolds can go to the cottage on the grounds. Turn left and you’ll see a bunch of cottages across the stream. Go to the third one. It’s behind a smattering of trees but the hedges there cover everything. You can see people before they see you.”

“I’m sorry?” Brimsley’s eyes went wide.

“I’ve known since I was five. I don’t think you two believed that a five year old could be observant but I was.” You turned back to look at him. “Well, I do not care. Brimsley, you should know I couldn’t possibly care about anything like that. With my issues I could never judge someone. Not for what you look like, your class, whoever you choose to pray to which is really none of my business. I don't like to sit in church anyway and much prefer prayer alone in the gazebo. It also doesn't matter who you... share a cottage with."

“Your Highness.”

“I will keep your secret, Brimsley,” you reassured him. “Besides, when the time comes I will need for you to keep mine.”

“Secrets? You have secrets? I didn't know... What would I be keeping?”

“You’ll know it when it happens.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Brimsley!” you yelled before he could step inside the house to tell them what you wanted to eat. “About what I said just then.”

“It is no trouble at all, Your Highness.”

“No, not my secrets… I would never tell anyone. Whether you kept my secret or not. I promise you that.”

“Thank you.”

“I will find a way to make it better.”

Brimsley gave you a sad smile. “The effort alone is appreciated.”

You gave him a determined look before returning to making your schedule. You didn’t have a need for full time tutors anymore, having finished formal schooling years ago.

So you put all your special tutors to come on Tuesday and Wednesday, your parents visiting on Sunday, you’d write all your letters on Thursday, and then waste away on Monday, Friday, and Saturday. A schedule your parents greatly approved of as they stated that you needed plenty of days to rest and not overwork yourself before you make the illness worse. Of course you didn’t tell them that those days were for going into the city.

Monday morning you picked flowers to make a bouquet for the Featheringtons since you had only met one of them in person. Not that you needed it but you opened your book of flowers to see the meanings. You did hope that flower language would catch on more in a few years.

Taking your hand pruning shears, you started cutting both from the garden and the greenhouses. Basil for good wishes. White Carnations to wish a pure love. White Jasmine for amiability. Yellow lilies for happiness. Pink roses also for happiness. Bells of Ireland for good luck. You handed the first set of flowers to Brimsley before starting on individual bouquets for the four young women of the house.

For Prudence: daisies for innocence, dandelions for faithfulness and happiness, peonies for a happy life and a happy marriage. For Phillippa: dandelions for faithfulness and happiness, fern for sincerity, honeysuckle for bonds of love. For Penelope: lady’s mantle for comfort, lily of the valley for sweetness, wallflower for faithfulness in adversity. For Marina: camellias for affection, lavender roses for enchantment, daffodils for good fortune.

You also collected flowers for the Bridgertons, small individual bouquets. Only two types of flower in each bouquet. For Violet: acacia for friendship and violet for her name.

For Anthony: acalia for temperance and agrimonia for gratitude. For Benedict: balm gentle for pleasantry and bearded crepis for protection. For Colin: chamomile for energy in adversity and coriander for hidden worth. For Daphne: daphne for her name and dandelions for happiness.

For Eloise: elderflower for zealousness and elephant’s ear for good luck. For Francesca: fern leaves for fascination and flower-of-an-hour for delicate beauty. For Gregory: garden chervil for sincerity and geranium, scarlet color, for comfort. For Hyacinth: hawthorn for hope and hyacinth for her name.

“This should do.”

“Shall we send them now?”

“Oh, no, Brimsley. I shall take them with me.”

“With you?” he squeaked.

“Yes. I assume now would be a good time as ever to divulge my secret to you and Reynolds. Pandora already knows. I go out to see the ton. I have already done this a few times now.”

Reynolds and Brimsley looked like they were going to faint. You laughed as you took your cloak from Pandora. You had no concern with anyone finding out since the two men in front were still in the gardens instead of running back to Kew to pen a letter.

“Please ready the carriage. I’ve already missed breakfast as it is, I don’t want to be any later.”

The only two things that freaked out your valets even more were entirely your fault as well. Reynolds stuttered through confusion when you refused the mask he was about to hand you. Brimsley actually did faint when you got out of the carriage before reaching the Bridgerton house. You turned around when he came to again.

“The carriage is too recognizable. Until I get something more plain th—”

“Just say the princess gave it to you for business affairs!” Brimsely yelled so loudly that you were concerned someone would hear it.

For a moment you were ready to ignore his plea but then you realized he was right. Plus, you did already set up that poor women and rich women were treated equal in your court — something that was true but you only had three lower class women in your court to begin with. You got back into the carriage, knee bouncing the entire way.

Peering out the window, you spotted Marshall. He titled his head a bit as you turned around, seemingly scolding someone inside, tilting even more when you walked in the opposite direction of their house. An older woman greeted you at the door of the Featherington home. You repeated the same thing you told Marshall the first time you came to the Bridgerton family.

“Please come in. They’re in the drawing room, now… Ma’am, a visitor.”

You curtsied as you entered their drawing room, waving to Penelope. “Hello… Woah, there are a lot of men. I’m sorry I was unaware we had already begun calling.”

Lady Featherington put on her best smile. “Yes, what is it?”

“Right. I am the Young Princess’ lady in waiting. She has made bouquets for you all. Well, as well as bouquets for the Bridgertons but rest assured I know exactly which ones belong to you.”

The Featheringtons looked more than pleased to be receiving flowers after dresses, especially Lady Featherington. All the suitors were looking at them like winning prizes. To be favored by the princess is to have everyone’s hand in your lap and every name on your dance card. You read out what each flower meant and gave them a card that had them written down in case they were to forget.

“Thank you so much, Miss?”

“Beckett.”

“Miss Beckett. Please inform the princess that we are forever grateful for such a thoughtful gift. If it is no trouble would you like some biscuits or tea?”

You decided to stay for a few minutes. Besides, watching suitors fall over their feet to impress women seemed like a very entertaining morning. Thanking the old woman for the tea, you took a sip before setting down the cup when you noticed Colin. He waved to you before making a bored face.

Clearly, he hadn’t been the first one to arrive for calling. You supposed that was the issue with all four of your girls out at once. There was only one drawing room so all of their suitors would have to wait their turn even if they were there for a different girl, at least until Lord Featherington came home and then maybe he could chaperone outside in the garden. You now understood why the Bridgertons were okay with Eloise delaying her debut. Focusing on only one woman is plenty enough.

Daphne had written to you that she had received no callers but none of the other Bridgertons had spoken about calling or the marriage mart at all. You only looked up from the mess of suitors when Eloise arrived, pulling up a chair at the small table you and Penelope were sitting at. Pen tapped your shoulder.

You looked down at the overgrown rat in her arms. It was your turn to mind the dog that one of the gentlemen calling thought would be appropriate as a gift. Rolling your eyes, you took it anyway and began bouncing it like a child. At least it was a very calm dog.

Your two friends laughed as you jumped when another gentleman began reciting a poem very loudly. Everyone was starting to fall asleep. His performance was both bad and boring, a combination you were hoping couldn’t be accomplished today. The sound of Lady Featherington’s clapping was the only thing that woke everyone up. She all but pushed the men out, saying the girls had seen enough suitors today. You frowned at her telling the gentlemen to say goodbye to even Penelope. Even? They should just be saying goodbye because she was a lady and in the house. Colin came over to you guys.

“A most wretched sonnet indeed.”

You laughed before standing up to leave with him, trying not to eavesdrop on their conversation. The two of them had such a close bond. You were sure that they’d end up with each other. He was probably here for her, waiting for a chance when Marina’s suitors were done. Handing Colin his flowers, you abandoned him for the drawing room of his house — pausing in your tracks when you saw a man you didn’t recognize.

Violet jumped up along with Hyacinth and Francesca. “Oh, Miss Beckett, hello. We weren’t expecting you after you missed breakfast.”

“Yes, I was preoccupied with the princess. I’m sorry am I intruding?”

“No.” Daphne all but ran to meet you. “What do you have with you?”

“The princess made bouquets.” You leaned in close. “I am very sorry about what Whistledown wrote. You didn’t deserve that. Perhaps flowers can cheer you up?”

“Thank you so much.”

“Where are the others? I shall give these to them then promptly return.”

“Yes, please do,” Daphne said before having to return to her caller.

Violet took her flowers from you. “Gregory is in the garden or with his brothers. More than likely his brothers. They are either in…”

“Yes?”

“Well they are in their rooms but I can’t just let you go in alo— It’s much too dangerous for a woman. The ton wo—”

“I don’t see why I cannot seeing as I am the princ—” you stopped yourself. “Uh, the princess’ valet. I’m on official business from her and where she can go, I can go.”

She still seemed unsure.

“Besides, I am not a lady.”

At that, Violet let you go upstairs but her face didn’t relax on any of the tension it held. You held onto the wooden railing as you skipped up the steps. You realized that you should have asked Violet which rooms were theirs. But it was too late now. Going back down would just be a matter of inconvenience and take longer in your return to Daphne’s aid. And not to mention, you were a princess. You didn’t need permission to enter anywhere, it was just polite to ask. Opening each door, you sighed in relief when one finally led to a bedchamber with people inside. Anthony looked up, setting down one of his many ledgers.

“Beckett, what are you doing here?”

At the sound of your name Gregory, who had been sitting on his older brother’s bed as he engrossed himself in some reading, looked up. “Beckett!”

You handed them both the bouquets. “Courtesy of the princess, not my doing.”

They chuckled as they took their bouquets from your arms. You heard the door creak behind you as it opened more. Turning, you came face to face with the second eldest Bridgerton. Benedict smiled.

“I knew I heard Gregory call for you.”

“Here. For you.”

“Thank you. How long will you be staying?”

“For dinner but then I must leave afterwards. So, what shall we do up here?”

“Up here?” Anthony raised his eyebrows. “Alone? Miss Beckett, I do not think it… it is improper for us to be alone with you.”

You scoffed. “Impropriety.”

“It is true.”

“Firstly, I am not exactly bound by your rules of society. Second, we aren’t alone unless you are insinuating that anything would happen because you either can’t control yourself or are oddly content to share me with your brother.” You enjoyed watching them both stutter through a reply.

“But if someone were to see us.”

“Does this window face the front of the street?”

“No.”

“Can anyone see anything in the back?”

“No.”

“Then no one is to see anything. Especially when nothing is happening. And lastly, I am not unchaperoned.”

“You aren’t?”

You pointed to the youngest Bridgerton in the room. “Gregory is not a man but a child. Therefore someone who is not an available bachelor is watching and supervising us.”

He grinned, not even caring that he was called a child. “Yeah. I’m very good at watching.”

You could do nothing but laugh as you flopped over Anthony’s bed and asked Gregory to hand you a book he was finished with.

Benedict blinked. “I guess I cannot argue with that. I’ll go get my charcoals and come back.”

“Ah, right, but first let me eavesdrop on Daphne and Nigel. Almost forgot.”

“Lord Berbrooke?”

“Don’t make me laugh by giving him a title.”

When you returned, the boys had found their way into a comfortable silence. They barely acknowledged your presence when you sat down. Per Anthony’s request, the door didn’t just stay unlocked or ajar but completely open. Benedict looked away from his paper and at you.

“What do you mean you aren’t bound by rules of society?”

“I said your rules.”

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, then. Our rules."

“The rules of the upper class and the ton. I am bound by royal rules and royal rules only which you’d be surprised to find are very different from the rules of the ton… I should suggest to the princess that she must write about those rules.”

“And what are royal rules then?”

“The only one that pertains to you is that it isn’t a crime for a royal or a member of their court to be unchaperoned while around the opposite sex.”

Violet decided to go upstairs after seeing Lord Berbrooke out their front door, utterly exhausted. She just needed a few moments of rest before going back to Daphne. Passing by her son’s room, she paused. Anthony was at his desk working, Gregory was sitting at the head of the bed reading, you laid flopped across it with several things around you, and Benedict was sitting on the floor leaning against the side of the bed with his art supplies spread out all around. The sight could be considered improper but Violet refused to interrupt.

“Anthony, come look at Benedict’s work and tell him it is better than he gives himself credit for.”

Violet watched her son take his ledgers and come sit by Benedict, who had cleared enough of his supplies away for his brother, right underneath where you were laying. Not caring, you rested your chin on top of his head so you wouldn’t lose balance as you pointed to where you liked Benedict’s sketch. You couldn’t help but laugh as Anthony stiffened up for a moment.

“You’re worse than Brimsley. I already told you that I am not a lady. Calm yourself.”

“Brimsley?”

“The Queen’s temporarily former valet. He moved to Kew with us.”

“The family now stays at Kew?”

“No, just the princess. It was a gift of sorts as she’s the only child to live there. It is a chance to live alone and like a proper adult before her introduction to society.”

Gregory became interested once again. “We’ll get to see the princess soon? When?”

“Roughly four months if all goes well… You know, I must take you all to Kew one day.”

“That sounds lovely.”

Violet smiled as she continued heading to her destination. You and Anthony seemed to be headed towards friendship. If you really did take him to Kew then he would get to meet the princess alone.

(part 3)

THIS FIC TAGLIST:

@fredsbetch @cherrylovers-world @chrystinaamanda @grassclippers @flyestvenustrap

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@venomsvl @peaches-n-sunscreen @summerellaz @supernaturallover2002 @sambucky8 @9daykrisr @thebitchinleo @23victoria @scarlets-widow @pagetpagetpagetpaget @lovexnatasha @awesomebooklover17 @1234-angelika @imatrisk @blackreaderatrisk @princess-jules47 @alexloveskili @a-marie-a @siriuslysirius1107 @i-have-no-life-charlie @daykrisr999

#benedict fluff #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict x reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton

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queensharotto · 6 months ago

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Brittle Doughie’s Cookie Run x Reader Masterlist (Part 7: Spring 2024)

A masterlist of @brittle-doughie’s Cookie Run stories organized by month.

Genre Emojis

😞 is for angst, 🎃 is for Halloween, 🎄 is for Christmas, 🍪 is for Cannibalism, 💗 is for Yandere, 💝 is for Valentine’s, 👻 is for Horror, 🎂 is for Birthday, 💚 is for Yandere!White Lily Cookie

The Indents are related to the featured cookies. If there are numerous cookies (Over 10 Cookies Featured), I’ll make a note on that as well. Additionally, I’ll categorize various cookies if they’re associated with a specific hobby, location, food etc.

Also, the ⭐️ will indicate a story featuring one of Brittle’s OCs while ✨ will indicate someone’s interpretation of Y/N Cookie.

Additionally, many people proved art to showcase to Brittle, which will be indicated by this: 🖌️. I will also mention who provided the art.

April 2024 ☔️

• “Meeting White Lily Cookie” 💚

Featuring: White Lily Cookie

• “The Sound of a Divorce” ⭐️

Featuring: Crowned Cupcake Cookie

• “Angry or Grateful”

Featuring: The Five Beasts

• “The Perfect Vessel Doesn’t Exi-”

Featuring: The Five Beasts

• “Harbinger’s Bride” ⭐️

Featuring: Crowned Cupcake Cookie

• “Intolerance for Malevolence”

Featuring: The Cookies of Darkness

• “A Brave Advice”

Featuring: Gingerbrave and Friends, Pure Vanilla Cookie and White Lily Cookie

• “Legendary Group Chat”

Featuring: Legendary Cookies

• “Flirtatious Margarine”

Featuring: Royal Margarine Cookie

• “Frosty Affection”

Featuring: Frost Queen Cookie

• “Dessert Report” 🍪

Featuring: The Ancient Cookies

• “New Lock”

Featuring: The Time Balance Department

• “Hail Deity”

Featuring: The Weather Deities

• “Who Touched Y/N?!”

Featuring: The Ancient Cookies

• “I Know You”

Featuring: Stormbringer Cookie, Wildberry Cookie, Black Raisin Cookie, Crunchy Chip Cookie and Dark Cacao Cookie

• “Goddess of Apathy”

Featuring: Mystic Flour Cookie

May 2024 💐

• “Remember Who?”

Featuring: Starch Noodle Cookie and Pitaya Dragon Cookie

• “A Date?”

Featuring: Crunchy Chip Cookie and Wildberry Cookie

• “Letters from the Three Houses”

Featuring: The Triple Cone Trio

• “Deliciously Evil Banquet”

Featuring: Gingerbrave and Friends, The Cookies of Darkness and Pure Vanilla Cookie

• “Under the Castle” ⭐️

Featuring: Dumpling Cookie, Blueberry Pie Cookie, Financier Cookie, White Lily Cookie, Moonlight Cookie and Pure Vanilla Cookie

• “How NOT to charge your phone”

Featuring: Stormbringer Cookie

• “Gotta Go” 💗

Featuring: The Ancient Cookies, Black Raisin Cookie and Princess Cookie

• “The Wishful or the Regal”

Featuring: Lotus Dragon Cookie and Longan Dragon Cookie

• “Important Talks”

Featuring: Dark Fondue Cookie

• “Destined to be with You”

Featuring: Mystic Flour Cookie

• “Cocooned”

Featuring: Mystic Flour Cookie

• “Don’t Leave Me”

Featuring: Caramel Arrow Cookie and Dark Cacao Cookie

• “Late Arrival”

Featuring: The Cookies of the Dark Cacao Kingdom

• “Browned Butter Cookie”

Featuring: Financier Cookie

• “Such Drama”

Featuring: Romance Cookie and the TBD

• “Return to Flour”

Featuring: Dark Cacao Cookie and Mystic Flour Cookie

• “I thought we were friends”

Featuring: Shadow Milk Cookie and Mystic Flour Cookie

• “Longing Tide”

Featuring: Sea Fairy Cookie

• “No Escape” 💗

Featuring: Mystic Flour Cookie

• “Disintegrate” 🖌️

Featuring: Dark Cacao Cookie

Art by sei-cookie

• “Plans of the Harbinger”

Featuring: Dark Enchantress Cookie

• “Uh Oh” 💗

Featuring: Longan Dragon Cookie, Pitaya Dragon and Starch Noodle Cookie

• “Bitter Enemies”

Featuring: Chocolate Frosting Cookie and Street Urchin Cookie

• “The Lone Giant”

Featuring: St. Pastry Order

• “Broken” 😞

Featuring: White Lily Cookie and Silent Salt Cookie

• “Living Legend”

Featuring: The Ancient Cookies

• “Picked Up”

Featuring: White Lily Cookie

• “Sacrifice”

Featuring: White Lily Cookie

Divider Source l Next Masterlist l Previous Masterlist

#brittle doughie masterlists #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ovenbreak #cookie run #yandere cookie run kingdom #yandere cookie run #Yandere cookie run ovenbreak #yandere cookie run kingdom x reader #crk #crob #cr kingdom #cookie run angst #cookie run x reader

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padfootagain · 1 month ago

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Love in Verses (XX)

Chapter 20 : My heart has made its mind up and I’m afraid it’s you

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Valentine’s day is here… wondering how Andrew is going to cope with it, huh?

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2477

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Valentine

My heart has made its mind up And I’m afraid it’s you. Whatever you’ve got lined up, My heart has made its mind up And if you can’t be signed up This year, next year will do. My heart has made its mind up And I’m afraid it’s you.

Wendy Cope

Andrew had a date tonight.

He hadn’t been on a first date since Sam, obviously, he felt rusty and nervous. He didn’t even know the woman, Alex had set up the date. Christina, that was her name. A year younger than him, working as a nurse at St James’s Hospital. Alex had showed him a picture, she was pretty. Apparently, she was nice and a lot of fun. Why not give her a chance?

Andrew was desperate at that point. Desperate to see if he could ever move on from Sam, desperate to prove himself that he didn’t have a crush on you. That this was nothing serious, just his heart longing for companionship when he felt so lonely these days. Besides, it was Valentine’s Day, he was so painfully lonely, he needed to focus on something else than his love life in shambles. He needed to try to move on. And if he did, he needed to do so with a woman who wasn’t you.

So, he had accepted Alex’s offer, had booked a table at a nice restaurant, had tried to look his best for tonight. Elwood was staying with Jon for the evening, he didn’t have to worry about going home late.

And now, there he was, running five minutes late as he walked inside the restaurant, but for his standard, he called that a win. Five minutes… who would care for five minutes?

Apparently, Christina would.

He had a shy but polite smile on his face when he spotted her across the room. He was polite as he took a seat. Meanwhile, she gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Was there any traffic tonight?” she asked, and Andrew knew at once what she was talking about.

“Erm… it just… took me longer than I thought it would to drop my dog off at my brother’s. Sorry about that. I hope you didn’t wait for too long.”

“No, it’s okay,” she admitted, and she seemed to relax knowing the reason for his short delay. “It’s a nice place you’ve chosen, by the way.”

“Yeah? Glad you like it. Should we take a look at the menu, then?”

They quickly ordered their food, and then began the usual dance of questions that came with trying to learn the most basic things about a person while they waited for their meal.

“So… Alex told me you’re a professor? At Trinity?”

“I am,” Andrew nodded, before drinking a gulp of water. “Assistant professor, actually.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Erm… the paycheck, definitely,” Andrew joked, making Christina smile. “It’s a different rank at University… extremely hierarchical organisation. I don’t have a chair. I give classes, I do research, but I don’t have the same prestige and don’t own a chair for my work.”

“Right…”

“Which is normal, I’m not complaining. Chairs are rare, I’ll probably have to wait another decade to get the rank of professor.”

She didn’t seem reassured by that, Andrew wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“For how long have you been working at Saint James?” Andrew asked back.

“A couple of years.”

“Do you like it there?”

“Yeah… I guess,” she shrugged, and Andrew waited for her to say more about the matter, but she didn’t.

“And so… what do you teach at Trinity?” she asked after a short silence.

“Erm… English. Contemporary poetry, mainly, but I cover a lot of modernism as well through novels.”

She blinked a couple of times.

“Right… so… you like books.”

He gave her an amused smile.

“You can say that.”

“The last book I’ve read was a mandatory reading in high school,” she admitted.

“The last time I cleaned up a wound without feeling sick was… never. So, I guess we’re even,” Andrew offered with a smile, and Christina nodded.

And it was alright, of course. People had many interests. And his partner didn’t have to be interested in the same things as he did. Sam was the perfect example of that. Still… he didn’t really know what to talk about next.

They spent the next few minutes making chit chat, but it was laborious at best. Andrew used a moment of silence in the conversation to take a look around. The restaurant was obviously busy on Valentine’s Day. The decoration was simple but aesthetically pleasing; candles and white or red roses added to each table to enhance the theme of the evening. There were only couples around.

