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wwilloww · 4 years ago

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tell me what you want | myg

pairings: Yoongi/Reader, (mentions of Yoongi/Namjoon and Namjoon/OC)

genre: 18+. nonidol!au. friends to lovers.

word count: 5.7k

warnings: alcohol use. pining. some minor angst. smut. pwp. penetrative sex. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). creampie. fluff.

summary: Yoongi teaches you how to ask for what you want.

a/n: This is my very first attempt at writing fanfiction and smut! Thanks so much to my friends Carl and A for supporting me through the writing process and for encouraging me. If you enjoy this, leave a comment: I am so excited to hear what you think!

do not copy, repost, or translate without explicit permission from the author.

The pounding in your head matches the pounding in your chest.

You thought you would be fine, surrounded by your friends. And you are, in a way. After a couple of drinks the tension in your chest has eased and it’s easier to fall into conversation with strangers and friends alike.

After years of hard work and careful saving, you’ve purchased your first apartment. Tonight, you’re hosting a housewarming party that has quickly turned into a full-on house party. There’s nothing like a little spilled beer to baptize a new home.

With the music blasting, and good friends at your side, you almost forget why you’re feeling uncomfortable in the first place: Yoongi.

He’s been a good friend of yours for a long time. You had met back in college, having been paired up for a group project. But when the assignment was completed and turned in, you never stopped hanging out. He kept showing up at your door, beer and pizza in hand and a gummy smile spreading across his face until he was a steady constant in your life. But recently things have started to take a turn. It was a gradual process. Like water slipping underneath the door, your feelings snuck in quietly and devastatingly. And like a slow flood, there was no stopping their gradual rise.

At first you admired him. How caring he was. How intelligent he was. The way his signature no-funny-business attitude took over when he was deep in the process of his passions. How he always seemed to know exactly what to say, while it always took you an extra second to come up with that snappy comeback. How, when he took a second to put his thoughts together, his words spilled like poetry from his lips.

Before you knew it, there was something strange and fluttery pooling in your stomach everytime his name popped up on the screen of your phone or when your friends mentioned he would be stopping by.

You didn’t expect Yoongi to return the feelings. He was always kind to you, helping you with the move, showing up for you at a drop of a hat. But that’s all you thought it was: kindness.

Still, knowing he didn’t feel the same way about you didn’t change the fact that it felt like you had been punched in the gut when you walked into the kitchen and found a very tall and wildly handsome man draped all over Yoongi.

It seemed effortless, the way the strange man so casually ran his fingers through Yoongi’s hair as they chatted with some of your friends. What was this sinking feeling in your gut?

It wasn’t jealousy. At least not over Yoongi’s redirected attention. Instead, you envied the ease with which the beautiful man held onto Yoongi. The way his desire pooled openly in his eyes and settled comfortably throughout his entire body.

Even if you had enough courage to make a move—and enough validation to know it wouldn’t be squandered—you had no idea how to. Every time your interest rose, it became trapped in your throat, leaving you frozen and confused.

With the pit in your stomach still open and yawning, you proceed into the kitchen, slipping your hand into one of your friend’s and tugging her to the counter where you uncap a bottle of vodka out of the cabinet and pull two shot glasses towards you.

“Hana, who—,” you begin to whisper-ask, but you’re interrupted.

“Shots!” a familiar baritone sings into your ear. Yoongi was standing wildly close, his arm already reaching around you to grab a shot glass and then to press you into his side. You stiffen, feeling your heart jump out of your chest at the sudden proximity. “You want one?” he asks the beautiful stranger.

“Only if you’re having one,” the man winks at Yoongi.

“Of course,” Yoongi replies with a coy smile. You feel oddly trapped between the intensity of the two men, the chemistry between them burning. Still, Yoongi winds his arm tight around your waist and, as if its second nature, your hand comes to rest on his stomach. You two could look like a couple like this. You’re not sure if it’s just you, but you think he pulls you closer and when you instinctively grab onto the thin fabric of his shirt, the smooth planes of his stomach tense under your touch.

“Oh,” Yoongi breaks his gaze from the man to look down at you. “By the way, this is Namjoon.”

Your eyes widen for a moment. So this is the infamous Namjoon. Yoongi’s ex. You had been hearing about the complicated ins and outs of their relationship for the past year, usually only after Yoongi had a couple of beers. But Yoongi had never brought Namjoon around to meet his friends, because, quote, “It’s just not that serious.” But here Namjoon was, standing in front of you. While Namjoon had ended things in their most recent breakup, it seemed as if tonight he was doing his best to mend his relationship with Yoongi. Either way, you wipe the surprise off of your face and smile at the man.

“And Namjoon, this is one of my closest friends in the world. She’s the best.”

The f-word hits a little harder than you’d like it to, but you grin up at Yoongi anyways, giving him a playfully light shove.

“Ah, stop, you flatter me,” you tease, but the words seem to fall flat.

The four of you take the shots of vodka with hisses and groans as the burning liquid slides down your throats. Slamming his glass down on the counter, first, Yoongi watches you finish your shot straightfaced.

“Never seen someone make taking a shot look so attractive,” he teases you, laughing.

Still, you blush from his comment. It’s too much. You pull away from Yoongi’s unwavering hold on your waist and tug Hana towards the living room where dancers have congregated.

“I want to dance!” You say, a little too cheerfully.

Hana throws you a sideways glance but ultimately understands. She wraps her arm around your shoulder as you join the group of bopping dancers.

“Let’s distract you,” she says, dramatically spinning you into a dip and you can’t help but giggle at your friend’s absurdity. She holds you tight against her for a song or two, before you break away to dance sporadically as one of your favorite songs comes on.

Here, away from Yoongi, it’s easier to lose yourself, surrounded by your favorite people, the vodka paving a liquid ease through your body. It’s easier to close your eyes and let the bass carry your thoughts.

When you open your eyes, you see Namjoon twirling Hana in a clumsy rendition of a jive, and Yoongi is nowhere to be seen.

The lights go out and a cheer rises up from the living room. The music pauses for a moment before switching to a more sensual groove. You let out a whoop, throw your head back, and start to roll your hips. The only thing lighting the room is a lava lamp that is precariously passed around.

It’s not long before you feel a gentle hand on your back and you find yourself leaning into it, not a single question in your mind. Without looking to see who it is, you reach behind you and pull them flush against your back. It feels good to lean into someone, to have someone wrapped around you--not to mention the hand sliding up your side to rest on your waist does wonders for your bruised ego.

Namjoon is smirking at you as he sways against Hana.

You push your hips back. They meet your movements with their own grinding hips and you can feel strong hands tracing up your sides to guide you into them. Closer. Tracing circles against one another, following, as if with one mind, a shared rhythm.

You know the heat building in you is part this, part the worn-out out tension you feel whenever you’re around Yoongi. But you want to let go. You want to lean into this stranger and just let them take it all away. They press you against them, and you can feel their breath brush against your neck--hot and light and so delightful. You let your neck roll to the side, giving them better access to your warm skin. Fingers trace down the slope of your neck, skate down your side, and press into you. But the pleasure of their heavy touch only lasts for a second because then those same hands are turning you around and you’re face to face with Yoongi’s blooming red cheeks and warm, indecipherable eyes.

You falter through your next movement and Yoongi takes the opportunity to maneuver you through a graceful twirl out onto the dance floor and then back into his arms. It only takes you a moment before you catch up and soon the two of you are dancing, too close for your own good.

If you could just fall into this. Into his hands, into his touch—without explanation, without expectation and let the sinful pleasure of the moment cradle you. Yet, you know that it will never be enough. To answer this desire, even for a moment, is to split yourself open for him.

He meets your movements with his own hips, and this small moment of synergy is enough to send a wave of warmth shooting up your spine.

He leans down, and tucks your hair behind your ear.

His lips brush against you as he whispers, “I want to talk.”

“Not now.”

You try to pull him back into the music, but he steps away.

“We can continue when we can talk,” he says sternly, but his eyes betray something kind as he pinches your chin.

Namjoon leans over to you, as if he had heard the entire exchange. “His bisexual ass is so hard to pin down, you know, metaphorically—but also physically,” he winks at you.

“Let her be,” Yoongi chuckles, but there’s an edge to his voice. Still, he takes Namjoon’s arm and pulls him to the kitchen, reaching up to his ear to say something to him that you don’t quite catch. The pair step into the adjoining room, where Namjoon proceeds to wrap Yoongi in a hug that feels almost too intimate to watch.

You do your best to distract yourself in the blaring music and your friends, but you can’t help but keep Yoongi in the corner of your eye. Within you, a new and uncomfortable tension rises—and you don’t understand it. You already knew he wasn’t interested. Nothing tonight has proven you otherwise.

By the time the party begins to wind down, you’re left stunningly sober and with glasses and half-eaten food all over the apartement.

You wave goodbye to your friends as the crowd trickles out of your new home. Yoongi helps you find misplaced jackets, and as Hana and Namjoon collect their things and head towards the door, Yoongi leans up to Namjoon and presses a kiss against his cheek.

“Get home safe, okay?” he says, chuckling at his ex’s inebriated stumble towards the door.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he does,” Hana sings as the door closes behind the pair.

Yoongi immediately turns to start picking up glasses and brings them to the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you go back with him?” you ask.

“Hana seemed like she was perfectly capable of taking care of him tonight.”

You shot him a confused glance, which he caught. He sets down the glasses he was holding in the sink and turned to you.

“You know me and Namjoon are over right?”

“I don’t know if he knows that.”

Yoongi laughs. “You know—He and Hana—they’re hooking up. He was here for her, not for me.” He chuckles, leaning back with such composure against the kitchen sink. “Sure, we’re still close, but that’s over.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well, you know you don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

“I know,” he says gently, coming over to where you’re drying some dishes to lean his head on your shoulder. “But I want you to know these things, I—,” he takes a deep breath as if he’s steeling himself. “I want to talk about what happened earlier.”

You push away from him and head to the kitchen. “I don’t think there’s really anything to talk about,” you gulp. He follows you anyway.

“I want to talk,” he says again. His voice is level and dry.

“I don’t.”

Your eyes widen as he steps closer and leans over you.

He’s got one hand pressed firmly against the wall by your head. With the other hand, he pulls a streamer out of your hair. But that’s not what you’re focused on. He’s caged you in, towering over you, something dark and unknowable in his gaze.

“Then why make eyes at me all night?” he asks, slowly. “It seems like you want to talk.”

You don’t have an answer, but still you manage to stutter, “I...I just...I have nothing to say.”

“Ah. So this has nothing to say to me?” His hand comes up to cup your face, a calloused thumb running over your burning cheek. As if on instinct, you lean into his touch. It’s been so long since someone touched you like this, like you were something delicate.

He watches your expression carefully, a glimmer of a smirk playing on his lips. “Or this?” He reaches down to grab your hand before drawing it up to brush your palm against your ribcage. Beneath your hand your breath is fluttering—heavy and inconsistent. “Or this?” He draws the pair of your hands upwards to cup the swell of your breast. He spreads his palm over yours, fingers pressing into you. Despite the audacity of his current moves, his touch is gentle and feather-light.

He can feel your heart pounding beneath his touch, pounding like it wants to escape.

“I affect you...” he said, as if the notion surprised him too.

“No. You don’t,” you stutter, your face flushing with the lie.

“...just like you affect me,” he finishes.

“What?” You’re shocked to hear those words fall from his lips.

He smirks down at you.

“Mhmm.”

He leans down to press a kiss against the corner of your mouth.

You stiffen and he pulls back slightly, searching your eyes, waiting for you, waiting for permission. Some very loud voice tells you that to give in is to give yourself up. But then, if his lips on yours isn’t a sign, you’re just not sure what will be.

You barely give it a moment before you pull his taller frame fully to you and press your lips against his. He falters, shocked by the crack in you that he’s finally seeing through. And then he comes to his senses and kisses you back, wrapping his hand behind your head where his fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck. His other hand comes to the gentle valley of your lower back, pressing your torso to his. This kiss is a gentle and nervous search and you find your insides fluttering against his touch.

And then he’s pulling away, taking a half step back and the fear that you thought you had put out of your mind is rushing back in like the tide.

As Yoongi pulls away from your lips, he can feel the crack closing. He can feel you slipping away again. Your eyes shift downward, and you use one arm to wrap around your torso.

“Does that give you anything to say?”

If you didn’t before, you definitely don’t now. It’s as if his touch has stilled every thought in you. Has quieted the voices—all of them—the nagging voice, the one that tells you he’s too good to be true.

“I don’t know how to say it,” you finally murmur.

The silence draws out between the two of you.

“You have to tell me what you want,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t keep guessing.”

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to say something.

There is this gnawing ache in you, a dull throb in your chest that wants so badly to reach out to him and pull him back into your arms and never let him go. From this place comes a desperate need for him to know just how you deeply feel about him. And yet, as the words rise to your throat, they stop on your tongue. As if by uttering your own desire you will shatter into a thousand pieces.

Fear. That’s what this is.

Your name falls off his lips and you bring yourself to look him in the eyes, your hands still gripping the front of his shirt.

Looking down at you—your eyes wide, your flushed chest, your lips blooming red from his attentions—his heart breaks as he says these next words, “I can’t do this if you can’t talk to me.” His words hit like a boulder dropped on your chest. Your eyebrows shoot up in shock but still, you say nothing.

He nods. Your silence is enough of an answer for him. He turns away from you and swings his jacket over his shoulder, his heart shattering. His hand is on the doorknob.

“Yoongi,” you call. He stops in the doorway. He thinks his name sounds like a song when you say it. “I’m sorry.”

He turns back to you just enough that you see a sad smile tugging at his lips.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hating everything you’ve done up to this point. Hating your cowardice. Hating the part of yourself that stops in fear at every chance of getting close to someone. Of opening up and allowing someone to see that you want, that you crave.

With every ounce of strength you can muster, you push past the doubt, you push past the fear. At last the words are tumbling from your mouth:

“Yoongi, I want you.” Your eyes are still squeezed shut, as if by keeping them closed there’s a chance you can reel your words back in. “I want to let go.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

He strides back from the doorway to you, his eyes burning, a real smile spreading across his face. He presses himself against you again, but this time his movements aren’t searching and hesitant. You’ve both waited so long, there’s nothing to hold back. He lowers his lips to yours before letting his mouth travel over your chin and down your neck. Goosebumps spread like a tide across your skin.

“I need to know you want me too,” you gulp, your fingers tangled in his hair.

“Good girl,” he mumbles against your neck, working his teeth and his tongue against the sensitive skin. “Telling me what you want.” You flush at the praise. “I want you, not just this, but you.”

He bites down on your lip, loving the way your grasp tightens around him and a small oh slips out of you. “I want to wake up with you and fall asleep with you,” his eyes meet yours, “and see you like this, all fucked out and needy for me, every night.” He runs a thumb across your lower lip, loving the way the swollen flesh parts for him. “Do you want that?” You gasp against him, barely getting an mhmm out as he sucks a bruise into your neck.

“Use your words.”

“I do. I want it, too.”

He pulls away from you, holding your head in his large hands. The soft smile spreading across his face is the most delightful thing you’ve seen. It gives you courage.

He’s not lying. He wants you.

Before you can unravel and doubt the thought, you take his hand, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it as you lead him to your bedroom. He follows without a second’s hesitation, and this moment—you leading without a single question fluttering in your mind—brings something singing and happy to the surface. All that is left is clear and clean and throbbing.

Gently, he guides you onto your back and crawls on top of you, lifting your shirt to kiss and nip up your belly. When he gets to your chest, he pushes your shirt and bra up and latches onto one of your nipples. Your back arches and the buds raise and pucker as his tongue swirls around one before he bites down.

“Oh,” is all you manage to get out. It comes out breathy and Yoongi thinks it’s the most divine sound he’s ever heard.

“All good?” he asks.

“Good—good, keep going.”

Yoongi pays each breast due attention, sucking and biting in the perfect mix of pain and pleasure, before sitting back on his heels. Beneath him, you couldn’t be more gorgeous, hair spread against the pillow, face and chest flushed. In this moment, your guard is down and he’s never seen you this stunning, your body relaxed and preened with desire. Desire for him.

His bulge strains painfully against his jeans. He wants nothing more but to rip off your pants and take you right now, but first he wants to draw more of those beautiful sounds out of you.

Yoongi smirks, an idea crossing his mind, as he continues to play with your nipples. Just enough to keep your eyes fluttering in pleasure, but not nearly enough to bring you the sense of fulfillment you’re desperately searching for.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” he says.

Your eyes snap open, searching his. All you find is mischief.

“I want you to touch me.”

“I am touching you.” He slows his ministrations to mere palming.

“No,” you whine, “I want you to touch me.”

“Don’t make me pull it out of you. Tell me exactly what you want.”

He wants to see you beg.

“I want you to touch my pussy. I want your fingers in me. I need you closer,” you all but gush.

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos at you. “Get undressed.”

Hastily, you move to slip your shirt and bra over your head and shimmy your jeans down your legs. Once you’re left in nothing but your underwear, he leans down to kiss you gently, like all of the tenderness in the world could be captured between your lips.

“Turn over.”

You roll over, onto your belly, twisting back in time to see him pull off his shirt. He moves towards you, straddling the backs of your legs and spreading his palms across your ass. “So pretty,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. He slides his finger underneath the band of your underwear before roughly tugging them down, but not all the way off.

Before you know it, the pads of his fingers are brushing against your dripping cunt, exploring the part of you that he only imagined ever getting to see, let alone touch.

“So wet already. Is this all for me?” he asks. You nod into the pillow. With one hand still drawing lazily through your folds, he grabs your hand and guides it to the prominent bulge in his pants. You gasp when you feel how hard he is.

“Do you see what you do to me? I’ve been this way since you thought it would be a good idea to grind your pretty little ass on me in front of all of those people.”

You moan at the words dropping freely and easily from his mouth—a moan cut short by Yoongi thrusting two fingers into your cunt and starting on a nearly punishing pace. Your hands come back up to grab onto the sheets beside your head.

“I want to get you nice and ready for me. Can I stretch you out so you can take me?” It’s more of a statement than a question, but still, you nod, desperately wanting him to, desperately wanting to please him. With two fingers in you, his thumb begins to press at and circle around your swollen clit.

You moan incoherently into the pillow and push your hips back towards him.

He’s watching your every move, lapping up every delicious sound that falls from your lips. He wants to know exactly what will make you tick, what will bring that gorgeous flush to your face—and he’ll do anything to earn it.

All of a sudden, he’s hitting someplace soft and spongy within you, over and over, and it’s like you’ve been shoved off a cliff, tumbling forward in your pleasure. Your orgasm washes over you before you can even say anything. It comes fast and hard and breathlessly. You clench helplessly around his fingers and he outwardly groans at the sight.

“Did you just come?” he asks, incredulously. He pulls his fingers from you and wipes them on his pants.

“I think so,” you gasp, trying to catch your breath, rolling over and propping yourself up on your elbows.

He chuckles.

“That was the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your already rosy cheeks somehow manage to flush even more. He reaches forward to brush your hair out of your face.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks. “We don’t have—”

“No, I want to,” you sit up to reach towards his lips and hook your fingers into the belt loops on his pants. “I want you.”

“Yeah?”

“I want your cock. I want to make you feel good.” You slide your hand to cup his growing erection through his pants and he trembles under your touch.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Take your pants off,” you order, not sure where this boldness is coming from, but relishing in the way it courses through you. The clarity of it, like a rain-bloated river flowing after months of drought.

He does as you say, standing up from the bed to roll his pants down his legs. When he rejoins you on the comforter, he’s just in his boxers.

“Off,” you say as you kiss him. “Take them off.”

He peels them off.

You lock gazes with him and reach down to wrap your hand around his cock. You don’t look away: You want to see every moment of pleasure unravel on his face. You want to know you are the source of his pleasure.

You are rewarded with a moan as you begin to stroke him, rolling your thumb over the head to collect the precum that’s gathered there. He thrusts up into your grasp as you tighten your grip and begin to move a little bit faster. But then just as you begin to lean down to take him in your mouth, his hand comes to rest on yours and he pulls you back up, stopping your movements.

His hand soon comes down to rest on yours, stopping your movements.

“God,” he gasps. “I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”

You pout. “But I want to make you feel good.”

“Don’t worry, you are,” he chuckles. But you’re still frowning. He presses a kiss to your lips, pulling your torso against his. “There’s no rush to do everything tonight. We have all the time in the world.” His words make your heart swell.

He guides you onto your back as he comes to straddle you again, hand slowly stroking up and down his length.

“And you want to do this?” he asks. “Like I said, there’s no rush.”

You nod eagerly, biting your lip.

“Good. Spread yourself for me.”

You reach down and spread your lips apart. Despite the simplicity of the action, you can’t help blushing at the sudden and explicit exposure. But it quickly morphs into pleasure as he grasps himself and slides his length along your slick folds, teasing your clit and your entrance.

“Please…” you whimper, your need building to a desperate ache in your abdomen.

“Please, what?”

The words come tumbling without hesitation.

“Please. I need your cock in me now.” He pushes his cock against your clit just to see you gasp. “Please, Yoongi. Please fuck me.”