Only couples…

“Andy?”

He turned around, recognising the voice in an instant.

He couldn’t help it, his face fell for a second, before he could summon the strength to hide his reaction.

The universe itself was set against him at this point…

He got up, forced a smile to greet Sam and Frank.

“It’s so funny finding you here!”

“Yeah… wasn’t expecting to see you!” he forced a smile.

Frank noticed Christina then.

“Oh, honey, we’re disturbing Andrew, I think. Sorry, about that,” he was genuine in his apology as he warmly smiled at Christina.

Sam flinched, but quickly smiled as well.

“Oh, sorry! Have a nice evening you two!”

They moved away quickly, reaching their own table. Just a couple of tables away. Right where Andrew could see them whenever he looked up from his plate.

Nice… grand…

“Erm… what are your hobbies?” he asked out of the blue, trying to get the conversation going again, if only to distract himself from Frank and Sam holding hands across their table.

“Oh… not much. I don’t really have the time for those… I like running.”

“Nice!”

“Do you like jogging?”

“Erm… not that much. But I love swimming.”

“I can’t swim.”

“Right… do you like the sea anyway? Like… the beach? Running on the beach, maybe?”

“Not really, no. I’m not very interested in the sea. It’s a little scary.”

“Oh, okay.”

Andrew focused on his meal, but with every painful question asked and answered, it was more and more obvious that they had nothing in common.

A couple of tables away, Frank and Sam were sharing food, a habit Andrew knew Sam hated. They were holding hands, and giggling, and looking so disgustingly in love, while he was on his own, while he wanted that intimacy back, while he thought of you…

Andrew wasn’t sure at which point of the evening you had popped into his mind, but you were all he could think of, right now. He had mentioned that he was going on a date, but you had not given him any details concerning your plans for the evening. You would call your friend Siobhán, you had mentioned some ice cream… were you reading? Watching crappy tv or a good movie? Had you changed your plans? Were you on a date as well?

Andrew couldn’t refrain the bitter taste of jealousy as he thought of you with someone else… as he imagined you in his shoes, at a nice restaurant, meeting with a stranger, and perhaps you would let him hold your hand across the table and would kiss him at the end of the evening, and even spend the night with him…

A wave of nausea made it impossible for him to finish his plate as he thought of you in another man’s bed.

The couple dining at the table right next to Andrew’s started raising their voices. Not enough to draw attention from the entire restaurant, but enough for Andrew and Christina to overhear everything. An argument was brewing. Jealousy and an unhealthy relationship at its peak.

In a matter of five minutes, the two were almost shouting at each other. Andrew and Christina exchanged an embarrassed look while the guy complained about how often they had sex.

And Sam was still there, every time he looked up. And you were all he could think of. And Christina was nice, sure, but they were absolutely incompatible on every level.

And then the last straw came.

“Are you religious?” she asked, and Andrew shook his head.

“No, not really, no.”

“Oh…”

“What about you?”

“Yes, very.”

“Oh…”

“Is that… like… are you just not going to church, or…”

“I… I don’t know. I’m an agnostic, I would say.”

“A what?”

“Agnostic. I don’t know if there’s a God up there or not. I’m… neutral, I guess you could say it like that. But I wouldn’t go to church even if I did believe in God.”

“Really? Why not?”

“I’m wary of any institution run by men that uses its power to dictate how people should behave, including in the most private parts of their lives.”

She blinked, struggling with this new information.

“So… you would never practice religion…”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Right… Cause it’s a very important part of my life.”

“And I respect that.”

“But you would not start believing.”

“Why would I?”

“For me?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Would you think it was okay if I asked you to give up on your faith to be in a relationship with me?”

“Of course not!”

“Then… how can you ask? We can have different beliefs…”

“But you’re wrong.”

“I can’t be wrong, Christina. It’s faith. And it’s the definition of faith to believe without proof. You can’t say I’m wrong, and I can’t say you are. We just have different faiths.”

She nodded, but had stopped eating.

Next to them the angry couple raised their voices again.

“Can I be brutally honest?” she asked, her voice softer now.

Andrew merely nodded.

“You’re clearly a really nice lad, Andy. And I’m not going to deny that Alex was right when he said that you’re definitely my type. But… it looks like we… don’t match.”

Andrew gave her a kind smile.

“I agree,” he nodded. “I don’t think our lives are very compatible.”

“Not really no.”

“You’re good craic though. And you’re… gorgeous, to be honest.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t think we’d be able to find common things to build a relationship on, though.”

“Me neither. Would you mind if we called it a night?”

“No… no, I don’t mind, I understand.”

“Thanks.”

They paid for their food, left the restaurant while the couple bickered and Frank and Sam were still in love. Andrew waited for Christina to get safely in an uber, before he would walk to his own car.

He heaved a sigh, tried not to cry.

Everywhere he went, Sam’s ghost followed.

Whatever he did, you were always on his mind.

Were you home safe and sound? What were you doing? Was there a man with you?

He reached for his phone, his car still silent in the carpark. He touched your name on his screen, and you answered after three rings.

“Andy?”

“Hi, Y/N! You’re alright ?”

“Sure! Just… about to watch some adorable romcom to remind myself of unattainable standards concerning men and relationships, will most certainly have a good cry over the fact that the man I wanted to marry is probably getting amazing sex with his new fiancée, and I will definitely eat my weight in ice cream. You? How was your date? It’s early still… did everything go well?”

“Argh… don’t mention it. Everything about it was awful.”

He described his evening, and you listened, commented, interjected every now and then.

“You deserve to eat your weight in ice cream too,” you stated.

“I think I do, yeah… although… I think I’ll just go to bed once I’m home.”

“Are you driving?”

“No, no… don’t worry. I just… I felt bad. So, I called you before leaving the parking lot in front of the restaurant. I can see all those disgustingly happy couples walk out of there hand in hand…”

“Outrageous. Don’t they know we’re mourning?!”

“No decency. And God, I hate Valentine’s Day…”

“Me too… I feel… so empty today. Frank and I used to always go to the cinema on Valentine’s Day. He always stole all my popcorn. I found that adorable.”

He heard you sniffing, his heart broke at the sound. He wished he could have been there, hold you tight until the tears would subside, until he could make you smile again.

“What would you have done with Sam?” you asked, your voice hoarse with sorrow.

Andrew shrugged, stared at the night sky, made utterly black by the clouds.

“A restaurant, probably. Flowers. Nothing too fancy, but it would have been nice.”

He struggled to swallow, his throat tightening.

“Frank and Sam were sharing their food.”

“Hmm? Yeah, Frank does that sometimes.”

“Sam hates it. She hates it. She never wanted me to touch her food. Why does she let him do that, then?”

A short silence, your answer in a whisper.

“To make him happy.”

Andrew pondered on your words. You were right, obviously. When he spoke again, his voice was low and soft, barely above a whisper.

“I really wish I didn’t have to do that again to be loved.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend. Change. Stop… being myself sometimes.”

You were quiet, but you were still there. He knew it. He could hear you breathing in the phone. And beyond that reassuring sound, he just knew you were listening. He was never sure with Sam.

“I’d really like that too,” you whispered, and he hummed in response.

A happy couple came out of the restaurant then. Andrew watched them reach their car, laughing, holding hands. He felt so fucking lonely… So utterly alone in this world. No one knew him like that anymore…

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you promise me something?”

“What is it?”

“Promise me you… promise me you’ll never change for me. Promise me you won’t pretend. I want you to…”

He cleared his throat, brushing the tears that had gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“I want you to be yourself when I’m around. Can you do that?”

He heard you sniffing again. You were quiet for a moment, but Andrew knew you were nodding, he could hear the quiet hum that went with it.

“Andy?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. Thank you, Andy.”

You sniffed, struggled through a few words, but Andrew was patient, he was drying his cheeks on his sleeves anyway.

“I don’t want you to pretend either when you’re with me, you know?”

“I know.”

He was lying. He didn’t know. He didn’t know at all. He didn’t know how to be loved, except by not quite being himself.

You both remained silent for a while, but it was still reassuring to know that you were there, on the other end of the line. Andrew should have hung up then. He should have let you watch your cheesy movie, and eat your ice cream. Instead, he spoke again.

“I’ve finished Dante, by the way.”

He spent the next forty-five minutes talking about Inferno with you. And after the call had ended, and he was finally driving home, it was harder than ever to deny that he wanted you.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier series #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #hozier au #hozier professor au #professor au #au #series #writing #fanfiction #fanfic

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absurdthirst · 7 months ago

Text

One Night in St. John's {Frankie Morales x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 15.3k

Warnings: Alcohol/drug use, infidelity, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dirty talk, regret, abusive relationships, emotional/physical abuse, isolation, baby trapping, domestic violence, threats of death, weapons, drugging, hostage situation, death by gun violence, PTS, shock, therapy, confessions, oral sex (male receiving)

Comments: Drunk and high, you and Frankie give into the desires you've kept hidden from one another. One night in St. John's, one brief moment in time in each other's arms. You go back to your lives, sure that it's causing Frankie to pull away from your team even more, but there's a more sinister and heartbreaking reason.

A/N: Domestic violence/abuse comes in all shapes, sizes and genders. If reading about an abusive relationship would be triggering, please do not read.

Co-written by @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Frankie Morales MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Your nerves are shot, hands shaking, your entire body shaking as you sit under the hot water as the dirt and blood swirls down the drain. You’re alive, although you could have been like Tom, wrapped up in a blanket and carried out from the mountains where he had been killed. You had carried his body, cried and grieved, now alone with your thoughts and they aren’t exactly the happiest. Lonely and hurt, you try to ignore the baggie you had in your bag, now sitting on the table out in your room. Trying to resist snorting the fine white powder to manage the pain, to forget. Salty tears mix with the water as you cry in your first shower since you had tried to steal from Lorea and had ended up running for your lives.

Frankie sighs as he puts the phone down on the nightstand. He’d just spoken to Darcy who let him speak to Ava. The ten month old has no idea what he’s saying but he had to speak to his daughter. He had to speak to her after nearly fucking dying, after Tom died. He rubs his eyes and runs his fingers through his damp hair, feeling antsy and like a caged lion. He needs to get out of this damn room. He gets dressed and makes his way down to the hotel bar, ordering a whiskey as soon as he’s sitting down and he groans at the first sip he takes.

“This seat taken?” You ask him and he looks at you, “you want a drink?” He asks and you nod so he gestures for the bartender to come over. You order your drink and turn to look at Frankie. He’s so handsome, even with exhaustion seeping deep into his bones, he makes your heart flutter but he has a girlfriend, he has a daughter. When you get your drink, you hold it up towards Frankie, “to Redfly.” He nods, clinking his glass with yours. Tears sting in your eyes when you look in the mirror behind the bar to you and Frankie, the realization that you came so close to death still weighing heavy. “That was a shit show, huh?” You joke softly, trying to conceal your watery eyes.

“Yeah.” Frankie blows out a breath and sighs, shaking his head. He wants to cry but he doesn’t feel like it will come out of him. Too used to repressing his feelings until he explodes. He feels it, itching under his skin, clawing to get out. “You doing okay?” He asks gruffly, clearing his throat and motioning towards the bartender for another round.

You swallow down the lump in your throat and you shake your head. “I keep- all i can see when I close my eyes is Tom. Dead on that mountain. How it could’ve been all of us. Any of us. And Molly and the girls…they are going to be devastated. I feel so guilty. Like there was - we could’ve saved him.” You know that’s not possible, Tom got himself killed but you feel guilty for your captain getting killed on your watch. The bartender sets another whiskey down for Frankie and you turn to look at him, “I can’t - we nearly died.”

“We didn’t though.” Frankie insists, picking up his drink and nudging yours over in front of you. “Fuck I wish this was something stronger.” He grunts as he tilts his head back and throws back the shot. Feeling the burn of the alcohol as it slides down his throat. His life is in shambles, no one knows how bad it is, not even Benny and for a moment, he wishes it had been him on that mountain.

You pick up your drink and down it, needing to feel numb like he wants to. “I have…I have something stronger. In my room.” You confess, “it’s, uh, I picked it up when we were in the coke fields.” You confess, knowing you shouldn’t have grabbed the packet but it was right there and you didn’t know if you were going to live or die.

He had been tempted. Surrounded by all that cocaine, he had been sorely tempted to take some. To know you have some in your room makes his stomach twist and his craving get even stronger. “Fuck.” He stands up and reaches into his pocket for some cash. “What the fuck are we waiting for?” He asks you. “I want to fucking forget the last week and a half.”

You nod, standing up and you grab your room key, quickly making your way up to the third floor and you open your door, hearing him close it behind him and you grab the baggie, working fast to cut lines on the desk in the corner. Frankie rolls up one of the hundred dollar bills from the bag you grabbed from Lorea’s and you use your hotel room key. “Ladies first.” Frankie says, handing you the bill and you bend over, snorting the line and you shake your head at the rush you get immediately before you hand the bill to Frankie.

Anticipation curls in his stomach as he bends down. Blowing out a breath, he closes his mouth and snorts up the entire line quickly. Groaning and tossing his head back as the jolt to his system immediately slams into him and the euphoria washes over him. “Shit, shit.” He huffs, leaning down and doing another line in his other nostril before gasping and handing the bill back to you. “It’s fuckin’ pure.”

“Purest shit I’ve ever done. I, uh, I haven’t done this for years. Not since college.” You confess and bend over to do another line. The second hits you hard and you set the bill down as you wipe your nose, shifting to sit on the bed. “Shit. I feel…peaceful.” You sigh, your racing thoughts finally silent as you close your eyes, feeling the bed dip as Frankie sits down next to you.

“Only goddamn time I have peace.” Frankie hums, feeling the lovely floating sensation start to drift over him as his mind goes fuzzy and the smell of your shower gel seeps into his nostrils. His cock twitches and he thinks about how fucking beautiful you are. “Only time I get hard now too.” He blurts out, the intimacy in his relationship dead and buried, he had used to hide the fact that he couldn’t get it up for her anymore, able to fuck while high had been a good thing for him.

You open your eyes and frown when you look at him, “Darcy…she doesn’t - wow.” You finish lamely and clear your throat. “Sorry. That was-” He murmurs and you shake your head, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “It’s okay. Nothing leaves this room. It’s just the two of us. Whatever we say or do doesn’t leave here, okay?” You reassure him, wanting him to know he can trust you.

It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell you. To lay out everything that’s been happening and how miserable he is. Turning and looking into your concerned, beautiful eyes, he’s hypnotized by their color and depths. Not thinking about anything but you, he lunges forward and presses his lips to yours with a moan.

You respond, much to your shame, you respond and reach up to cup his cheeks. Your lips move against his and you pull back after a second. “Frank-” You murmur but he silences you with another kiss, not wanting to think about anything but you. You allow him to drag you down and you tangle your fingers in his hair as his tongue slides along your lips and your tongue meets his with a low groan.

He wants you, he’s always wanted you, but right now he feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t touch you. His cock is already hard, throbbing as your tongue slides against his and he flips you onto your back and straddles you, pushing against your belly with his straining bulge. “Want you.” He manages as he pulls away to start biting and kissing along your jaw. “So fucking long. So beautiful.”

You can’t resist, fuelled by booze and coke, you can’t say no to the man you’ve been in love with for years. You couldn’t say anything when you served together and when you found out about Darcy and her being pregnant in the same sentence, you resigned yourself to being his friend. “Me too. Always wanted you. Fuck, Cat. I need you to - please. Fuck me.” You beg, reaching up to grab the back of his shirt, tugging on it and needing to feel his skin.

“Fuck, you’re so soft.” He marvels, stroking your sides and kissing your neck. “How are you so soft?” He’s imagined this thousands of times, sometimes when his hand is wrapped around his cock and sometimes when he was fucking Darcy. Luckily he had never moaned your name. Frankie kisses down your chest and circles your nipple with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth like a hungry baby.

You gasp and tangle your fingers in his hair, “Frankie.” You whimper when he bites down and he sucks where he bites. You wrap your leg around him and grind into him, pushing his bulge into your covered pussy and you moan in response.

He rocks his hips, shamelessly rutting into the hot core between your thighs. It feels better than he could have imagined and he’s not even inside you yet. He suckles until your nipple is swollen, moving over to the other breast and he knows he wants to bury his face in your cunt. “Take- take your fucking shorts off.” He growls, tongue dipping into your belly button as he moves lower.

Your heart beats out of your chest, already dripping with anticipation and you follow his growled demand without hesitation. You lift your hips as much as you can so you can take your shorts off after unbuttoning them and Frankie is impatient, reaching down to drag them off of your legs along with your panties, pushing your thighs apart when you are bare beneath him.

“Fuck.” He groans, seeing your wet folds and reaching out to spread them wide to expose your clit. “I’m so fucking hungry.” He lunges forward to slide his tongue through your folds and around your clit, pressing his nose to your mound with the enthusiasm of a starving man.

"Fuck!" You yelp, surprised at the ferocious way he buries his face into your cunt and you swear you nearly cum then and there when you look down and see his eyes are already black, pupils blown wide from the coke, and hungry. You moan and tug on his hair, "fuck, Frank - shit." You pant, lifting your leg up onto his shoulder.

It just makes him push deeper, sliding his tongue down to push up inside you. Loving the way your soaked walls clench around his tongue. He wraps his arms around your other thigh and pushes it out, opening you up more to his mouth. He would swallow you whole if he could. Cock throbbing in his jeans, grinding into the bed beneath him and swearing he could stay right here all night feasting on you.

"Oh God!" You cry, your head pressing into the mattress and you can't believe how good he feels, how good his tongue feels. Better than you've ever imagined and you've imagined it a lot. For years, you've wanted Frankie and now that you finally got him, you are breathless. "Shit. So good, baby. God, you're so good." You pant, getting closer as his nose presses against your clit.

He loves praise, soaks it up and is desperate for more. He moans into your folds and curls his tongue up inside you. Your fingers in his hair are magical and he hates pulling away for a second but he wants to suck on your clit.

Your stomach twists as you get closer to cumming and his lips suck harder on your clit. "Fi-fingers. Need your fingers, baby." You plead and moan when his thick digits push inside of you. "Yesss." You hiss, squeezing your eyes shut and it doesn't take long for you to fall over the edge with a moan of his name.

As hard as he is, he wants to see you cum again. Needs to see it, to feel it. Your cum floods his mouth and it's like ambrosia. Making him moan as he laps it up and pumps his fingers into your grasping walls. Enjoying the squelch of your wetness around his fingers.

"Shit." You hiss as you are pushed into overstimulation but he doesn't stop. You moan his name again, a desperate plea for what, you aren't sure. You don't want him to stop but it's so intense. "Oh fuck." You moan, thighs starting to shake as he curls his fingers inside of you.

“Give me another.” Frankie demands, pulling away so he can swallow and then sucking your clit back into his mouth. It’s been so long since he’s wanted to pleasure someone he’s drunk on the sensation, greedy for more.

You gasp for air, every breath taken from you by his mouth and his fingers. "It's too much." You pant and Frankie growls, "another."

You can't deny him, pushing through the overstimulation and falling over the edge to another orgasm. "F-Fr-" You try to get his name out but all you can do is squeak.

Frankie groans, working his mouth even harder as he watches you. Your entire body arches up and he feels the spurt of precum soak his boxers. Finding it to be a gorgeous sight as you gasp and writhe for him.

You collapse against the bed, eyes still closed as you try to calm down after the best orgasms you've ever had. "I wanna see you." You tell him, shifting out from under him and kneeling on the bed. He follows your orders and lays down, working on unbuttoning his pants and you shove them down his legs after he kicks off his shoes. Throwing them to the floor, you focus back on Frankie and see the bulge in his boxers, the dark look in his eyes, and the way his chest heaves. You reach up to hook your fingers in his boxers, pulling them down, and you moan at the sight of his hard cock. "Fuck, you're thick." You murmur, spitting into your hand then you wrap your fingers around him, marveling at the feel of the silky hot skin.

“Shit.” He hisses, rocking his hips up into your grip and groaning your name. He’s imagined you touching him, never quite able to imagine it as good as this. “Fuck, are you- what do you want?” He demands breathlessly. “I need you baby.”

“I want to - I want to ride you. I- I have an IUD. Please Frank. I need you inside of me.” You beg and he nods, leaning down to grab your arms so he can drag you up his body. You shuffle to straddle him, his cock between your folds as you grind down on him and the drugs combined with the high you get from Frankie has you feeling on top of the world.

“So goddamn beautiful.” Frankie groans, tearing up to press his lips to your shoulder. He should be desperate to get inside you, but he loves how you are rolling your hips over his cock. Holding tight to your back as he pulls you down and kisses along your shoulder.

You moan, turning your head so you can press your lips to his, not wanting to waste a second of this night together. He isn’t yours. Can never be yours. This is all you’ll have. You reach between you, gripping his cock and you lift up to position him at your entrance, slowly sinking down onto him and you whimper against his chin at the stretch.

“Holy fuck.” He pants, cock twitching and it’s all he can do to keep from rocking up into you. Trying to give you time to adjust. The Coke and the feeling of you are nearly making him black out from pleasure. “So good baby, fuck you are so tight and sweet.”

You exhale shakily, shifting to brace your hands on his chest as you take all of him. Your heart is pounding in your chest from the coke and the fact that it’s Frankie beneath you. “Feel so good, Frankie.” You whimper, caressing his chest as you give yourself a second before you start to move on top of him.

“So good, baby.” He groans. “I can’t believe that it feels so good. Move baby.” He begs you, fingers digging into your hips as he braces his feet in the bed.

You moan, nodding as you start to rock on top of him, lifting up until you can sink back down onto his cock. His thighs lift you so you can move forward and you grind onto his cock. “Fuck.” You pant, jaw dropping at the angle.

“That good, baby?” Frankie grunts. “Your little cunt is squeezing me.” His hands squeeze your hips, not slapping, he would never slap you. He groans when his words affect you and he squeezes your hips again. “You like that, baby girl? You like me telling you how tight your pussy is on my cock?”

You nod, speechless from the dirty talk. His rough voice sends shivers down your spine, and you move a little faster on top of him. "Shit. Yes. I do. I love it. I wanna - wanna hear more, Francisco." You demand softly, leaning down to kiss along his jaw.

“Fuck.” When Frankie is high, he’s more talkative, the thoughts inside his head just come pouring out of him easier than he would sober. “Always wanted to fuck you. Imagined it, dreamed of it, jerked off to the thought of it.” He admits with a dirty grin. His hand slides up to your breast and he squeezes it, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “So many nights. The entire time we served together, I wanted you.”