If he had any resolve to continue teasing you, it is completely dissolved by your begging. He leans forward, placing one hand for support next to your head, and with the other hand, guides his cock to your entrance and slowly begins to slide in.

“Oh god, it’s like you’re fucking made for me,” he groans, pressed in to the hilt. He stills when he’s all the way in, loving the fit of your tight cunt around him.

Finally wrapped around him, you’re entirely blissed out. If only he would goddamn move.

“Yoongi,” you moan, “I need you to move.”

“Alright, baby girl,” he says cooly—but it takes every ounce of strength he has to keep from pounding into you like an animal. He starts moving, slowly, relishing in the drag of his cock against your snug, wet walls. As he begins to set a pace, these warm, wonderful sounds begin to slip out of you. Each one twists something deep in his gut and he groans out your name. “You’re so good for me, making these pretty sounds, taking my cock so well. Making me feel so good.”

You clench around him at the praise and he moans.

The room fills with the sweet sound of skin meeting skin, your breath tangled in a game of push-and-pull.

His hair has fallen onto his forehead, and with the sweat, stuck there, divinely dark. You reach up to push the strands out of his eyes, hooking your thumb in his mouth. He bites down lightly on the digit, his breath coming heavy, his eyes boring into yours. Just the sight of his own pleasure makes you tremble.

You can feel a second orgasm building.

“I-I’m close,” you tell him.

“Come for me,” he pants in your ear. “Be a good girl and come for me again.” You close your eyes and allow the sound of his voice to roll through your body. You can almost trace the pleasure through your veins. It’s building, like a spring in your abdomen, reaching out into your limbs, your throat, your mind—and then it hits something hard and solid. A block in your chest. A place where you want to keep things tight and close and unseen. Let go, you repeat in your mind as you begin to lose acceleration. Just let go!

But it’s gone, that breaking point seems so far away now.

“Baby, come back to me,” he’s saying, and your eyes shoot open. He reaches up to the hand you’ve tangled in your own hair and guides it around him so that it presses against his back. “Just hold onto me. You don’t need to do anything. Just sit in the space in your body where it feels good. Let it feel good.”

He starts rocking against you again. You take a deep breath and wrap your arms fully around his torso. This slight adjustment allows his pelvic bone to rub up against your clit and you arch your back to push as much of yourself towards him as possible.

“Take it slow,” he says, kissing along your collarbone.

You take a deep breath in. On the exhale, you imagine unwinding the wall within your chest. As you continue to breathe, to just feel the way your chest rises, other sensations begin to rise to the surface. Like the sinful sound of Yoongi’s ragged breath edged with the smallest groan every time he exhales. Or the way his consistent pace seems to press deeper into you with each thrust, building a sensation split between pressure and pleasure. And finally, the way there’s an unending heat simmering in your belly, just waiting for you. Just waiting for you to dive in.

Is this what it meant to let go? To give yourself—your pleasure—your control—up? Finding a space to ebb and flow with sensation instead of trying to track pleasure down? As his hands run over your body, you shudder, allowing the sensation of his rhythm, his warmth, and his affection to rip through you.

“Let go, baby. Let go just for me. Let go,” he pants.

That’s all you need. The pool of pleasure growing in your abdomen explodes, ripping through your entire body. You throw your head back, mouth gaping in a silent scream.

Yoongi hisses at the tight sensation of your warm walls are clenching around him. Looking down at you, spine so delicately arched, sweat pasting your baby hairs to your forehead, your nails leaving small half moons in his lower back, it seemed impossible to hold on any longer. With a grunt, he pounds into you, chasing his own high and loving the way you too are unraveling beneath him. With a final thrust, he comes, thick ropes shooting into you.

He collapses on top of you, making sure to roll to his weight slightly to the side so as not to crush you.

For several minutes the only sound in the room is the sound of your panting. Yoongi props his head up so he’s looking up at you from between your breasts.

“You good?”

“More than good,” you smile.

He looks sleepy, eyelids heavy and pleasure-filled. You made a mental note to get up and wash off and pee in a couple minutes, but for now you just want to stay here, your hands tangled in his dark hair, bathing in the comfort of his weight and rhythmic breath against your skin.

There was no denying the pleasure he had led you through in the past hour. But this, his arms wrapped securely around you, with no doubt that he wanted them there, that he wanted you here, was the kind of pleasure that coursed slowly and gently through your entire body.

“Will you stay?” you mumble into his chest.

“I’m staying,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “For a while.”

masterlist

wwilloww on AO3

#yoongi smut #ksmutclub #btsgoldnet #suga smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts #btsff #bts smut

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bebepac · 3 years ago

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Six Sentence Sunday 08.15.21

Original Post: 08/15/21 at 3:23PM EST

We’re back again for another Six Sentence Sunday, which I started on Saturday because I had to work Sunday, so I wanted to have the bulk of it done, so I could just put finishing touches on it and post it on on Sunday.

What are some of my fellow writers up to @dcbbw @phoenixrising308 @secretaryunpaid @sirbeepsalot @ritachacha @lilacsandwhiskey @burnsoslow @sincerelyella @ao719

I am in countdown mode of two things. first I have Tuesday and Wednesday off of this coming week and I have vacation starting the second of September, and don’t go back to work until the 13th. You guys know every couple of months I do a vacation because my job drives me batty, it’s time again.

Here’s what I posted in the past week in case ya missed it and want to catch up.

University Student Ellie: Going Away Bash: Beaumont Style

Just the Way You Are: End of Watch

And here’s what I’ve been working on.

The City of Oaks

A Special Birthday Fic one shot for @dcbbw

The Book: TRR AU: No Royals

The Pairing: SGL x Riley B

Status: Still in the writing process

She opened the letter knowing completely what it was. A loud groan escaped Riley's lips and she flopped down on her couch to think, still holding the letter in her hand.

Every three years her family got together in the JoCo, the cut of North Carolina and had a weekend of family togetherness….a family reunion…. that usually resulted in someone getting arrested, getting in a drunken fight, the law being called, or a combination of all three. But that’s what the JoCo was. It’s the country, and it’s out in the cut, and it’s a state of mind. People take their drinks out on the porch and drink it on those summer evenings with their friends. A place where having a bonfire has nothing to do with the temperature but more to do with what your uncle’s cousin’s sister’s husband's ex wife’s baby daddy had to burn.

Music could be heard from the lawns of the people, not utilizing the cooler temperatures in the evening to be on their riding lawn mowers cutting grass to avoid the heat of the day, and not to mention the smell of cut grass, the long fields of corn and cotton, and tractors and farm hands everywhere.

Riley remembered those summers well with her cousins Mia and Jilian on the back porch being told by her Grand Mommie Ethel to ‘go outside and play.’ They instead got on her bike and rode down to the creek bridge to play and swim in the water playing spin the bottle and truth or dare with the neighborhood boys Nico and Jaiden. Grand Mommie Ethel was turning 98 this year, and was still in fairly good health and was the matriarch of the Brooks family.

“What’s wrong Riley B?” Liam asked as he came out of the kitchen, heading towards the couch. “I know that particularly loud Drake-ish brooding sigh.”

Skipping Across the Pond

University Student Ellie: Chapter 4

The Book: Beyond TRH

Pairings: Liam x Riley / Ellie x Nic (Ellie x M!OC)

Status: Still in the writing process

Ellie woke up the next morning hearing Nicolai’s heart beating softly in her ear. His heartbeat was slow and steady like a metronome. She remembered the steady sound from when her father tried to teach her piano when she was young, which she was good at but she didn’t love it and her father could see right through her.

Eleanor Alexandria Rys had more in common with her mother than meets the eye. At first glance everyone would swear she was a carbon copy of her father however, bearing her mother’s strikingly beautiful features. Ellie’s true love for music came from her mother singing at her crib, and when she came home from California with her brothers, and her family was whole again, lulling her to sleep strumming a white and gold guitar.

Ellie enjoyed playing the guitar like her mother, and had her natural talent for it. And well, even though Ellie didn't want to admit it, she had similar taste in men like her mother.. A Karahalios man pulled at her heart, the way Nico had pulled at her mother's before she was queen. Ellie was in a way following in her mother's footsteps.

She glanced down at Nic, finding him still sleeping peacefully. She had never woken up to him next to her before, and there were butterflies in her stomach as she stared at him. He was so handsome to her. Her eyes traveled down his bare chest, her stomach did a somersault. But as much as she cared, he never told Ellie those three words that truly mattered. She would miss him dearly indeed. But as far as Ellie was concerned she was going to America, to Hartfeld as a single young woman.

Eating For One

The Meet: Chapter 8

The book: TRR (no royals)

The Pairing: Liam x Jilian (Liam x F!OC) / Leo x Bebe (Leo x F!OC)

Status: Still in the writing process.

Bebe glanced at Leo. Damnit, Bebe had ghosted people and put them on block for less. She wanted to still be mad at him, but looking at his face, he was beating himself up enough for the both of them.

“I’m going to have to take a shower before we go out to dinner, I feel disgusting.”

“Alright.”

Once back at Liam and Leo’s apartment, Bebe quickly greeted everyone and made a quick beeline for the shower to get freshened up for their night out.

The restaurant was crowded but thankfully they had gotten reservations so there wasn’t a wait, as they were quickly seated when they arrived.

When the waitress arrived for drink orders Leo ordered himself a drink and one for Bebe.

“I’m not drinking tonight, can you make that rum and coke a sweet tea instead?”

He looked surprised at Bebe.

“I have to work tomorrow, and early. I’m not trying to be all messed up at work.”

“I understand.”

He took Bebe’s hand, and she smiled at him.

Jili raised an eyebrow at Liam.

“You guys know i’m indecisive. What's everyone getting?” Bebe asked.

“The whole left side of the menu looks great, I think I’m going for that.” Jili chuckled.

“You’re worse than me Jili.”

There was silence as everyone looked at their menus and ate the complementary bread and butter.

Liam affectionately put his arm around Jili as she sat in the booth with him, they smiled at each other.

“Jili and Liam… there’s actually something we wanted to tell you.” Leo started saying.

Jili’s eyes widened.

“Oh my GOD!!!! You’ve never turned down alcohol Bebe, are you pregnant?”

Bebe spit out her drink she had been sipping.

“OH GOD NO!!!!!!! Bleh!”

#bebepac writes #six sentence sunday #cfwc sunday six #trr fanfic #trr fandom #university student ellie #sgl #riley b #the meet #trr liam #trr leo

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valberryy · 4 years ago

Text

efficacy. — zhongli

hi!! this started out as an oc fic, but i thought i'd convert it to a reader insert!! i tried to change some of the more "explicit" oc info, so hopefully it's fine now!

pairing: zhongli x gn!reader

content warnings: mentions of blood/injury/death, contemplations of/vaguely attempted murder, slight swearing. if these topics are sensitive to you, i'd recommend clicking away.

[Name]'s life would be nothing without order. They found a certain comfort in routines—working at the bookshop with Jifang in the afternoons, working for their less-than-legal clients once night fell. There was an odd kind of safety they found in it, in completed contracts and crossed-out bounties on a board: as they wiped the blood off their blade at sunrise, they found themself glad they no longer lived at the whims of ice, and snow, and migrating deer.

Tonight was odd, though.

A dagger twirled deftly between their fingers, and [Name] raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the informant sitting before them. A mask and hood alike obscured his face, and he seemed almost to hesitate slightly beneath their burning gaze—a newbie, then, or a fool.

"So?" they asked, their voice like a whip-crack in the silence. "Don't waste my time."

"Apologies," he said, and [Name] had to resist the urge to scoff. At another raised eyebrow the informant dug through his things and passed them an envelope.

Gingerly, they tore it open. "...Wangsheng?" they muttered to themself, before glancing back up. "I trust you have the right compensation?"

A stiff, "Of course," was their only response.

The knife between [Name]'s fingers stilled, before it became embedded in the cheap wood next to their now-client's head.

They stood, gave an almost-mocking flourish of a bow, and walked off without another word.

ii.

[Name] did not glance up from the shelf they were restocking when the footsteps of another customer coming up the stairs came into earshot, only saying a gruff, "Welcome," as they grew closer.

Their only response was a content hum, and they resisted the urge to sigh in relief that this particular patron wasn't a chatterbox.

The minutes trickled by in comfortable silence, as the man—for he was a man, [Name] learned, as soon as they looked up and towards his direction—browsed through their selection. The only sounds to be heard were the blowing of the breeze and the idle chatter of people walking past.

"What a fine collection you have," he said, and turned to face the counter they were seated behind. At the sight of his face they were thrust back into two nights ago—an unpleasant evening in a dingy old house, an envelope in one hand and a cheap knife in the other.

Not now, they thought to themself. Not now, when the blood can seep into the floorboards. The smell will hang for days.

"Thank you," they elected to say in reply. "...Will you be buying?"

He nodded, a thoughtful hand on his chin. "Indeed. The entire stock, actually."

[Name] faltered. "The entire…?" They coughed into a fist, regaining their composure and leaning forward on the counter. "That's going to cost you, sir."

They could almost see the excited sparkles around him as he opened his mouth to speak again, and whatever thoughts they had on how elegant and refined he seemed were thrown out to sea.

"Yes, of course," he began, "there truly is no treasure greater than knowledge, after all—there is a subtle nuance to the art to capturing a moment in time so vividly using just words alone…"

As he continued to ramble, [Name] rested their chin on their palm. The daggers concealed beneath their clothes were cool and heavy on their skin—a constant reminder, a subtle threat.

When his voice trailed off they gave a small, polite smile, standing upright again. "If you have the Mora, there should be nothing stopping you, sir."

The faraway, almost dreamy look in his eyes grew lucid at the mention of Mora. "Ah, of course. Mora," he said, and started patting his pockets searching for his wallet.

When neither of them heard the telltale clinking of coins, they glanced at each other almost exasperatedly.

"My deepest apologies—"

"...No, it's okay—"

The knife still burned against their skin, but they brushed it aside for a moment to grab an unwrapped copy of a book under the desk. They held it out to him, their face blank but the faintest, faintest hints of amusement dancing in their eyes.

He was…interesting. Dead men can rarely boast as much.

"Take it," they said, simply.

His eyes seemed to widen in pleasant surprise. "Are you certain?" he asked, and at [Name]'s casual shrug in the affirmative he gingerly took it from their hands.

"Thank you kindly," he said, raising the package in the air and inspecting it. "I'll have to repay you, for this."

They looked at him again, and thought of the envelope from the other night, thought of how they could almost feel his pulse as their fingers brushed just seconds prior.

"I'll hold you to it, then, sir," they elected to say.

Not now, not now, not now.

iii.

On his lips played a gentle smile that [Name] couldn't help but to distrust.

"There's a restaurant I believe you'd like," he had said. "Allow me to treat you for lunch, as thanks."

Their head had thus begun to swim with backup plans and what-ifs. Did he know? Was this some elaborate ruse to poison them? Surely not, right? They had been so careful up until now, too…

They blinked away their initial surprise and canted their head to the side. "Where?"

At that he went off onto another tangent, just as long as the ramble he had gone on a few days prior. [Name] found themself zoning out, glancing at where they knew his jugular was beneath his collar—or perhaps poison during their impromptu outing would fare better?

No, they scolded themself, there would be witnesses at a restaurant.

"...Don't worry, of course, I'll be sure to bring the Mora this time around," he said with a velvety laugh, and [Name] suddenly found themself back in the present.

They leaned forward on the bookstore counter, an eyebrow raised. "I don't even know your name, Mister Philanthropist."

Another smile graced his features, then—apologetic this time, and he outstretched a hand for them to shake. "My apologies," he said. "I am Zhongli, consultant for Wangsheng Funeral Parlor."

Gingerly, they took his hand in turn. They could feel the rhythmic beat-beat-beat of his pulse under their fingers.

Soon, they thought.

"Call me [Name]," they said, and forced themself to smile.

A few days later, it just so happened that both of their schedules were free.

"Would you still be willing to indulge me?" Zhongli asked—he had been visiting more often lately, and it just so happened that many of his visits happened to be on the days [Name] was there, as well. Jifang seemed curious, and honestly they were as well—did he enjoy their company? Was there something about their short, curt responses that didn't turn him away?

Or maybe he was planning something, too?

Nevertheless, despite their raging paranoia, it wasn't like they were in much of a position to complain. Jifang seemed content at their new, distinguished guest, and [Name] took it as an opportunity to learn more about him for the time being.

"...If you so wish," they said, plucking the book he was holding out of his hands to wrap it for him.

"Only if you do, my friend." Damn him and his deflection. "But it is my firm belief that the generous receive what is due to them, in time."

They hummed idly as they thumbed through the book he had chosen—something or other about the natural beauty of Inazuma—and then glanced back up at him.

And that was how they found themself here, they supposed.

Their table was relatively silent compared to some others, but it was by no means uncomfortable or awkward. With the idle chatter of other people and the clear sky above as a backdrop, the two dined in comforting silence—only the clinking of ceramic against each other to be heard, and to [Name]'s surprise, no traces of poison to be found whatsoever.

As the sun began to dip down the horizon, and all their food had been finished and the bill paid, the two found themselves taking a stroll down by the docks. Zhongli's gaze was trained ahead, while [Name]'s flitted about cautiously.

"Forgive me if I'm prying, however…" he began, "...But you're not a native, are you, my friend?"

A jolt, then, a bolt of white-hot fear running through their limbs. Did he know? Did they give themself away?

"I'm not," they said. "I was born abroad."

A satisfied hum was their response, and when they turned to glance at him, they found the smallest of smiles on his face.

"It's getting late," Zhongli said. "Thank you for today. I'd like to do this again, with you."

[Name] took pause at that. They thought once again of the envelope hidden under their drawers, and the knives hidden under their clothes.

They thought about the way Zhongli rambled on about whatever tale it was the storyteller across the street had spun—how "that indeed is one interpretation of it, but in the original text, the author actually meant to imply that…"

There was a pang of what almost felt like guilt in their chest, at that.

"...And I, you," they said, finally, "...my friend."

iv.

Perhaps stumbling into your supposed assassination target's home half-bloody with an arrow sticking out of your side was not the brightest idea, but in [Name]'s defense were two things: first of all, they had no fucking clue it was Zhongli's in the first place, and secondly, they couldn't exactly keep running from their angry former client with an arrow sticking out of their side.

And thus whatever levels of discretion they normally would have had were thrown out the window as they climbed into Zhongli's in the dead of night, and probably knocked something over in the process (if the new bruises were anything to go by).

(To be fair, they had been calling each other friends for a while now. Is this what friends did? [Name] couldn't be sure—their shady friends weren't exactly the best examples, after all.)

They had just sat up and groaned in pain when Zhongli came in, alarmed first at the noise and then at their sorry state.

"...Sorry," they muttered through gritted teeth. "Thought the place was empty—ow, shit! I can—I can do it mysel—"

"Nonsense," he said, his voice and hands firmer than they had noticed before. "...I still haven't repaid you for your favour to me, after all."

They stopped for a moment, at that. "...I thought the lunch was repayment?"

Somehow, Zhongli found it in himself to laugh, albeit tensely. From where they were sitting, they could see his face a lot more clearly than they had before—the tenseness in his brow, the flecks of gold in his amber irises, the way his nose crinkled at the density of the smell of blood.

"No," he replied, "that was a thank you."

They hummed, before hissing in pain again. "Pull the other way; the arrowhead went in at an angle—"

"Ah, yes, my mistake…"

[Name] continued, "I suppose this is your repayment, then?"

They only barely hid their surprise when he shook his head again.

"I'm doing this because I want to, [Name]."

(Somehow, they liked their name better when hearing it from him. Was it the timbre of his voice? Was it the appeal of hearing your name from a man who was supposed to be long-dead?)

"...I see."

As he sealed the last of the bandages and allowed them to adjust their clothes, he helped them over to what they assumed was a guest room, of sorts. He helped them to take a seat on shaky legs, and placed a firm, almost comforting hand on their shoulder.

"Promise me you'll be more careful, my friend."

They glanced away, their face oddly warm. Wasn't blood loss supposed to do the opposite? "I can't guarantee that, Zhongli."

He followed their gaze over to the floor, and then glanced back at them. "If not that, then I'd at least ask you to…rely on me more," he said, and something about the sincerity in his voice struck them as odd.

They almost wanted to burn that envelope in their drawers when they went home.

[Name] glanced back up at him, forcing themself to face his questioning gaze.

"...I'll try."

But only for you.

+1.

In [Name]'s life, there exists a line they do not dare themself to cross. On one side stands sweet Jifang from the bookshop, the tenacious Traveller and their friends, and the ghosts of their loved ones from Inazuma; and on the other stands themself and their other shadowy benefactors.

The first to tread the line between the two was Zhongli—who, despite the bounty on his head, still managed to maneuvre his way into them somehow being able to call him their friend.

Honestly. The Seven damn him and his stupid charisma, and his stupid voice, and his stupid encyclopedic knowledge of silk flowers.

When [Name] woke up, they were not in their home.

Through their shock they failed to register the bandages wound around their torso, and bit back a yelp of pain as the wound threatened to reopen. In the dark they could see their overwear folded neatly on the bed next to them, and Zhongli asleep, slumped over in a chair.

Suddenly, they were acutely aware of the old bone knife under their clothes—their only souvenir from home, unstained by blood for years, and years, and years.

Would Zhongli be its first, then?

Quietly they stood and dug through their folded clothes until they felt it—the uneven blade, the worn-down grooves near the hilt. They skulked their way over to where he slept, and tried to ignore how painfully peaceful his slow, even breaths were.

His eyes fluttered open just as they pressed the blade to his throat. He seemed too calm, though, not even a twitch of his hands or a hitch in his breath to give away any surprise at all. All he did was place a loose grip on their wrist—a stark contrast to their white-knuckled, shaking hand—and ask,

"What are you doing, [Name]?"

They grit their teeth. "...I'm sorry," they said, "but I have a contract to complete."

Something in Zhongli's eyes softened at that. This was his domain, they realised—contracts, and contingencies, and wordplay.

His grip on their wrist tightened, ever so slightly, and he traced his free hand over their clenched jaw. "But so do we," he replied. "I've still never paid you back, after all."

There was a pause, then—a long, pregnant silence.

"May I kiss you?" Zhongli asked, his voice like a whip-crack in the space between them. [Name] said nothing, but the crease between their brows deepened further.

The dagger embedding itself into the floor and the soft, firm press of their lips against his was enough of an answer.

#genshin impact #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact oneshot #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli x reader #too many thoughts!!!!! not enough braincells #i ammm just . barking #hoo #bee writes

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years ago

Text

To the Moon: Part 2

A/N: I wrote half of this at like 1am so I hope this isn’t too bad lol.

Trigger Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,873

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Anna Shelby (OC/Daughter)

Requested: Yes

Requested by: @writingwithacupoftea

Summary: Between managing his business and almost forgetting his daughters birthday, to finding out she’s been sneaking off with the beloved boxer Bonnie Gold behind his back, Thomas has his hands full now more than ever.

Part 1 | Part 2

The sounds of boots colliding with the cobblestones echoed through the streets as Anna neared the shop. Her heart racing as she frantically looked around the small town for any signs of her family. Her whereabouts had been part of a routine outing before reporting to the shop, but like her father, she was always getting herself into trouble.

She planned on seeing her boyfriend like she always had, right before his training started, but this time she felt something was off. That something was a man watching her that she hadn’t seen before. He had a cap on much like her father, but his had no razor hiding in the brim. His eyes were on her the whole time, everywhere she walked around the ring, her heart racing as she said a quick goodbye to the dark haired boy by her side and darting out the door.

And so here she was, panting as she willed her legs to move faster towards the shop, not daring to look behind her as the man ran towards her.

The familiar feel of the cold metal gun grazed her fingers as she retrieved it from her coat and pointed it at the one pursuing her.

“I swear to god I’ll fucking shoot you if you get any closer!” She yelled at the man. Women and children swiftly moving out of the way and into random shops along the streets. She cringed at how loud she was, knowing how close she was to the shop.

“Anna! Put the fucking gun down aye?” Tommy said, practically running out of the building once he heard his daughter yelling.

She felt her hands shaking slightly as she aimed at the man. He was frozen and had his hands up.

“No! He was following me.” She said, not taking her eyes off him.

“Put it down. Now.” He said, stepping closer.

She hesitated and sighed, reluctantly placing the gun in her fathers hand and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Aye! Come ‘ere now.” He yelled to the man in the distance.

Anna tensed up, her hands bawling into fists at her sides with her fingers placed like her cousin Finn taught her to.

“You can go home now Frederick. Thank you for keeping watch.” Tommy said, patting the man on the shoulder. He sighed in relief and walked off with nothing more than a nod of his cap.

“What the fuck was that?” She asked.

“Just a friend. I told you to come here at noon. When you didn’t show I had one of my men find you.” He said flatly.

Anna said nothing. Instead, she just shoved her way past him and through the shop doors, earning a concerned glance from her family members.

She didn’t say anything to them as she walked to her desk that was outside Tommy’s office.

As she sat down, Polly came in and so did her father.

“I’ll have to hire another few men if you can’t get here on time. Can’t have you almost shooting them.” He said, placing her gun back on her desk.

“Maybe tell them not to chase me next time, yeah?” She asked, getting up and heading for her fathers whiskey stash.

“What are you doing? You can’t have that.” Thomas said.

“Why not?” She asked, pouring a glass and taking a swig, her eyes staying glued to her fathers.

Tommy ran a hand over his face as Polly smirked.

“Oh my god. You forgot...” Anna said, slamming the glass down on her desk and walking out of the room as her eyes filled with tears.

Polly sighed as Tommy started to walk after her, only stopping him by grabbing his arm.

“Let her go. We need to talk.” She said.

“If this is about her seeing that boxer, I don’t want to hear about it.” He said.

“No...It’s her birthday Tom. She’s 18 today...” She said lightly.

Tommy almost ranted on but that fact struck him. His face went blank except for his eyes which stared off towards the door.

“Fuck!” He said, slamming his fist down on the desk.

“I...Poll I’m sorry. I’ve been so caught up with everything. The other gangs, the shootings, the boxing agreement with the Gold’s...everything.” He said, running his hand through his hair.

“Don’t apologize to me. Go set it right.” She said, lighting a cigarette.

Tommy nodded as he went out into the lobby, his eyes scanning the room for her.

“Finn!” Tommy yelled to his younger brother, now 21 and towering over him.

“Yeah?” He asked, adjusting his cap.

“Where’s Anna?” Tommy asked frantically.

“Uh I don’t know...maybe the ring? She looked pretty pissed.” He said.

“Alright, tell Arthur and the others I’ll be back soon.” He ordered.

“Okay.” He said, walking off towards the betting room.

Tommy rushed over to his jacket that was hung near the door, and reached in to find the keys to the ring, but his fingers came out empty.

He smirked slightly and shook his head as he pulled the coat on, patting the pocket where the necklace remained for all those years. It gradually became a good luck charm as time went on, him believing it may have helped save his ass one too many times.

As he walked swiftly along the cobblestone streets, he saw the entrance to the boxing ring. He checked the lock and tugged hard until it opened somewhat, using a pin to help pick the lock before walking quietly inside.

The sound of fists hitting the punching bags echoed through the large space, and the lights were dim, making it hard for him to be seen at times.

As he walked towards her, he stopped when he heard Bonnie’s voice, hearing them talking about different punching strategies.

He silently observed as he got closer, their chatter overtaking his footsteps. That was, until Bonnie slipped his arm around her waist to “help” her with her form, as he said.

Tommy got within punching distance as he cleared his throat, not realizing she had no idea who it was. With that, she jumped at the sound and swung, a right hook landing on his face, causing him to stumble back slightly.

“I guess I deserved that aye?” He asked, rubbing his jaw where a bruise would surely form.

“Good swing love! Who is this?” The boy asked, stepping in front of her protectively, not knowing it was his new boss.

“I could ask you the same thing son...or I could ask your father.” Tommy said, staring him down.

“That’s my dad Bon, it’s okay. Um...just go. I’ll ring you later yeah?” She asked, making her way out from behind the boy.

“Oh my bad, Mr. Shelby. I-I’ll be going. See ya.” He said, giving her a quick hug before heading for the door.

Anna crossed her arms as the awkward silence ensued, her father staring into her eyes that were like a copy of his.

“What was that about?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not answering you until you realize what you did, dad.” She said, taking off the gloves that were a size too big and throwing them on the ground.

Tommy sighed and pulled up two chairs, patting the one next to him.

“We need to talk Anna. Please. I came here to apologize.” He said.

She sighed and sat down, crossing her arms again as she looked at the ground.

“I’m sorry I forgot your birthday sweetheart...The business has been taking up a lot of my time. I just got-”

“Busy. I know.” She said, rolling her eyes as she looked at him.

“I truly am sorry. I uh...I have you a present you know. I don’t know if that can help you forgive me but I think you’ll like it.” He said softly as he reached into the old pocket of his coat. The silver chain and the light green gemstone glinted in the dim light of the room as he handed it to her.

“Where’d you get this?” She asked, looking at it with a small smile. She looked more like Y/N every day, and as she put the necklace on, it brought Tommy back to all those years ago when he first got to know his little girl.

“I gave that to your mother before I was sent to France. She wore it until I came back, and up until she died. Her friend gave that back to me because your mother wanted you to have it, as an 18th birthday present.” He said, trying not to choke up at the memory of that night.

He watched as Anna’s smile grew, tears falling from her eyes as she twirled the green gemstone between her fingers.

“I never truly forgot love. I just...wasn’t ready to face the truth that you were growing up.” He said, knowing that necklace reminded him of this day for the past 18 years every time he checked his pocket.

“Thank you, dad. It’s beautiful.” She said softly as she got up to give him a hug.

“You’re welcome love. Now keep this safe alright? Can’t have your mum striking me down up there anymore than she already is.” He said with a smirk.

“I will.” She said smiling. It healed and broke his heart every time she smiled, always seeing Y/n’s face and mannerisms as more time passed.

“I love you both.” She said, looking up at him as he wiped her tears with his rough, calloused hands.

“I love you both too. Always have.” He said, pulling her in for another hug. Silence fell over the room as they stood there in each others embrace, finally making up for the events of that morning.

“Let’s go alright? I don’t want Arthur to beat anyone up while we’re gone.” He said.

Anna sighed as she looked at the door, knowing her boyfriend was long gone.

“Alright.” She said reluctantly as she grabbed her stuff.

As they walked out, Tommy looked at her as she kept her eyes focused ahead, nervously biting her lip as they neared the shop.

“So, you’re talking to Aberama’s boy aye? Is he a friend? boyfriend?” He asked.

“Oh god....do we have to talk about this?” She asked, her face flushing slightly.

“Yes we do.” He said.

“He’s my boyfriend. Been seeing him before work for 3 months now.” She said.

“And when were you going to tell me? When you had a ring?” He asked.

“No. I was going to tell you when I felt it was right. I didn’t want it to get in the way of your business, and besides...I didn’t want you and uncle Arthur to shoot him for fucks sake.” She said, stopping before they got to the shop doors.

“If you don’t shoot my men, I won’t shoot yours aye?” He asked.

“Deal. Now...are we going to have a birthday party or what?” She asked.

“Yes. I’ll let Polly know.” He said before opening the door.

“Oh and tell Bonnie he can come. I’m sure the family would love to see him.” He said smirking.

“If you say so...” She said, walking past the bustling lobby and towards the phone, gathering the courage to ask him.

Thomas Shelby Tag List:

(If you’d like to be added/removed just send me an ask or message!)

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @psychkunox, @peakyxtommy, @captivatedbycillianmurphy,@dreamwastakenx, @lovemissyhoneybee, @thomashelbyswhore, @xxbeckybeexx-blog

#katiesrequests #katiesfics #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders oneshots #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x reader

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Imagine:

Reader/ OC trying to keep her orgasms on the inside because she doesn’t like how she sounds.

This is going to be pretty long and detailed. Figured I could add this bit into an idea I had. I wanted to write it out just like this 😩.First time using an OC. Enjoy lovelies xoxoxo

Hello, it’s your girl Ebony here and you’re listening to The Love Zone. We already have a caller number one on the line...

“Hello?” Élise timidly spoke into the phone while seated in her dimly lit living room. There was a 100% chance of showers that evening and rainy nights were the perfect nights for her. Alone in a home she inherited from her grandmother in Marigny, New Orleans, Élise decided to call The Love Zone on WQUE-FM, New Orleans mainstream urban radio station. Ebony Starr was a famous Sexologist and radio personality from Bywater, New Orleans. She inspired Élise to start her own podcast that she titled Finally Exhaled which discusses overcoming past toxic relationships and starting new ones.

“Caller number one?” Ebony said into the microphone. Her voice echoed since Élise could hear it twice.

“Yes,” she licked some cocoa butter from her lips, “I’m caller number one.”

“Alright, love, do you have a question for me?”

“I’m a huge fan,” she nervously laughs, “Just...I didn’t expect you...to answer my call.”

“You’re so sweet, honey, thank you,” Ebony made Élise smile, “what’s your name?”

“Yolanda,” that was her mother’s name.

“Yolanda, Pretty name. I know a lot of Yolanda’s.”

“Yeah,” she toyed with her long dreaded hair.

“Why are you up so late, Yolanda? No work for tomorrow?”

It was 11:00 pm. She worked as a waitress in a bar and grill but that was just to keep busy. She was an only grandchild left with her grandmothers money. Her Father didn’t like the fact that she got everything. Typical. He wasn’t around so why did it matter to him?

“Work tomorrow evening,” she pondered for a moment, “Now I remember my question.”

Ebony laughs, “go ahead, what’s your question?”

Wiggling her toes at the fireplace she opens her mouth to speak, “How do I overcome being embarrassed by the way I sound when I orgasm and moan? I’m nervous to even ask this question but it’s been bothering me and I just...I don’t like it.”

“Hmm,” Ebony’s smooth hum reassured her, “Why don’t you like the way you sound, Yolanda?”

“It’s-its because I was told it was ugly mainly. My last boyfriend-shitty boyfriend by the way, told me I sounded like a dying animal,” Élise chuckles, “I want to move past that and embrace the way I sound whenever the moment happens for me again but...”

“You’re afraid the next man will find it just as ugly and look at you weird?”

“Yes, ugh,” Élise closes her eyes, “What the hell should I do?”

“Honestly? Embrace it. That sound is a beautiful sound, Yolanda. One of the sounds of love making. When it’s real and sudden like that it makes you stutter out incoherent words and sounds but only a real man, an experienced appreciative man, would love to hear those noises. How old were you when he told you this?”

“I was 20 years old. That was when we first started dating. A start to a long toxic relationship.” She didn’t mean to vent like that but she couldn’t help it. Her ex, Sean, was such an emotional abuser. He shot her down every chance he got to make her feel ugly. That was for four whole years. She was 25 now and wanted to heal from that.

“Oh, that explains it,” Ebony made a noise of disapproval, “See, boys don’t know a thing, honey. I’m happy you’re not in that toxic relationship anymore and there is a man out there that will love every screaming orgasm you have. Especially if he’s the cause.”

“I know you’re right but gosh,” what man anyway? The closest she’s ever come to a man since then was working at that bar and they all were too pushy and drunks. She was loosing all hope honestly.

“Yolanda, when was the last time you had sex?”

“Over a year ago.”

“You’re craving sex heavy, sweetie. You want to give yourself to someone badly and a year can do that. I don’t think it was only the way you sound it’s a trust thing as well. Sean betrayed your trust.

Bingo.

“I’m better now. I can trust but I just don’t know where to start.”

“There is no rush. Let it come to you, honey. Once it does...accept it. Feel it. If you can listen to yourself moan and shout when you orgasm alone then you can definitely do it in front of a man again. I bet you sound angelic.”

Élise blushes.

“I actually heard that smile through the phone, Ebony laughs, “Sweety, let that moan out, snatch a man’s soul, and feed that craving.”

Élise laughs pleasantly, “I really needed this thank you so much, Miss Starr.”

“Please, If you need to talk you could always come to my meet and greets and workshops in The French Quarter.”

“I’d like that,” Élise smiles wide with her high cheek bones, “thanks again, Ebony.”

“Thank you, Yolanda. Enjoy the rest of your evening, love.”

The line disconnected. Élise places her phone on the carpeted floor and thought about their conversation. She was pining for sex. She wanted her year back. A year of no dick or lips on her pussy. Sex toys over used and calling her name as we speak.

Let’s take it slow with some Beyoncé- Dangerously in Love 2...

Baby I love you/You are my life/My happiest moments weren’t complete if you weren’t by my side/You’re my relation/In connection to the sun/With you next to me/There’s no darkness I can’t overcome/You are my raindrops/ I am your seed...

The rain was coming down in sheets, banging against Élise’s rough top like bullets. There was no lightning or thunder. She was glad that she got the lighting in her grandmothers home fixed because if she didn’t the power would be out and Élise did not want to go into that cobwebbed basement to find candles. Last time she went down there she saw a possum. Élise has on nothing but a retro Voodoo Fishing T-shirt while seated in front of the fireplace. She finally stands, the heat of the flames warming her butt before she walked back to the couch where her crinkled copy of Roar of Thunder, Hear My Cry rested on top of a quilt.

She couldn’t sleep and Beyoncé had her singing with her eyes closed. Grabbing her Walt Disney World coffee mug that had lukewarm herbal tea in it, Élise snuggled into the couch while facing a small window just above the heater in her living room.

I hope everyone is being safe on this stormy Friday night. We have another caller on the line, caller number two?

Élise tunes in.

“I’m still unfaithful to my husband. I can’t shake the need to be with the other man. Just tonight I came home after frantic car sex in an open lot. I want to tell him...I want to tell him I’m happy with the other man.”

“Wow,” Élise loves this juicy talk. She could faintly hear Rihanna-Unfaithful play in the background which causes her to giggle. Ebony was hilarious.

Whew, honey, juggling two men?

“SHIT!”

Élise’s head shot up from the couch. The angry shout came from outside. Maybe someone was locked out the house, she thought. Élise covered herself with the quilt further to listen to more of The Love Zone.

You are killing this man. Just tell him the truth. I can hear the pain in your voice. If you want to end this the right way stop stringing him along and communicate...

Thump

A rather loud kick could be heard from outside. Now, her interest was peaked. Élise tosses the quilt back , tiptoeing to the window with her mug still in hand. She could see a little better only because the house had a porch. But it was still foggy. A man was outside with his hazards flashing. He had to have been out there for a minute with how drenched he was messing under the hood of his car. No lightning or thunder. Just the rain, but the rain was more than enough to make the situation extremely uncomfortable.

Élise couldn’t see him that clearly as he hopped in and out of his car every minute or so, probably trying to warm up before trying something else to get his car moving again. Thanks to the street lamp about twenty feet from where he parked she could make out the type of car. A Ford Mustang 2006. It was parked beside a neighbor of hers that she didn’t like at all. His name was Kevin and he was a white supremacist. Nothing new in the South. No family but she could have sworn she heard screams from his house...

“Fuck!” The man shouts again. Élise felt kind of guilty. She had no idea why. She was sure most of her neighbors saw him stranded out there as well. As quiet as her neighborhood is, something out of the ordinary rarely goes unnoticed. However, the fact that the man was still out there struggling on one of the worst nights, weather-wise, of the year didn’t sit right with her. What harm would it be to offer to let him into her home so he could properly make a call for a Tow service or have a nice cup of tea and a hot meal? Loan a flashlight, or let him warm up by the fireplace for a moment?

Élise stares down at what she was wearing again. That retro Voodoo Fishing T-shirt. Élise went to the closet to grab her red longline puffer coat and black Hunter rain boots. She grabs a flashlight from the closet shelf, trying it out to see if it worked. A couple slaps with it to the palm of her hand made the old thing ignite and she was headed for the door. Élise swung the front door open like a women on a mission. She stomps across her front porch and right down the steps, pulling the back of her coat up over her head to keep from getting her dreads wet.

“Excuse me!” She yelled out from the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street from where the man was parked. He looked in her direction, and she could finally make out his soaked face. She was not disappointed.

“Wassup?!” He responded loudly, “This rain is a bitch!”

“Yeah, it is! Do you need some help?! It’s pretty cold out too my place is warm!”

He kept a steady gaze on her from under his hood. He had this look on his face as if that were a bad idea. Now, Élise was regretting it.

“Are you waiting for someone?!” She started up the conversation again. Her legs were so wet now.

“Nah!” He shook his head and from what Élise could make out she saw short dreads fall over his forehead, “Listen, it’s bad out here, sweetheart why don’t you go back inside, huh?!”

“You sure?!” She pointed her flashlight to the house, “My offer still stands if you change your mind!”

“Thanks, I appreciate it, ma!”

Even though it was dark she could see his smile. Damn, he was good-looking. All that out here melting in the rain. Élise turned to run back to the porch only to fall right on the concrete. She felt both her knees hit the ground. She wailed in pain. Her hands planted to the ground and she tried lifting up but her rain boots slipped right from under her. She could feel hot tears prick her eyes.

“SHIT!!! Hey, Ma!” He called out. Élise could hear heavy feet splashing in the flooded streets and then a pair of wet hands grabbing her waist and lifting her all the way up into bridal style. She squinted her eyes up at the nice-looking man with the fucked up car. He started walking back to her porch. He sat her down on an old chained swing chair before removing his black hoodie and tossing it on the swing chair with her. It was probably uncomfortable walking around with heavily soaked fabric. One thing was for sure: he was built. He had on a charcoal gray tee that was hugging his body something fierce. Élise could make out his physique thanks to him being up close and personal now. Then there was those dreads. They fit his rugged look so perfectly. He definitely wasn’t from around here.

“What are you doing out here? It’s bad, sweetheart, you could have cracked your head open on the ground instead.”

She blinked up at him with timid eyes. He softened his stern ones before his eyes closed. His hands finger combed his dreads back before he shook his head to stop the dripping water.

“My bad,” he looked down at her on the swing chair, “you’re probably thinking who the fuck he think he is talking to me,” he laughs awkwardly.

“Not at all,” Élise looked away and down at her lap. He was right. She was so quick to come running to the rescue. It was almost flooded outside.

“Let me see the damage,” He crouches down to look at her knees, “just scraped skin but it needs to be cleaned off.”