“Oh God.” Your stomach clenches at his dirty confession and you pant against his collarbone, clenching around him. “Me too. Shit, so many nights spent wishing you were in my bed. You were inside of me. Always knew it would be amazing. And it is.” You reveal, rocking back onto him, “it’s so good.”

“So good.” He groans in agreement. “You- I -“ he shakes his head. “Fuck me.” He begs, knowing that he can’t tell you that. Not with the way his life is. He can’t drag you into his mess, not when he doesn’t know how he’s getting out of it himself. Or if he’s getting out of it.

You reach for his hands, gripping them as you start to move faster on his cock. “Fuck baby. Oh God.” You pant, tits bouncing as you work yourself towards your orgasm as your knees dig into the mattress.

“That’s it baby, ride my cock.” Frankie groans. “Always- fuck, you’re better than my fantasy.” He praises, watching you and completely enthralled with the sight.

The awed look he gives you sends you over the edge, his eyes glassy and mouth open as he looks at you like you’re a goddess. It makes you cum and you clamp down on his cock with a strangled choke of his name, falling forward until your forehead is pressed against his. Body shaking above him and he thrusts up into you to help you prolong your high.

It’s the best sex he’s ever had, groaning your name as he watches you cum. It’s a vision that he would love to have burned in his brain. Rocking his hips up frantically as he chases his own end.

You try to grind back onto him, wanting him to cum inside of you. “Cum for me, Francisco. I want to feel you.” You beg, kissing along his neck, wanting to leave your mark but knowing you can’t.

“Fuck, fuck.” Frankie groans, unable to resist giving you what you want. Especially since it’s what he wants too. He thrusts up into you wildly, only making it another half dozen thrusts before he’s filling you, painting your walls with hot spurts of his cum.

You hum with satisfaction, shifting to press your lips to his. His tongue is harsh against yours as his hips slowly thrust into you as he rides his orgasm and you run your fingers through his hair as he fills you. After he stops, he rolls you onto your side and curls around you. You smile into his chest, closing your eyes as the high of the drugs and the sex courses through you. There’s so much you want to say but you can’t. You just have tonight. Tomorrow, you deposit the money and Frankie goes home to his family.

Frankie hums, grateful when you don’t want to talk. All he wants to do is hold you. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down on his chest as he closes his eyes. “Wanna sleep here.” He mumbles quietly.

You hum back, placing your palm on his chest to feel his heartbeat, reassured that he’s safe and alive. You kiss his Adam’s apple, “sleep, sweetheart. Tomorrow is gonna be messy.” You murmur, closing your eyes as exhaustion overwhelms you along with the crash from your high.

****

When Frankie wakes up, the light is starting to filter through the curtains and he’s sober. Realizing that he hadn’t been dreaming is both the best and worst thing that has ever happened to him. He can’t believe that he got to touch you, although he feels bad because he cheated. He made you a cheater and that was worse. He shifts slowly, not wanting to wake you up until he is out of the bed. Grabbing his clothes and fleeing quietly.

When you wake up, the sheets beside you are cold and you squint, feeling that headache you get after drinking too much but now it’s a combination of booze and coke. You sit up and bite your lip after you shake off the haze of waking up. He left. You shouldn’t be upset about that. He has a family. Shit, you - he cheated and you cheated with him. Shame burns inside of you. He has a baby with Darcy, he - he has a partner and you cheated with him. You feel dirty, shifting out of bed and you get into the shower, desperate to wash off his touch, hating that you can still feel his lips on your skin. The thing you wanted forever makes you sick with disgust at yourself. You stay under the water until it goes cold and reluctantly dress to meet the boys to deposit the money that will make you all for the rest of your life’s.

****

You watch Benny walk out of the room after giving his share to Redfly’s family and you know you have to do the same. Signing your name before you get up to follow the boys, your eyes meeting Frankie’s for a moment and he looks away. Your heart shatters but you’re reminded that you can’t tell anyone about last night.

Frankie frowns as he stares at the contract in front of him. It’s a lot of money. Money that he could use to leave Darcy. Get his pilot’s license back and leave the horrible relationship he’s in. Get custody of the baby, hopefully. Or at least not get fucked with visitation. It’s hard to not think about this, even though he knows that he should give the money to Redfly’s family. The man died. His kids deserve that money. Still he stares at the contract for far longer than he should before he crumples up the paper and signs the document to give the money away. Sadness and despair overwhelming him, even as he slaps Pope on the shoulder and ambles out of the room like the weight of the world isn’t on his shoulders.

You watch Frankie as you stand in the middle of the street, passers-by pushing past but you stare at Frankie, knowing this is it. He will go back to Darcy and who knows when you’ll talk to him next. He keeps to himself nowadays and even Santi has trouble trying to get hold of him. “You’ll need these.” Santi says as he hands everyone back their passports. “I guess I’ll see you all next at the funeral?” Will says and you nod, knowing Frankie can’t avoid that. “See you soon.” Will steps forward to hug you, kissing your cheek and Benny then Santi does the same. Next is Frankie and you struggle to maintain your composure as you hug him tight.

Frankie tries to hug you as quickly as possible but he can’t help but linger for just a moment. Clinging to you for a second as the dreams of the future, a future with you, slip away. “Well, I gotta get home.” He tells the group, not looking any of you in the eye. He nods and turns around to disappear into the crowd.

****

It’s hard seeing Frankie again, all of you in dress uniform and you see Darcy holding Ava as she sits in a pew behind Molly and the girls. It’s hard to be around Frankie because he’s not even texted you since you’ve been back. Not that you expected anything of him when you got home but a check in would’ve been nice. You’ve texted him, asking him how he’s doing and you’ve been left on read. Your heart aches for Frankie but today, it grieves for Tom, your leader, and you focus on him instead of the man you yearn for.

Frankie doesn’t even dare look at all of you, knowing how pissed Darcy is that he didn’t come home with the money he had promised her when he had left. He knows she blames all of you for the fuck up in South America and why she cannot have a life of luxury. Instead, he focuses on the funeral, his part in the honor guard so he can finish up and leave. Darcy doesn’t want to stay past the burial.

When the service is over, everyone is heading to Molly’s house for the wake and you are confused when you arrive there after stopping for gas and don’t see Frankie or Darcy. “Where did Frankie go?” You ask Santi who sighs.

“Darcy wanted to take Ava home and Frankie had to go too.” He explains and you frown, knowing it’s not like Frankie to leave early, especially when today is about Tom.

****

“I still can’t believe you gave the money away.” Darcy shakes her head after putting Ava down for her nap. “You’re a fucking spineless bastard.” Darcy hisses at Frankie who stands there with his arms crossed, shoulders hunched. “You should’ve been selfish. For Ava. For me. I already bought a Louis Vuitton purse for my birthday because you promised you’d get me something to make up for being such a failure and getting suspended at work. I gotta take it back. You know how embarrassing that’s gonna be for me, baby?”

“I’m sorry, baby.” The apology is automatic, his heart starting to race as his pulse jumps up. “I’ll- I’ll pick up more hours.” He’s got part time work that’s been able to sustain them with his retirement and disability. “You don’t have to take it back, baby. You keep it.”

Darcy shakes her head, “no. I’ll take it back. I don’t need you telling me that we need to be budgeting the groceries. Honestly, you’re pathetic. Leaving your family for two weeks and you didn’t bring back anything to show for it.” Darcy scoffs and Frankie frowns, “I got seventeen grand.” Darcy snorts, “yeah? And where’s that gone? On trying to fight your suspension. When we met, I thought you were capable of looking after me. I thought you were gonna take care of me and our daughter but you’re a failure. How are you gonna make this up to me?”

Frankie swallows, hating how she continuously pokes and pushes him, grinding him into the dirt with her venom. “However you want me too, baby.” He placates, moving towards her automatically to wrap his arms around her. If she pushes him away, he knows he needs to just be quiet and let her vent her disappointment. But she would also accuse him of not caring if he didn’t make a move to comfort her, so he was picking one and seeing if it was the right move today.

Darcy lets him wrap his arms around her and she slides her hands down his back and under his uniform to pinch his side, making Frankie wince. “I don’t need your fucking comfort, Frank. I need you to do your job to provide for this family.” She hisses and pushes him away, “my parents told me to not have the baby. Didn’t think you were good enough for me and you know what? They were right.” She shakes her head and turns towards the counter to make herself a cup of coffee.

Frankie sighs, although he makes sure that she doesn’t hear it. That would cause another fight. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs. “I’ll make it up to you.” He promises. “I’ll get my license back and then we won’t have to worry about anything.”

Darcy snorts again, “you better otherwise me and Ava will be gone. I’ll move in with my parents.” She threatens and pours her coffee. After a few moments, she says your name, “did you see her? She looks like she’s put on weight. I don’t think anyone was fooled that her uniform still fits properly. It looked like she was about to burst out of it. No wonder she doesn’t have a boyfriend. No one's gonna wanna date the Pillsbury dough boy.”

Frankie frowns, looking at her back and wondering if she’s serious. His friend and teammate died and she’s commenting about your looks? You don’t look any different than the day you left the Army. “Her uniform was fine.” He tells her. “Nothing was ill fitting, she could pass inspection today.” He knows you haven’t gained any weight, but he can’t say that. The image of you riding him is a secret memory, one that he will think of often.

Darcy turns, staring at her partner, “really? She could pass inspection?” She mocks his words, “all the others were thinking it. She’s a fatso, Frank. And she shouldn’t have gone with you all to South America. Trying to run with the boys. I bet that’s why Tom got killed, because you were all running around trying to protect her. She’s useless. She is a military groupie gone too far and she thinks she’s capable but she put you all in danger.” Darcy gives her opinion without any remorse, speaking her mind as she always does and she turns back to pour creamer in her coffee.

“She didn’t do that.” Frankie snorts, shaking his head. “You need to stop fucking talking about her like that. She’s got just as many medals for courage and valor as Ben, she’s not a military groupie, she’s a veteran and deserves respect.” He snaps, pissed off that she constantly belittles your accomplishments.

Darcy moves so fast he doesn’t even register that she’s slapped him until he sees her hand lowering from his face. The sting comes a few seconds later and he realizes he went too far in his defense of you. “Don’t you ever - ever - defend that fucking bitch in my house, okay? She has always pined after you and you disrespect me by giving her compliments? No, Frank. No. You fucking apologize right now to me.” She demands, crossing her arms.

His eyes are wide, unable to believe that she just hit him. She’s shoved him, slapped at his chest but she’s never hit him in the face. “No.” He shakes his head. “I’m not apologizing for her being a veteran.” He tells her, his stomach churning and twisting in anxious nausea. Fearful of what she might do again, but still not ready to talk bad about you. You’ve never done anything wrong to her, until this trip, but Darcy doesn’t know that.

Darcy doesn’t hesitate, turning back to her coffee and she grabs the spoon she has in the mug, turning back to Frankie and pressing the spoon to his neck. He winces but she grabs the back of his neck to keep it pressed to his skin. “Apologize. To. Me.” She demands, pressing the spoon harder into his neck.

Frankie hisses, the hot spoon burning his skin but he almost doesn’t apologize. Deciding that he’s had enough of her shit until he hears Ava start to cry, obviously not wanting to go down for her nap. With the mood she’s in, Darcy would take it out on his daughter and he can’t have that. “I’m sorry.” He chokes out. “I’m sorry, baby, I- I don’t know what I was thinking.” He tells her breathlessly. “The funeral, losing Tom, it’s fucking with me. I’m not thinking straight.”

Darcy pulls the spoon away from his neck, setting it down and reaching up to cup his cheek. "It's okay, baby. I know it's been stressful. For me, too. I love you. You know that, right?" She coos, leaning in to kiss the burn she left on his skin.

Frankie shudders but he makes himself wrap his arms around her again and snuggle into her. “I know. You’re the only one who could put up with me.” It’s a statement that she’s said over and over again and he is starting to believe it.

“That’s damn right.” She chuckles, “I better go check on Ava.” Darcy says, leaning back with a smile at her partner and she walks out of the kitchen to check on the crying baby. Frankie exhales shakily, leaning against the kitchen counter. He has faced combat in the most dangerous areas in the world, nearly died from bullets flying past him, and flown a helicopter under high stress but Darcy seems to crumble his strength. Her power over him stems from keeping Ava safe and his morality. He would never hit a woman so he takes what she does to him. He doesn’t want to fight. He’s so tired of fighting.

****

It’s been weeks since you heard from Frankie and the guilt is eroding your insides. It’s haunting you and you don’t know how to handle it. You’ve never been a cheater and not hearing from Frankie has you worried that you’ve ruined your friendship. You decide to send him a text, saying hi and asking how he is.

Frankie’s phone is constantly being checked by Darcy since his outburst. Nearly every night and he has even stopped talking to Ben as much as he used to. Not wanting to rehash every comment he made to his buddy or what his mentality was. When he gets the text from you, he panics and nearly deletes it, but then it would cause a complete shitstorm. Instead he doesn’t even open his messages and waits for Darcy to look through it.

“Why is she texting you?” Darcy asks, pausing the tv and grabbing Frankie’s phone. “She is asking how you are. Why would she ask that? Have you been talking to her behind my back? Have you - explain this, Frank. Now.” She says, shoving the phone towards him.

“What? No! No, I haven’t been talking to her!” Frankie defends. “I- she’s probably checking in with everyone. Tom died, Darc. It - it’s heavy shit. We all blame ourselves.” He quickly rationalizes. “I’m not talking to her, you told me not to and I’m - baby, I’m not going to jeopardize my relationship with you.” He tells her, reaching out to rub her arm.

Darcy shrugs off his touch, “don’t fucking lie to me!” She shouts, despite Ava being asleep. “She’s a whore. Trying to take you away from me. I see the way she looks at you. She wants to tear our family apart and you are letting her do it. You never touch me. We don’t have sex. It’s her, isn’t it?” Darcy cries, starting to sob.

“No, no baby.” Frankie shakes his head and wonders if she suspects something. Guilt and worry curling in his stomach. “No, you told me that I was treating you like my sex toy, I - I didn’t want you to think that’s all I wanted from you.” It was ironic when he used to want sex that she would complain, now he doesn’t even ask and she complains. “Only you, baby.”

Darcy sniffs, wiping her eyes, “yeah?” She asks and Frankie nods. “Good. I Don’t want you talking to her.” She narrows her watery eyes and shifts to sit beside him once more. She grips his chin and leans in to press her lips to his. “You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t.” He can’t. She reminds him everyday and for the hundredth time since he came back, he wishes he had been the one killed. If it weren’t for Ava, he would have left her, long ago. But he knows she will never let him see his daughter again. “I won’t talk to her.” He promises quietly, mourning the loss of all of his friends since he has been with her. He will end up completely alone.

“Good.” She kisses him again, letting go of his chin and she settles in to watch the tv again. “You’re so good to me, baby.” She coos, sliding her hand down his chest to play with the buttons of his shirt, “makes me wet when you do what I want.”

Shit. He knows she wants sex now, especially since she’s brought it up.

“Yeah?” Frankie grunts, capturing her hand and sliding it down and onto his thigh. “Let me go pee, baby.” He asks her. “That way we don’t have to worry about anything when I take you to bed.”

Darcy nods, biting her lip as she smirks and watches him go into the bathroom. Frankie locks the door behind him and braces his hands on the sink, looking into the mirror. He doesn’t want to have sex with her but he has no choice. If he doesn’t, she will hurt him again, either emotionally or physically and his biggest fear is her hurting Ava. He will take every slap and pinch she gives him if his daughter is safe.

He finds the baggie he has hidden under the towels and in the linen closet. Working fast, he puts some onto the back of his hand and snorts it, wiping his nose. It’s enough to numb him to do what he needs to do, his thoughts drifting to you and how you looked riding him. He sniffs and hides the baggie again, splashing water on his face before he heads into the bedroom to do what he needs to do.

****

“Is Frankie coming?” You ask Santi who glances at his watch.

“He didn’t respond.” He says and you frown. No one has heard from or seen Frankie for weeks since you returned from South America and you don’t want to see him. He’s ignored you since you parted ways and you’re hurt. You thought your friendship would survive but he refuses to even text you back.

Frankie had barely been able to convince Darcy that if he didn’t show up to Benny’s fight that it would look strange. He had promised her he would just go to the fight, immediately coming home and he would have one beer. Nothing more. And he wouldn’t talk to you. Frankie shakes his arms and then wipes his hands on his jeans as he walks in, nervous about seeing everyone. The bruises on his sides twinge, reminding him of the promise he had made to behave.

Your eyes widen when you see Frankie sit down, shocked that he made it when Pope didn't think he would. His eyes meet yours after he greets everyone with a nod and you offer him a small smile that he returns until it drops, his eyes widening slightly before he turns his head away from you. Your heart twists with that and you wonder why he's actively avoiding you. He clearly regrets that night and now, so do you. Frankie's phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket to see a text from Darcy. ‘Remember, one drink baby. Don't talk to her. Don't linger. I want you home as soon as it ends otherwise I won't be happy. Love you.’

Frankie swallows harshly and stows his phone, leaning over to Pope. “Gotta leave after the fight.” He yells over the crowd. “Baby’s not feeling good.” He lies, knowing no one would blame him for that. The fact that you lean in and he’s close to touching you makes him jerk back and sit straight, sure that Darcy would catch your perfume if he touched you, even innocently.

Darcy texts Frankie several more times throughout the fight, even asking him to take a photo of it to prove where he is. It's strange because she never accused him of cheating until he came back from South America. Maybe something changed, maybe he changed. He doesn't know but he concentrates on Benny and cheers him when he wins. "I gotta go. Tell Benny congrats." Frankie says as he slaps Santi on the shoulder and he looks at you with those beautiful brown eyes. "See you later." He offers you a small smile then rushes off before the crowds try to leave and you frown, turning back to Pope.

"Something isn't right with him." You assess and Santi nods, squeezing your shoulder until you focus on Benny as he approaches with blood smeared on his face from a broken nose but a wide grin from his win.

“Where’s Fish going?” He had seen his friend in the crowd as he was in the ring. He frowns slightly when he realizes that Frankie isn’t just going to the beer stand for another brew.

“He had to go, the baby isn’t feeling good.” Pope tells him with a frown. “He told me to tell you congrats on your win.”

Benny huffs and takes the towel that Will tosses him to wipe his face. “Something’s wrong with him. He’s not answering my texts, like- at all.”

“Have you spoken to him?” Will asks you, knowing you and Frankie have always been especially close.

You shake your head, “I’ve texted him but I get left on read. I don’t know what’s going on. I- I am worried about him.” You confess and the boys nod.

****

“What took you so long?” Darcy asks as she stands in the hallway.

Frankie barely gets a chance to shrug off his jacket before she’s on him. “I hit all red lights, baby.” He explains and Darcy shakes her head.

“It was her. Wasn’t it?” She accuses, “you fuck her in the bathroom? Mind you, you wouldn’t be that late coming home. You’ve never had the stamina, have you?” She laughs cruelly.

Frankie’s shoulders slump but he doesn’t rise to the bait, knowing it would just start a vicious fight. “No babe, I left as soon as the fight was over. I just got caught up at the lights.” He knows that he’s going to get slapped again. Since the other day, she’s slapped him on the cheek whenever she gets mad. Making him feel even more ashamed every time he thinks of hitting her back. Becoming the monster he’s always been afraid that he is.

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” She surges forward to slap him and grips his chin, leaning in. “You even smell like cheap perfume. I can’t believe you.” She lowers her hand, “I give you everything. Sacrifice my body to give you a child. Give you a home to return to and you want to throw it all away for some whore who could never love you like I can.”

“I swear to you, Darcy.” Frankie whines, nearly flinching when she moves again. “I didn’t do anything, I sat by Pope. Maybe he’s seeing a new girl, I don’t know. I came straight home.”

Darcy stares at him, her eyes narrowed. “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.” She says and spins on her heels, making her way back into the bedroom and she shuts the door, effectively locking him out of his room. Frankie looks down at his hands, shaking from both anxiety and anger. He hates Darcy but he can’t leave, his daughter isn’t safe around her. The other day Frankie found Ava gripping a knife and Darcy laughed and said it was nothing, she wants her to learn how to use utensils to be a proper lady. He strips down to his boxers and lays on the sofa, wishing he could escape this situation and keep his daughter safe but no one would believe him.

****

It’s been a few days since Benny’s fight and the guilt of sleeping with Frankie is becoming too much. Darcy posted some photos of Ava and Frankie on her Facebook page with them out for brunch - her new designer bag on display - and you felt the heavy pit of guilt in your belly. You have to tell her and you’ll tell her it’s all your fault. Frankie will be at work so you make your way over to his house, ringing the doorbell and shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other as you wait for Darcy to answer the door.

Darcy huffs, pushing herself off the couch with an annoyed grunt. “Hold on!” She grumbles as she walks over to the front door and opens it. Annoyed and immediately glaring when she sees you at the door. “What the fuck do you want?” She hisses. “Frankie doesn’t want to talk to your pathetic ass, so do us both a favor and fucking leave him alone, okay?”

Your eyes widen and you know she has never liked you but her attitude takes you back. “I, uh, I know you don’t want to talk to me but I need to tell you something. Please. I, uh, I need to get it off of my chest.” You tell her and she crosses her arms, scoffing but allowing you to continue. “I slept with Frankie. In St Johns. We, uh, we were high and had a few drinks so we weren’t thinking straight and I’m so sorry Darcy. I wanted to tell you because you deserve to know and I can’t keep this secret any longer. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat.” You admit and she chuckles, “every cloud.” Her comment makes you frown and you are confused, “you aren’t mad?”

Darcy snorts and shakes her head, “I knew that Frankie fucked you.” She lies with a nasty smirk on her face. “A pity fuck, that’s what he called it when he told me about it.” She shrugs slightly. “You know men, if a whore is gonna throw it at them, they’ll take it. Thank God you didn’t give him something, but he much prefers my pussy over yours. Said he can’t even look at you now, so disgusted with the thought of you naked.” She chuckles evilly again. “Might want to lose a few pounds.”

You feel your eyes sting and your stomach twist. Hearing what Frankie said about you makes you feel sick. Darcy could be making it up but why would she lie? She knows about what happened.