His onyx eyes landed on hers before turning back to his car. Élise studies the back of his smooth neck and the curve of his ears. It seemed like forever that he was staring at his car.

“I have everything in my house I can take care of it. Thank you though.”

He turned back with a tilt of his head. His eyes looked up at her house while his fingers lazily drummed on the swing chair.

“My name is Erik.” He reached out to shake her hand.

“I’m Élise,” she grabbed it and noticed some cuts on his knuckles, “looks like you need some help too.”

Erik drew his hand back before covering his knuckles by folding his arms, “Shit, I forgot that was even there.”

“No worries, I’m not afraid of blood.” She clarified.

“You must not be afraid of much talking to a stranger at 12 in the morning in the rain.”

His tone was serious. Élise looked away from him with a shy smile.

“I have a big heart and my shitty neighbors wouldn’t help you out so I figured what the hell I can do it.”

“Not much happens around here, huh?” He asked with attentive eyes.

“No, it’s pretty quiet,” she took in every inch of him with her eyes. The tight charcoal gray shirt was damp and exposing every single muscle. She liked his short dreads, almond colored skin, and long, sexy eyelashes.

“You could have knocked on someone’s door to give you a jump.”

“Ha,” his chuckle was dry, “You don’t answer doors when strangers knock, baby girl. And I don’t trust knocking on doors in this neighborhood. I’m lucky you even stepped out,” he smiled faintly, “like a breath of fresh air.”

“I agree,” she changed it up, “it’s just-“

“Don’t explain yourself. It’s cool,” Erik stands, stretching out the muscles in his arms. His eyes were studying her home with a new found curiosity.

“In this world we live in, you never know what you might find knocking on someone’s door. Most people are suspicious, especially of us black men.”

“True,” she stood with him, wrapping her coat around her, “so...do you wanna come in?”

He licked his lips and placed his hands in his black cargo pants pockets. He looked like he was freezing and she could see his cold breath.

“Erik, I have blankets and dry shirts,” she beemed up at him.

He squinted his eyes playfully at her before his head fell forward with defeat. Success.

“A blanket does sound nice. But, as tiny as you are, I doubt I could fit into one of your shirts.”

Élise thought she saw a flicker of lust in his eyes when he said that. At least, a part of her hoped she saw lust.

“Unless...” He gave her quizzical expression, “your boyfriend got some shirt he left behind.”

Élise blushes, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

She could tell he was fighting a grin. Élise finally turned to lead the way back into her place, Erik grabbing his hoodie and walking through the door. The second he ended up in there he felt his body defrost and dry.

“Fuck,” he ran his hands over his short dreads, “I’m glad I let my pride down for once and let you help me. A nigga was cold.”

“Uh-Huh,” Élise laughs, “I see your skin warming up, Erik.”

“Oh yeah, I’m nice and toasty now,” He smiles flirtatiously.

“Hungry? Thirsty?”

“Nah, I’m cool.”

“Tow service?”

“Not available and...I’d rather not,” His jaw clenched.

“Well...” Élise shrugs, “looks like you’re staying the night, Erik.”

Erik raised a brow at her before looking around him to get acquainted.

She felt comfortable with him even though he was considered a stranger. Her grandmother would have higher blood pressure than what she already had if she knew what she’d just done. The thought of having some kind of company that night made her feel a lot better and less lonely. Élise finally locks her door and went to her closet to take off her boots and coat. It was all or nothing.

“Closet is free to put your boots and hoodie in.”

She was so damn comfortable around him that she forgot about only being in her T-shirt. Erik stood back with his arms folded watching Élise move and the fabric of the shirt sink in between her ass cheeks. She was sexy for sure. The second she kicked off her boots Erik could see the flesh of her butt... bare flesh.

This girl is serious? He thought.

Ass swinging while she moved. She was a cutie with a nice body. Alone in this big home. All that alone with no man. Shit didn’t make sense. Maybe she was just fucking someone. Erik began walking up to her while she took off her puffer coat to hang. Long slender dreads with shells in it. He wanted to pull on the coarse hair.

“Thanks, Élise,” He was so stealthy that she hadn’t noticed how close he had gotten to her. Elise’s back stiffened and her body tried to step away to give him space but Erik was already taking off his boots and hanging up his hoodie. She caught a whiff of his cologne causing her to nibble on her bottom lip. He didn’t smell like liquor and cigarettes like the men at the bar and grill she worked at. He smelled like rain, sweat, and what she recognized was Gucci Guilty men’s cologne. She remembered that smell from when she was in Macy’s sniffing around in the perfume section. It was intimate and warm at the same time.

“Don’t worry, your blankets will smell like me even when I leave, baby girl.”

She was caught red handed.

“I’m sorry,” she stroked a few dreads from her face, “Your cologne smells really good.”

We’re they really standing in the closet? She dropped the flashlight on the floor when Erik leaned in towards her to smell her now. He was more than comfortable around her. He acted like he knew her.

“You smell like coconut oil,” He gave her a coy smile, “I like that.” Erik crouched down in the small space to pick up the flashlight.

“T-thanks.” Élise licked her dry lips. She needs more cocoa butter.

“So, nice closet,” He teased.

“Yeah...very spacious,” she awkwardly tried to joke back.

Just show me around, ma, since I’m gonna be sleeping here tonight. Unless...you changed your mind?”

He leaned in toward her with a slight raise of his brow and parted lips. He knew he had hers shooken up.

“Yeah, I have a spare bedroom and the couch pulls out into a bed.”

Erik’s eyes trailed up and down her body, “Pull out couch is fine.”

Élise finally let out the breath she’d been holding once Erik stepped away and into her living room. She watched him look around like he was in a museum, staring at her family photos and the art on the walls. Élise has redecorated since moving in two years ago.

“This you?” Erik had a wide smile on his face while pointing to a photo on the ledge of the fireplace. Élise walked over, spotting the photo in question. Oh, yes, when her hair was in a kinky fro, nose piercing, college T-shirt on two sizes too small, tiny denim shorts, and laying in the grass with her ass sitting out and ready to be grabbed.

“Looking like a little rebel,” He picked that photo up studying it with unrelenting eyes. She shuddered.

“Very sexy,” Erik commented and then he gave Élise that look. She turned away from him; she didn’t want him to see the desire in her eyes. She was beginning to have second thoughts about kissing and possibly fucking a complete stranger. No need to deny herself her own thoughts. She’s been thinking that the second he looked up at her from across the street in the rain.

“Where are you from, Erik?”

He placed the picture back on the fireplace ledge, “California.”

Élise was intrigued.

“Why New Orleans?” She followed him to the couch where he started pulling it out into a bed.

“Business,” He kept it short. She didn’t pry further because she sensed that he didn’t want her to know the nature of his “business.”

“How do you like it so far?”

He gathered the bottom of his shirt, bringing it up and over his head while his zealous eyes never left hers, “It’s cool, I’ve been before during Mardi Gras.”

She froze. Was his skin naturally like that? It wouldn’t make since with how neat the bumps were. What would make him do that? He didn’t seem bothered by her eyes taking it all in or the wondering crease in her brow. He wouldn’t tell her, she knew that. The shit was going to eat her alive.

She snapped out of her daze, “I haven’t been to a Mardi Gras since I was 21.”

“Why?” He settles down shirtless on the pullout. His body bathed in the fire. She could feel her tongue tingling to taste his skin. Erik is so sexy.

“It’s so damn wild.”

“Please, girl,” He laughs, “Drunk white people acting a fool ain’t our kind of wild.”

They both laughed.

“When I came that shit was dead i was not partying with them. So, me and a friend hit up some urban spots and listened to some upbeat jazz and ate Cajun food. I met a chick and had some fun with her.”

What kind of fun?

“Sounds a lot better than the time I went.”

Élise stares down at her scraped knees. The crimson peeked through the tiny scratches. Now that her attention was there it was beginning to burn.

“Where’s your bathroom so we can get those cuts cleaned, baby girl?”

Élise pointed to her stairwell, “Upstairs. I can bring it down you don’t have to come with me.”

“Well,” Erik had a roguish expression on his face, “what if I wanna see what upstairs looks like?”

Her wary eyes stared at his wry expression. Erik was definitely being very coy with her.

“You won’t find anything interesting upstairs except for my bedroom.”

Élise’s wistful expression let Erik know without even saying it flat out that she wanted him in her room. He fixed his eyes on her for being that bold with him. She wasn’t so shy. She was a little rebel.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Élise tries to play it off, “I should probably shut up.”

“Let’s go,” Erik stood up, holding his hand out to her. Élise grabs his hand, leading Erik to the staircase and up the creaky steps. It was dark and chilly in the hallway since she didn’t turn on the heat upstairs. She could hear Erik shiver even though his hand was still warm. They made it to her bathroom, Élise turning on the light. She hadn’t changed it around much. Her grandmother still had Élise’s potty from when she was a baby in there. She never let go of things.

“My guess is this house belonged to your grandmother?” Erik finally spoke while standing at the sink.

“Yep. She passed away from breast cancer two years ago.”

“I know how that shit feels, trust me,” Erik opened her medicine cabinet to find a withering first aid kit, “I lost my mom and my dad so I understand.”

Erik motioned for Élise to come to him. When she did he picked her up and sat her on the edge of the sink. Her short yet thick legs swung back and forth reminding her of when she was a child. Erik opened the kit and grabbed some gauze dressing, peroxide, and neosporin.

“You must really enjoy picking me up, stranger,” Élise’s playful eyes sought out Erik’s and the second he smiled revealing those deep dimples in his cheeks she crossed her legs to simmer the heat growing between them. Even the grip she had on the edge of the sing became firmer.

there is a man out there that will love every screaming orgasm you have. Especially if he’s the cause.

Ebony’s words spoke to her again. She was thinking about the sounds she would make if Erik fucked her. He was still shirtless, his cargo pants riding low on his hips showing her that chiseled v-cut of his, and those lashes with his onyx eyes blinked at her like he was trying to read her mind. Lord knows Élise wanted to read his. He was so mysterious and unreadable and that didn’t scare her. It made her want to stake her claim on him. He was visiting New Orleans and maybe she could show him around and they could have some fun of their own. Élise was lonely and friends weren’t enough to fill the void. Not really much family left either. She needed the warmth and comfort of a man.

But Erik looked like the type to break you down piece by piece. She wouldn’t mind him turning her out. Élise didn’t know how long she was staring but Erik’s soft fingers tapping the sides of her thighs broke her out of her dreamy state. Staring down, she could see the fresh gauze covering her wounds. Élise bit into her lip and without being able to control it her high cheek bones puffed out. He made her blush over everything. Why couldn’t he be from New Orleans and not California? Once he left she wouldn’t find another guy around like him. She already crushed on him and she hardly even knew him.

“What did I do to make you blush, pretty girl?”

“What didn’t you do, Erik,” She reaches out for his hands, “let me see.”

He came in closer between her legs, giving her permission to grab his hands and examine his scarred knuckles. It looked pretty bad. Did he beat a brick wall or somebody’s face? She glanced up at him briefly and without saying a word she tended his wounds. His searching expression made her belly flit like butterfly wings. Now, she was rubbing neosporin in carefully. She could feel his eyes leering at her in a sexually suggestive way.

“These are pretty fresh,” she muttered. Élise’s eyes looked from his Adam’s apple bobbing from swallowing spit to his teeth nibbling the corner of his full pouty lip. He didn’t look at her when she said that.

“That’s because they are, Élise,” he says with a low voice. She started wrapping the gauze dressing around his hand. After she was done she didn’t let his hands go. Élise surely didn’t want to. They stood in a comfortable silence and it gave her time to think about his fresh wounds. He didn’t look like the type to go around beating brick walls but faces? That was definitely the answer. And surprisingly, Élise wasn’t afraid. If Erik wanted to rob her or kill her he would have done that already. Instead he was kind to her and he looked at her like he wanted to fuck her. She liked that look a lot.

“Élise.” Erik spoke earnestly.

“Yes?” She said with a soft-spoken voice.

“You’re not afraid of me. Why?”

“Because I know you won’t hurt me.”

She noticed him watching the way her lips moved when she said that. He was admiring the shape of them. Her lips were the perfect proportion. Perfectly symmetrical on the left and the right. Full lips with volume and a plump pout.

“Yeah, baby girl, I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“...but you did hurt someone...”

Erik glides his tongue over his upper teeth, responding but completely ignoring her question, “what if I kissed you right now? That wouldn’t change your mind?”

“No.” Élise said gazing into his eyes.

Erik leans in with his hands bracing the sides of the sink. His lips sparingly touched hers as he spoke. Élise clings to every word while her low eyes stared at his mouth.

“If you lettin’ me put my mouth on yours then you’ll let me put something else on you...am I right?”

Élise has an anxious feeling and Erik wasn’t helping when the flesh of his bottom lip tickled hers every time he spoke. Now, her eyelids were fluttering. Still in nothing but that retro Voodoo Fishing T-shirt and no panties. She wondered if he could smell her arousal towards him.

“Erik-“

“Just answer the question, Élise.”

“Yes, I would.”

“If you’re not afraid of me you would answer my questions,” Erik moved his lips to her ear, his hard chest touching her clothed one. Élise shuddered when his warm breath tickled her ear, “Why are you so comfortable around me with this little ass T-shirt on and no panties?”

“H-How do you know I don’t have on panties?”

“Because,” the hair from his beard touched her neck, “I could see that ass from the back when you were in that closet, ma.”

She hung on to his captivating voice while staring at the side of his neck. Élise was sweating from how turned on she was and he didn’t even kiss her yet.

“That’s what I’m talking about. You act like you know me...what if I would have pulled that shirt up to get a better look at that ass?”

Élise gasps at his words, turning to look at him with alluring eyes. What if he would have done that? He was already so close to her. Now she was imagining him bending her over in that closet and going deep in her pussy from the back. She found that to be very sexy and thrilling. Élise’s grandmother was probably turning over in her grave right now. Her granddaughter letting a strange and clearly very dangerous man into her home and allowing him to seduce her.

Erik takes his hands to rest on her thighs. He moved them up and down in a slow motion keeping a steady gaze on Élise to see if she would flinch away. No, she was enjoying the firmness of his hands. He knew exactly what he was doing. Élise could feel his fingertips hit the bottom of her T-shirt. Damn...he was so close.

“Élise, you so damn thick, girl.”

“Thank you.” She bit down on her tongue to fight her ugly moan. At least that’s what she thought it was. Her eyes descended when she felt Erik lift the bottom of her shirt. Unhurried and gentle Erik lifts that T-shirt up to reveal Élise’s shaved mound. The phat flesh sat between her plush thighs like a surprise treat.

“Damn, you just letting me do this, huh?”

“Yes,” she let out an airy sigh, “I am.”

“Been too long, ma?” Erik had a wolfish expression on his face, “shit, you nice and phat down there too.”

Erik pulled her shirt back down and Élise’s heart sank before his pillowy lips finally connected with hers so suddenly. Her head almost collided with the mirror from how alarmed she was. Her hands reached up to cup his face while she allowed this man to fuck her mouth with his tongue. She tried to keep up with him but in the end Erik conquered her. His mouth tasted amazing. Now, he was gripping her curvy waist with his forceful hands and practically pulling her into his body. Their heads moved from side to side and their lips smacked and sucked on each other’s. A tiny yelp escaped her mouth when Erik sank his teeth into her bottom lip before drawing back. He licks his lips in one motion all the way around his mouth and Élise was officially hungry for more of him. A man coming in from the rain. A man she would have never expected would be kissing her on her bathroom sink. It was so risky.

“Ahhhh!” She moaned instantaneously. His lips and teeth were on her neck. Shit, Élise actually moaned. Why was she even worried? She actually sounded quite nice. Erik was bruising her skin with the right suction of his lips. If it felt like that on her neck it would feel just as good on her hard nipples and clit. The surface of the sink was moist from her pussy rubbing and gliding along the surface.

“Taste so goddam good, girl,” he flattened his tongue and licked her neck, “so sweet.”

“God, Erik,” she moaned, “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this to me.”

“I can,” He chuckles, “You like that I’m doing this to you. I can tell you’ve been loosing out, ma, got you all sweaty and breathing deep.”

“I just can’t...believe...fuck, Erik.”

His hands grabbed her breasts, circling them and tweaking her nipples through her shirt. He was torturing her at this point. Élise wanted him to rip that shirt off her body.

“You’re driving me crazy,” She whispered, “Erik,” her voice was so hushed and heavenly. The man in question was just as frazzled as her. Panting, a sheen of sweat on his skin, his dick hardening and thickening against her inner thighs.

“Élise...I wanna fuck you.” He grabs her hips to keep her still, “listen to me,” his thumb came up to stroke her dimples chin, “...I wanna fuck you so good, girl. You need to take some good dick.”

“It’s been so long,” she bit into her pouty lip.

“Shit, how long?” He was running his hands through her dreaded strands.

“I feel,” she shivers, “I feel so embarrassed saying it,” Élise’s murmured like she was telling a huge secret.

“You can tell me...don’t be scared, girl.”

“A year,” she closed her eyes.

What the fuck. An entire year. Élise was yearning, longing, craving, and hungry for some dick and attention. Part of Erik wondered if that was one of the reasons why she let him into her home.

“Aye,” Erik soothes her, “that’s a long time, baby girl, but I can help you out with that,” Erik takes her hand to kiss it gently before speaking against her knuckles, “I can make you feel better....”

“Erik.”

“You know you want me to...let me make you feel good...” He kissed her hand again while staring into her eyes. Erik felt her thighs quiver around his waist.

“I got you, ma.”

“Erik,” she kept whispering at him and it had him grunting and painfully hard, “I’m so wet, I can’t believe it...Erik.”

She’s so beautiful. God, Erik needed this right now. He needed her ass.

“Élise, girl, I swear to fucking God-“

“Erik, please, Erik.”

Élise unexpectantly lifts both of her legs to the sink, her entire T-shirt bunched up around her waist now showing Erik all that wet juicy pink. Pussy looking like a wet piece of fruit. A peach drizzled in honey. Tight slit with puffy suckable lips. Erik’s eyes were vicious. He reached out to keep her thighs back since she wanted it that way. Then, in a blink of an eye, he had her pushed back against the mirror with her ass hanging over the edge of that sink.

“Oh? You itchin’ for me, ain’t you? opening up your fucking legs like that. Just telling me I can have it? Girl, I will beat this pussy up right on this motherfucking sink. Fucking playing with me if you want...”

She caved when she saw him spit thickly on her pussy. She drew her lips into her mouth. Élise could feel the saliva practically slap her clit. He was so fucking nasty. She just knew that Erik would have her making all types of noises.

“Still ain’t scared, huh?”

“No.” Her voice shook even though she said no.

Erik’s head went down between her legs. He stuck his tongue out as far as it could go and began licking the underside of her clit back and forth. Élise clenched her teeth, the sounds begging to escape her mouth.

“I don’t hear nothing. If you ain’t afraid why don’t I hear you moaning, baby girl?”

Erik went in again slurping her up and licking in a deadly pattern. She felt him tug on her clit and inner folds. She was ready to cum already.

“Erik, Erik I-Stop it, I’m-Erik, please, please I’m-oh my God you’re-you’re making me-Ooooh you’re making me-“

Like it wasn’t in her own control, Élise moaned as her orgasm erupted from her. Her eyes squeezed shut and the so called animalistic sounds escaped her mouth. She was choking on her moans and she hated that she couldn’t control it but this fucking man...he was eating her. Making up for that year. Every month fueling him to suck and lick on that pussy some more. Even after she came he still covered her with his entire mouth and spit. She waited and waited for him to say she sounded ugly or look at her bizarrely but no. Instead he says...

“Good fucking girl. That’s right, cum in this mouth. Shit, cum all you want, do it, baby girl.”

Thank god for his car breaking down.

“Yes!”

“Uh-Huh, you want some more!”

She nodded her head with vigorously.

“Look at you,” Erik bit his lip while thumbing her clit, “look at you shaking and moaning,” his motions increased, “cumming again? That pussy cummimg for me? she ready to bust for me, Élise?”

“Mmmm, Erikkkk, baybeee!”

“You just keep on going?” He smiled.

“I-I’m sorry,” her body spasmed, “I can make a lot of mess.”

Élise was referring to her squirting habit.

“You can squirt all over Daddy whenever you like,” He inserts two fingers inside of her. She rolled her eyes shut, body vanquished but feeining for more.

“Grabbing my fingers like that? Gon’ head and cum...better yet fuck these fingers. Get you some, ma, pop that pussy on these fingers.”

Her hips lifted to get all of his fingers as he dug deep.

“Ooh...ooh...look at you...got my dick heavy in these pants.”

Élise watched him grab his dick. He was so long. She couldn’t wait to see it. And fuck it. And suck it...

“Damn, shit, I can’t wait to pound that puss.”

She shouted out again, pussy convulsing around his thick fingers. Her throat was raw from how hard she screamed.

“So fucking beautiful. Shit don’t make no sense.”

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh@chaneajoyyy@pananegra@theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah@moonlight-night-sky @eyeknowmywrites @crowngold@njadakillthiscookie@blktinkerbell@luvanxi @sheisexcellent1@chocolatedippedinhoney@brandithecrystalgem@dababydababydababydababy@soulfulbeauty19@btitannaaa@sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted@harleycativy @rbhp@thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone@bugngiz@palmstreesallday@skylahb @bakaris-shorty @nizzle-mo @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser @nickidub718 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark @rent-emspoons @abluesforlyssa

#nahimjustfeelingit writes #killmonger smut #killmonger fic #killmonger x reader #killmonger imagine

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nataliedanovelist · 4 years ago

Text

GF - Everything

For @lemonfodrizzleart, featuring her oc, Jackie Asante. I hope you like it, sweetie! The comic that inspired the first half can be found here.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stan gave his girl an impressed look when she downed another shot of tequila and she asked for her second blue pineapple margarita. He brought his second jug of Angry Orchard up to his lips, reminiscing on the brown sugar that laced the rim of the glass, his eyes up at one of the many TVs playing different ball games. Stan was drawn into a football game and he winced with a smile as one guy got tackled by seven different guys, so close to a touchdown.

Jackie gave her guy a soft smile as he let the heavy glass land on the wooden bar with a quiet clunk. He looked very handsome right now, relaxed, sitting back in his chair while watching the game, the soft bar lights highlighting his beautiful features, like his soft brown eyes and matching mullet, his contagious smile. Sure he only sported worn jeans, a dirty white t-shirt, and a maroon jacket that look like it had been through the mill, but to Jackie he looked like a million bucks.

The bartender scooped up Stan’s first empty jug and asked, “‘Nother round?”

Stan shrugged casually. It was pretty late, the two coming in after a long day, so he guessed he could handle another pair before heading back to the motel. “Sure, why not?”

The bartender nodded, finished Jackie’s rita, slid it to her, and then quickly fetched two jugs and dunked the rims in a small bowl of sugar before filling it with beer. Thank Moses for Happy Hour, Every Hour. She dropped off the two glasses and asked, “Anythang else, lovelies?”

“Nope.” Jackie answered after the two exchanged looks and she happily munched on a tortilla chip spooning salsa with extra hot sauce mixed in.

The bartender smiled and let the most sober of everyone in the bar do as they please; it was pretty late and this odd but adorable couple had come in just a few minutes ago, so while others should probably be cut off these love birds were fine for a few more drinks.

Jackie and Stan were close, but not close enough. Jackie looked at her boyfriend’s toned body again and desperately wanted to feel it, be closer, so she leaned towards him, resting her head on his shoulder, and Stan smiled and wrapped his arm around her. Jackie was grateful he was looking at the escalating football game, so he couldn’t see the stupid grin on his face.

Stan privately considered himself pretty damn lucky. Not only had he been in a town for five days without making enemies (a new record), and he actually had enough money for a room and he didn’t have to sleep in his car, but he had an amazing woman on him who not only wanted to be around him, but was willing to go anywhere in order to do so. Jackie didn’t have to travel with him across states, looking for something and nothing all at the same time, but she did. One day Stan would make it up to her. One day he would actually manage to not be a screw-up and buy her a house and her own car and give her kids and whatever else she wanted.

Unfortunately, natured called and Stan had to stretch and have Jackie sit up. “Bathroom.”

“K’.” Jackie grinned as he snuck a quick kiss on her cheek before leaving her alone, but her smile was soon gone.

Stan felt a little colder with her gone from his hip, and as he washed his hands he thought that maybe they should finish their drinks, pay the bartender, and go back to the motel so he could hold her and show her how much she meant to her, however she wanted him to. Stan grinned in the mirror at the idea and emerged from the bathroom just in time to have the color in his face drain and his heart stop at a horrifying scene.

Jackie was facing a man much bigger and bulkier than her (even a little bigger than Stan), and she punched him in the face, leaving a bruise on his face. Stan wanted to be proud, but the guy was way bigger than her and could hurt her. “JACKIE, NO!”

Jackie tried to land another punch, but her wrist was grabbed to stop her, and in retaliation the guy punched her in the face.

Stan saw red. He didn’t need context or to know what had happened for this whole mess to even occur. He didn’t care. Somebody had punched his girl.

Stan charged across the room and just as Jackie kneed the guy in the balls and shoved him away, that left an opening for Stan to pounce on him and go ham. All those years of boxing practice were paying off as he wailed on the guy left and right in the face, over the jerk as he laid on the floor and kicked Stan off of him.

In an instant, Stan spun, grabbed Jackie’s hand, and ran out of the bar with her as fast as they could for the Stanmobile, which soon made screeches against the concrete and sped away.

After a few breaths in the passenger’s seat, Jackie looked over at the conman driving and she knew her instincts were correct. The dead-pan look on his face, how tightly he held onto the wheel, the anger fuming from his spirit. He was mad. And Jackie wasn’t stupid, she knew who he was mad at. So she crossed her arms over her chest and watched the world outside zoom by.

At the motel room, Stan pulled out the first aid kit from his suitcase and pointed to the bed. “Sit.” His voice was low and cold, but not completely harsh, which was a good sign.

Jackie plopped down at the foot of the bed and Stan knelt before her, eye-level to get a good look at her face. She had a bruise forming under her eye. It was a little bit swollen, but it could have been much worse. No cuts or torn skin, which was good, so Stan walked off for the bathroom and ran a washcloth under some cool water, then came back and started to clean up the eye. Jackie closed her eyes, both as a sign of her discomfort, but to make Stan’s job a little easier.

This wasn’t the first time Jackie had gotten into a fight, and Stan knew exactly what she had been fighting about.

Jackie had her arms crossed over her blue t-shirt covered chest, silent and waiting for the lecture. Usually Jackie would let Stan rant until he was done and then make a snappy remark that would end his argument, but tonight Jackie was angry. Not like Stan was, fuming and growling and shaking. She was an icy kind of angry, the cold, distant kind of angry. (Stan was painfully reminded how that was the kind of angry his brother got.) Jackie made up her mind that tonight she was gonna say something, and she was begging for her boyfriend to pick a fight.

After cleaning her up and helping the swelling go down, Stan tossed the damp washcloth aside and stood. Here we go. “Jackie, you can’t keep gettin’ into fights!”

Jackie quit looking down at the ugly carpet and she snapped back. “He was talking shit!”

“So what?!” Stan yelled back. He had heard what that guy was spitting behind his back while he watched the game. And, believe it or not, he had chosen not to make a big deal about it. Not with Jackie there. “I hear that shit all the time! Don’t fuckin’ fight for me!”

That only made Jackie more pissed. “Well excuse me for giving a shit about you, Stan!” She screeched. “I can handle a fight, especially when they diss you!”

Jackie was startled when Stan grabbed her by her shoulders, but rather than shake her or yell at her like other men might, she was even more alarmed when his head was bowed and his whole body was quivering. The little fire inside of him was slowly dying due to lack of fuel. Jackie opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but his voice stopped her, meek and quiet and desperate to be heard.

“Jackie… please…” He looked up at her and Jackie’s face softened to find tears in the corner of his soft brown eyes. “I don’t wanna lose you, too.”

“Hey,” Jackie whispered and slowly brought her hands to his cheeks, cupping his strained, tired face. “Hey.” She cooed softly. “Stanley, you couldn’t lose me if you tried. You’re stuck with me.”

Stan snorted and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Good.”

Jackie smiled and gently pulled him closer. “C’mere.”

Stan crawled up onto the bed and laid down as Jackie leaned back, wrapping her arms around his shoulder and placing a hand in his hair. Stan hugged her around her waist, his ear over her heart and listening to the beautiful beat. He took in some deep breaths, trying to calm down, and it was easier with her breathing to copy.

Jackie had known for a while that Stan had a crippling fear of not only heights, but of losing what little he had. He never talked about his past, but from what little Jackie had picked up from the taboo subject, he had lost everything. He wasn’t like some where they never had anything. He was like her, both of whom once had something or everything, but it was now gone. At least Jackie walked away, chose to leave what she had; she got the impression that Stan didn't have a choice.

She kissed his soft mullet and began to comb it as she whispered, “Stanley, you’re not gonna lose me. Not ever.”

“I think I’d believe you if you’d quit gettin’ into fights, sweetheart.” He joked.

Jackie rolled her eyes and chuckled.

Stan’s smile dropped. “Seriously though, if anything happened to you…”

“I can look after myself.” Jackie reminded him.

“I know you can. But you don’t have to anymore.”

“Then let me look after you, too, okay?”

“I will, but there’s a difference between helpin’ me wake up with both kidneys and gettin’ hurt all for some nobody on the street.”

“Hey,” Jackie said, this time not as soft as before, a bit more firm. Stan was reminded of a stern warning a mother might give. “You’re not a nobody. You’re my everything.”

Stan’s hold tightened ever so slightly. “And you’re mine. Which is why I need you safe.”

Jackie took in a deep breath and let it out through her button nose. She knew Stan had a point. And it was only fair. After all he gave up boxing matches for cash when he came home bloody one night and reduced Jackie to tears. She had certainly noticed how less inclined he was to fight or get into serious trouble. Sure, he had no issue stealing toilet paper or scamming suckers for an extra buck, but his Colombian prison days were far behind him.

Jackie scratched his shoulder comfortably and whispered, “Alright. I promise, no more fights. Unless they swing first.” She added cheekily.

Stan laughed quietly into her chest and nodded. “Unless they swing first.”