“He said you were the worst sex he’s ever had. It was the adrenaline from surviving, he told me. He hasn’t talked to you because he didn’t want to embarrass you. You need to go. He’s my boyfriend. The father of my child. He’s mine. He belongs to me.” She says and you swallow down the lump in your throat, uneasy with her words but she’s not wrong.

“Yeah. Uh, I- I’ll go. I wanted to tell you because I thought you deserved to know and, um, yeah. Bye.” You choke and she waves at you as you make your way down the driveway to your car. Pulling away from the curb, tears streaming down your cheeks and you curse that night, you curse Frankie Morales. Your heart breaks and you need to take some time to get over that asshole. He’s with Darcy and he loves her.

****

“Baby, I’m home.” Frankie calls out and comes in to find Darcy sitting on the sofa, “come here baby.” She coos and he sets his stuff down before sitting on the sofa next to her. She leans in to kiss him and Frankie nearly flinches. “I missed you today.” She coos, caressing his cheek.

“I missed you too.” He lies, “where’s Ava?” He asks and Darcy explains that she is at her parents’ house.

“I wanted a romantic night in with you.” She says and Frankie feels repulsed but what can he do? “So…” Darcy trails off and grips his chin, “when were you gonna tell me you fucked the whore in St John’s?” She asks him, her eyes hardening.

“What?” Frankie shakes his head, immediately denying it. She’s been accusing him of cheating since he got back from South America. “Baby, why do you keep saying that?” He demands, making her squeeze his cheeks even harder. “The whore told me herself, Frank.” She spits, the spittle flying into his face and making him cringe. His heart sinks but Darcy keeps talking. “Bitch came to my house, wanted to ‘confess’ because she felt so guilty. She should, spreading her legs for you when she knows you have me, have Ava.” Frankie starts to shake, knowing that Darcy will punish him, badly, for you showing up and telling her what happened.

“You lied to me, Frank. Over and over. I’ve done so much for you. Sacrificed so much for you and this is how you repay me? By fucking the woman you’ve been in love with for years?” She hisses and Frankie shakes his head. “No use denying it. I know you love her. I’ve seen the way you look at her. You’ve never looked at me like that. I knew you would leave me for her so I decided to take action. Poked holes in the condoms we used until I got pregnant. Wanted to make sure you were mine.”

Frankie gasps, nearly choking on his own breath at the knowledge that she had baby trapped him. “You-“ He growls, his head snapping to the side when she slaps him.

“Don’t you fucking say a word, you cheating bastard!” She screams, her voice breaking because of how high it gets. “You humiliated me! All your bastard friends know, laughing at how you banged your whore.” This time, her fist is closed when she hits him, punching him in the jaw and Frankie grabs her hand.

“Stop fucking hitting me!” He shouts.

She screams, wrenching her hand away and she stands up. “That’s it. I don’t know if this shit will happen again. It can’t happen again. I’m gonna invite her over here. Gimme your phone.” She orders and he shakes his head. She sees his phone on the kitchen counter, rushing over to pick it up and Frankie tries to follow her but she’s quick to grab a knife from the counter, aiming it at him and he knows he could take her down but not without hurting her.

“Darcy!” He barks, jumping out of the way of the knife and back several steps. “Are you fucking crazy?” He asks, watching the knife carefully as she spins around again and looks like she wants to murder him. “Put the knife down.”

She shakes her head and grabs his phone, texting with one hand to bring up your name and text an invite over to the house, she hits send and tosses the phone across the counter. "She'll come. I know she will. Fucking pathetic bitch can't leave you alone." She scoffs, waving the knife again. "And you're gonna let me talk to her." She laughs manically, setting the knife down and opening the drawer. Before she had Ava, Darcy was a nurse so it wasn't hard for her to procure what she needed. She grabs the syringe as Frankie approaches to try and get the knife away from her and she is quick to stick the needle in him, pressing down on the needle to push the sedative into Frankie's bloodstream. She wants him to watch you suffer but she knows he won't allow it so she needs him to be restrained.

****

Being drugged is nothing like getting high. Frankie groans, head pounding and his mouth feels dry. Trying to move his arms, he can’t and he tries harder, feeling the resistance that forces his eyes open.

“You’re awake. Good. She’s on her way.” Darcy reveals and Frankie shakes his head, trying to speak but he’s still lethargic. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m gonna take care of this. You’ll never truly love me until she’s out of the way. I’m gonna do what needs to be done.” She promises and picks up the gun she had taken from Frankie’s gun safe. She knows the password is Ava’s birthday so she was able to get into it.

“D-Dar-“ Frankie’s tongue is heavy and his mind is so jumbled from the drugs she had pumped into his system. He doesn’t want this, horrified that you might be killed because of his mistakes. He shakes his head again, trying desperately to think of a way out of this. His hands are bound, he’s zip tied to a kitchen chair. “D-don’t.” He croaks out.

You frown when you receive the text. Confused about Frankie’s invite to his house and the wording isn’t like the man you’ve known for years. You know something is wrong and you want to find out. Especially since Darcy had told you what Frankie had said. You get into your car and make your way over to Frankie’s house. Parking down the street, you sneak around the house and your eyes widen when you look into the house and see Frankie tied to a chair, and Darcy walking around with a gun in her hand. “Shit.” You curse, knowing you have to protect him and yourself and especially Ava. You step back from the house and call the police, explaining the situation, and after you hang up, you exhale shakily, anxious to keep Frankie safe.

“Darcy, think of Ava.” Frankie begs, the drugs wearing off and he is panicked. “You won’t get away with it. You’ll be in jail.” While he would love to be away from her, he is trying to keep her from killing you. “We’ll move.” He promises. “Sell the house and move across the country. Away from everything and start fresh.”

Darcy scoffs, "I will get away with it because you're going to help me deal with her after. Even if we moved across the world, she'd still be in your fucking mind. You won't forget about her. You'll still be tempted and I won't allow it. I can't. You're mine. You belong to me." She growls, fingers adjusting around the gun.

Outside, the police arrive quietly, pulling up in their SUVs and you meet them to explain what's going on. "I think she's going to kill him. I think she's gonna try to kill me." You explain and the police officers nod, speaking into their radios.

Inside, Frankie is still trying to convince Darcy. “Baby, no. It was a mistake.” He lies, knowing that his time with you was the best he’s ever had. “I had done some Coke, just to- just to forget the image of Tom’s brains splattered on the fucking rocks.” He tells her. “I didn’t realize what I was doing and then I left, I didn’t talk to her. I haven’t had anything to do with her.”

Darcy shakes her head and aims the gun at him, her anger getting the best of her, “you’re a fucking liar. I know you love her. I know you love her more than me and if she was gone, you could love me like that. I want you to love me like that. Don’t lie to me. I know you want her. Have always wanted her.” Darcy shouts, just as the front door flings off of its hinges and the officers yell at Darcy to drop the weapon and get down on the ground.

Frankie shouts, begging her to put the gun down. Knowing they will kill her if she so much as twitches wrong. Not wanting Ava to deal with the fact that her mother was killed when she’s older. Darcy screams, incoherently and spins around on Frankie. “You bastard! You called them!” Despite the fact that there was no way he could have called the police. He had been tied up.

“Darcy, no!” The shots echo in the house, deafening him and he squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the pain to start where she shot him.

The bullet flew into the kitchen cabinet behind him and the other shots were the police taking down Darcy. Yelling fills the house as the officers rush forward, kicking the gun out of Darcy’s hand and checking her pulse. “We need an EMT. Now.” He says and speaks into his walkie.

“Is she dead?” Frankie gasps as the officer comes towards him, pats him down before he lets him go.

“Yes sir. She was a threat and she had a weapon.” He says and Frankie exhales shakily.

“Frankie! Frankie!” You shout, pushing into the house despite the officers telling you to stay put. You run over to Frankie, cupping his cheeks, “are you okay?”

“I- no,” Frankie pants, staring at Darcy’s crumpled body and closes his eyes. “She was gonna- she was gonna kill you.” He manages before he lowers his head and tries to keep from sobbing, relieved that you are here and safe.

Your eyes widen, “kill me? Because we - oh God.” You choke, putting it all together when she had Frankie tied up and the gun in her hand. “Shit. She wanted to kill me.” You whisper and the police officers come over to escort you and Frankie outside and they take Frankie aside to take his statement but he wants you to stay with him. Reluctant to have you out of his sight, you stand beside him as he starts to give his statement.

Frankie starts to tell them everything. The abuse, the escalating violence. He pulls up his shirt to expose the bruises. How erratic Darcy had been acting, although he doesn’t mention the trip to South America, just that things had gotten worse since he had come back from out of town. He hates it, feeling humiliated as the police look at him first with disbelief and then pity as he continues to tell them about being abused by his girlfriend. He can’t look at you right now, afraid you would be disgusted with him for not manning up like Darcy always told him to do.

You feel sick. Hearing what Darcy did to Frankie has you wanting to scream and cry and make the world burn. You want to go and get a gun and kill Darcy again, just for the satisfaction of seeing her suffer. Tears sting in your eyes and the officer takes his statement and tells Frankie he can’t stay in the house so you wipe your cheeks and say that Frankie can stay with you. You turn to look at him, hands reaching out but pulling back in case he doesn’t want to be touched. “Frankie. I- I’m so sorry. I- I should’ve known. I should’ve helped you. I - shit. You - the ways she’s hurt you.” You choke, wishing you could go back in time and keep him safe from Darcy.

“No.” Frankie shakes his head. “She- she would have hurt Ava.” He tells you breathlessly, trying to keep his emotions bottled up. “They- they never would have given me custody. I would- I had to protect her. If she was hitting me, she wasn’t hitting our little girl.”

You can tell Frankie is on the edge and you want him to be safe before the emotions hit him finally. “Come on, let’s go back to my place. Where’s Ava?” You ask with wide eyes, worried that the little girl is in the house still.

“She’s at Darcy’s parents house. They - oh God. I gotta tell them - Darcy is dead.” He says with a whisper and he hates the fact that he’s happy about that for himself but not for Ava. “She’s safe for tonight. You’re in no state to be around her. Come to mine and you need to sleep.” You say, grabbing your keys from your pocket and guiding him up the street while the police handle his house.

“I don’t- I tried.” Frankie rambles as you steer him towards your car and open the door for him. “I stopped talking to everyone, stopped doing anything that would set her off.” He doesn’t understand why she hated him so much. Was he just that horrible? “Nothing- I failed at everything. I was- wasn’t good enough.”

“Frankie.” You shake your head as he gets into the car, “this isn’t your fault. Darcy was an abuser. You aren’t to blame for how she treated you. You are a good man. She - she was wrong. She abused you.” You whisper, a tear escaping your eye as you look at his distraught face.

“Poor Ava.” He bites his lip and closes his eyes tight, trying not to cry. “She- she’s gonna grow up with me and I’m gonna fuck her up. I - she always told me I was useless.”

You kneel down beside the car, “can I touch you?” You ask, wanting to hold his hand and he nods. “Francisco. You are the best father. You’re a good man. You’re not going to fuck Ava up. Darcy would have. She would’ve manipulated her like she did you. You are going to get through this. It’s gonna take a while but you’ll be strong for Ava. You can do this. I promise you.” You squeeze his hand, hating how broken he looks.

“Are you sure?” Frankie asks quietly, clinging to your hand. “I- I have to admit something.” He tells you. “I had been thinking that I should have been the one to die on that mountain. That way it would be over for me.” He sees the horror on your face. “But you- that night- it’s how I’ve been keeping sane lately. Remembering you, that night.”

You want to sob then and there, hearing that Frankie wanted to die because of Darcy. It makes you even angrier but you control yourself and place your hand over his holding yours. “Darcy has hurt you and you need to heal from that. Ava loves you. The boys love you. I love you. You’re so loved and we need you, Frankie. She’s gone and you’re still here. It will take time but you’ll be what Ava needs.” You assure him.

“How could I let it happen?” He asks seriously. “I’ve fucking killed people, and my girlfriend was abusing me?” He sounds bewildered because he is unable to rationalize that in his mind. “I don’t- I didn’t stop it, I just- I guess I am less of a man.”

You shake your head, “you didn’t stop it because of Ava. Because you are a good man and you didn’t want to hurt Darcy even though she was hurting you. You’re not less of a man. You were manipulated and abused. Mentally controlled. Verbally and physically abused. Sweetheart, this isn’t your fault.” You promise him, “this isn’t your fault.”

Frankie sighs, feeling exhausted. “I couldn’t let her kill you.” He admits quietly. “I- I almost hit her, but she knocked me out with something.” He looks into your eyes. “Can you-? I just want to get out of here. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

You nod, letting go of his hand and you make your way around the car to get in the driver's seat. You start the engine and make your way down the street past the police cars and the black van so you can get Frankie somewhere safe. He’s quiet for the drive and when you pull up on your driveway, you cut the engine and look at him, “do you want something to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.” He murmurs quietly, looking at the front of your place. He honestly wants to shower until his skin is red and then sleep for the next year. “Can- can I shower?” He asks, turning his head quickly and looking at you with wide eyes. “I- I need to feel clean.”

“Of course you can.” You hate that he asks you like that. Like you’re going to slap him for inconveniencing you. “Come on.” You say and open the car door, moving fast to unlock your home so he can get comfortable. “You know where the guest room is. You can stay as long as you like. There’s fresh towels and I think I have a pair of your sweats from when you stayed over a few years ago when you were having your house painted.” You say and he nods, making his way to the bathroom. When he shuts the door, you allow the tears to fall. How did you not see this? How did you let him be abused by Darcy? Why didn’t you check on him more? You feel incredibly guilty.

Inside the bathroom, Frankie turns on the shower and sits on the toilet seat. Shell-shocked and unable to believe what happened. Having a small breakdown when he imagines what could have happened if the police hadn’t come and you had walked into his house. If Darcy had killed you. He slaps his hand over his mouth, starting to sob and trying to keep it quiet.

You wipe your eyes and splash your face with water. You know you didn’t have a clue about the abuse Frankie was facing and you wonder if your presence triggered her or if you made it worse in some way. Her words when you went to tell her about you and Frankie ring in your ears when you remember how vehemently she declared Frankie to belong to her. You wish you had seen the signs. You have to be strong for Frankie though.

Eventually, Frankie climbs into the shower and nearly burns his skin off, scrubbing harshly with the soap and rag to feel clean again. If the tears mix with water and slide down the drain undetected, he doesn’t acknowledge them. Waiting until the water runs icy cold before he turns it off and steps out to wrap a towel around his waist. The bruises are visible. Some fresh and dark purple, others a sickly green and yellowish, making him grimace in the mirror as he traces them before turning away and opening the door. Grateful that you have given him a place to stay tonight.

You look up when Frankie exits the bathroom and comes into the living room with the towel wrapped around his waist and you see the bruises. You choke on your breath, tears in your eyes and you stand up to walk over to him. “Can I- oh God. Frankie.” You sob, reaching up to gently wrap your arms around him and you feel the guilt almost suffocate you.

“I’m okay.” He’s not, but he will be. Overwhelmed by the fact that he is free, he wraps his arms around you and crushes you against him, burying his face into your neck. “Thank you.” He whispers. “For being here.”

“Always, sweetheart. I’m always here for you.” You promise, sniffing as you run your fingers through his hair. “You’re okay.” You echo, “You’re safe.” You promise and you caress his neck. “Why don’t you get some sleep?” You murmur, knowing he must be exhausted.

“I don’t want to be alone.” He whispers and you hum, “you can stay with me. If that’s okay?”

“Please?” It’s pathetic and he can hear Darcy’s voice in his head, reaming him for needing you to sleep beside him, but he tries to ignore that. Sighing softly in relief when you take his hand and guide him towards your bedroom. He needs to be near you, to know that you are okay and that he is safe. It was another reason he had gone with you that night you were together. He had been terrified it had been you on that mountain and then relieved that you were still with him.

“I have your sweats. I’m gonna get ready for bed. I’ll be five minutes, okay?” You ask and he nods. You caress his back and make your way into your bathroom, getting ready for bed. Once you’re in your tank top and shorts, you shut the door behind you and see that Frankie is already in bed. You turn off the lamp and slide under the covers, wrapping your arms around him. “Goodnight Frankie.”

Frankie sighs, relaxing when he wraps his arms around you. Closing his eyes and pressing his nose into your hair. “Goodnight, and thank you again.” He squeezes you tight and settles into the bed, holding you close.

****

It’s been six months since the night Darcy tried to kill you and Frankie has been going to therapy. He is in a much better place and is a loving father to Ava. During his therapy sessions or other appointments, you look after Ava. Darcy’s parents were ashamed of their daughter and her abuse, they have been giving Frankie some space until he is ready to have them back in Ava’s life.

You look up as Frankie comes into the house and Ava rushes over to him, “dada! Dada!” She cries and he bends down to pick her up, kissing her cheek.

“She’s been a good girl?” He asks you and you stand up from the rug scattered with toys.

“She always is.” You coo at Ava. “You want some coffee?” You ask and he nods, holding Ava on his hip. He moved a few weeks after that night, unable to live in that house full of horrid memories and his new place is cozy enough for him and Ava. He got his license reinstated and the boys have been supporting him through everything. Things are finally starting to look up as Frankie is able to process what happened to him at the hands of Darcy. You quickly prepare the coffees and get some milk for Ava along with one of the cookies she loves and she rushes over to eat the cookie on the rug, making you chuckle. “She can never sit still. Just like her father.”

“That’s because if I’m still, I’m gonna fall asleep.” Frankie jokes, smiling at the sight of Ava happily eating a cookie and watching TV. She hadn’t asked about Darcy much, and seemed to accept that momma had gone to Heaven and she wouldn’t see her anymore. In fact, he had often wondered if she had started being mean to Ava because the young girl seems so happy. “You are so good with her.” He tells you, taking the cup of coffee with an appreciative smile. “I don’t think you know how much I owe you.”

“Nothing. You owe me nothing. There’s nowhere else I’d be. I - I love Ava and you needed help. I couldn’t let you do this all on your own after dealing with Darcy. I wanted to help you because I love you both. So much.” You smile and pick up your own cup of coffee. Telling Frankie you love him has become second nature but the true depth of your feelings has never become a subject you’ve been brave enough to broach, especially since he’s been healing physically and mentally from Darcy’s abuse.

Frankie’s stomach flips and he takes another sip of his coffee. You’ve said you love him almost every day and you don’t even know how much it means to him. He’s talked about you in therapy, about his feelings for you and the therapist has encouraged him to start talking to you about them. About how he’s always been in love with you, how he’s still in love with you. That despite what Darcy put him through, he would like to see what could happen with you in a relationship. “I love you too.” He tells you honestly.

His words make your heart thump and your eyes meet his over your cups of coffee, but you don’t get your hopes up that he means he’s in love with you. He’s been through so much. The last thing he probably wants is to get into a relationship. He needs time to heal and to ensure Ava is happy and safe. “I know you do.” You tease softly, “it’s the pasta dish I make, isn’t it?”

“It’s the fact that I’ve always been in love with you.” He admits, setting his coffee mug down and shoving his hands in his pockets. His eyes are searching yours and he’s reminding himself that you wouldn’t react harshly, even if you didn’t feel the same way. “I don’t know what you want. Or how you feel, but Dr. Thomas said that I should talk to you.”

Your eyes widen as you realize he’s serious and you set your coffee cup down so your shaking hand doesn’t spill it everywhere. You stare at him for a moment from the other side of the kitchen and you bite your lip. “You want to know how I feel? I’ve been in love with you since we first met. That night we all went out to the bar to get to know each other and you bought that hat off of some guy in the parking lot. I have been in love with you every day since then and I’ll be in love with you every day from now on. I love you, Frankie. With everything I am.”

He closes his eyes, nodding. As he absorbs the idea that you feel the same way that he does. Feeling the warmth settle in his chest and he bites his lip as he opens his eyes. “I-“ he steps closer to you and reaches for your waist. “I would think about you.” He admits softly. “When Darcy was being really bad, I would remember that one time we were together. It - it saved me.”

Your heart pounds in your chest and simultaneously breaks when you hear that Frankie had to escape like that. You swallow harshly and reach up to cup his cheek, “I wish I could take away everything she did to you.” You whisper, caressing his cheek.

“I -“ he leans into your touch and sighs. “It doesn’t matter now. I just want to move on.” He admits quietly.

“You can move on. You need to confront what happened, be stronger from the experience and move on.” You murmur, leaning in to gently kiss his chin, his stubble scratching your lips. “I love you, Francisco.”

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly. “I want to kiss you sober.”

You nod, moving slowly so he can pull back if he wants and you lean in to softly press your lips to his. It’s gentle and sweet and everything you’ve wanted with Frankie, your body lighting up at the connection. You don’t move to deepen the kiss, wanting him to control this.

He sighs again, sliding his arms up and around you. Softly pulling you closer. He doesn’t think that you will push him away but he wants to give you the time to. If you want to keep it simple.

His hands squeeze your waist and you lean into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. You whimper when his tongue slides against yours and it’s like coming home, like you belong here with him at this moment.

Frankie wants to live in this moment. Feeling your hands on his body, worshiping him with your fingers as they caress his neck. His daughter laughing at her cartoon, safe and sound. He kisses you until he feels like he can’t breathe. Pulling back and smiling at you. “Stay tonight?” He asks softly.

You nod, breathless and lips swollen from his kisses and you whimper when he kisses you again. ****

“She’s asleep.” You tell Frankie as you walk into the living room after putting Ava to bed. She had clung to you for a while until she finally passed out on your shoulder and you put her to bed. Frankie looks up from his phone and sets it down. “You don’t have to put the phone down.” You assure him softly, “I’m not gonna check it.” You promise, knowing that’s part of his learned behavior with Darcy.

“I was texting Benny.” He tells you with a self depreciating grin. “He’s checking on me. Again.” He had been embarrassed, but he told them all what had been happening. Since then, all of them checked in with him at least once a day. He knows they are worried, wanting to make sure he doesn’t start using again.

You come and sit down beside him on the sofa, reaching for his free hand. “They love you. They all wanna make sure you’re okay.” You say and squeeze his hand. “Baby, you’re doing so well.” You praise him.

“I’ll take your word for it.” He chuckles quietly and he squeezes your hand. “I don’t want you to feel like we have to do anything.” He tells you. “But, I - I want to.” He admits. “I’ve been- I jerked off in the shower before you came over.” The therapist had urged him to not hide his needs and to be honest with you. So he is.