Just as Stan had hoped for, they laid on that bed for hours and snuggled. A few minutes after their agreement, Jackie began to hum a soft song as she continually combed his hair with her fingers. Stan smiled drowsily and was more than happy to fall asleep in the arms of the woman he loved.

~~~~~~~~~~

The young couple left Pueblo, Colorado and stopped at a little motel in Moab, Utah. It was a little bit nicer than the last room, accompanied by a small balcony with a sliding glass door to a view of the rocky red mountains and an iron and board to go with it. These made for good, cheap laundry. Just a little air freshener on the clothes and a quick run-through with the iron and as long as it didn’t have a stain any piece of clothing was as good as new, a free way to do laundry without forking some money for some quarters and some soap.

It was Stan’s turn to do the laundry, and he did so only in his boxers, standing in front of the king-sized bed as Jackie was looking out the huge window that covered most of the wall opposite to the door.

“Lee, do you think I’m pretty?”

Stan nearly burned his fingers when he looked up from his work. He had enough sense to turn off the iron and not rest it on his shirt, but just enough. Her back was to him in a baggy t-shirt (that he probably stole from him) and faded pink yoga pants. Her reflection was in the glass window and Stan not only saw how depressingly she held her hands and gazed ahead, he realized Jackie’s attention wasn’t on the view.

“Babe, what do you see?” Stan asked gently.

Jackie snorted and shook her head. “Not much.”

“That’s not what I see.” He said firmly and left the ironing board to be with her, standing behind her and tenderly wrapping his arms around her so her hands were lightly trapped to her chest. “I see everything a man could ever want in a woman.” Jackie pressed her lips together and freed a hand to hold Stan’s. But he wasn’t done.

“Eyes so deep and dark you can get lost in ‘em, skin the color of mahogany and soft as satin, a body fit for a goddess.” Stan kissed her forehead, cheek, and then neck slowly, softly. And then joined her gaze at their reflection and smiled at what he saw. “Look how beautiful you are.”

Jackie looked away as she blinked furiously, but Stan wasn’t having it. “Look,” He whispered and gently lifted her head up with his finger to her chin. “Look how beautiful you are.”

Jackie forced her tears away and turned to face her man. “Lee…”

He only grinned and held up a finger. “Ah, ah.” Stan hurried to the TV, turned it on, and flicked on the All Jazz channel. Jackie grinned as he went back to her. “Am I lucky enough to dance with everything a man could ever want?”

“Stanley,” Jackie wrapped her arms around his chest, nuzzling the side of her face into Stan’s hairy body. Her throat was still tight. She forced herself to swallow as they swayed to the music and she managed to croak out, “I love you.”

Stan kissed the top of her head and smiled, rubbing her back and squeezing her shoulder. “I love you, too.”

#GF #gravity falls #fanfiction #gift #JackieStan #jackie asante #stan pines #thank you so SO much for reading!!!#I hope you liked it!#God i love this ship #ship it like fedex #every day all the time

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keoghans · 4 years ago

Text

Hey Chuck

Hello and welcome to this Chuck Grant fanfic. I always loved this dude, and I see little to no work about him, so, I took it upon myself to do fic about him. I invented a character, his love interest, because I cant write reader insert, I just, it bothers the fuck out of me to write like that lmao.

Special mentions for @notmykirk @liebthots @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @alphapockets for proofreading, giving ideas and helping a distressed, nervous writer lol, you lot were brilliant!

This is super angsty, but also filled with fluff and stupid cliches.

Pairing: Chuck Grant x OC

Warnings: angst, shitloads of angst. Mention of rape. Slight, non-explicit smut. Cursing.

Word Count: 12k (I know, IM SORRY)

Epilogue

Three knocks and an anxious wait.

The door was opened by the tall ginger that didn’t seem to ever age.

“Hannah Davis! What brings you here?” he exclaimed with a broad smile as he hugged her smaller frame.

“How are you, sir? You look great!” she replied and he furrowed his eyebrows at her answer.

“Hannah, the war is over, it has been for a while, I go by Richard, Rich, or Dick, please,” he said, as he let her in his house. He sounded the same, warm, emphatic, funny.

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” she replied, checking out his living room. He lived in a beautiful, tall house, very homey. It had a fireplace on and a half finished drink on the nearby table.

“My wife went to visit her brother, a man that’s never approved of me, so I stayed back,” he explained, serving another drink for her.

“I remember when you first told me that he wasn’t fond of you and I wondered, how the hell does someone not like Dick Winters?” she replied and they both chuckled.

“Her parents like me, and so does she, so… it doesn’t really matter”.

Hannah didn’t marry post war, and it had been only a year, but most of Easy Company was already having children, marrying or at least dating.

She had her heart set on someone but she had lost all contact with him and the Army didn’t help her trying to get what she needed.

So, after an hour and a half of reminiscing about the war, about Austria and the Eagle’s Nest, Winters caught up to her.

“Hannah, with all due respect… I know this isn’t just a casual visit, or you would’ve brought Luz or someone else with you,” he started, trailing off for her to speak.

Hannah chuckled cynically, the man had always been prone to read people like a piece of paper. She struggled for a few seconds, her nerves coming back to her, scratching the back of her head absentmindedly.

“I’ve been trying to find someone… Someone from the Company, and I don’t want to ask the rest of the men because… Well, if this fails, I don’t want it to be gossip between them; and the Army couldn’t help me, they cannot give out information about former paratroopers,” she explained.

“I have all of the men’s information with me, so, who are you looking for? Though—some information can be outdated, I haven’t updated it in a couple of years,” Dick said, looking for an old black book that had ‘Easy’ embroidered in the front.

“Say the name.”

“Uh… Charles Grant—NCO Chuck Grant.”

Rick smiled softly, looking down as he looked for his name in his book.

“What?” she asked, slightly embarrassed. He knew.

“Nothing. Sergeant Grant is an exceptional man, I felt deeply for him when he got shot,” he explained and placed a ruler under his name, handing the notebook to Hannah.

“I know he is, that’s why I’m looking for him,” she said, looking down at his name, copying the information of his address and phone number.

Richard looked at her with his usual witty, warm smile.

“Thank you, Dick” she said, closing the notebook and giving it back.

“Like my wife would say, ‘go get him’.”

///

Hannah had Chuck’s address and phone for a month and a half.

Every time she thought about calling him, or showing up at his place, fear shook her body and threw her back to square one. She had taken a cab to her former Major in the Paratroopers for forty five minutes to find a man’s address and she couldn’t actually talk to him.

Hannah laid in her bed, after a long day at the hospital. She was eating leftover carrot cake she had made a week ago, feeling dreadful, looking at the little paper with Chuck’s name sitting on her bedside table, and remembered the many times they shared.

Bastogne was the coldest hell Hannah had ever experienced, and she knew it was never leaving her head after everything that transpired.

The trees exploded every now and again. As desperation settled inside each mind, everyone started wondering which was getting killed next.

Then the casualties came: Joe Toye and Guarnere lost each other one leg to mortars, Don Hoobler accidentally shot himself in the leg and the blood loss took his life. Muck and Penkala got blown to pieces by another mortar.

She had tried to save as many lives as possible as she had to shoot Germans from afar, fearing death every single second she moved around the snow covered forest.

She had short moments of peace, and most were laying in a foxhole, trying to gather some warmth, next to Chuck.

Her body shook as she blew into her hands, trying to gain back feeling on her fingertips when Charles looked at her and grabbed her hands without a word, covering them with his calloused fingers, scooting closer to her.

She was slightly taken aback.

Chuck wasn’t a man of many words, he communicated more with his eyes and small expressions. He politely smiled at her as he rubbed his hands against her.

“Thanks,” she muttered, nuzzling her chin deeper into her scarf that was tucked into her jumpsuit.

Chuck just looked at her and kept rubbing their hands together. She noticed her blue eyes looking bright from the full moon shining down the forest.

“I always hated the winter time, back in the states… and now more,” Chuck said, breaking the silence between them.

“I know, I prefer to be burning under the sun rather than freezing my butt off.”

“Cold beers,” he added.

“The beach.”

“Dipping into a river or the sea.”

Both exchanged small smiles.

Chuck had always noticed Hannah, and stared silently at her many times, but barely exchanged a few words in the second year of their training, when she arrived in Toccoa. He knew she was Shifty’s friend, and someone who Winters relied on and trusted from what Powers had said to help her get into the Paratroopers.

And she had proved herself useful, not only as a doctor, but as a sharpshooter, taking down snipers that others didn’t notice at first. She used to compete with Shifty on how many Krauts took down each.

Hannah always knew who he was, she remembered every and each name of the company, by nicknames mostly. He definitely called for her attention; he was polite, shy, only mustered a few jokes here and there, not like Luz, who couldn’t speak without joking.

But she was never as interested in him until he helped her find warmth in a shattering cold in Belgium.

Hannah remembered that with a smile—their first and probably closest interaction. It only took snow, people dying around them and a whole war for it to happen.

Friday, she thought, Friday would be a good thing for me to approach his house if, luckily, he didn’t move out before.

///

Anxiety. Lots of.

Hannah wasn’t on call at the hospital on Friday. She and her best friend, scheduled everything.

Angelina made sure she couldn’t back out of looking for the former paratrooper. She had helped her pick an outfit, helped with her hair, the whole ordeal.

“Okay, go, go! It’s barely past noon, it’s a beautiful day, maybe y’all can go for a walk,” angelina said, taking a sip from her lemonade.

Hannah was barely talking, her hands shook, she felt her pits damp with sweat, with a tight knot in her stomach.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, okay… I’m going, whatever, what could go wrong, what the fuck, he could only think I’m a fucking stalker, whatever right? Fuck—.”

“Oh my god, get out, I’ll take care of Trigger, let him have a stroll, and if by any chance you spend the night there—” she said, with a wink— “call me so I’ll stay and give Trigger his morning walkies,” Angelina commanded as she pushed Hannah through the door.

“Good luck, honey!” She yelled as Hannah dragged her feet through the hot cement under the July sun.

Every little thing that could go wrong played in her mind as she walked. Grant lived roughly twenty blocks away from her but she still wanted to walk there, to make it as slow as possible.

Hannah checked the address in the small, torn piece of paper she had it written on and looked for 1612 for a bit, until she finally saw it.

It was a beautiful, tall white house, with a dark grey roof, a small porch with a couple of rocking chairs. A lot of small pots with flowers and different plants covered most of the front of the porch, which made Hannah think that there was clearly a woman living there.

That made fear struck her again.

He’s probably married, there are rocking chairs and plants… none of the men of the paratroopers cared about fucking plants, why would Charles be any different?

Fuck it.

Hannah shook her head, her curls moving along, stomped the ground after pondering for a couple of minutes, away from the house and took a few deep breaths before she walked up the three steps before the door and, with a shaky breath, knocked three times and took a step back, giving the door her back.

She could sense her muscles completely tense, everywhere, arms, legs, stomach, and wondered why the hell she never got her anxiety completely treated like her PTSD from the war.

What if a woman opened the door? I’d pretend I got the wrong house and run for the fucking hills.

“Yes?” a deep voice said from behind her.

Hannah could’ve swore her heart stopped for a split second.

She turned in her heel with the riddled feeling in her stomach when she met those bright blue eyes and the permanently tanned skin of Sergeant of Second Platoon, Charles Grant.

His usual disheveled look was intact, she noticed, the droopy eyes and the resting annoyed face that was his trademark was still there, but it did change in a moment when he realized quickly who she was. His eyes widened as his jaw dropped slightly.

“Hannah? Hannah Davis?!” he exclaimed, opening the door wider, taking a step forward shyly.

Hannah swore her heart was thumping against her chest like a hammer, and was actually afraid Chuck would notice it. But all he did was try to find the words, stuttering slightly as he took a look at her.

“Hey, Chuck,” she said, trying to find her voice back from somewhere in her throat.

Charles let a single chuckle out of his mouth before, sort of awkwardly, pulled her for a hug, crossing his left arm around her torso and the other one, around the shoulders.

Hannah was a hundred percent sure her heart could arrest at any moment and die right there. The man was hugging her. And she was hugging him back, the same way, when his perfume surrounded her and she closed her eyes for a moment, lingering her head above his shoulder, every single feeling she had ever felt for him rushing back into her stomach, untying the knot slightly, filling it with butterflies.

“What a surprise! Come on in,” he said, as they parted, moving aside so she could walk inside first.

Clean, super clean. The fact that the house was so clean yelled wife! in Hannah’s face. But she shook the thoughts aside, trying to focus on walking and trying not to bump into anything and make a mess of herself in front of Chuck.

“You like it? I’ve been trying to decorate myself but… I don’t know, looks shitty to me still,” he added, standing next to her as she looked at old signs of tobacco brands, and a couple of paintings up white walls, complemented with an olive couch with three seats, a coffee table and a TV in front.

And books, everywhere. Different sized, colored, some put in a small library in the corner, near the couch. Some were sprawled over on the coffee table and one on the couch, open and faced down.

She took the books as the cue to find out and get it over with.

“You and—and your wife must read a lot,” she said, sniggering internally as she awaited for an answer.

Chuck let out a hearty chuckle, looking suddenly a bit embarrassed at her.

“Uh, I’m not married,” he said, forming a thin-lipped, awkward smile on his lips. Hannah felt how her shoulders relaxed at the information.

“Oh—sorry, it’s just… It looks very homey, and you know, women do that work mostly,” she said, trying to sound innocent.

“I learned a bit from my mom, and I found out that I really enjoy gardening and plants in general, that’s why there’s that many on the outside porch. Luz told me I was becoming a woman, I said, ‘what’s wrong with being a woman’?” Chuck said, scratching the back of his neck.

“He fought side by side with one, and he still says that crap?” Hannah asked, remembering George Luz, the clown of the company. “Fuck him, I like how it looks, it’s homey and… looks warm, you know?”

Chuck nodded his head proudly, trying to shoot down a smile that tried to creep up, slightly blushing.

“Listen, I was roasting some chicken, are you hungry? I have beers, too,” he said, pulling her by her wrist softly. This touch sent electricity up Hannah’s arm as she nodded silently, following him.

She was sort of surprised by his cheerfulness. He was a very lowkey man, never spoke too loud, unless he wanted to mock one of his peers with Luz or Guarnere. He fumbled around the kitchen for a bit, before going through the back door to the backyard, where he had a barbecue against the wall.

And she could see him work, cutting up the chicken while it was still roasting, and noticed how he hadn’t put up any weight since coming back from the war, or losing any from the anxiety and PTSD. He had kept in form, his arms still big, as his shoulders, the black sleeves of the shirt sticking tight against them.

Jesus, stop that!

Lost in her thoughts, looking around the kitchen, she didn’t notice Chuck was back with two small sandwiches in hand, leaving them on a couple of plates as he quickly moved to grab two Crystals.

“My brother taught me this amazing sauce, and it’s like pulled pork, but pulled chicken,” he explained, almost proudly of his handiwork. Hannah smiled and took a bite on it.

Instantly, she had to suppress a moan that was about to fall out of her full mouth, as she widened her eyes at him. He smiled as he chewed and nodded his head like saying I know, right?

After downing her bite with a bit of beer, Hannah finally breathed out to compliment his food, making Chuck blush again.

“So, uh… what brings you here? Did you need anything?” Chuck asked, taking a sip of his beer again.

I wanted to confess that I had feelings for you since you helped me warm up in a foxhole in Bagstone and you saved my ass when I got shot and you dragged me into a jeep to be taken away for a bit to heal, and I always wanted to kiss you for that but I’m such a fucking wuss, I never even dared to flirt.

“Oh, no, no, I didn’t come to ask any favors, no,” she replied, chuckling nervously, “I—I’m gonna be honest with you; when we came back from Europe, I knew you had to do some recovery from the shot you took, that would need rehabilitation and… I was dealing with so much I couldn’t stay and I felt like shit for a long while for that—Shit, this sounds like I’m doing this to sleep better at night but no, I just want to say: I’m sorry, I should’ve been there like you were when I lost my ear to a kraut bullet, Chuck, I’m really sorry, and I wanted to check on you, see how you were doing…”

It wasn’t a complete lie, Hannah knew that, but she still felt like what she needed to actually say was heavy in her chest.

Chuck smiled, and turned his head slightly, pulling his hair up a bit.

“The scar goes all the way to the back of my head, I—I should’ve died by the extent of my wound, but, it was mostly sup—superficial. My left arm is partially paralyzed,” he explained, lifting both arms at the same time but the left one was left behind as the right kept going up. “And sometimes it’s hard to s—” he closed his eyes as he struggled to say the word, his tongue frozen in the roof of his mouth for a couple of seconds— “speak, like, right now.”

Hannah looked sorry, like a dog with a tail between its hind legs, feeling ashamed.

“Don’t feel bad, I had my family and some of the men to help me, and very good doctors too, really, it’s not like you had to take care of me, you know,” Chuck added, grinning warmly at her. “George, Doc Roe and Speirs came almost daily to help, I was set; speaking of wounds, how’s the ear?”

Hannah moved her hair away to show him the scarred and dusty pink skin that reattached to her head after it got blown off in the Battle of the Bulge.

Bullets and mortars were falling down the territory Easy Company covered. As much as anyone avoids talking about fear, they were all terrorized; the lack of winter gear, clothes, ammo, and food kept them all weak.

Hannah and Chuck were shooting non-stop, both with shaky breaths as they were still covered under a wool blanket, where only the gun and their eyes could be seen.

“Hannah! Hannah, go help Shifty!” she heard Lip call her as he ran past. She sighed, not wanting to be any closer to the flying gunshots that were showering horizontally on them.

“Go, it’s okay, go!” Chuck exclaimed, looking at her swiftly as he kept shooting.

Hannah groaned in annoyance but still climbed up the hole.

Chuck watched at her go, though her walk got cut short. She froze in her place and he knew something was wrong, and in a split second, she was on the cold ground, yelling her lungs out.

“Shit, shit, shit, hold on, Hannah! Medic!! Medic!!” he yelled as he let his rifle in the hole, crawling to check on the brunette.

As soon as he turned her body around, his face grimaced in shock. She had blood flowing from her side into her cheek, eyes and mouth, as she gasped for a breath, steam coming from her mouth from the sheering cold.

He moved her hair slowly, uncovering what was left of her ear, hanging from skin threads, almost completely shredded from her skull. It was an awful view, and the crimson liquid kept flowing and flowing.

“What is it? Let me see, Grant, move!” Eugene Roe exclaimed, pushing the other soldier aside, checking the wound thoroughly. Hannah had stopped yelling, shock had settled in her body, covering her from the pain.

“It’s superficial, but you will need someone to cut off the rest. Help me get her to the jeep, Grant,” he said after covering the hole with sulfate and a white bandage that went across her face.

“Hannah, you’re going to be just fine, stay with us, come on!” Eugene yelled as Chuck lifted her from her back and legs, her face falling into his shoulder, bleeding on his jacket.

Chuck glanced at her every few moments as he ran to where her ride was stationed, she looked paler by the second that passed, her eyes were closing and he had to keep calling at her to stay awake.

“Hannah, come on, come on, stay with me, stay with me!”

When she was finally strapped down the bed on the front of the sheet, he held her hand for a second before she was pulled away, disappearing into the woods as he had to ran back to his foxhole and keep defending their territory.

But he kept wondering and wondering about her, until she came back two days after.

“You came back almost good as new, ear-less, stitched up,” Chuck said, reminiscing.

“And I had to tolerate thousands of ear related jokes for weeks, and got called ‘Earnnah’ too” Hannah said, making them both laugh.

“Fucking Luz and his nicknames,” Charles said, shrugging.

“Anyways, I still don’t have an ear, but the flu I was going through had clogged my eardrum and saved me from being deaf on one side, right?” Hannah added, lifting her beer bottle to cheer for that.

“To the flu, baby!” he said and both drank.

A couple of hours went by and both Chuck and Hannah were already feeling more comfortable in each other’s presence. They laughed about some anecdotes, and updated on their current lifestyles.

“So, a tobacco store?” Hannah said, standing under the sun in the backyard, enjoying the warmth of a summer afternoon, much more relaxed.

“Yeah, it was my post war dream, and I finally gathered what I needed to open it, it’s in downtown, 5th ave and Charleston. It’s cosy, small, but good enough to sell small things,” Chuck explained, clearly proud of his achievement. “You should come by sometime”.

“I would, but I quit smoking a few weeks ago,” Hannah replied and Chuck looked surprised.

“Really?” he asked, propping himself against a column he had set to sustain a small roof he had put up in his yard.

“Yeah, but I’ll probably hit withdrawal soon and I’ll go back to square one quickly,” she replied, mocking herself and her power of will, making Chuck laugh.

“You still sing?” Chuck asked, and she knew exactly why he asked. “I still remember when we found that piano in the Eagle’s Nest, and you sang a few songs to us,” he said and a very small grin creeped up his lips, looking down at his hands.

That was one of Hannah’s proudest moments.

“I do remember that, and I still sing, yeah.”

The war had lightened up, somehow.

Easy Company was on the works to clear the way into the old Nazi Town of Kehlsteinhaus, where they knew, at the top of the mountain, resides the crown jewel of the Nazi Party. A very glamorous house made only for Hitler and his closests friends.

Winters dictated for the Easy Company to head straight to the Eagle’s Nest, after raiding the town and finding a place to settle for a bit.

Hannah heard Speirs yelling the orders and they didn’t even think for a second before they started running up the mountain road towards the House. She ran next to Chuck, Popeye and Malarkey.

They entered the premises slowly, looking around for Krauts, their guns up in arms. And all of them were surprised by the size of the place from the inside.

It had grey walls, with bay windows every few meters, the sun shining through, illuminating the whole place. There were a few tables with a few chairs each, some silver plates and vases scattered around the living room, a fireplace, and on the far end, a grand, black and shiny piano.

Hannah was immediately drawn to it, forgetting about the men popping bottles of champagne they found lying around, remembering instantly the songs her grandfather had once taught her when she was younger.

The boys weren’t paying attention until they heard the first few notes Hannah pressed on.

“Davis, you can play?” Spiers asked her as they got closer.

I waited till I saw the sun, don’t know why I didn’t come

Hannah started singing, as a way to reply Speirs.

Chuck was certainly taken aback by her singing voice, she had never mentioned before she could do that, that she had even learned or anything she did apart from training for the paratroopers and hang with Shifty.

When I saw the break of day

I wished that I could fly away

Instead of kneeling in the sand

Catching teardrops in my hand

Her fingers seemed to be dancing around the keys like she had been doing that for a lifetime, as her voice shone through the notes she played. There was a sudden peace brought by the song, which no one could remember having heard before that moment.

Chuck sensed his body relaxing, as he looked at the brunette who met his eyes not too long after.

My heart is drenched in wine

But you'll be on my mind

Forever

For a fleeting moment, Chuck felt no one was there but him and Hannah, as she kept singing, his breath catching in his chest, leaving him breathless. He knew he had been looking at Hannah with different eyes for a while, but he never actually realized it completely until that moment.

Something has to make you run

I don't know why I didn't come

I feel as empty as a drum

I don't know why I didn't come

“From then on, you guys would ask me to sing every time we found a piano laying somewhere in the abandoned cottages,” Hannah remembered, smiling at the memory.

“Well, you do have a beautiful voice that puts everyone at ease, you know,” he complimented and Hannah could feel how her pulse accelerated at his compliment, cursing herself internally for being so weak for her former NCO.

“It's mid-afternoon, care for a tea?” Charles asked, when he noticed her blushing, not answering his compliment, knowing he had hit somewhere inside her with it.

“I can make a quick cake with anything you have in your kitchen, if you want to…” Hannah said, almost rushedly, trying to cover her tracks. Yeah, that doesn’t sound weird at all, Hannah, you fucking wuss, offering to bake a cake after a couple of hours chatting and trying to cover your stupid feelings, sure, yeah.

“Kitchen’s all yours,” Chuck said with a grin, looking for his kettle to boil water while Hannah looked for her ingredients for a classic vanilla cake.

As Hannah whisked the ingredients, Chuck served two mugs with boiling tea, placing one next to her as he watched her focused in his kitchen.

“I swear, most men of the company don’t have all this stuff laying in their kitchen,” she said, still looking down at the mix.

“I’m not most men,” Chuck replied and both chuckled at his comment. “Oh, look here,” he said suddenly, making Hannah turn around.

A black cat with a small bell in his neck walked in, stretching its legs, and walked up to Chuck, placing its front paws in the dirty blonde legs.

“This is Roe, I got him a few months ago, he walked in with a broken hind leg and never left this house,” Chuck explained, taking the cat into his arms, which made him start purring loudly. Hannah proceeded to pet him, sliding her fingertips slowly in the soft fur of the head.

“He’s so handsome!”

“Thank you,” replied Charles, earning a small slap in his arm by Hannah, who chuckled as she kept petting the kitty.

“You saying you took care of this kitty reminded me of that nun who changed my bandages in Foye, in that church, remember that? She came straight to me, wondering how a woman is in the Forces, and silently, pulled my face and cleaned me up,” Hannah said, remembering the face of the woman in the black typical suit of a nun.

“She didn’t treat anyone but you, which was either great or very selfish of her,” Chuck said, jokingly.

“She was in a convent, they take care of women mostly, and I am one, so…” she trailed off, wanting to slap the grin out of his face as she felt her heart melting to the view of Chuck, holding a cat between his arms like a child. My uterus is flipping about. “It’s not like no one took care of you boys.”

“What are you talking about?” Chuck wondered.

“Holland. All those women, and food, and drinks, and praising,” Hannah said as she put the mix in the oven. She could hear Charles laughing at her comments.

“I wasn’t doing anything there, I did accept food though.”

“Oh, Chuck, come on, I saw you with that blonde that was taller than you, kissing you non-stop,” Hannah exclaimed, way too quickly for her comfort, and turned around, pretending to check on the oven temperature; Could you be any more obvious, Hannah, dear?

“You sound jealous,” Chuck replied, with a smirk and furrowed eyebrows.

“I—okay, yes, I was; everyone was treating you all like goddamn heroes and whatnot, while I got questionable looks and fingers pointing at me for being a woman in a uniform… Hell, they must have thought I was the squad’s whore or something,” she defended herself, trying to not blow her cover that easy in front of his intense eyes looking at her from a few meters.

Chuck felt bad for a moment. He knew she was proud of being the first woman fighting alongside men in a war, knowing she had earned the respect of many, many people, but there was still a long way to go to be accepted by the population in general.

“Yeah, I wanted someone to kiss me too and give me drinks, I deserved that too, I didn’t have any physical contact with anyone as much as y’all in that time,” Hannah kept going, the anxiousness to cover herself up from showing feelings almost drowning her.

“I’m sure you would’ve gotten a kiss if you just asked,” replied Chuck, taking a sip from his tea while still holding Roe. “I would have if you asked me.”

Did my heart just stop? Did it just… really stop? Quick, don’t linger in silence too much!

“You’ve always been such a gentleman, Grant, but that was impossible. First, we were in the Forces together and that was very forbidden. Second, I couldn’t ask people for that, that’s just sad and I didn’t look like any of the women there, my hair wasn’t done, I was wearing our uniform and probably didn’t smell the best there,” Hannah clarified, trying to not sound too rushed again.

“Okay, yeah, partially true, but you don’t need to be all fixed up to be pretty, though.”

He knows and now he wants to play soccer with my fucking heart. Goodness, I hope he doesn’t know.

“To be honest, it’s not like I came back to the states and started dating and whatnot… I did adopt a dog, his name is Trigger, like the one Tab had back in the day,” Hannah said, trying to clear herself. “Oh, and Tab asked me out like a year ago,” she suddenly remembered.

“Floyd?! R—really?” Chuck asked, clearly surprised.

“Yeah, he showed up once, with flowers and everything. It was so sweet but Tab is like my little brother, so I let him down slowly and luckily, he accepted it and we’re still friends,” she explained, remembering how disappointed he looked for a second before she explained herself to him and he took it with humour and saved their friendship from awkwardness.

All the while, Chuck laughed heartily.

“What? Oh, don’t laugh at him! He’s so sweet, he was always nice with me, even when most doubted the presence of a woman at war, come on,” Hannah defended Talbert, throwing a paper towel ball straight to his face.

“Hey! No need to get violent!” Chuck retaliated, throwing it back at her. “I can’t believe little ol’ Tab asked you out,” he added, chuckling.

“You’re all always making fun of people who ask me out or flirt with me,” Hannah added, a sneer creeping up her lips. “Remember that one British soldier?”

The Company had saved a hundred and forty brit soldiers, without any casualties. Everyone walked back to camp cheerfully but in silence until they entered the barn.

Hannah didn’t feel as cheerful as the rest. She had been carrying a small infection under her tongue for a few days and cramps were attacking her every now and again, which she didn’t share with anyone trying to avoid some sexist comment about the nature of women.

Booze was being passed around the brits and the company as everyone cheered and applauded for their exceptional work. Hannah did enjoy seeing all the grins and wide smiles spread around, while she stood in the side, leaning against a thin wooden column, rubbing her back to ease the pain.

“Moose Heyliger and the American 101st have done the Red Devils a great service, making it possible for us to return and fight the enemy another day,” the captain of the British soldiers exclaimed to the crowd of paratroopers and the Red Devils. “To Easy Company, victory, and Currahee!”

Everyone cheered, drinking profusely, laughing and all around happy, until the same captain interrupted them for a second.

“Oh, and let us not forget to cheer for one more thing: the first woman in the Forces who was part of this mission, Miss…”

Hannah wasn’t paying attention, she was completely zoned out on the side, until she heard her name being called a few times. She looked up to the Captain, who had his drink up and looking at her.

“Oh—Oh, Hannah, Hannah Davis!” she replied, a little startled.

“To Hannah Davis!” The cheers erupted once again, but everyone was now looking at Hannah, who blushed furiously at the attention she was receiving. She just gave them all a tight lipped smile, her eyes drifting from one side to another.

“So, congratulations are in order, ma’am.” A thick British accent interrupted Hannah’s thoughts a while after she had been cheered on. She turned around to find a tall man with a buzz cut, his red beret and a pointy nose. And a very warm smile.

“Thank you, private…?”

“Joe Seaward, and it’s Sergeant now,” he clarified, taking his beret off as he took a drink. “How is the Force treating you? Good, I hope?”

“Very good, sir, they feel like family already. At first it was weird for them, but I was vouched for by the Battalion chief, and one of the men, who is an old friend from his hometown,” she replied, feeling slightly intimidated by the brit.

“I’m glad you’re feeling comfortable. And hometown! Where would that be, if I may ask?”

“Atlanta, Georgia. Can I ask you where are you from?” she asked, looking up at him. Hannah could feel the eyes of Easy on them, but she didn’t dare to look back at them.

“Birmingham, born and raised,” Joe replied, looking proud. “Uh, anyone expecting you back home?” he suddenly asked, and Hannah understood what he was referring to.

“No, apart from family, no one special,” she replied, and just got interrupted by another voice yelling at them.

“Sergeant Seaward! We’re leaving, come on!” Joe looked annoyed all of a sudden.

“Well, ma’am, if this isn’t too forward, when this war is over, and luckily, we’re both still alive and well, why don’t you stay in England for a while and… maybe we can go to dinner together?” He said, rushing as he took a few steps back.

Hannah thought for a second and, feeling like she had nothing to lose and after not being flirted by anyone in two years, she replied “Sure, Sergeant, if we both survive…”.

Joe smirked deeply and quickly found a paper and a battered small pencil, scribbling in it and placed it in her hands, before kissing the back of it.

“You’ll find me with that. Take care, Hannah Davis! Cheerio!”

Hannah felt like a child meeting her first crush, blushing, with a dumb smile in her face, until she heard the sniggering paratroopers behind her.

“What?” she asked, already looking annoyed at them as she turned to find them in a half circle around her.

“What was that ‘bout, Davis?” Bull asked with one lifted eyebrow.

“Nothing–”

“Not nothing, that brit was flirting with you!” Liebgott exclaimed, his lip curled as his eyes darted between the door of the barn and her.

“The fuck is the problem with that?” Hannah asked.

“No fraternization with soldiers in the Forces,” Chuck added, looking down at his hands.

“Oh, fuck all of you. It’s the first time someone comes and tells me I’m pretty in two years, when y’all had women throwing themselves at you back at Eindhoven!” Hannah defended herself, shutting them all up. “It’s not like I’m actually going to do something about it, I might be dead tomorrow anyways”.

“He looks stupid and he’s a brit, we’re all a better catch than him!” Martin added, inflating his chest.

“The only decent man here is Doc Roe, and you all know that for a fact. I’m going to sleep for a bit, goodnight” she said, walking away from them, breaking the half circle without looking back.

“I still have that small, battered piece of paper with me, but I never went to see him,” Hannah added, smirking at the thought. “I should’ve stayed in England and find him, honestly”.

Chuck frowned, “why? Was he really that interesting?”.

“He was sweet, he had a very attractive accent and hell, how many men do you know that say ‘cheerio!’ When saying goodbye?” Hannah defended Sergeant Seaward.

“Oh, stop talking talking about him already” Chuck said, dismissing her comments with a frown.

“Who’s jealous now, huh?” Hannah joked, pushing him slightly. Chuck just laughed bitterly.

///

Chuck showed her around the house, apologizing for forgetting to do a tour when she first came in.

He showed him some old pictures he had from high school that his mom had taken of him, some of his own family, and even a photo from a high school girlfriend he still had. Charles told him they were still in contact because her family was close to his, until he went to the war and she moved out of the usual address.

“It’s like the time I was away, fighting, home became a black hole in my memory, like…It couldn’t possibly exist at the same time I was away.”

Hannah enjoyed learning more from his past, and suddenly wondered if he had ever known what happened and how Easy reacted when they found out he had gotten shot.

Charles was looking down at a picture when she popped the question.

“Chuck, did you uh—did anyone ever tell you what happened with Easy when you… When that replacement shot you?”

He suddenly took a seat on the couch, looking up at her. There was something on his eyes that she couldn’t decipher, but it was between fear and curiosity; his fingers went to linger over his scar absentmindedly.

“No, I—the guys never told me anything, and I didn’t dare to ask, honestly.”

“Do you, uh… Do you want to know?” Hannah asked. Chuck nodded, his lips seeming sewn shut. She took a seat next to him, the air suddenly completely filled with tension.

“Well, you had patrol and we were relaxing in the house, playing cards, some asleep, most smoking and chatting about the end of the war. Also about the points, but, that’s not important.”

“Then, the door of the living room burst open with a pale, very pale and shook Tab. ‘Grant got shot in the head’ was the first thing he muttered. You know, there wasn’t any music around us, but it seemed like it had stopped. The relaxing atmosphere was cut off like when the lights go out with a switch.” Chuck was staring at her, his attention fully on her.

“But we didn’t have that much time to like… process. Floyd had received orders to find the shooter, and we practically went around the whole town and the ones nearby looking for him. We had the order to bring him alive but neither wanted to lose the chance to put a bullet in him. We were organized in groups, and we divided in three or four people each.”

“We ended up finding him still in Zell Am See. Malarkey found him with Bull and Lieb, they found him trying—” She took a pause, her stomach turning slightly at the memory— “trying to rape an Austrian girl. She was saved, thankfully, and he was brought back to the house where he took the beating of his lifetime”

By that point, Chuck jaw was opened, but his eyes seemed calmer, somehow.

“Did you beat him too?” he asked. Hannah suddenly broke eye contact, looking down at her fingernails fidgeting together.

“Yes, but I only punched him, the rest did the real beating… I was so angry when I found out he was in the house, I burst through the door and went straight with my knuckles to his jaw. I had my hand bruised for weeks. You were away at that point, Speirs and Roe had found a Kraut brain surgeon and got him to work in you as soon as they could. But we didn’t know if you were alive or not. After the rest took their turn with the replacement, Speirs had come back, saying the surgeon confirmed you were going to be okay; then they dragged the son of a bitch over to the MP’s.”

Hannah felt ashamed, her body seemed to be burning when the memories of that moment revived in her.

“I was so scared you were gonna die, Chuck… I wasn’t there when Speirs confirmed you were going to be okay, and I just—I lost it at that moment,” she added, a knot forming in her throat. “Lieb found me, while I was sitting in a room upstairs, on a bed, in the dark, cursing and crying. It wasn’t only you that made me cry, but… I cared about you, you know. You were my friend, we went through the worst together and I thought I had lost y—,” Hannah’s voice broke, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

“Hey, hey, Hannah, I’m here, aren’t I?” Chuck said, scooting closer, placing a hand on her knee and another rubbing her back. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that…”

At that, Hannah snorted while she teared up.

“What are you apologizing for? For getting shot? Jesus, Charles, you didn’t ask for it, did you?” she joked through the tears and broken voice, making both laugh cynically. Hannah lifted her head and looked at him, and noticed how his eyes were watery. He sniffed as he tried to recompose himself, his hands never leaving the brunette.

“No, I know, but… I’m okay, you s—see? I just speak like I’m dumb or something now,” he joked.

Suddenly, something took over Hannah and she hugged him, with her arms surrounding his shoulders completely. Chuck was taken aback at first, but he then wrapped his arms around her waist and stayed there for a moment, neither muttered a word, only sniffs and breathing could be heard.

Hannah laughs, then smiles down at the picture of a younger Chuck. Some things change, and some things stay the same forever. Chuck is one of those things that never changes.

After a while, after a hug that helped both recompose and even sort of heal wounds that can’t be seen, they went back to rummage through old photos.

“Oh, look at this one,” Chuck said, pulling a picture from his teenage years, where he was in just his underwear, surrounded by kids holding different pieces of clothing cheerfully “that was in the middle of summer, we were trying to fight the heat with water balloons and I got so soaked, my brother and my friends convinced me to take them off so they could dry. Me, being stupid and young, did so and they stole them and ran away.”

Hannah laughed loudly, looking at Charles with apologetic eyes.

“How could you be so naive?” She asked, between laughs.

“Hey, if I remember correctly, you got your clothes stolen once, in Haguenau! And you know it sucks, doesn’t it?” Chuck replied, jabbing his index on Hannah’s arm.

Hannah had survived Bastogne, with the scarring of her life and one less ear. Everyone was changed, they had lost many men there, including Toye and Guarnere, Muck and Penkala, and lost Buck to shellshock.

These days passed with nothing much to do but waiting for orders, some training, and finally, after the snow had passed, winter clothes.

Second Platoon was stationed in a tall, two-story house, with many rooms, filled with beds and some tables. It was battered, most wallpapers looked torn, and the smell of humidity and gunpowder filling everyone’s nostrils.

On a cold morning, Hannah came back to the second floor, where Malarkey was introducing the new Lieutenant Jones to the men.

“Sir?” her voice, smaller than ever, turned everyone around. Some had to take a second look to be sure what they were looking at.

“What happened to you?!” Don exclaimed, his jaw dropped.

Hannah was shirtless. She was holding herself trying to keep the warmth of her body, with only a bra, pants and boots on. She looked red in the face, from the shame. Hannah could sense the eyes on her body, taking notice of every single scar she was sporting, and the bandage that was covering one on the side of her hip.

“I was changing bandages, I turned for a second to get the sulfate and I heard someone running and laughing. I thought there were just some men playing around but they had taken my clothes, sir…” she explained. Everyone could hear the anger in her voice, her jaw clenching tight.

“Jesus fuck,” Malarkey muttered, while Chuck proceeded to pull the sweater he used under his jacket and quickly helped Hannah put it on. “Lieb, MccLung, Jackson, go find the fuckers who did this, report to Speirs”.

“I’m sorry, Malark, I—I didn’t want to make any trouble, really, I—,”

“No, don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault, okay? Here, it probably smells but it’s better than nothing, I’ll have someone find some clothes if they don’t find yours,” Malarkey said, giving her his scarf, and went back to speak with Lt. Jones, who only nodded to her as a salute.

“Come on, we made some coffee,” said Chuck, pulling her to where the kettle was in a corner. “Are you okay?”.

“Yeah,” was all she said, hiding herself in her copper mug, drinking the awful coffee they have been given. Then Chuck did something that she wasn’t expecting, but calmed her nerves quite quickly: his palm met the top of her head, and ran down her hair slowly.

Hannah had seen the men do that to each other, when they had panic attacks or after the death of a fellow soldier, they would hold their heads or run their fingers through their hair. It seemed like a paternal way to hold them close and not let them fall into the abyss of desperation war brings in people.

And now she felt it herself. Chuck’s fingers brought peace into her body, into her mind. She closed her eyes he kept going, enjoying that as well as the steam from the coffee meeting her cold skin.

///

Not too long after, and from a window, Hannah and Chuck saw MccLung and Lieb dragging two soldiers from their jackets to Speirs and Winters. Joe talked furiously, clearly explaining what the two men did.

Hannah chuckled cynically, knowing Speirs would have them doing the worst jobs for the Platoon.

Her happiness didn’t last long, though. After getting new clothes, returning Chuck’s sweater, she found out, alongside the rest, that they had a patrol to get to at one past midnight.

Everyone dreaded it, mostly because Second Platoon had lost the most people since Bastogne, and they still wanted them to do a senseless mission. They were ordered to cross the river into German territory and take prisoners to get intel.

They still had hours to kill before heading to enemy territory, so Hannah decided to find some place to nap, after fixing and cleaning her guns and getting more ammo.

She wandered around Second Platoon’s house until she found a room on the second floor. She opened the door, walking inside, and instantly found a sleeping body on top of the bed.

“What? What?!” it said startled and looked up. Hannah didn’t notice at first but as soon as some light shone through the bullet holes on the wooden panels in the window, she saw Grant’s face.

“Oh, sorry Chuck, I was looking for some place to sleep, I’ll leave you to—,”

“No, no, it’s fine… we can share,” he said from the dark, she could hear his hand patting the bed.

Hannah thought for a second. She was exhausted, her body was still cold and there probably wasn’t a better bed in the whole house to nap in.

So, she closed the door behind her and left her jacket and rifle on the floor, and climbed under the wool blanket.

Under it, she was met instantly with Chuck’s warmth, her side wasn’t cold, as she expected it to be. There was calm, so much calm it was a bit unsettling for Hannah; last time she felt it, mortars fell from the sky and took her friends with the blast.

But there was something about the gentleness of Chuck’s breathing that helped her, which she couldn’t explain, but silently thanked him for it.

A few minutes passed when Hannah turned to her side, facing Chuck, who was already positioned on his side. She was unable to fall fully asleep, which was normal when someone tries to relax during a war.

Hannah just stayed there in silence, eyes closed, her hand dropped on the mattress near her face, when she felt Chuck’s hand a few inches from hers.

For a moment, she wanted to grab it.

Hannah had noticed for a while that she was closer with Chuck than with the rest of the men. It was an odd friendship; it’s not like they talked for hours and hours on end but mostly in silence or with hushed, short conversations. But when she was with him, she didn’t feel as much fear as with the rest or alone in a foxhole.

But he had always been there for her, like she was for him. Through every loss, through every problem. There was an implicit deep trust between them that neither acknowledged with words, but with simple actions.

And to her, he was certainly an attractive man; with dirty blonde hair, an inviting smile, always polite and shy. And Hannah knew she had felt sometimes a bit of a butterfly in her stomach when he smiled at her.

Suddenly, her thoughts were hushed when she felt his fingers wrap around hers.

Hannah didn’t open her eyes, afraid they would show how much speed her blood pressure gained in a split second. But she did reciprocate, after a moment, moving her hand so his fingers intertwined with hers.

Neither moved, neither spoke nor opened their eyes. And finally, both fell asleep until Liebgott woke them up a couple of hours later.

He opened the door loudly, letting in some light. Both Hannah and Chuck sat up quickly, startled and disheveled, looking at Joe like he was crazy.

Joe looked at both with a deep, playful smirk before saying, “We have the meeting at CP in ten minutes, let’s go, come on.”

Thankfully, Joe didn’t notice that Hannah and Chuck were still holding hands under the sheet; but when they caught it, as Lieb left, they quickly unwrapped them and rushed to get their things, without saying another word to each other.

///

Night came around nicely.

Both Hannah and Chuck were enjoying their time. Hannah had clearly relaxed, mostly after they had talked about what happened to the NCO, feeling like she had let go of a heavy weight she carried on her shoulders.

Charles offered for her to stay for dinner when the brunette said she still had to walk her dog, even though she knew Angelina had probably done that already. He insisted, saying the leftovers taste even better reheated on the grill.

Hannah laughed and agreed to stay, as long as she could help with it. Her day has been better than expected, way better. But she still had that small pebble in her shoe about her feelings towards Chuck. A part of her yelled that she should come clean to him, and be done with it, no matter the result. The other part also yelled that his friendship was more valuable than risking it for something more.

But the tiny voice in her head still insisted with No, no! He doesn’t feel that way. He hasn’t flirted with you, or showed some clear sign of attraction, Hannah! Have dinner and pretend it’s all good.

“Hey, can I ask you something? This might sound a bit weird,” Hannah said, with a sneaky smile while Chuck revamped the grill. The former NCO just nodded in response. “Why aren’t you married?”

Chuck snorted, looking surprised and slightly offended. “Aren’t you the one that used to complain that women are always pressured to get married, and maybe they shouldn’t if they don't want to?” He asked, almost complaining.

Hannah laughed and put her hands up in her defense.

“I don’t mean it like that, Charles Grant! I just… I’m surprised a man like you, who does all this, isn’t at least dating someone,” she clarified.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t dating someone,” he replied, without looking at her.

There it is! So, that’s what it's like to get your heart punched, huh?

“Oh, yeah, I mean—Of course, sorry–,” Hannah added, suddenly stumbling upon her words as she felt her hands shake slightly.

Chuck snorted again, this time a hearty laugh escaping his lips.

“I’m not Hannah, I’m not seeing anybody at the moment,” he added, smiling as he moved the charcoal around the grill.

Hannah had a rush of anger suddenly, wanting to throw something at him and yell you fucking asshole, I’m in love with you, do not do that to me!!!

But she held herself in, looking rather unphased, and just nodded disapprovingly.

“I, well… I haven’t met the right woman, you know? I’ve seen some people, yeah. Babe set me up once with this redhead who could’ve been Malarkey’s sister for all I knew and it was going good at first but… Fuck, I was so bored!” he said, showing the annoyance in his face at the memory. “She was nice and all, but she was just… so fucking boring. She talked about her hair and stuff she does with her lady friends and she hated when I told stories about the war.”

Now it was Hannah’s turn to laugh. “She hated it? Why?”.

“Who the fuck knows, maybe it was too g—ory for her, or she didn’t want to hear that one of the men was being called ‘Gonorrhea’. Hell, she didn’t even want to hear how I got the scar in my head or rather, the explanation of my slurring when I speak and my lack of strength on my left side,” Chuck said and sounded rather offended.

“Someone has to either appreciate your scar and the sequels, or get the fuck out of your way,” Hannah said, approaching him with a beer in hand. “Don’t ever feel ashamed for that, Chuck, I’m not ashamed of having one ear, honestly. I think it’s pretty nice. Who can say that is different when their bodies are complete and in perfect state?”.

“It’s boring, isn’t it?” he added.

“You and me, Chuck, are different. And that’s good. Toye and Guarnere have one less leg each, they’re fucking awesome too.”

Hannah’s heart leaped at the sight of Chuck looking suddenly proud of himself, and when he looked at her to clink their bottles, she could’ve sworn that, if she had the ovaries, she would’ve kissed him right there and then.

///

After dinner and a few more laughs, Hannah called it a night.

Her heart felt slightly heavy for not having dared to confess what she was there to do in the first place.

“Well, my dear Grant, I have to head home,” she said, as she put plates down the water in sink.

“Already?” Chuck replied, looking surprised.

“It’s almost ten in the night!” she exclaimed, drying her hands on a towel that hung from the oven door handle.

“Want me to call you a cab? Lieb is probably still around working with his.”

“No, don’t worry, I’ll walk. It’s fine,” Hannah replied, and started walking towards the door with Chuck on tow.

Both stood on the porch, looking around the calm neighborhood. Hannah was feeling so ashamed of herself, slapping herself mentally every second that passed.

“Well, Hannah, this was a great surprise,” Chuck started, breaking her thoughts for a moment, “we should do this more often, maybe with the guys, sometime, before winter leaves us secluded in our homes.”

“Of course, but let’s not wait two years this time,” she replied, with a smile creeping up her lips, looking at him. God, how can someone dare be this good looking?

Chuck proceeded to hug her like when he opened the door past noon, when she showed up at his doorstep. Hannah reciprocated, and drowned herself once again in his cologne, not wanting to let go or stop feeling his hands around her body.

“See ya, Davis,” Chuck said as she walked down the steps and she took one last look at him before heading home.

You fucking wuss, you fucking wuss, you fucking wuss, you fucking, pathetic w—

“Hannah! Wait!”

Chuck’s voice startled her as she was reaching the crossroad, when she turned around to find him running towards her.

Her heart raced, wondering why the hell was he yelling at her for. Maybe she had forgotten something. Yeah, that’s all, I might have forgotten my… keys?

“Hannah, wait, I… I have to tell you something and this can’t wait…” Chuck started as soon as he caught up to her. “Listen, this might sound weird but… a while ago I—you appeared in a dream of mine. You were talking to me after I got shot and you were begging me to not forget you.”

“Hannah, I took it upon myself to find you but I was meeting only dead ends, the Army wouldn’t help me so I had to… fuck, I had to find Winters and ask him for your information. God, that was embarrassing, but you know Winters, he didn’t hesitate to help. I had your address and phone numbers for months, but I never had the guts to go knock on your door… I thought you might have forgotten me, but… I never forgot about you,”

“I never forgot how we shared a foxhole during our hardest time. I never forgot how we slept in that bed and held hands in the dark. I never forgot how you took care of me when I had that one panic attack in Bastogne, and everything else,”

“What I mean, Hannah, is… I love you. I can’t date other women because they’re not you, and all I want is you. So… please, don’t leave. Not now. I couldn’t believe my eyes when you showed up at my door, fuck, I thought I was dreaming or dead. You had found me and I—,”

Before Chuck could follow through with his speech, Hannah took him by the face and kissed him.

It was bruising, it was desperate and filled with love. Chuck wrapped his arms around her body, bringing her impossibly close to his body as her fingers found his hair.

The anticipation was their favorite feeling. They both sensed how long they waited for that to happen, so they sank deeper into it.

It went on for a few minutes, the night time seemed to have stopped for both, like everything had disappeared except for them.

After they parted, both panting, their foreheads connected, Hannah opened her eyes and found Chuck’s cheeks stained with tear trails and that explained the salty taste in his lips. That made her smile widely as she still held his hand between hers.

“Can you—do you want to s–spend the night with me?” Chuck asked, opening his eyes finally.

Hannah just smiled widely, pecking his lips as she pulled him by the wrist towards his house.

///

Making love to someone you have craved for years makes the hours longer.

Both Hannah and Chuck were sure of that while the latter moaned loudly as Hannah rode him; his hands were bruising against her hips as she moved, holding herself in his shoulders, kissing him every now and again.

Hannah never thought she would see Chuck like this. With sweat rolling down his forehead, his lips swollen and his eyes squeezed shut; to see his naked torso and his chest heaving up and down, which was covered in different scars that only made him even better looking in her opinion.

The man was almost ethereal in the dim light of his bedroom.