You inhale sharply, your stomach twisting with arousal, and you’ve been trying to hide your attraction to him, uncertain if he wants to touch or be touched after suffering such a traumatic event. You shift a little closer to him, “I want to- I want you. Whatever you’re comfortable with. I just want you, Frankie.” You murmur, leaning closer to softly kiss him.

He hums into the kiss, his memory of your only night so far is burned into his brain but he wants something different. That was lust fueled, frantic. “I want to make love to you.” He whispers, moving to kiss along your jaw. “We fucked the last time, I want to make love to you.”

You lean into him, moaning softly at the thought, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, “I would love that, sweetheart.” You murmur, leaning back so you can kiss him properly. His tongue slides against yours for a moment until you pull back, “take me to your bed.” You order softly but you want him to be in control tonight. He has to be comfortable.

He’s nervous now that he’s not high. That he’s doing this with a clear mind. Old anxieties spring to the surface but he pushes them down. You aren’t Darcy and you wouldn’t criticize everything he did in bed. He’s already half hard, proving that he didn’t have any issue getting it up for you.

You stand up and hold your hand out to him. He takes it and escorts you to his bedroom. The bed is messily made but you don’t care about that when Frankie is pulling you close again. “I love you.” You murmur, cupping his cheeks before you lean in to kiss him. His fingers play with the hem of your shirt and you pull back so he can drag it over your head. “Can I take your shirt off?” You ask him and he nods. You move fast to take his shirt off, caressing his skin - free of bruises and no physical scars, except the ones he got in battle, displaying the abuse he endured. “So handsome.” You murmur, admiring him.

Frankie twitches slightly, not that he doesn’t believe you think that, it’s just he’s always been a bit reserved. The other guys were hit on more than he was, though he did alright. He reaches for you, wanting to see your body again. Compare it to the memory he has. “I love you. You are gorgeous.” He hated all the hateful things Darcy had said about you, none of them true. His hands slide under your shirt and he groans as he reveals your plain bra.

You feel gorgeous under his touch, despite the comments from Darcy. You reach down to squeeze him through his pants but he drags your bra down your arms and he’s ducking his head to wrap his lips around your nipple. You gasp, gripping his shoulders, “Frankie. Shit.” You hiss when he bites down, making your cunt clench around nothing.

Frankie moans, his cock fully hard and pressing against his fly. He loves the way that you respond to him and the way your nipple tightens in his mouth. Fingers trance up your spine before he works on undoing your jeans. Wanting to see all of you, touch you. Your taste is still a flavor on his tongue, but he wants to drown in it.

You whimper when he switches to your other breast and whine when he pulls back so he can push your jeans down your legs. “Fuck baby.” You gasp when his hand slides between your legs to rub your clit through your panties.

“Let me make you feel good.” He begs softly. He’s not doing this because he has to. He’s doing it because he wants to, he needs to. His fingers rub the material, groaning around your nipple with the wetness that starts to soak through.

You whimper, rocking your hips down to meet his fingers, and you grip his shoulder while your other hand reaches down to squeeze him through his jeans. “I’m yours. You can do what you want.” You promise him.

“I’m yours too.” He promises, twitching under your touch and loving how eagerly you want him. He pushes under your panties and starts to slowly stroke your clit as he kisses back up your chest and then to your lips.

You moan into his mouth, snaking your hand into his boxers, squeezing him as his fingers rub your clit. “Fuck baby. Never forgot how thick you are.”

“Yeah?” He’s proud of the fact that you think he’s thick. “Do you like it? Thick, I mean? Did it feel good?”

“I loved it.” You promise him, jerking him slowly as his fingers rub your clit and you close your eyes as his lips kiss along your neck. “I love you. Everything about you. Even your demons. I love every part of you. Accept every part.” You promise breathlessly as you squeeze him. “God, I need you inside of me.”

“You don’t want me to eat you out?” He asks in surprise. He had thought you had enjoyed it that night but maybe you just didn’t want it right now. “You’d rather I fuck you?”

You can tell he’s anxious and you pull back to look at him. “Baby, your tongue is literally magic. I never came from oral before your tongue came along. I loved it.” You reassure him, “I just - I want to feel connected to you.” You explain, hoping he understands that this is more than just sex. You want to feel him in your bones, in your soul.

Frankie smiles, relieved that you had cum. He had sworn you had, but he had also been high. “I get it.” He promises you, reluctantly pulling his hand out of your panties and starting to drag them down. “I want to be connected to you too.” He smirks slightly, feeling confident that it will be amazing. Everything with you is amazing.

You smile and caress his cheek with your free hand and you reach down to shove his boxers down his legs. He is throbbing and you want him to feel loved, to feel cherished. You sink down onto your knees, looking up at him. “I love you.” You declare and lean in to wrap your lips around his cock after gripping him. You want to make him feel good, feel cherished.

“Oh fuck.” Frankie chokes out the sound and tries not to buck his hips forward. Chasing the sweet heat of your mouth and the way you softly suckle him. “So good baby. Fuck, baby.” He coos softly, reaching down and stroking your cheek. You look so fucking pretty with his cock in your mouth. “I love you so goddamn much.” He promises, knowing that you don’t pity him for what happened.

You moan around his cock, loving how he is caressing your cheek and praising you. You love how comfortable he is, no longer ashamed of himself after months of therapy. You pull off of his cock, jerking him with your hand, "I love you. You want to cum down my throat or inside of me?" You ask, wanting him to choose.

“Inside.” He croaks out, pulsing in your hand at the thought. “I want to be inside you, so deep I don’t know where I stop and you start.”

You let go of him and shift to stand up, leaning in to kiss him. "How do you want me?" You ask and he murmurs against your lips, "on your back." You nod, shifting to lay down on his bed, naked and aching for him.

Frankie takes his time, standing up and slowly stripping. Watching as you lay down on the bed and spreading your legs to show him your dripping cunt. “So fucking gorgeous and all mine.” He groans, unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down to expose his pre-cum stained boxer briefs.

You moan, “all yours baby.” You shift onto your elbows so you can watch him strip off, his pants kicked aside and his fingers wrap around his cock to slowly pump himself. “I’m yours. Always have been. Since we met.” You promise, chest heaving as he kneels on the bed.

“I wish I had Ava with you.” He admits as he shuffles closer. “You are perfect, great with her too, not just me.” He slides a hand along your thigh. “I used to dream of us being a family.”

You look up at him, “we can have a baby together if you want. Give her a sibling. Not now. But when we are ready.” You tell him.

“Yeah?” He groans quietly, imagining how good you would look round with his baby. “I want that. One day when we’re ready.” He slowly strokes his cock again before moving into position between your thighs.

You inhale deeply, eyes focused on him, and when he notches himself at your entrance, shifting onto his elbows, and you reach up to caress his chest as he starts to push inside of you. “I love you, Francisco.” You murmur softly, looking at him with adoration as he pushes inside of you.

It’s slow. Healing almost, as he closes his eyes. Head pressing against your forehead as he lowers himself on top of you and slides his arms under your back. “I love you, baby.” He promises breathlessly. “So much. You’re my everything.”

You whimper as he pushes into you. “Everything.” You echo, knowing it’s always been true. You caress his back as he pushes deep inside of you and you feel full and complete. Taking a moment to catch your breath, you look at him to take in the moment.

Frankie groans your name when he bottoms out, feeling like he’s home deep inside you. The look of adoration in your eyes makes him want to cry and he knows that Darcy never looked at him that way, not even in the beginning. He leans in and presses his lips to yours, twitching when he does.

You caress every inch of skin you can reach, loving how he feels inside of you, and you kiss him tenderly, unrushed. You want this to last forever. You murmur his name against his lips and he starts to move inside of you, making you gasp.

It’s overwhelming. Every time he rocks his hips he feels like he’s in Heaven. Holding you tight and groaning your name as he kisses you over and over again.

You pant into his mouth, heart pounding and skin on fire as rocks into you. It’s sweet and unhurried and takes your breath away. “Fuck, Frankie. This is better than last time.” You confess as he kisses down your neck.

It is better than the last time. Both of you are sober and there’s no lingering guilt because of Darcy. Nothing but the two of you and the pleasure that your love can bring to each other. “I know.” He rasps out. “Never want it to end.”

“Me neither.” You gasp as he rocks into you and you lift your hip, changing the angle, and it makes your breath hitch as he hits something incredible inside of you. “Shit. There, Frankie.” You pant and he nods, brow furrowing as he rocks into you, focusing on that spot. “Oh God.” You cry softly, “oh shit. That’s - oh I’m gonna-” You whine, clamping down on his cock seconds later.

Stealing his breath, Frankie watches as you come apart under him. Barely able to move as you hold his cock in your spasming walls, he grits his teeth as he tries not to cum. Wanting to make it last a little longer. Although he knows he’s going to wrap himself around you all night rather than slink off in shame.

Your eyes are clenched shut as the pleasure surges through you, making your toes curl, and you know you could never live a day without Frankie. You need him now like you need oxygen. “Fuck baby. I- oh God.” You pant, walls relaxing after you soaked his cock with your cum.

“That’s it, fuck you’re so pretty when you cum.” He praises breathlessly, kissing down your jaw. “Love you so much, need you. Want you forever.” He can’t imagine anything else but you.

His words make your heart pound in your chest and your entire body is responding to him. “I need you. Forever, Francisco. I’ve always been yours. I belong to you.” You promise him with a sigh.

He groans quietly as he starts to move again. Knowing that he will cum soon, he slides a hand between you to rub your clit. “Yours baby, I’m yours.” With Darcy, it had been forced, but with you it’s completely honest. “Want you to cum again, baby.”

You whine softly, overstimulated but he pushes you over into pleasure again and you tangle your fingers in his hair to drag his lips back to yours. You wrap your legs around his hips, pushing him deeper and trapping his hand between you. You whimper into his mouth, getting closer until you fall over the edge again, clamping down on his cock.

This time, Frankie is right there with you. Choking out your name as he pushes deep, wanting to be just as buried as he can manage to be when he starts flooding your womb with his hot seed. Panting with every spurt until he’s collapsing on top of you and pressing his lips to your neck.

You caress his back, eyes closed as you realize he’s safe and you’re together. Everything you ever dreamed to come true is now true and you’ll spend the rest of your life protecting him, loving him. He’s still healing but soon, you want to be his wife, the mother of his children, and spend the rest of your days by his side. It’s a bright future with Frankie, something he never imagined possible: a future with you, him, and your children.

#pedro pascal #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales x f!reader #catfish x reader #catfish x you #catfish x f!reader #triple frontier #tw abuse #tw domestic abuse

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assortedseaglass · 5 months ago

Text

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Twenty Four

Tom Bennett x OFC

[Previous | Masterlist]

Warnings (this chapter in bold): Strong Language, Angst, Smut, Violence, Depictions of War, Mentions of Death, Depictions of PTSD, Injury Detail, Era typical Sexism, Era typical Homophobia, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of Domestic Abuse (very brief), Depictions of Reproductive Health, Suicidal Thoughts, World on Fire Spoilers.

Words: 5.9K

Notes: Have I been writing this since May and avoiding it? Maybe. Thanks to those who've stuck with me, 2024 has been tough and it means so much.

This chapter contains depictions of reproductive health, including miscarriage and post-natal depression, and allusions to suicide that are mentioned in the canon. Please read with care.

And @arcielee? Robina's in this one...

The crying had stopped.

Bess checked the watch attached to her apron. Ten thirty. By midnight she’d be back at the flat, listening to the wireless in bed with Tom. For now, she listened.

The ward was quiet. Long after the groans of pain and bawdy jokes died, it was always the quiet sobs of war-shattered men that remained. Now, the green-tiled halls of the infirmary were silent but for the clack of heels in a distant corridor and the soft snores of the patients around her.

She was stationed at the bedside of a soldier from St Helen’s. He was 22, the same age as Albie, were he alive. That might have been the reason she was sat beside him at the late hour. Bess could have been folding linens for the next rotation, or having a cup of hot cocoa and a cigarette with Helen and Joan while gossiping about the matron or the boarding mistress. But no, she was sat in the silent ward, the coppery smell of blood and stringent antiseptic filling her nostrils as she fixed the edge of the poor soldier’s handkerchief.

She’d washed the bloodstains out as best she could, and darned the hole that the bullet went through, but it was a tatty old thing. Still, the moment the soldier heard she could sew, he insisted that Bess fix it.

In the low light of the paraffin lamp, Bess tied off her thread and admired her handiwork. Good as new. Sort of. She ran her hands of the darning and along the hem, checking her needlework, then traced the red initials embroidered in one corner. F.E.

“Florence,” his soft voice didn’t make Bess jump. With the city being bombed all around them it would take more to make any Mancunian jump these days.

Bess looked up from the cotton to the man’s face. He was gazing at the letters she traced. “She your sweetheart?” She placed the handkerchief in his lap, and he too ran a finger over the initials.

“Yeah,” he said bashfully. “Went to school together. Only got the courage to ask her when I got my papers.” Bess thought of her and Tom, the boyish looks he used to give her in the school corridor when he thought no-one was watching. “What about you, miss? Got a sweetheart?”

Bess smiled wryly. “I do, though I wouldn’t call him a sweetheart. More of a heartbreaker.”

“Jack the lad, is he?”

“Ay,” Bess inadvertently touched her apron pocket. The pocket wherein a photograph of Tom lay. “But he’s a good man, deep down.”

The solider smiled and the two sat in silence for a while. When Bess checked her watch and saw her shift was ending, she stood and beckoned the soldier lean forward so that she may lay down his pillows.

“Get some rest, now. Sleep’s the best healer.”

“If I get home,” the soldier spoke as though he hadn’t heard her. “I’m gonna ask her to marry me. I’ll not be sent back like this.” He gestured to the sling that wrapped about the remainder of his arm.

“When you get home.” Bess corrected him. He smiled and settled in his cot as Bess turned down the lamp and wished him goodnight.

Were it the old days, before the war, the clock on the infirmary tower would have chimed eleven. Now, the outside world was muffled by the dark blackouts. It could have been dawn, for all she knew.

Bess walked the lonely corridors, only occasionally passing a fellow nurse or doctor; taking odd hours at the factory meant that very few others worked the same hours at the hospital as she and, knowing that she wouldn’t likely see them for the next few days, Bess made her way towards the nurse’s lounge, and Helen and Joan.

Joan, constantly at loggerheads with Sister Stern, asked for a rotation on the convalescence ward two weeks ago. Now she spent her time welcoming soldiers to the hospital and treating them as soon as they came through the infirmary doors. With her dark hair always neatly set and lips rouged, the soldiers loved her. She looked like one of the girls from their cigarette cards. Helen, on the other hand, was now working on what remained of the labour ward. The oldest of nine siblings, Sister Stern saw her expertise fit best with the soon-to-be mothers. The ward had decreased drastically since the war began, its east wing turned into a ward for the returning wounded, but they still had their fare share of pregnancies. It seemed to come in bouts. Bess, Helen and Joan liked to guess which boat the lady’s husbands belonged to. Tracing back nine months, the three nurses could pinpoint the exact ship that had fathered the entire labour unit.

When Bess found Helen, she was sat by the cot of a small babe, knitting some blue socks.

“He was a little early, poor dear,” Helen said, looking at the small baby. “Told his mam I’d make him some woollens. So tiny, it’ll only take me the best part of an hour to make a whole set.” She held up the little mittens she’d already completed and Bess smiled.

“I’m off,” she whispered. “Got time to see Joan?”

“Always,” Helen placed her knitting in her apron pocket and indicated to another nurse that she was leaving. Looping her arm through Bess’ and leading her from the ward, she whispered slyly in her ear; “Joan’s got a Yank in her wing. Gorgeous, he is. Wouldn’t mind a quick peak, you know, for morale.”

The convalescence wing was quiet when they arrived, just like the rest of the hospital. A doctor was moving between the beds, checking the notes of each patient and speaking to a matron and nurse. It was when he moved out of the way that Bess saw it was Joan and Sister Stern. When Helen caught Joan’s eye, she rolled them and excused herself from the others.

“Moved wards to get away from the old bat, and she’s been put on the same rotation.” All three girls looked at the matron. She was looking at the young doctor with disdain, her hooked nose raised as if avoiding a bad smell.

“Bess is off and I’m almost finished,” Helen said. “Where’s the Yank?”

Joan tutted. “Robert,” she corrected. “He’s by the window-” Helen rushed over before Joan could finish. Bess giggled as Joan rolled her eyes once more, and the pair followed quietly behind their friend. She was gazing down at the sleeping man, fiddling with the knitted socks in her pocket.

“See? Isn’t he beautiful?” Helen whispered to Bess. She looked down at him, and supposed beautiful was the right word. A curl of brown hair fell across his brow, his thick eyelashes fluttering slightly in his sleep. His mouth moved too, dark pink lips pouting as he set his broad jaw.

“He’s been having a nightmares,” Joan whispered. “They all have.” The three girls were silent a while, watching the man sadly. “Now come way, stop being a creep.”

“I wonder if he has a sweetheart?” Helen said hopefully.

“A man like that is sure to have hundreds,” Joan nudged her light-heartedly. Helen took the socks from her pocket and gazed at them.

“And if he doesn’t,” Bess teased. “You can knit some baby clothes of your ow-”

She stopped with a gasp.

Pain, unlike any she had known, ripped through her stomach like lightning. Doubled over, Bess cried out, hurriedly stifling the sound with her mouth. The American stirred in his bed as she sank to her knees, gripping the metal bedframe. Joan was beside her in an instant.

“Bess?”

“What is it, Bess?”

She couldn’t speak. Someone had taken a hot poker and twisted it through her. Over and over, the searing pain exploded. White lights burst in front of Bess’ eyes and she screwed them shut.

“What on earth is going on here?” Sister Stern hissed, storming across the ward to where Helen and Joan were crouched on the ground. She looked down at Bess struggling on the floor, her hands clutching digging into her stomach. Bess was a good girl, quiet and stoic. If something reduced her to writhing like a wounded beast, it was serious.

“Girls, fetch a bed.” Stern ordered, and Joan and Helen hurried away. “Doctor,” the young man approached. “She needs to be seen at once.”

Bess curled onto her side, knees pulled up to her chest and reached out for Sister Stern. “I can’t see,” she whispered weakly, staring ahead, wide-eyed. The pain was blinding, creeping up her back and turning her spine rigid. Sister Stern watched with horror as the uniform by Bess’ bottom turned dark. Scooping her into her arms, the matron attempted to right Bess, but it was as if a film had jammed in the reel. She wouldn’t move. “I can’t,” Bess said again.

“Yes you can,” Sister Stern said firmly. It was at this moment that Joan and Helen burst through the doors with an empty trolley. Soldiers were beginning to wake at the commotion, nurses bustling about trying to settle them back into bed. With great effort, Joan, Helen, Sister Stern and the doctor dragged Bess onto the trolley and raced from the ward.

Everything stilled. The soldiers went back to sleep. Beyond the ward doors, the squeak of the trolley and Bess’ faint groans faded in the corridor. The nurses retreated. One made her way towards the American soldier’s bed with a mop and began clearing the small puddle of blood that remained on the green-tiled floor.

It was the kind of morning Tom loved as a child. The kind of day when his parents would send him out the front door with a spam sandwich wrapped in brown paper, an apple in his pocket and the promise that he would be back by teatime. A light wind futtered through the yew tree and somewhere, Tom could hear the scrape, scrape, scrape of Father Michael’s rake. It couldn’t be more starkly different to the day before.

He'd left Bess in bed the previous morning and gone to the victualling office to collect his papers smelling of tobacco and sex. After their argument about Queenie, his display at the dance and everything in between, Tom had been determined to put into practice Lois’ advice: “actions, not words.”

His lack of sleep that night had not been due to nightmares, or the threat of torpedoes. It was the sound of Bess’ rapturous moans and mewling that had kept him awake. Once he’d dragged himself down the length of her body and seen the slick of anticipation between her plush legs, not even Hitler himself could have torn him away.

Stubborn, arrogant and never one to do anything by halves, Tom didn’t stop until Bess was a quivering mess beneath him. He’d lapped at her sex, feasting on her swollen lips until she shook. Worked his fingers within her deftly and attentively until she pushed him away. He’d taken her on the bed, watching from below as he forced her hips down onto him with violent abandon. Tom even took her in the kitchen, legs braced against the counter as he brought hers about his shoulders. When at last he released her, watching the way he spilled out of her as she slumped against the bedroom floor, he’d lit a cigarette, picked her up by the waist in a one-armed lift and deposited her on the bed. He could see the lust light in her eyes once more as she looked at him stood before her; naked, cock still stood proud, cigarette dangling roguishly from his lips.

“You want more, my girl?” he flashed her a wicked smile and watched as she swooned.

“Yes,” Bess laughed breathily. “But I think I’ll break.”

Tom all but skipped towards the port master when he arrived at the dockyard. If there was a ship ready for him to board, and his luck finally ran out, it would be with images of Bess fucking him that saw him into whatever world awaited beyond the war.

A day later, having not seen Bess since he left her in bed, Tom was hunched in front of his mother’s grave, placing the remaining belongings of his father to rest. Something stirred behind him. The turning of wheels on the gravel and sad sniffle gave away who it was. Lois. Vera in the pram.

Tom sighed. In his hands, he held a picture frame. Through the shattered glass, his father looked back up at him. His eyes, so like his own. His quiet sadness, so like Lois’. Tenderly, Tom wrapped the photograph with his father’s glasses, pocket watch and wedding ring within a handkerchief. The sight of the wedding ring made a lump form in his throat and he swallowed thickly.

“Next leave I get,” he began, knowing Lois was listening behind him. “We’ll get a stonemason to put dad’s name under mum’s.” He waited for his sister to speak, but she said nothing. “‘Marie Bennett and Douglas Bennet’. Second billing.”

“‘S’what he would have wanted,” Lois said at last and he smiled sadly.

Tom placed his last offering, a bottle of sherry, next to the grave alongside the flowers left for their mother and the bundle of broken belongings. “They you are dad. Happy now? Pacifist proves his point by getting killed by Hitler. Beauty.” He kissed his teeth sarcastically and stood, wiping dirt from the knees of his uniform. Lois watched him but still she barely moved. The bandage from her adventures with ambulances was still wrapped about her head, and still, Tom tried not to laugh at it.

“I’ve got to go,” Lois said, looking at neither him nor her daughter.

“Me too. Got a date with a battleship,” Tom shouldered his kit bag wearily. “Bess is meeting me at the dock-”

“I mean I’ve got to get away. From here,” Lois shuffled on her feet agitatedly and Tom looked down at her.

“You- you can’t do that, Lois.” Panic was creeping up his spine. Like Bess when he arrived home, and Douglas when he left, Lois’s prematurely aged face wore a look of despondence. “You’re all I’ve got. We’re all we’ve got now-” Tom’s voice trembled and at once his fierce older sister returned.

“That’s not true,” she continued quickly before he could interrupt. “You’ve got Bess, the rest of the Vaughns. Vera, Jan-”

“You know what I mean, Lois.” Tom said hotly. You’re the only family I’ve got. What if I come back and you’re gone too. Who will I be without you?

“I wanted to die in that house.” The bluntness with which she said these words stopped Tom dead. He stared at her and sensing his fear, Lois carried on. “When it started coming down, I didn’t run. I waited. I just wanted it to kill me.”

As his sister spoke, Tom looked back at his parents’ graves. What if he came back needing to bury Lois too? He’d have to carve the names into the stone himself.

“I need to get out of Longsight, Tom. Just like you.” And with that, she flung her arms around his shoulders, whispered that she would write to Bess in the case she needed to relay any messages, and marched the pram from the graveyard.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Mrs Chase,” Bess hurried through the large door of the country house, shedding her raincoat and umbrella.

Robina eyed her appraisingly. “Not on your bike today, Ms Vaughn?” She watched as Bess tidied her frizzy hair and, deciding Bess’ appearance would do, trotted towards the drawing room.

Bess hurried after her, tailoring kit tucked under one arm. “Not today.” She pulled self-consciously at her wide slacks and followed Mrs Chase into the cosy room. In truth, she was still store from the previous night and could have done with the day off but, having skipped her morning shift at the factory and needing the money, Bess had raced to Mrs Chase’s house with Kasia’s freshly made trousers and an old coat of Albie’s for Jan.

The overhead lights of the hospital blurred into one. Someone was talking frantically, issuing orders to somebody she couldn’t see. A faint squeak echoed off the tiled walls. In between fevered consciousness, Bess recognised the sound as the wheels of the hospital trolleys.

Without knowing she had done so, Bess found herself already kneeling on the carpeted floor, eye level with Kasia’s feet as she took her place on the platform. Somewhere between arriving and setting up, she must have given Kasia the slacks she promised to make her, for here she was looking down expectantly, waiting for Bess to check them.

Bess coughed awkwardly. “Sorry, Kasia,” Her voice trailed away, and she set about measuring the trouser legs and assessing their fit.

Mrs Chase’s shouting to Jan somewhere in the house did just enough to keep memories of last night at bay, but when Kasia’s hand stroked Bess’ hair and she whispered “Your mind is somewhere else,” Bess was transported to a sterile room, the smell of bleach and turpentine stinging her nose.

Helen’s beautiful face looked down on her and stroked her forehead. Her blonde hair was illuminated by the ceiling lights, and for a moment Bess thought she had died and was being greeted by an angel.

A cold hand grasping her shin told her this was real. It moved to spread her legs and the cold pinch of metal shot through the soles of her feet. Looking down, Bess saw the worried face of Joan putting her feet into stirrups.

“Long shift,” Bess replied, not looking up. Instead, she focused on the movement of her tape measure along Kasia’s thigh. “How do they feel?”

From behind them, Mrs Chase clucked like a fussing hen, but the girls ignored her. “Good,” Kasia said, admiring herself in the mirror. “Comfortable.”

Mrs Chase huffed again. “Trousers,” she muttered with indignation as she left the drawing room, the heels of her Mary Janes carrying through the house as she went to find Jan.

Bess knew it was Sister Stern before she spoke; her hard gait gave her away as she walked across the tiles.

“Miss Bates, has Miss Vaughn been ill at all today?” From the little Bess could make out over the throbbing pain in her abdomen, the matron was making her away around the room gathering equipment.

“No, sister,” Helen’s voice shook a little, and again Bess tried to glance down. Helen caressed her face once more and turned Bess’ face back to her own.

“Helen?”

“It’s ok.” She stroked Bess’ hair soothingly. “Looks worse than it is-” Bess felt the room spin. If it weren’t for Helen remaining in one place, she’d have thought someone had knocked into the trolley she was on. “-Stern and Joan are tidying you up, then all you’ll need is a bit of rest.”

“‘Miss’?”

The voice was male. The doctor who had been doing rounds with Joan. Only he wasn’t addressing her, but one of the others.

“That’s right,” Joan’s voice was defiant when she replied, and Bess felt her gently stroke her calf as a soothing warmth spread across her thigh. A warm towel, in held in Joan’s other hand, was attending to whatever Helen had said needed ‘tidying up’.

“I take it, then, she isn’t married?” The doctor, again.

Silence.

Turning her head to one side, Bess caught the doctor and Sister Stern exchanging a glance. While the man’s face was turned away from her, Sister Stern’s was visible over his shoulder. Almost imperceptibly, the matron glared at the doctor, who sighed deeply and straddled a small stool at the foot of the trolley.

“Now then, Miss Vaughn,” he said, adopting a sombre bedside manner. “I’m just going to have a look at you now the bleeding has subsided.” Bess tried to sit up, a flush of terror rising to the top of her cheeks, but Helen held her shoulders. “Tell me, when was your last monthly?”

“What’s the matter, really?” Kasia whispered.

Bess looked up at her lovely face, blonde hair glowing in the afternoon light. An angel, just like Helen had been. Kasia had already been through so much, little did she need a burden of Bess’.

“Nothing, really,” Bess smiled as she copied Kasia. “I’m just tired.”

Kasia hopped off the tailor’s podium, watching astutely as Bess tidied away. She hummed in a devil-may-care sort of way. “So, this is to be our first secret.” It was a statement, not a question, and Bess felt a pang of guilt. Exhaustion flooded through her and, as if working in cahoots with gravity, caused her to slump forward where she stood.

“I will tell you, Kasia. I promise.” She sighed. “Just not now.”

There was silence a few moments, but for the tick of the grandfather clock, and Mrs Chase and Jan somewhere in the house. Then, Kasia took a few steps forward and wrapped her arms around Bess’ shoulders. “Ok,” was all she said.

She could feel Kasia’s heart beating against her back and she closed her eyes. A swell of emotion rose up in her and she swayed a little. When was the last time someone offered her this much of themselves, without expecting anything in return? As the war continued, Cora and Dot had begun their work for the war effort. On the occasion Bess saw them now, they were too busy, too tired and too terrified to focus all their love on their sister. Albie was gone, and while Fergal remained, his mind was far away with his son, or else imagining evenings in the pub with Douglas, Marie and Etta.

Then there was Tom. Each time he returned from the war, Bess could see that another piece of him had chipped away, left behind somewhere on the battlelines. And each time he returned from war, his Mancunian home shrank. First his best friend, then his father and his childhood home. As war changed him from a reckless boy to a tenacious young man, he grew beyond the small world they shared together. And with the events of last night, it was only a matter of time before he left Bess behind too.

“You have, I suspect, what we call a sepate uterus-”

It was just the doctor now. Joan and Helen had long since gone home, swearing to Bess that they’d feed and care for her once she too made it back to Carver Mills boarding house. Sister Stern, seeing that Bess’ pain had subsided, resumed her rounds on the ward.

“Of course, we’ll need to double check. Are you on shift tomorrow?”

“Yes, sir,”

“Pop in for an x-ray before you begin. We’ve only the one machine now but I’m sure we can get you in. At that time of night we won’t need it, not unless another raid begins.” He spoke so matter of factly that Bess found it hard to concentrate. He could just as well have been reading his shopping lost.

She hastily wiped a tear from her eyes and turned to face Kasia. “I’m glad you’re happy with the slacks,” she said through a forced smile.

“How much do you charge?”

Bess shook her head. “I offered, I insist.” Kasia open her mouth to protest, but just as she did, Mrs Chase appeared in the doorway.

“All done girls?” Before either could reply, she continued. “Perhaps you could make Kasia a nice tea dress next time? Speaking of tea-” Mrs Chase said, grabbing Jan by the arm as he ran past. He waved at Bess and she winked, mouthing “it suits you,” at seeing him in Albie’s old coat.

“-are you staying for supper, Bess? Lois will be over with the baby in a little while.”

“Erm,” Bess floundered. Robina raised her eyebrows in expectation. The baby. “No, I’m, er, I’m actually back on shift this evening so I need to be getting back.” She coughed awkwardly. “Thank you, though.” Without another word, she packed away her things and hurried from the room, promising to visit Kasia again soon and ruffling Jan’s hair on her way out.

Reaching the hallway, she made to place her tailor’s stand in the large basket she carried but stopped at seeing a small envelope tucked in its handle. Upon opening it, Bess found a cheque for fifty pounds, written in elegant writing and signed Mrs. R Chase.

The station lights were just coming on when Bess arrived. A cold mizzle had descended on the city and, caught in the light of the station lamps, it glowed like lustrous confetti against the blue October night.

It was just as busy as it would have been before the war. Only now, the families heading for trips to the beach and the young couples adventuring to London for a long weekend were replaced by small groups of soldiers and sailors, or else labourers carting supplies between wagons.

Bess weaved across the platforms, peering over heads and between luggage. She’d raced from Robina’s, only just managing to catch the last bus from the small town she lived in. Had it been Douglas, he’d have told the driver to stop, or held his hand out for assistance as she jumped onto the back of the moving vehicle. A constant presence in her life as a child and woman, a surrogate father when Fergal was deep in his grief or drink, Bess could just imagine Douglas’ hand reaching out for her. The callouses from his work on the buses, or paper cuts from his rounds handing out his pacifist papers. Were they like Tom’s? She’d never noticed.

As though called to her, as if he’d heard his name on her mind, a loud guffaw sounded from somewhere along the platform. A call to his whereabouts. Tom and a few sailors Bess didn’t know were stood beside the engine, sharing a cigarette with the driver. Sensing someone approach, Tom turned his head ever so slightly to his right, the muscles of his long neck stretching.

Bess swallowed. The boatneck of his uniform so elegantly accentuated the column of pale skin and muscle, and Bess remembered all the nights she ran her tongue and teeth there. The moans the action elicited from him…

Watching her eyes falter, Tom raked his own over her. The sway of her hips, the tight fabric of her slacks across her hips. The way drops of mist adorned her frizzy hair, like pearls. The way her eyes were still rapt by him, lip tucked between her teeth, walk faltering as she admired him.

Without a word to his friends he made his way toward her, eyes never leaving hers. Bess blushed as he sauntered through the meandering crowd, glancing away when his eyes continued boring into hers.

“Stop,” Bess whispered when he came to a stop scandalously close to her. Tom reached out to her, tucking one hand beneath her coat and caressing her side.

“I missed you last night,” he whispered into the shell of her ear. “Stopped by the flat.” His voice was low, breath warm as it fanned her hair.

Bess shuddered.

“Here,” Without looking at her, the doctor kicked the cabinet drawer closed and handed Bess two pamphlets. ‘The Dangers of Sex in Wartime’ and ‘Modern Methods of Birth Control’.

“Night shift.” She replied simply.

Tom looked down his nose at her and huffed. “Have to get myself into some mischief. Come home with a broken arm, cracked rib or something. Nothing serious, like, but can’t have any old Tommy that wanders into the infirmary spending more time with you than I do.” He gripped Bess’ coat lapels and pulled her flush against his chest.

“Stupid boy,” she whispered. “Besides, you’re the only Tommy for me.”

He kissed her head. “I should hope so. You heard these rumours about the Yanks coming over?”

“There’s already one in the hospital-”

“Walter Watson was down the pub saying they’ve sent people over, covert, to suss the situation out. Says Sarah Wallace next door to him was down the church on Sunday for a quick ‘I do,’ with one of them. There’ll be a baby by summer.”

Bess scoffed. “He’s just jealous it wasn’t him getting his end in,”

Tom guffawed again and a few passersby looked at the pair of them pressed together on the platform. “As long as you don’t go getting ideas, Miss Vaughn.” He smirked. “I’ve heard you like a man in uniform.”

“While we can’t be absolutely certain that it was the cause, I can say with little doubt that this kind of,” the doctor looked at the ceiling as if the words he needed were up there. “-congenital abnormality is the likeliest reason for the miscarriage.”

The closeness of Tom was suffocating. The scent of his cologne and stale Marlboro smoke. The standard issue detergent clinging to his newly pressed uniform. The thumb stroking the side of her hip felt like sandpaper through her blouse, his hand a hot and heavy weight against her waist. Bess took a sudden step back and Tom’s hand paused comically in mid-air where she had been, frozen like a wind-up doll.

He watched her a moment, brow furrowed and lips pursed. Ever since their argument on the beach, he’d been wary of upsetting her. Startling her. Just like her permanent state as a young girl, Bess was unsettled. Tom took a cigarette from his pocket, the click of his lighter the only sound passing between them.

Between puffs and clouds of smoke he stared at her, a strange look overcoming his handsome face. She fidgeted in front of him, eyes never holding his own. Rather, they flitted across his form, across the train station, meeting only occasionally to blush and look away.

“Did you see Lois and the baby at Mrs Chase��s?” He tried to coax her out of her shell with small talk. Something neither of them had ever been good at. It had the reverse effect. Her eyes blew wide and she shuffled uncomfortably.

“Miss Vaughn, I must tell you. If the x-ray confirms my suspicions, you should prepare yourself for the possibility that your future may not hold hope for children-”

“Bess?” He laughed, a quick flash of his boyish grin disguising his nerves. “Did you see Lois and the baby?”

“No,” Bess took out her own cigarettes and fumbled with her matches. “No, left before they arrived. Damn,” the match slipped from her fingers and went out under a raindrop.

“Here,” Tom stepped forward and clicked his lighter.

“Thanks,”

Tom made to grab her coat again only this time, rather than bring her near, he placed the lighter in her pocket. “Keep it.”

She looked up at him then. His grey eyes soft, brows pinched at the centre with worry. Altogether world-weary. The urge to pull him close, stroke his hair and keep him safe overwhelmed her. Gripping the navy cotton of his uniformed shoulders, Bess leant up and pressed a hard kiss to his cheek. She had never been good with words, famously so, but perhaps this one kiss would convey all the fear and all the love she had for him.

Warmth swelled in her chest when he winked at her, gripping her waist and steering her towards the train. Men were boarding, porters closing the carriage doors as steam billowed around them.

“Keep an eye on Lois for me, won’t you?” Tom said over the puff of the engine as it was stoked into life.

“Lois? She’s can take care of hers-”

“And Vera. She’s not well. Lois, I mean.” Tom added when Bess’ face turned white with alarm. “Everyone always said that Lois and I were more like mam than dad. But since-” the sentence petered out. He shook his head and carried on. “I don’t think that’s true. Now he’s gone, I see how similar we all were. And Lois pretends she’s tough. Is tough, like dad. But it comes from somewhere deeper.” He signalled to the area around his heart. Bess fought not to smile as she watched Tom grapple with words to express his feelings. Who’d have thought it all those years ago? Tom Bennett, emotionally perceptive.

“My problems I’ve brought on myself, or had them thrust on me. But dad and Lois,” he came to a stop and looked down at Bess. “And you, were born with it. This sadness. Weren’t you.”

She didn’t’ move nor speak. She didn’t need to.

“Just keep an eye out.”

“Yes, sailor.” She whispered.

A whistle blew on the station, and Bess’ stomach fell to that place between her naval and knee that it always seemed to live when Tom was away. He hauled his kit bag onto the train and jumped elegantly off the platform and into the carriage. Pulling down the sash window of the compartment door, Tom leant out with his arms outstretched. With the help of a railway porter, Bess stood on the carriage step and felt herself lifted up by Tom’s arms.

With one quick glance into her dark eyes, Tom held her by the neck and kissed her. “Write to me,” he said against her lips.

“I will if you do first.” Bess said back, planting fervent kisses to any part of his face she could reach. Slowly, the train began to leave and she felt herself carried along on the step. Somewhere behind her, the station guard began to shout. They pair feigned ignorance, shrouded by engine steam.

Cigarettes, childhood, cologne, gun smoke and engine oil. Birthday cakes, piano keys, ale, and first love. Everything Tom Bennett tasted of Bess committed to memory as he slipped from her arms and the train sped from the station.

Tom’s face became a blur on the horizon and, as he dipped back inside the carriage window, Bess whispered a prayer to the sky, to a God she wasn’t sure she believed in anymore. “Keep him safe. Please.”

Notes: We will be with Tom for the WHOLE of the next chapter, and a lot of the one after that! Plus! The letters will be back 😊

Wildly, those are real pamphlets on women’s sexual health from the late 30s and 40s.

Been listening to this paylist while I write, and it really helps get me in the mindset. It’s 40s music interspersed with radio broadcasts of the time. You could really be listening to the wireless in front of the fire at the Vaughns’ house.

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @heimtathurs @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @allthefandomtherapy @reblogedworks @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @adragonprinceswhore @notasockpuppetaccount @houseofdupree @marysucks-blog @chattylurker @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @nolongereviliwantlove @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring @fangirlninja67 @evita-shelby @cherievictoria @schmexie @blairfox04 @theoneeyedprince @targaryenrealnessdarling @cherievictore @helaenaluvr @cyeco13

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #tom bennett x oc #tom bennett x reader #world on fire #ewan mitchell x reader #assortedseaglass #the seamstress & the sailor

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darkdemeter · 8 months ago

Text

☾ phases collection issue #3 WORST FUR WEATHER

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x GN/Female/Male Werewolf!Reader SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI — MxF version pairing — FxF version pairing — unprotected sex — P in V sex — profanity — pet names "Lamb", "Sweetheart", "Hon", "Baby", etc — (male) reader receiving — slight possessive reader — Hydra agent! reader — enemies/lovers — I think that's it? ✎ 4.6k Wanda is sent on a mission to recover data about Hydra's next big operation. However, she'll meet the guard dog of the information she needs. Lucky for her, red happens to be a very eye-catching colour, and for the price of indulgence, you let her have her data.

✎ ↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS

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III. Never seek to engage the attention of a wolf, be it in the calm amidst its frenzy or the horrors of its territorial obsession. For the lamb is incapable of warding off a hungry beast bound by its insatiable hunger and lust for violence. And wearing a tolling bell around one’s neck only attracts the monster.

Funny, how a golden bell is now adapted into a short, red dress.

“Alright, Wanda. Just focus on your target, get the data and get out of there.” Natasha sounds urgent now, unlike before. She’d been calm before. Something’s changed in her tone, it’s beset by rising panic.

Wanda can’t help but be drawn into the whirlpool of fear herself. Her eyes dart around the lavish hall, eyeing each of the guests as if any one of them would engage her with a gun to her head or a knife to her gut. In reality, that possibility can very well happen.

“And whatever you do, stay away from—” Natasha’s cut out, the connection severed, a hand encircles around Wanda’s bare wrist.

“Care for a dance, little Lamb?” You spin her to face you. She’s dragged into the iron grip you possess, she’s powerless to the violent glow of amber. You watch her intently like a wolf on the hunt, lured in by the weakened state of your prey. A lone and lost lamb sent into the den of her enemy. A delightful treat.

Wanda stares upwards and right into the pressing stare you share, sharpened canines primed to tear into her, images of what someone - something - like you could do to her in the blink of an eye. And what she hates most of all is how complacent she is in your embrace, and how quickly she shrinks from escape, her bravery discouraged.

You lead her across the floor, entrapped in a dance, pinning her to you with no chance of running from you. Not that she’d get very far. The rhythm is paced stiffly, leaving her to rely on you to take the lead.

You twirl her, grasp firmly on her before you draw her back into you. “Quite the alluring dress. I’ve noticed quite a few eyes on you tonight,” you chuckle, “mine included.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” she answers, voice soft and silken with her accent.

You click your tongue, scoldingly. “It’s wise to always be aware of what’s happening around you, Lamb.” Your tone drifts further into a darker undertone, words alluding to sinister intentions. “Else you will never see the beast that stalks behind.”

“I’ll take that into consideration.” She tries to move, to free herself, but you don’t loosen your hold of her. Your hand remains on the small of her back, lips pulled into a wolfish grin, eyes laced with lustful hunger.

“Why the rush? Scared of me?”

“M-maybe,” she gulps in truth, “as you said, I should be wary of what goes on around me. I know this story very well.”

You cock your head to the side a little, interest peaked by the risen curve of your brow. “Oh? Do regale me.”

“Loved ones advise her to not engage with the wolf. To keep her head and path straight for her Grandmother’s home.”

“Unless she was served to the wolf on a platter,” you interject sharply just as you dip her, her spine curves back into the support of your arm, her green eyes flash with a mixture of intrigue and terror. How the sight of her beneath you arouses you, your core stirring with the familiar tingle of desire.

“But that’s not how the story goes.” She reprimands you behind the daggered end of a glare, eyes scornful in your offset course as you both encircle one another, bodies practically melded together and hands locked and bound to each other.

You spin her again, leading her forward from behind. “The story serves as a cautionary tale only. Many have disregarded the warning labels and found their way off the path. But I myself, as a wolf, don’t waste time about it. I want you, little Lamb, not the gut full of rocks in the end.”

“And I want the data.” She’s upfront about it and you’ll applaud her for that. The amber hue of your eyes strikes a cold, mysterious flame to dwindle in her core and she finds her heart rate quickening.

“And you wouldn’t make it three feet into the office. Not without someone like me getting you there.”

“Why help me?” she huffs with a quizzical, narrowed gaze.

“The better.”

None had so much as batted an eye in the wake of your saunter, Wanda practically glued to your side the entire time, a few of the guards snickering and mumbling to themselves. Wanda tried to strain her ears to overhear their silent glimpses and hidden, murmuring smirks to no avail. Whatever it was, it sure made your chest puff out with pride.

Down the hall, Wanda sees the doors of the office open under the command of your whim, gesturing to her to venture inside the dimly lit room.

Her eyes find yours, gaze bearing the resemblance of her hesitance.

“Well?” you say with a raised brow. Humming softly and affirmatively, she steps a heeled foot and crosses the threshold and immediately, she feels the air shift. No longer haunted by the eerie, warm glow of the hallway, now her skin is caressed by the looming darkness and its shadowy presence that grazes over her shoulder and moves towards the desk.

She follows you and then stops, still caught in the reverie of her disbelief as you tap away at the locked case that opens to reveal a laptop. The encrypted data, kept under strict guard, now rests open for her.

There has to be a catch. Her stare says as much with scrutiny, only you lay your palms flat in surrender.

“The data is all there for you to collect. No tricks, none of that.” Is it wise to believe you? Wanda is caught between a rock and a hard place either way.

To entertain or obey, she steps forward, retrieving from the slip inside her dress between her breasts, she brings to light the usb drive. Your eyes roll between the action and device, whistling lowly to yourself.

Wanda has to ignore the way her skin grows hot and flushed under your eyes that watch her. Bending low, she inserts the drive in and begins to download the data and provides you with a more than satisfying view from behind. You hear her sighing quietly to herself when a red, transparent box indicating an error flashes onto the screen. Of course the security system would be triggered.

“No tricks, huh?” she chastises with a huff only to feel the heated scape of your front bend, stretching over her beck as you lean forward, long arms caging her below you. She watches silently, tongue darting out between her lips as she admires your fingers work nimbly and precisely against the keys, overriding the error and allowing the drive to continue downloading.

“Protection. I’m sure you understand.”

FEMALE

“Looks like that download will take a while,” you remark coolly. Wanda now lacks the pressure of your stature, breasts pushed firmly against her back she is left both disappointed and relieved. Her eyes remain trained on the laptop screen despite the sixth sense that your eyes watch her intently, or rather, the lovely view she provides from behind.

It’s hard to explain to her rational mind but there’s something about you that creeps Wanda with a prickling notion that no matter what, the trail of your gaze never seems to leave her; at least not for long. Your words circle back into her mind. The mention that many eyes had been on her tonight, yours included, she wonders if the wolf has become animalistically smitten with her. Bewitched by her little red dress.

Curious of where exactly you lingered, she turns her sights behind her, following the way you peer down at her, about a foot or so from her, she turns to face you.

“Something you like, Wolf?” She doesn’t grasp the identity of this newfound courage, incapable of finding its unknown source. All she does know is that her question has piqued your interest and engaged your merriment.

“Maybe,” you answer smoothly with a click of your tongue that runs the lap over your teeth. A temptress that you want to devour whole heartedly, to satiate your wolfish appetite.

Hands musing into the slit of your pant pockets, you bask silently at the sight of her, her form arching ever so slightly backwards and resting her weight in her arms. The familiar threading of tightness of your core is enough to alert you to your blooming desire.

You saunter towards her, almost stalking over to her, she watches you as her eyes travel up and down.

“You ever been with another girl before, Sweetheart?”

Biting down into her lip, she shakes her head and her chin dips low, hiding her flustered visage. “You wanna try it?”

A very bold move on your part. You’ve trapped her against the desk, arms caging her on either side she feels her breath become locked in her lungs. A very tempting offer you give her, but one she is unsure about, her lips part to form the words only to fall silent.

“Don’t worry, little Lamb. You’re in very good hands, I promise. Think about it like this: I'm all the better to please you...”

Your lips blaze a flaming trail along her neck and collarbone, each planted seed of lust leaves a shivering breath in its wake. Wanda lets you slip onto your knees and sensing what exactly you’re getting at, she leans further back, practically sitting on the desk as you saddle between her legs. Your teeth nip and graze, lips caressing softly the soft tissue of her inner thighs until her hand strikes out, latching hold of any amount of your hair she can grab.

“Shh,” you usher with a whisper, “fuck, you smell delicious.” Your breath is hot, far too hot, it sears her wanting core, her thong already soaked beyond any reconciliation that it may dry shortly.

Your tongue laps at her through the dark fabric, suckling on it to taste her juices that stain them and you groan deeply, the sound that of a feral animal.

Her hand in your hair grips tighter and tugs at your roots.

She whimpers as you dance your tongue, teasing her folds through her tongue before using the very muscle to push aside the flimsy, damp fabric and trace the moist slit of her clenching pussy. Moaning softly, her hips thrust forward.

The ribbony tug of her core enlightens her, bringing about an airy flow to what she feels, her head leans back and her legs open wider for you, your hands snake around the seam of dress and skin and pull her in that little bit closer.

“M-more! Please, more!” she exhales loudly, breathlessly. You slide your tongue between her folds, massaging her spongy walls that pulse around it, her mewls and voice growing weaker and more feral with each lashing you inflict in her cunt. Clearly, her first time is one she’ll remember. Nuzzling the upper flat of your tongue presses to her clit and soothes it, rolling and dragging, she all but lurches forward slightly at the brink of her orgasm.

“Fuck– fuck! I’m cumming!”

She mutters a thousand more curses that sound like wistful prayers to your ears, hungrily devouring her release with a guttural moan that shakes the foundation of her final resolve. She barely catches herself slipping further back across the desk, the case and laptop at this point a forgotten element.

Pulling your head away - after thoroughly cleaning her slick, satisfied pussy - you stand tall and straight, looming over her like a dark, stormy cloud. The brilliance of her green eyes is shrouded in the darkness of your shadow, but the same hunger for more ever resides presently.

Your hand soon replaces the loss of your mouth and she caves to your will, splayed out for your touch to sate her newfound desire.

“I want more… that was…”

“Exquisite?” you chime with a hum and she nods. No other word can possibly describe it so perfectly. She feels your long, toned fingers rub her up and down, smearing what little juices you left behind and toying with her delicate pearl, arousal buzzes to life at the mere grazing of your thumb.

You’re closer to her now, the scent of your powerful cologne overpowers her senses, drowning her with fulfilling contentment. Hands grappling hold of your arms, she claws her way deeply that you’re quite impressed with the level of strength she possesses.

Slowly, you insert two fingers and curl and she buckles under the pressure. A scream is halfway tearing through her throat but she bites into her lip to keep the volume minimal.

“Going to keep quiet, huh?” you tease and unfurl your fingers before repeating the pattern over and over, each time, going deeper. “Don’t want the guards out there hearing what I’m doing to you?”

She doesn’t answer, unsure if this is a trick question or not, but she can’t find it within herself to further embarrass herself.

You insert a third and watch her watch contort. She whimpers, the sound ringing in your ears like a humming whistle, she rolls her hips in great desperation whilst your thumb firmly circles her clit, feeling the sensitive heat from her core.

“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” The line of your lips caress the structure of her temple, her eyes scrunch closed. Her mouth falls agape.

“W-Wolf…” Her sigh is a breath of fresh air to the clarity of your insane mind. You thrust your fingers harder and faster, the squelch of her cunt and the filthy sounds of her voice fill the room’s void with something beautiful. A harmonic symphony you’re drawn to, committing it to memory for now.

“Yeah, Lamb?”

“I– shit, oh my— I’m gonna…”

You hum in approval and with a few more powerful thrusts, the walls of her cunt shrink around your fingers in a fight to keep you. Letting her ride out her orgasm on your fingers, she moves erratically until she stops, panting heavily and her shoulders shoving down.

“Good, little Lamb,” you praise gently, “Good girl.”

Lips hovering against each other, the gap is sealed with a heated kiss, tongues weaving in post-euphoria passion that can easily set the world ablaze.

Who knew that fucking your enemy could be so thrilling?

“What about you?” she asks, voice still shaken. “The drive is almost done. Let’s just say… you’ll owe me a little something next time.”

“How do you know if we’ll meet again?”

You flash her a cheeky wink. “I have my ways, Lamb.”

MALE

“Looks like that download will take a while,” you remark coolly. Your chest leaves the warmed crest of her back, leaving Wanda unbearably cold and wanting. She almost shivers at the loss of contact. She hears you shuffle back and although she initially tries to ignore the way your eyes linger on her, coasting over the view she’s now conscious of giving you, she freezes.

Her lips part with a silent, suppressed moan at the noise from behind, your groan deep and husky and laced with desire. She dares to take a peek over her shoulder, following the length of her still bent body until her eyes find yours, seeing you seated in one of the mahogany leather chairs opposing the desk.

Clearly, you were enjoying the curve of her arse and the lacy thong that’s now soaked with her arousal. She turns to face you now, arms pressed back and her hands grip the desk’s edge, crossing one ankle over the other, you take in the exposure of her shapely legs before the cut off of the dress that rides across the high of her thighs.

For a moment that carries far too long to not be labelled as eternity, you both just stare at each other in silence, a thick air of tension traces the distance between you both, sharing looks of deep, dark-rooted wanton for the other.

You pat your thigh expectantly, legs spread with the uncaring nature of your growing bulge that’s restrained by the confines of your dress pants. It's a command. Not a request. Directed by the cause of that mystique, she’s drawn to you like a moth to the flame, she saunters towards you with a gentle slander of her heels that rap over the floorboards one at a time.

All the while, you scan her up and down until she stands between your legs.

“My, my, the little Lamb can’t help but be allured by the Wolf,” you chuckle darkly. Biting deep into the plump flesh of her lip, she shakes her head and her chin bows.

“No…”

Despite your invitation, she lowers to her knees, resting back on her legs as her hands run up the length of black fabric and towards your belt. Your throat contorts with an amused hum, brow quirked with analysis to her next move, her eyes searching for your approval; which you give along with a nod.

“What a pretty mouth you have.” You grin, toothy and wide, canines sharp and pronounced. She unbuckles the leather strap and tugs loose the fly of your pants and you groan as she gently palms your erected cock through your boxers.

“The better to take you with.” She blushes deeply, her indulgence inwards to the fantasy you play out together.

Releasing your cock from your boxers, you breathe a sigh of relief, tip oozing with beads of precum and your shaft stiffly standing. Her tongue languidly traces the definition of your cock, up and down as she prolongs her eye contact, moaning softly as her tongue and lips tease your sensitive, bulbous tip. Your hips buck instinctively towards where your pleasure derives from, chasing after that fix aggressively.

You hiss, jaw clenched to the brink that you may very well break it,and Wanda continues to drag her tongue up and down, over you tip again and again, lapping long, slow strips and gathering the beady droplets along the flat of her sinful muscle that works you; hot breath beating down on you. You swear you almost fucking whimper like a maturing juvenile, with little control over your body.

“The Big Bad Wolf,” she whispers and takes the first third of your member, hollowing her cheeks and forcing your length further and further down. She gags and her throat grips tightly, causing you to groan. Your claws bite into the expensive leather with little care for its maintenance. Not when you have the prettiest fucking lamb on her knees before you, sucking your dick.

“Fuck, Baby,” you sigh heavily, “Yeah… yeah, let me see that mouth work.” Your lungs are on fire, heart pounding a thousand beats per minute. Her tongue swirls around you and she moans deeply, whining in resistance when her own mouth tries to work against her, refusing to take anymore of you without a fight.

So you decide you’ll give her a helping hand. A little nudge.

You extend a hand forward and lace your fingers into the locks of her fiery, brown hair, curling well to the roots and scrunch harshly. She winces and her green eyes are glazed with a watery curtain, fresh with hot tears. Showing an ounce of mercy - and that is all you’re capable and willing to give - you start slow in guiding her head up and down, your cock sinking back and forth in her mouth, gags and muffled moans stifled by the cutoff of oxygen.

“F-fuck yeah—” you growl lowly. Your head tilts back for a moment and your hips snap hard, forcing her to take the entirety of your cock down her tight throat with a much louder moan, out of shocking resistance or eager obedience.

“Shit, Lamb… m-mmm…” She’s graduated from needing your hand and it falls lax, letting her pace herself and she continues the rhythm you set prior, her saliva gathers down to the base of your groin and your balls swell with your impending orgasm.

You grin at the thought of her drinking your seedy load, face and chest covered with you. Eyes finding the screen of the laptop, you cannot help the haughty chuckle. It looks like you’ll have more than enough time to fully indulge yourself in your new company.

You further encourage her, voice laced with your evident loss of composure, she knows you near the end of your leash. With a few more thrusts, you sink her head down and your hot load shoots down the tunnel of her throat, she groans in pleasure as she sucks you down, mouth drinking everything you’re giving her.

A poor loss that you wouldn’t get to see her painted with your cum, but with any luck, you’ll get a chance further down the line. Your other hand runs through your hair, rolling it back into its refined form and Wanda pulls off, her lips drenched with a mixture of fluids, the sight marks your face with a darkened smirk.

“C’mon, Red,” you say with a lulling drawl. Her eyes are dazed in the land of pleasured confusion, she takes your hand as if taking the guiding hand of an angel, knowing little of her actual fate. She’s led to straddle you, her core soaking down the front of your vest and your much satisfied cock that stands at attention once again.

“W-we… we shouldn’t…”

“We should.” You peck her lips, tasting yourself on her and you delve your teeth to take your bottom lip between them.

“I’m gonna take you for a little ride.”

One hand stabilises her at her hip, her hands finding purchase on either the curves of your shoulder and in the locks of your hair, threading them to grapple on, your other hand curls the thin fabric of her thong and drags it aside.

Your tip kisses her entrance and she mewls, head bowing into the crook of your neck. How she’d make the perfect little mate for you.

Her hips roll down and forward, her breath a quivering tempo as the sheer size of you between her legs and she gasps, feeling you stretch her walls wide out. For a second she believes you’ve split her in two and her whimpers are buried in the graveyard of your shoulder, nestled there while you sheathe yourself into her cunt, inch by inch until you finally bottom out with a pleased sigh.

‘Fuck, you’re so big…’

‘All the better to fuck you hard.’

Just as you promised, you deliver. Picking up into a more suited pace, you piston in and out, the sound of skin meeting skin, the squelching of your combined juices and fabric rustling against fabric; breaths colliding in each other’s orbit.

Soon enough, she garners her steadiness and bounces her hips, far more eager to ride you to her climax, she moans deeply and curses under her breath, breasts constricted by the tight bust of her dress.

As much as you'd like to rip it off her, you understand she has a mission to complete and you don’t favour anyone’s eyes lingering on her anymore, gauging to see if they have a single chance.

Wanda Maximoff is yours for the taking, and you’ll fuck that notion into her until she understands it.

“I-I’m cum—”

“Give it to me, Baby. Come on– give it to me,” you pant, hissing blissfully. You’re lost in the haze of your lust, like you’re in the middle of a hunt, it excites you greatly and the flow of your blood is poisoned by the hit of your predatory drive.

Her walls squeeze your stiff, pulsing cock, eliciting from you both sounds you’d never imagine possible, almost pornographic, your lips trace the contour of her exposed shoulder and collarbone, the thought to leave a few marks here and there not going unnoticed by your conscience.

Her body arches back and you truly see the magnitude of her beauty, breasts though snug in their place, bounce erratically to the rapid pounding of your cock kissing her cervix, her nails scratch and dig at the seams of your jacket, and you know right then that you want this woman at your side.

You’ll kill all the Avengers if you must, you’ll take down Hydra from the inside if needs be. But you’ll be damned to walk this earth alone or with any other that isn’t her.

“Sh-shit! I’m cumming!” she cries out, voice high and pitchy. Her walls are a vice around you, pulling you in without mercy and giving no intent to make it easy to withdraw, her orgasm hitting you.

“Yeah, yeah– that—” you pause, hips speeding up as the second dose of your own release rises, you seize hold of her hips with far more tenacity than before.

She spurs you in, muttering over and over, chanting to keep going. To not stop, to keep hitting her right there, and you oblige. With a deep grunt, followed by a low, long noted moan, you cum. Your seed paints her walls and the swell of your knot ties her to you.

When she tries to pull off, you hold her still. “You’re not going anywhere for a while, Hon,” you say. When she moves again, her eyes widen, green hues shining in the light from the window, and her delicious lips form into an understanding ‘o’ shape.

Slowly and out of small necessity, your hips brush back and forth against each other, mimicking the more desperate action you’d shared before.

“Your data awaits you,” you coo with a chuckle, knowing she has no choice but to wait it out.

Glancing over her shoulder to see the completed task of the drive, she turns her eyes back to you.

“How long does…” Eyes drifting down to where you’re connected, you lean back, arms stretching to rest your hands behind your head with a smirk.

“We’ve got about an hour.”

—

Wanda walks down the cobblestone lane, her body still enduring the aftermath of your erotic coupling, the car waiting out front of her. She dreads to see the sceptical glares of whoever came to her rescue, she pulls her coat over herself more to hide the potential discovery of her quivering form as she then enters the car.

But not before turning to gaze over the curve of her shoulder, skimming the bite dark, green eyes finding yours; amber cheekily flaunting the alluring power as you bid her a gesture of farewell.

She sighs as the car begins to drive off into the night, Sam behind the wheel, he concentrates on the road, meanwhile, Natasha’s eyes find Wanda’s in the rearview.

“Did you get the data?”

“Right here.” Wanda passes the drive over and Natasha takes it, looking it over in the palm of her hand.

That’s when Sam sighs heavily, nose wrinkling. “What smells like dog?”

@alexawynters @alyciaddict @simpforlizzie @literaturedog @maladaptive-daydreamz

#headlinesxcomics publishing #female reader #werewolf reader #wanda x reader #gn reader #male reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x werewolf! reader #marvel #wanda x reader smut #mcu #the scarlet witch #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff #wanda x you

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starlost-mochi-x · 1 day ago

Text

lonely st. series finale ✧ chapter x : a new dawn

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader (y/n)

warnings: mentions of injuries, lil bit angsty, some romance (not saying who but it's a surprise!), sad jisung :(( he's the best, i can't be bothered to write any more warnings. also i have no clue how basketball works so any basketballer stays out there pls don't come for me

a/n: it's done! i cried writing this last chapter but the ending is worth it i swear. thank you so much for all of the love, it means the world, and i'm so glad to have written this series for all of you <3 please read this post before you open this chapter if you haven't already 💫

series masterlist | skz masterlist

Hyunjin leapt and shot a hoop for the umpteenth time; he glanced over at the closed double doors of the gym as the ball thudded against the ground.

The gym was quiet and dark; the lights were turned off, and Hyunjin could only see because of the moonlight that spilled into the room from the high windows, unobstructed by other buildings and illuminating the lines and boundaries of the court.

Retrieving the ball, he sat down in the middle of the court, glancing around the darkened gym. He wasn't supposed to be in there to begin with; it was eleven pm and he was supposed to be in bed, sleeping.

Yet again, he hadn't been able to.

Feeling so restless that even sleepy Jeongin began to become disturbed by his tossing and turning, he'd decided to take a walk and figured that it wouldn't have hurt to shoot a few hoops to try and tire himself out. The last game of the tournament was tomorrow; they'd be heading back to school early and competing there.

Hyunjin contemplated his performance so far; he'd done pretty well, and worked harder than he'd thought he could. Every game except one which was a draw, they'd won so far.

There was one match left and Hyunjin had no intention of breaking the winning streak. Not when he and his teammates had worked so inexplicably hard.

He touched the bandage on his wrist, deep in thought; the friction burn was healing, and the bruise was beginning to fade, little by little, but after five whole days, there had been no real improvement. His wrist still hurt when he moved it too far to the left and it ached dully when he flexed his forearm.

He'd been told to leave the bandage on so as to prevent infection; at first, he hadn't minded, but soon the addition of the wrap to his body had become nothing more than a constant nuisance, something he'd had to stop and adjust during games.

The nurse who had wrapped it to begin with had given him a sling, or brace of some sorts; it was sleek and black, wrapping up his forearm and securing at the base of his thumb. He didn't wear it during the night, but he smiled at the memory of when he'd shown it to his teammates.

"It looks like a spy glove," Jeongin had told him with a grin.

Hyunjin wasn't sure what that had meant, but at least it had made little foxy Innie smile. He flexed his fingers absentmindedly, realising that the younger member hadn't been as happy as he had been at the start of the tournament.

They were doing just fine in terms of the competition, but Hyunjin knew his team members well, and if the evidence of overwhelming, strained practices and sleepless nights was enough to go by, he could tell they all just wanted to go home.

He felt the exact same way; the last few days had stung more and more without Y/n. He'd told her everything that had happened as often as he could, whether it was over the phone or through text.

He found he liked calling her better; it was nice hearing her voice, especially when he put it on speaker and let her tone float around him. It was like she was sitting right beside him as he talked about everything that had happened.

Deciding to get up and head back to bed, he put the basketball back into the netted ball bins near the door and slipped out of the gym, pressing the large flat button to raise the hoop. It ascended into the ceiling with a soft whirring sound and Hyunjin slipped round the corridor, walking towards his dorm.

He checked the time; he'd been gone for about an hour and a half. Hopefully the other members were asleep by now, and if he was lucky, he would be able to dress down and slip into bed before anyone even stirred.

Checking round the corner for any potential adults or figures of authority, Hyunjin hurried silently down the hallway to his dorm. It wasn't like anyone was out this time of night, but he still felt wary, and he couldn't help but think what might happen if any of the coaches if they caught him sneaking around in the dead of night.

Quietly opening the door to his dorm room and flinching at the click of the lock, he slipped inside and shut it as quietly as possible. The room was dark; he froze for a second, trying to determine whether anyone was awake. Hearing nothings but soft breathing and the occasional shuffle from Jeongin's bunk, he tiptoed over the his corner of the room, toeing off his socks and gently placing them down next to his sneakers.

It was completely dark in the room; Hyunjin stretched a hand in front of his face and saw nothing. He squinted and tried to adjust his watering eyes to the pitch blackness of the room as he slipped off his hoodie, then his shirt.

It was freezing cold; the dorms usually became cold by night, therefore they'd been supplied with extra bedsheets and blankets, and been told to dress warm for the night, but Hyunjin quite liked not having layers on when he slept. He liked the feeling of the coolness against his skin; it seeped through his skin and made him feel light, airy, and clean.

It was especially welcome as the sweat cooled and evaporated off of his skin; it meant he didn't have to freshen up. Now standing in nothing but his usual shorts, he felt his way to his bottom bunk, clumsily settling into the sheets and turning to face the wall.

He jolted and let out a muffled yelp as someone rolled over and slung a warm arm around his middle. Recognising the size and build of it almost instantly, he let out a shaky breath.

"Shit, Felix," he whispered. "You scared me."

From behind him, Felix smirked so hard Hyunjin could almost hear it in the dimness of the room. "Sorry."

"Why are you in my bed and not yours, sleepy chicken?"

Felix tugged him closer, nuzzling his face into Hyunjin's nape and whispering into the skin. "I got cold and Innie told me to leave him alone. Jisung's dead to the world and he tends to unknowingly thwack me if I sleep next to him, so I came to your bunk. Surprise, you weren't there."

Hyunjin let out a soft scoff. "My bad."

"It is your bad," Felix agreed. "Out talking to Y/n again?"

Hyunjin stiffened slightly and lightly pinched Felix's hand, resting on his hip. "No. I couldn't sleep, so I went to shoot a couple hoops."

Felix hissed. "You could have gotten in so much trouble."

His friend let out a soft, exasperated noise. "I can't help it. Besides, I've had a lot to think about."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Felix's voice was soft and thoughtful, though a little teasing. "Like what?"

"The winning streak our team has. My forearm injury. Y/n. You. The mess with Jisung. Also, my hair's growing longer and I don't know how to cut it myself." Hyunjin blew a strand of it out of his eyes as if to demonstrate his point.

Felix chuckle softly, murmuring. "Maybe you should ask Y/n to cut it for you when you get back."

Hyunjin was silent for a moment. "I really miss her, Lix."

"I know. I miss her too."

Hyunjin turned and shuffled, facing his friend. Felix tangled their legs together for warmth, shivering. Noticing his discomfort, Hyunjin pulled him gently closer and brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes, his voice becoming even softer than before.

"Do you think she really might like me?"

Felix nodded softly, the quiet brushing sound of his head against the pillow being Hyunjin's only confirmation. Quickly getting up to reach for his phone, which he'd thrown on the floor (Hyunjin swore he would never treat his own device like that) he settled back into his friend's bed and opened to his homescreen.

The sudden brightness made both boys hiss and Hyunjin let out a muffle groan. Felix, however, was undeterred, and navigated with watering eyes to his messages, where he opened up the chat he had with Y/n.

Turning his phone to Hyunjin, Felix pointed to several messages from her that had been sent not long ago.

"She sent these to me after I called her to check something back at home," he whispered. "It was really late, and she was crying."

Hyunjin's eyes widened as he realised the date. It was the almost exact same time and the same date from when she'd told him to look in his bag. Where he'd found the bandaids, and the little note she'd left for him inside the innermost pocket.

The exact same date, where she'd texted Felix crying, and the exact same date where Hyunjin had sat in the middle of the lamplit dorm, tears streaking down his cheeks as he'd cried to himself.

He cried because he had missed her, he wanted to see her, and he couldn't help the tidal wave of emotions that had surged over him after Y/n had ended the call; overwhelm, tiredness, longing, sadness. On top of all of that, she was just really sweet and the sentimentality of the gesture had brought tears to his eyes. Jisung had always joked about how soft he was for affectionate gestures, and Hyunjin was grudgingly beginning to see how he had a point.

He took Felix's phone and read through the messages from after the phone call with her had ended.

*call with 'y/nnie ⛓️' ended. call duration 00:01:43* lix 🌻: he'll be back soon, y/nnie. don't worry! y/nnie ⛓️: is he doing okay? lix 🌻: he's good i think lix 🌻: he was kinda upset a couple days ago because of all the pressure that's been heaped on him lix 🌻: and he's been a little tense y/nnie ⛓️: i could tell after we talked on the phone y/nnie ⛓️: he sounded really tired too lix 🌻: if his voice is anything to go by, you sound exhausted lix 🌻: but please don't cry y/nnie ⛓️: i'm sorry for calling you and disturbing you from whatever you were doing, lix lix 🌻: nonono don't be sorry!! i understand lix 🌻: i think he misses you too lix 🌻: ...but you already know that

Hyunjin turned the phone towards the real Felix laying beside him and glared at him pointedly.

"You gonna keep exposing me like this?" He whispered.

Felix whispered back accusingly. "I didn't say anything exposing to her. You literally told her you missed her."

"Oh, right. My bad."

Felix scoffed and it turned into a quiet laugh, muffled by Hyunjin's large hand over his mouth.

"Don't wake the others," he huffed out, though a smile teased the corners of his mouth.

His friend nodded, both of them bathed in the bright blue glow of Felix's phone screen, which was still held aloft between them in Hyunjin's hands.

"I really do miss her, Lix."

His friend's voice was soft. "I know. Are you planning to tell her, though? How you feel?"

Hyunjin sighed. "I want to, but I just don't know."

Felix propped himself up on his elbows and began stroking Hyunjin's hair out of his face. "If you don't tell her, she might go a long time without having you by her side. In that way."

"But I'd rather have her friendship than nothing at all," Hyunjin glanced at him desperately.

"Well, we're heading back tomorrow, for the final game, so maybe you can tell her then."

Hyunjin sighed and settled down further into the sheets, feeling heat radiating off of Felix's body. "Maybe."

From the other side of the room, Jisung, who had been silently listening from his bunk, closed his eyes, and slept.

Hyunjin sighed and pushed the ball bins back into the gym's storage cupboard. The boys' teams had spent the entire morning helping to clean and pack up the courts for the end of the tournament, and though it had initially sounded like an easy task, it turned out to be quite the opposite.

Hyunjin was sweating by the time he'd packed up his assigned area; he'd been told to check all of the storage cupboards and count the balls, before scouring the courts for any strays left over. He'd been running back and forth through the gyms all morning.

Wiping his forehead with a sweaty hand, he wondered where all of the others had gone. Each member had been given a set of different tasks, and though they had initially planned to leave for the school campus early in the morning, the date had been changed so that they were leaving later that afternoon.

Hyunjin didn't mind; he'd grown quite accustomed to the polished courts and the dorms where he'd spent so much time. He sat down in the middle of the court and leaned back on his hands. His wrist was almost healed; there was still a noticeable burn mark, and the inside of his forearm was painted in shades of fading purple and green.

He chuckled as a shout snapped him out of his thoughts; Jeongin had been sent to the gym next door to organize the basketball gear, and Hyunjin thought he heard a faint thudding, most likely the basketballs he'd spent all morning collecting tumbling out of the bins and onto the courts.

"Shit, Innie," he groaned aloud to himself. "That took me all morning."

Getting up, he stretched his hands far above his head, letting out another groan, and decided to go check on his younger member to see what kind of chaos he'd managed to cause this time.

Stepping out of the double doors and wincing at the sunlight that just so happened to be shining in his face, he shielded his eyes with a hand and began walking through the pathway that led to where Jeongin was. He passed another gym and paused as he heard a familiar laugh from inside.

Curiosity, or perhaps nosiness getting the best of him, he peeked into the gym, noticing two figures sprawled out on the polished wooden floors. Checking left and right, and then cautiously poking his head into the gym, he looked around, trying to find something he could hide behind.

Noticing a storage cupboard to the right, which had been left ajar, he braced himself and dropped to his hands and knees, glancing across to make sure he wasn't seen. He took off his sneakers too; the last thing he wanted was for Felix and his little girlfriend to hear him squeaking his way across the court.

He hoped the storage cupboard was empty; a quick glance around showed him that it was. Satisfied with his hiding spot, he poked his head a little around the door to spy on his friend.

He felt a little bit bad; after all, they assumed they were alone; but he couldn't help it.

Besides, Hyunjin thought with a grudging grin, It's about time he gets a girl.

The girl in question, who Hyunjin had previously assumed to be a volleyballer, was leaning against one of the basketball bins at her back, legs stretched out in front of her. Felix was leaning on one hand, nodding along attentively to something she was saying. Hyunjin bit his lip to keep the smile from his face; it was honestly really cute.

He watched as Felix reached up a hand to run it through his hair, his eyes not leaving the girl's face. She didn't look away either as his hand came down, suspiciously close to her own. She made to fake-stretch and rested her hand closer to his friends.

He rolled his eyes. Get on with it already, man.

Felix apparently must have heard his telepathic message, because he inched his hand forward, just barely touching hers. Hyunjin's smile grew as he saw her hand inch forward too, til their fingers were loosely laced together against the polished floor of the court.

Even though Hyunjin was a short distance away, he could see Felix's cheeks heating up, taking on a soft pink hue matching the girl's ears. If he was being honest with himself, Hyunjin was halfway through wanting to clap and cheer and halfway through wanting to throw up, but he kept quiet and hidden nonetheless.

Felix adjusted himself so he was a little closer; his fingers moved to lightly run his thumb along the back of the girl's hand. He was smiling as sincerely as Hyunjin had ever seen it. Even brighter than the sun. Was that possible?

He was busy pondering that thought when his vision came back into focus, just in time to see Felix press his mouth to hers.

Hyunjin's jaw dropped and he knew he should look away, give his friend privacy, but he was so enamoured by the sight of his forever-bitchless friend finally getting some game that all he could do was stare with his mouth open.

Felix tilted his head a little and brought a hand up to gently run it along the side of her face; the girl's hands were clutching at his shoulders and she was beginning to lean back. Felix blindly reached beside her head, still kissing her, and pushed the ball bin that she was leaning on away, sending it rolling back a metre. He leaned forward just as the girl leaned back, propping herself up on the floor.

O-kay, time to stop watching them now-!

Hyunjin turned and covered his mouth as he leant against the wall of the storage cupboard, in disbelief. He'd just seen his friend kissing a girl.

Hyunjin now had two choices; stay until they had finished with the lovey-dovey notions, or risk being seen as he left. He decided to stay in the storage cupboard after a moment of strategic thinking. If the faint sounds of kissing and sighing were anything to go by, they wouldn't be done for a while.

Looking around the small, dark room while he waited, Hyunjin noticed another door hidden behind a small rack of tennis equipment to his left. Getting up as quietly as he could, he moved to the door and turned the handle, wondering whether it led to a smaller cupboard.

It didn't. It led out into the sunshine, and Hyunjin realised it was the back door to the gym. He sighed in relief and shut the door behind himself.

Deciding to actually go and find Jeongin, and see if he needed any help, Hyunjin set off towards the other gym opposite, peeking inside just in case he happened to walk in on anyone else.

Jisung and Jeongin were inside, much to Hyunjin's relief, and he walked to them, feeling a bit shaky on his legs. They were sitting in the middle of the court, playing some sort of game on Jisung's phone, and apparently finished with their tasks. Hyunjin sighed thankfully; at least their jobs were done. He'd already decided not to tell them anything for fear of upsetting Felix.

Jeongin looked up as he approached, smiling. It dropped as he tilted his head at the older boy in concern.

"Captain, why is your face so red?"

The bus ride back to the school campus was long and uneventful; the boys had started off chattering and laughing, throwing snack wrappers at each other, and teasing other endlessly, but had eventually fallen silent as the ride progressed. Hyunjin sat next to Jeongin this time, Felix having decided to sit with Jisung.

Looking through the gap in the seats, Hyunjin noticed Felix smiling at his phone, his cheeks still a bit red. His hair was a little disheveled too and Hyunjin smiled to himself as he turned and leant back against his seat, closing his eyes.

At least someone had the guts to confess.

He looked out the window, contemplatively intertwining his hands as his brow furrowed, wondering what he should do. He had followed through with his plan so far; he'd grown closer to Y/n through texts an calls, and he had a slight feeling that she might like him, but he still wasn't any closer to finding out whether Jisung harboured any sort of affection towards her or not.

Truthfully, he hadn't been talking to him much, only when they were on the court. Otherwise, they'd only been talking when absolutely necessary, and as Hyunjin reflected, he began to feel guilty for how much he'd been neglecting his friend. He wondered if Jisung had any idea about what was going on. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't.

He could only hope it was the latter.

He knew for sure that Jisung had caught onto his avoidant behaviour; he'd overheard him talking to Felix about how he felt like he'd done something wrong, or perhaps said something that might have upset Hyunjin, and as a result, made his captain avoid him.

He'd felt pretty bad after that; Hyunjin kicked himself for letting the negative feelings fester in his heart for so long. He should have just talked to him about it. But there was still a part of him that felt that Jisung liked Y/n too, and if he knew that he had competition, things could have turned nasty between them.

And yes, Hyunjin liked Jisung, and he was a close friend, but Hyunjin had finally found a potential other half in Y/n, and he wasn't sure what he was willing to put on the line if it meant being on the receiving end of her affection.

Was it worth losing Jisung for Y/n?

Hyunjin groaned softly and let his head fall against the window, the vibrating sensation of the bus's movement reverberating through his head, shaking up his thoughts. It was still sunny outside, and he closed his eyes, letting the sunshine filter through onto his skin, painting the insides of his eyelids in a coral sheen.

He jolted as Jeongin's head fell slowly on his shoulder; looking down, he realised the younger boy had fallen asleep. Brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes, he kissed his friend's head affectionately and he decided to attempt to fall asleep himself, trying to get comfortable in his seat.

Maybe some rest would clear his mind.

"Okay, so you two can play defence for the first half, because we've watched some of the other team's plays and they always go for the left side, so you two block them there. Innie, make sure you get in front of the other team's shooter, so we have a clear view of the net."

Jeongin nodded. "Okay."

Hyunjin stood and regarded each of his teammates in turn. They were prepared. For once, he felt focused, sharp, and fire ran through his veins as he took his position on the court, the center.

The final game.

The court was packed to the brim; the school had even hung several banners in the boys' team colours to encourage them. They could win a home game.

Students, teachers, and even the principal had come down to spectate the game, filling out the bleachers. Those who couldn't find somewhere to sit were happy enough to watch the game from the side of the court, provided they didn't distract any of the boys playing.

Hyunjin had previously felt rather nervous upon entering the court, seeing that everyone was there, but he'd told himself to focus, putting all thoughts out of his mind while he zoned in. The game was his only priority right now; everything could be dealt with after.

Including Y/n.

He hadn't seen her in the crowd; he hoped she was in there somewhere, spectating. He wanted her to be here, but he didn't have time to scan the bleachers and the crowd, instead deciding that the team should run through the tactics one more time. He'd enlisted Felix to tie his hair back; it hadn't worked the first time. His bangs were too short to be tied back, but too long and distracting to have in his face.

Grudgingly, he'd allowed Felix to loosely braid it, so that he had one of either side, his hair in a tiny little bun at his nape. It felt a little strange; it'd been so long since he had a haircut. He was used to having no hair against his neck, since he liked it short, but he found that he didn't mind the longer length either.

Also, Y/n had teasingly told him she liked the style on him when he'd sent her a picture of the group over text.

So he'd kept it.

Shaking his head, Hyunjin kept his eyes on the ball as the referee held it between them, poised to blow the whistle. There was gradual silence as the crowd settled down, waiting in anticipation to see who would get the upper hand first.

To no one's surprise, and to the enormous annoyance of the other team's center, Hyunjin's fingertips brushed the ball, sending it almost halfway down the court, where his teammate intercepted it and began dribbling towards the hoop.

Hyunjin landed lightly and quickly adjusted the black sleeve protecting his injury, before racing down the court.

Twenty minutes later and Hyunjin was beginning to become weary and exhausted; his coach called a timeout and went through a couple strategies, much to the team's relief. It'd been one of the toughest games so far, and as Hyunjin glanced up at the scoreboard, he realised they were currently at a tie.

He exhaled forcefully as the game started up again, moving to defend an opponent as Felix moved down the court with the ball. He noticed two of the other team's members moving towards Jisung as Felix passed the ball to him, and shouted out a warning.

One of the opponents budged Jisung hard with his shoulder, attempting to take the ball, and he spun, leaning over with the ball to his middle to stop them from taking it. Jisung looked up as the other opponent covered the closest team member; there was nowhere for him to pass. He glanced up at the clock as Hyunjin began to move towards him. Thirty seconds.. he could either wait it out and keep the ball, or risk passing.

If they take the ball, though, he thought. I have to keep it on our side.

Desperately, he looked to Hyunjin, who was currently being marked by an opponent. The clock began to count down, the crowd's cries becoming increasingly loud and frantic.

Twenty seconds.

Jisung barely managed to pass the ball to his friend, almost tripping, and Hyunjin exhaled as he moved towards the hoop, faster than he'd ever done in his life.

Much to his dismay, an opponent to his left brushed his arm as he reached for the ball, and nudged Hyunjin's injury, sending a shooting pain up his left arm. Crying out and dropping the ball, stumbling, he made to recapture it before someone whizzed past and stole it.

Jisung.

He had three opponents marking him now, and a clear shot of the hoop. They caged him in and Hyunjin fell unsurely, clumsy on his feet. His arm was beginning to throb sharply and it became hard to focus on anything else. He could only stand as Felix hoisted him from the ground and watch as Jisung dribbled the ball where he stood, looking for an opening.

Ten seconds.

Jisung made to move towards the hoop and was shoved roughly in the side. Hyunjin let out an outraged yelp but Felix held him back, just as Jisung fell down, shooting desperately at the hoop in a last-ditch attempt.

The buzzer rang as the ball hit the floor.

Everyone turned to look at the referee; they'd all missed the opportunity to see if the ball had gone in, and that too during the ending buzzer. There was silence as he debated the verdict, before lifting his left hand and signaling a point to Hyunjin's team.

The crowd roared in ecstasy, but Hyunjin was distracted; Jisung was on the floor, back to him, clutching his right leg.

Skidding to his knees beside his teammate and raising a hand for the medic, he glanced down desperately at his friend.

"Jisung," he gasped, panting.

His face was twisted in pain, his lips parting as he groaned softly, chest heaving. Hyunjin let the hair tie slip from his locks, his bangs falling into his face as he cradled Jisung's head.

Their coach and two medics came to assess his friend; one of them moved to take off Jisung's shoe. His ankle was already beginning to bruise severely, the swelling evident against his pale skin. Jisung cried out just as the medic attempted to move it gently to the left.

"Sung," Hyunjin whispered, the guilt flooding his system all of a sudden. "I'm so sorry, I- I got jealous, and I hurt you, and I didn't meant to ignore you for the entire tournament, it's just-"

Jisung was being helped into a sitting position, still managing to shoot Hyunjin a pained grin as he panted. "I know, Cap. Relax."

"Sung, I swear, I should have-"

"Yeah, yeah. I know you like her, by the way."

Hyunjin's head snapped up. The medics took no notice, and their coach stood to direct the others off the court. The crowd was now chattering amongst themselves, and Hyunjin was glad they weren't dead silent, staring at Jisung and his now-hurt ankle.

"Y-you knew?"

Jisung rolled his eyes despite the pain. "Yeah, I knew. It wasn't hard to tell. Besides, I decided to let you be mad at me for a while because I figured you had enough going on. You're welcome."

Hyunjin's eyes filled with tears despite the public situation. "Thanks. I'm so sorry, Jisung."

His friend waved a hand, his head lolling back a little as he hissed, the medic moving to cushion his foot. "Ah- shit, yeah, it's all good, man. I don't like her, by the way."

Hyunjin blinked at him. "You don't?"

"She's nice and all, but nah."

Hyunjin let his shoulders sag in relief. Touching Jisung's hand, he smiled at him just as a tear ran down his cheek. He felt overwhelmingly happy all of a sudden; they'd won the championship, he'd made up with his friend, and now he could finally relax now that Jisung didn't like Y/n. Of course, there was still the matter of whether Y/n liked him, or anyone for that matter, but Hyunjin brushed that thought to the back of his mind, letting it sit quiet and forgotten for the time being.

Jisung smirked at his friend, his face sweaty and flushed. "Felix has a girlfriend now. That volleyballer chick. He confessed to her before we left and they're planning to meet up. Think it's about time you did the same thing, Hyunjinnie."

Hyunjin's eyes met his friend's a little sadly. "I don't know where she is."

"Felix said he saw her walking down the corridor by her form class earlier. Apparently just chilling out by herself since we don't have classes because of the game."

Hyunjin squeezed Jisung's hand. "I don't want to leave you."

His friend waved a hand. "Go. I'll be fine, they're probably going to take me to the infirmary. We'll see you later, okay?"

Hyunjin nodded and stepped back, letting the medics lift his friend and sling an arm over each of their shoulders, carrying him off the court.

He congratulated his team briefly and shook hands with the other team before slipping out of the gym. An increasing sense of urgency settled in his stomach, each step he took fueling the fire that had been burning in his heart since he'd realised what Y/n meant to him.

Please, he thought desperately as he broke into a run. Please let her be here. I don't care that she didn't watch my game, I just want to see her.

He skidded around a corner and saw a figure sitting in one of the window alcoves, a sketchbook laying open beside them. The page was blank. Hyunjin's heart leapt so high and hard he thought he might lean over and throw it up.

Y/n.

He cried out her name and broke into an even faster run, skidding to a stop beside her. His sneakers screeched against the floor and he doubled over. It wasn't for long, though, and as he hauled himself upright, he felt a pair of arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders.

He clung to her, burying his face in her neck. She didn't seem to care how sweaty he was; her hand came up to cradle the back of his head, undoing the braids from his hair, fingers shaking.

"Hyune," she said quietly. He realised she was crying as he pulled back.

"I missed you so much," he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers.

"I missed you too. It felt like forever, I was so alone-"

Hyunjin shook his head, an unexpected tear running down his cheek. "You're not alone. You said it yourself, you never have been."

She nodded vehemently, still holding onto his shoulders. Hyunjin stepped back a little, his arms still wrapped around her waist. He took a deep breath steeling his resolve.

"Y/n, I have to tell you something."

Her voice was quiet. "Me too."

Hyunjin's heart was thudding so hard it hurt. Now that he finally had the opportunity to tell her how she made him feel, he suddenly found he didn't have the words. It all rushed out of his head in an instant as Y/n looked up at him with wide, wet eyes.

"I don't know how to tell you," he whispered.

"Show, me then."

Hyunjin inhaled sharply, his eyes not leaving her gaze. Taking her chin in a shaking hand, he stroked it affectionately across her jaw.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

She did.

Hyunjin leant forward slowly. Surely she knew what he was doing, touching her like this, talking to her so softly. But she didn't back away, didn't back down, just stood close to him, held in his arms, and let Hyunjin kiss her.

She tasted salt and sweat and affection and she tilted her head a little, letting her hands touch his face, though shakily and experimentally.

Pulling back after a minute, Hyunjin rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. He was still holding her waist, and her eyes were still closed. Hyunjin watched a tears slip down her cheek and brushed it away with a warm thumb before it reached her jaw.

"Please don't cry," he murmured to her.

"I'm not..."

Hyunjin chucked softly, feeling so overwhelmed he could do nothing but hold her as if she was an anchor in a stormy sea. "Am I that bad of a kisser?"

Y/n opened her eyes, looking away from him. This time, there was no teasing remark, no playful insult, and it made Hyunjin's heart soar so high he felt like he was floating. He stroked her cheek as he looked back at him, both their tears falling freely.

"You're not alone," he whispered. "You'll never be alone, Y/nnie. I promise."

Y/n nodded, running a hand over her shoulder as Hyunjin pressed two fingers to her cheek, wiping away her tears.

"I know."

Hyunjin chuckled quietly, still holding her. "Yeah? How do you know?"

Y/n smiled up at him, eyes wet. She felt a little embarrassed, but to Hyunjin, she was the most beautiful person in the world, even if she was crying.

She touched his cheek.

"Because now I have you."

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