She enjoyed every bit of him as much as she could, like that could’ve been a fleeting figment of her imagination that she had to hold tight between her fingers before it could slip away.

But reality brought her back when she felt the pain of his fingers digging into her hips. Hannah didn’t mind one bit.

She just loved to see how overwhelmed with pleasure he was, how he propped himself into his elbows, wrapping a hand around her bottom to carry both into the bed frame so he could sit and find her lips with his as he rode into his climax.

Of course, Chuck being the gentleman he was, caring, he helped Hannah ride into hers, enjoying how she cried out his name loudly like it was the best song he had ever heard.

///

Chuck’s fingers ran down Hannah’s bare shoulders, enjoying the dampness. It was soft, it was warm and it also a tad bit freckled. His fingertips followed down her arm until they met her face, that laid upon the back of her hands as she laid in her stomach.

Her eyes were closed but she was still awake. Hannah was just soaking on everything that happened through the day, and now, through the night, as the clock ticked into two in the morning.

Chuck sat parallel to her, and his fingertips went all the way back to walk down her shoulder blades, into the deep line of her spine, meeting a few moles spread out here and there, which sent very slight tickles to the brunette.

“I kind of can’t believe this just happened” he muttered, turning to lay his head on the small of her back. He could feel the vibration of the small laugh she let go at his comment.

“Me neither, Chuck… but I, uh… I have a confession, which I think will make you laugh,” Hannah replied.

“Do go on…” he replied.

“You told me you looked for my information with Winters, right?” Hannah asked.

“Right”.

“Well, when I looked for you too… I did the same,” she said and felt his head suddenly turn to her at her words, “and when I said your name, he gave me a weird look, but now I know it was a ‘I know something important about this that you don’t know’ look”.

“So, wait, we l—ooked for each other in the past few months, and we did exactly the same shit?” he said, struggling slightly.

Hannah heard the clicker of the lighter and looked back at him, lightning a cigarette with a shit eating grin sprawled upon his lips.

“Exactly what I’m saying,” she replied, laying her head back down.

“Another reason why I would like to marry you, then,” he added, like it was nothing.

What he didn’t notice was the speed in which Hannah’s eyes widened and her heart started thumping inside her rib cage.

“I’m sorry?!” she asked, sounding a tad bit anxious. Chuck was never one to say rushed things like that.

“The first reason is how powerful and relentless you were and still clearly are. You know how I know that?” he asked, and she could feel his smile still in his lips.

“No, how?”

“When you confronted Sobel before we went to Holland. Of course, I didn’t know at the moment the amount of feelings I had for you, but… I think I did have some of them roaming inside me,” Chuck said, like he was the one who stood up to Herbert Sobel, “but that was just plain hot,” he finalized, and turned to look at her; Hannah was just looking at him like he was crazy.

The night before, everyone was cheering for their job. They were done, they were bound to the States and all the Easy Company wanted to do was drink and laugh.

For everyone’s demise, Lipton announced how they were heading back into war, to Holland, killing the mood instantly.

As the replacements were getting helped and guided by Bull, rather than Cobb, who could only brag about stuff he never ever did; Chuck was packing her stuff near Malarkey, Bill and Hannah.

“I swear I thought by this time I was gonna be home, with a hundred in my pocket, flowers for my mama and nearing Christmas with my nieces and nephews” Malarkey said, fixing his bayonet. The rest scoffed, still bitter by the news.

“I miss the coffee from hometown, there’s this beautiful place in Hamstown Square, it’s very small and cozy, and the pastries are the most delicious I’ve ever had” Hannah said, looking like she was talking about the love of her life.

“Guys, look!” Bull said, interrupting them, pointing to their right.

On a jeep, carrying some stuff behind it, sat Herbert Sobel, their former CO, the nightmare that trained them back in Toccoa. Hannah knew she didn’t train with him as much as the rest, but a year with that man was more than enough.

“Fuck, no…” Hannah whispered so just the boys around her heard her “No, not him”.

“Don’t—Pretend he’s not here,” Malarkey said to her, tying the loose ends of her parachute to her shoulders as Skip came to them scowling like the rest. “Y’all too, do not look at him”.

Neither obliged, all of them stared at the man passing by.

“The hell is he doing here?” Skip wondered, without getting an answer.

Sobel walked in a straight line near the men as the truck behind his jeep unloaded, looking between the men with his usual air of superiority untouched.

Unlucky for Hannah, he had met her eyes not too long after, and the man approached her, before the rest could make themselves scarce.

“Still alive, uh… Davis?” Sobel asked, scowling at the brunette.

“Pretty much, sir. Still teaching at that school… somewhere?” she answered, provoking a few small gasps around her. Sobel scowl just deepened.

“Do not disrespect me with that tone, private” the taller man threatened, his jaw clenching tight.

“Earn the respect, like you once taught us, and I won’t,” Hannah replied, her tone dripping with bitterness and irony. She felt a hand in her shoulder and knew one of the men was probably trying to calm her down. “You came here and act surprised that I’m still alive? No, I deserve more than that, sir”.

“You shut your mouth right now, private! This—this is the reason why women shouldn’t be allowed in the army; they’re too emotional!” Sobel exclaimed, almost yelling to get attention, which only made Hannah even more furious.

“If you were in our command, if you were our leader, we would all be dead right now. Don’t you remember that drill we did back in England? Why do you think you were ‘promoted’? And no, I’m not scared of you, go write me up if you want to; Winters is south of the camp, third tent on the right. Colonel Sink is in the next tent to his, the fourth one,” Hannah felt like she couldn’t stop, her anger overcoming her; mountains of words and feelings that were accumulating, finally leaving her chest.

Chuck couldn’t believe the words that came out of her.

Everyone awaited without breathing for an answer, a yell from Sobel, something. But nothing came, he just scowled, breathed hard, and before anyone took a breath again, he turned around tight in his heel and left to the back of the truck.

Hannah took a breath and turned around to finish prepping, when she found many of her fellow paratroopers smiling at her, some nodding in approval even. Johnny Martin crossed by her side, squeezing her arm, as he whispered a small “good one” for her.

“I fucking hate him, that felt really good”, she said to Chuck, turning to adjust his jumpsuit.

Chuck just stared at her, feeling hard to believe what just went through. Their former NCO was just bashed in front of everyone, and no one, not even one paratrooper came in his defense.

His eyes roamed through her face as she fixed his suit and talked about something he wasn’t paying attention to. Suddenly, he was looking at her in a different way, one that would grow over time during the war.

///

The night caught up to Chuck and Hannah, both deep asleep on his bed. The brunette laid her head in his shoulder, on her side, while he was laid in his back, with his cheek against her forehead.

Though around dawn, Chuck’s body started to shook. It came softly at first, just a few twitches, until it became a whole storm inside him.

Hannah stirred up and saw how every muscle in his arms and chest were clenched, and he muttering something she couldn’t comprehend. Clearly, he was having a nightmares. The nightmares that seemed to never end, which felt like a punishment that everyone had to endure post war.

The brunette placed her hands around his head as she whispered, “Chuck, Chuck, it’s okay, it’s just a dream, wake up, love, wake up.”

His eyes shot open, looking terrified as he gasped for air, his hands fumbling to find her.

“Hannah, Hannah!” He exclaimed, as he finally met her eyes. His body was shaking until he realized she was there, looking down at him, with a tired, disheveled smile.

“It’s okay, love, I’m here, I’m here,” she replied, running her fingers through his hair, kissing his cheek before looking down at him again.

The first light of the sun shining through the white curtains, illuminating both with such warmth it made Hannah’s heart swell.

“I’m sorry, I’m s—sorry, Hannah, this still happens…” he explains, his hand tight on her side.

But Hannah just smiles sweetly at him, “it still happens to me too, Chuck, it’s okay, there’s nothing to be sorry about,” she explains, admiring his deep blue eyes.

“Can you… can you sing to me?” He asked, sounding almost embarrassed to ask for it.

The touch of your lips upon my face

Your lips that are cool and sweet

Such tenderness lies in their soft caress

My heart forgets to beat

The touch of your hands upon my head

The love in your eyes, ashine

And now at last, the moment divine

The touch of your lips, the love in your eyes

The touch of your lips on mine

Chuck closed his eyes as her singing filled his ears. He haven’t felt peace like at that moment, not since the war. Hugging his mother, playing cards with his brothers or the men from the Company brought joy, but peace; peace came from Hannah, wearing his shirt, at dawn, singing to him.

And it was the same for Hannah.

Both knew the nightmares will continue to haunt them, and that their lives will go on, but at least, they were going to go through it together.

And that was more than enough for them. ///

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers imagine #chuck grant imagine #chuck grant x oc #chuck grant fanfic #charles grant #charles e grant #fanfiction #hbo war #war fanfic #my work #joseph liebgott #richard winters #nolan hemmings #eugene jackson #eugene roe #dailyreblogs

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jawritter · 4 years ago

Text

Where The Green Grass Grows

Chapter 3

Summary: Life changes, nothing ever stays the same. With most change comes with some degree of pain, that’s how we grow.

Jensen thought he had his whole life planned out, written for him in the bright lights of Hollywood. One failed marriage later, and a lifetime of lessons learned, lead him home to a place he thought he’d left behind him when he was only a teenager.

He thought his life was over. He felt like he’d lost everything, but who knew one little trip to the local diner that had just opened up outside of town would turn his whole world upside down. All because he met you. Maybe a little slower pace of life isn’t such a bad idea after all…

Warnings: Language, Angst, mention of past OC character death, mention of grief, fear of moving on.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 1652

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

A/N: This fic is unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work. Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this one!!

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“Ugh! Is this day ever going to end!” you groan as you flop down onto the unoccupied stool that was sitting in front of the bar. Old country music was blaring overhead and the chatter of customers filled the room. The smell of fast food was always so thick in this place that sometimes you felt it was suffocating, and today was one of those days.

You wanted nothing more than to go home and sink into a hot bath with a glass of wine and a book. You only had one more hour, if you could just make it one more hour, then you could go home.

“You’re getting out of here before closing at least,” Jess said as she came to drop some ones and fives into the cash register beside you. “I’m stuck here until closing tonight.”

You were just about to point out how she would at least get good tips with it being a Saturday, but the sound of the door chiming alerted you both to the incoming customer, and you could tell by the grin on her face who had just walked in without even having to turn around.

Jensen had been coming in every day since he’d come in that Sunday after church with his family. At first, he would come in and not say a lot, just sit at the bar or back corner booth and order his meal. He would try and make light conversation with you, nothing too alarming or out of the ordinary of what any other regular does.

Then about a week in he started to try and make more in-depth conversations with you as you worked around him, either cleaning tables or waiting on him specifically.

Jess had been running around you for days now insisting that Jensen had a crush on you. You yourself were not as convinced as she was. Sure, he was devastatingly attractive, and sure, he was an absolute sweetheart; but that didn’t change the fact that no matter how attractive you found him you were not in his league.

“Hey ladies,” he said, flopping down next to you, and giving you a soft smile that seemed to make your knees weak every time he did that.

“Well, well, look who’s back already,” Jess quips to him with a smirk of her own. Jensen laughs a little and shakes his head before taking the drink that she was handing him from across the counter. He’d been in here so much that you both could just about guess his order before he even got around to telling it.

“I had to see my favorite girls,” he said, throwing his arm around you playfully, and causing a blush to burn deep in your cheeks. You were slightly thankful for the bell ringing that told you table three’s order was ready. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Jensen, and if he saw you blushing you were sure you would literally die on the spot.

You could feel Jensen’s eyes on you as you grabbed the tray of burgers and fries, and made your way over to the table where your customers were waiting. You were hoping that it would give you enough of a moment to collect your nerves before making your way back over to the bar where Jensen and Jess were still sitting.

You had been doing some research on Jensen since you’d met him that day he’d left you the note and the large tip. Some things he’d already told you. Like his long-running show ending, the divorce he’d recently gone through, he’d told you about his three kids. The thing that bothered you the most, aside from why the hell he was hanging out here with you, was why they divorced?

He had still not told you that much, and you didn’t want to just out and out ask him, but the tabloids seemed to think it was because he was a cheater, and then some think it was because she cheated, which leads to a whole new set of rumors that go from Jensen being an abusive husband, to Danneel being a whore, and it was impossible to tell what was true and what was false.

You knew it shouldn’t bother you, and you were in no way going to ask him what happened with his last marriage, but you wanted to know all the same. Your eyes drifted up to meet his piercing gaze as you grabbed the empty napkin holder from the table to replace it with a fresh one, and he sent you that same soft smile.

He was so contradictory to everything you had ever heard about celebrity men. He seemed so kind. He listened when you talked to him, and seemed legitimately to care about what you were saying. He was so self-sacrificing in everything he seemed to be involved in, and whatever he was doing, he seemed to put his all into it. He was passionate and caring, and everything any girl ever dreamed of getting when she was grew up.

The only problem you had was the fear that these feelings were one-sided and that you were mistaking his kind personality for something more, even though you knew you were nowhere near this man’s type.

You had seen the pictures of his ex-wife, and you knew there was no way you’d ever be able to measure up to someone as beautiful as she was. So you knew that you had to get these emotions, this crush, under control before he comes in one day with another pretty girl on his arm, and it was all over for your heart.

Why did you have to have a crush on someone so completely perfect, and at the same time so completely out of reach as soon as you decided to try and put yourself back out there? It was unfair at best, and tragic at it’s worse.

Taking a deep breath you make your way back over to your current seat, and look up at the clock. Jensen didn’t miss the small glance and turned on his seat to face you fully, his gorgeous bowed legs spread and his knee touching yours, but he didn’t seem to mind or at least notice. You, on the other hand, you noticed, and it took a lot to concentrate because of the small contact his body was making with your own.

“So, when do you get off today?” Jensen asked, grabbing a fry and shoving it in his mouth as a plate of food was placed in front of him.

“In about thirty minutes,” you tell him with a deep sigh, it had been a long shift. 10 am to 7 pm was the worst because it took up most of your day, and you got the bad end of both shifts, lunch and then dinner rush.

“Oh,” he said, his handsome face falling a bit. “I was hoping I’d have a little longer to talk to you before you got off. I would have come in sooner, but I was on a Zoom call with my agency,” he said, some stress returning to his shoulders as he busied himself with his fries again.

“Well, I’m here for a little bit,” you tell him, giving his knee a playful nudge with yours and earning a cheeky chuckle from him. “Are you getting ready to go back to California anytime soon?” you asked him, more than a little afraid of what the answer was going to be.

You had gotten used to him coming in every day, and you didn’t like the thought that he might be leaving again.

“No, not now anyway. That was just check-in and updates, more a waste of time than anything.”

You hoped the amount of relief you felt didn't show on your face as much as you thought it must have, and you had to bite down on your lip to stop the smile that started to creep up there. When you looked up at him you wondered how it was possible that his eyes could sparkle like that all the time.

“Well, what are you going to be doing then Mr. Ackles. You’re going to get tired of being here every day after a while. Texas doesn’t have as much to offer as L.A. I’m sure.”

Jensen hummed and you could have sworn that his eyes traveled down to your lips before looking back up to meet your eyes again.

“That’s a matter of perspective sweetheart.”

You thought that you heard his voice dropped a whole octave, and you had to suppress the shudder that wanted to roll through your body. You hadn’t noticed that the two of you had been gravitating closer to one another while you were talking until Jess came and cleared her throat loudly from behind the bar.

“You two love birds better be careful now, Y/N is still on the clock, and table six needs a refill.”

Jensen clears his throat and sits up quickly, grabbing his drink as if his life depended on it, and you turned towards the counter as if you had been shot.

“I’ll just go get that,” you mumble as Jensen chuckles and watches you run off to refill the drinks.

“Keep trying Jensen, she’ll come around,” Jess told him, and Jensen gave her a tight smile in return.

“Oh, I don’t give up so easily on something I want,” Jensen said as he took a healthy bite from his burger, his eyes still trained to you as you talked to your customers.

He didn’t know how, but he had to get you to open up to him. He thought he’d never feel this way about someone again after his world fell apart, but you were just the breath of fresh air that would keep him from drowning.

@deandreamernp

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Jensen and Dean's babes

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#jawritter #jensen ackles #dean winchester #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #jensen ackles x reader #spn #jensen ackles x you #jensen x reader #jensen x you #x reader inserts #where the green grass grows

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cutiepisenpai · 4 years ago

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Dear Stranger Series Ch. 7: Scavenger Hunt(Spencer Reid x Female OC)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Warnings: Depictions of violence by unsub, sexually suggestive behavior, fluff

A/N: This was my favorite chapter to write because this is where this story originally started for me and I hope you all enjoy it.

Spencer had been having trouble sleeping the past few days. He had big plans to make but wasn’t sure where to start. So here he was at three am trying to make coffee quietly, not waking Melinda. A ring is the first place he should start because he hasn’t even been to a store to start looking at rings. For that he’ll need to wait for a day off that will hopefully not be interrupted by a case. And even with a day off he needs to find a way to get out of the house without having Melinda question it. Maybe he could have Emily, JJ, or Penelope help him. No, that would never work, none of them can keep a secret. He’ll just have to figure it out himself. He spends the early hours of the morning pondering what to do next. Not noticing the time he has spent formulating his plan until Melinda walks into the kitchen. “How long have you been up?” She asks groggily. “Uh.. just a few hours couldn’t sleep.” He says as he wraps her in a hug. “You know you could wake me up. I'm great late night company and you might have a better chance at going back to sleep.” She responds nuzzling into his chest. “It’s alright if I wake you up then we would both be exhausted at work.” They begin going about their usual morning routine making more coffee and a light breakfast before showering, getting dressed and heading out.

Arriving at the office they don’t have much down time before they are whisked away on a case. Not even having gone into the briefing, they would be briefed on the plane. There had been multiple male bodies found in some remote woods in Washington. During the discussion on the plane Spencer’s mind drifts off back to the plan he is currently putting together maybe if they can get through the case quickly he would have time when they got back. Or if there is any free time he can try going to a jewelry store in Washington but then someone on the team could notice and … "Reid?...Reid?!" Hotch is calling out to him. "Yea sorry about that." "Is everything alright?" Hotch asks, seeming concerned. "Yeah did you know getting lost in thought or "zoning out" is actually quite common. The regions of the brain that become active during mind wandering belong to two important networks…. Researchers say a wandering mind may be important to setting goals, making discoveries and living a balanced life..." Spencer is rambling on. "Ok Reid, I just wanted to make sure everything was ok." Hotch says. Everyone is given their buddy assignments for when they land. Hotch, JJ, and Melinda are going to the police station, Rossi and Emily to the disposal site, and Reid and Morgan to the morgue. "So what was that all about earlier?" Morgan asks on the drive to the morgue. "What do you mean?" "I mean you totally just checked out on the plane. Are you sure everything is fine?" "I really wish people would stop asking that. I said I was fine." Spencer says in a huff. Morgan figures it's best to just leave him alone for now. When they get to the morgue the five victims that have been found so far all show the same pattern multiple stab wounds pre and post mortem but the cause of death for all was cyanide poisoning.

The team determined that this unsub was a "black widow" killer that had been killing one victim a year over the course of at least ten years based on the other bodies that were found.They were now trying to find a connection between the victims to find the unsub.

Four days later they had finally caught the unsub. She was a thrill seeking psychopath luring men in with her looks and then trapping and torturing them for a year before repeating the process. The team was happy to be done, the case dragging on and taking its toll on them all. On the flight home almost everyone is asleep except Spencer. In the minuscule amount of spare time they had with this case he finalized his plans and would set everything up as soon as they arrived home. Finally arriving back at the apartment everyone agreeing the paperwork could wait, Spencer waited for Melinda to fall asleep before getting up and getting everything ready.

The next morning when Melinda wakes up Spencer isn't in the bed again. She really needs to get him to talk to her about what's bothering him so he can get some rest. She gets up and heads to the kitchen where she had been finding him every morning. But this morning he isn't there. She can smell the coffee which means he was here, on the counter is her favorite mug with a sticky note attached. "Running errands will be back later. I think we should have a date night." - S. He is rather strange at times but it's just added to the list of the reasons she loves him. She pours herself a cup of coffee. Since she has her own errands that need to be done she might as well get it out of the way while Spencer's gone. She needs to pick up last week's dry cleaning, drop off this week's dry cleaning, stop by the pharmacy and go grocery shopping. After showering and gathering up everything she will need she is out the apartment door locked behind her.

Spencer was thankful to know his girlfriend so well that he could figure out her course of action if he was gone. Once she leaves the apartment he goes back in to set up his surprise.

Arriving back at the apartment in the late afternoon Melinda is surprised Spencer isn't back yet. There is another post-it on the door "You must go on adventures to find out where you truly belong." - Sue Fitzmaurice She had no idea what he was up to but it seemed like it would be fun. Under that post it lay another "Some take me in the morning, others in the evening, but one thing you should know, that when I'm "taken" I don't go anywhere." And now there are riddles, she likes riddles and he knows that, even if this one is simple she'll play along. After putting the groceries away, she goes to the shower since that is where the next clue will be. On the bathroom mirror sits another note "When I put on my clothes it takes off its clothes. What is it?" She laughs walking into the closet, a hanger, but what exactly is she looking for? Behind the closet door that leads to the bedroom is a garment bag hanging. Now that wasn't there earlier and on the floor lies a shoe box. She unzips the bag to reveal a beautiful dress, one she hadn't seen before and she assumes the shoes in the box are a match. This game he has set up is becoming more fun by the minute. She takes a shower, puts up her hair, and applies light makeup before slipping into the dress and sliding the shoes on. At the bottom of the shoe box is the next clue "Some visitors pause here and strangers announce their reason. Things that decorate me can indicate a season." Heading to the front door thinking he had to at the door. But she is wrong, he isn't there but had to have been recently, sitting at the foot of the door is a vase of sunflowers that were not there when she arrived home. "A necessity to some, a treasure to many, I'm best enjoyed among pleasant company, some like me cold, some prefer mild, some like me bold." Melinda heads into the kitchen checking around the coffee pot but there are no other notes, maybe a mug she thinks going through the cabinet. Okay so it's not in the house she grabs her purse heading to the coffee shop they frequent down the street. She isn't really sure what she should be looking for and they are never here this time of day so she doesn't recognize any of the workers. Maybe if she orders something they will give her the next clue. "Melinda!" She hears someone shout "Small coffee for Melinda!" She hesitates for a moment before walking over. "Um I'm Melinda but I didn't order this." "Oh I know some really handsome fella came in and paid for it." She says handing the coffee over to her. At this point she is appreciative of the coffee, this was quite some adventure he had her on. The note affixed to the top of the coffee reads, "A pile of words, jackets of hordes, take a quick look in a place of books." That one was by far the most obvious clue. She exits heading to the library. As she walks drinking her coffee she thinks of all the times Spencer and her had taken this walk on a morning off, she enjoyed anytime they had together. Arriving at the library she tosses her empty cup before walking in. Once inside she isn't sure where she should be going. Nothing draws her attention, no one is looking around expectedly so she just begins to walk around following the same route her and Spencer always take. She rounds the corner and that's when she sees it, another note. Maybe she should change her routine and not be so predictable. "A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others. - L Frank Baum (The Wonderful Wizard of Oz) she knew exactly where this was leading her. Heading towards the section and finding the only copy of the book she pulls it off the shelf. "If an adventure is what you want, take a look, open a book" inside the book awaits the final note simply reading "turn around". When she turns around, down on one knee ring in hand is Spencer. "Melinda, I love you more than I thought possible, would you join me on the greatest adventure and marry me?" Failing to hold back tears, in barely a whisper "Yes".

The next morning waking up for the first time in two weeks with Spencer by her side. She smiles leaning over to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. Her movement makes him stir slightly as he moves closer to cuddle. His face in the crook of her neck he returns the kiss, "Shouldn't you be sleeping." He says in his scratchy morning voice. "You can't really expect me to sleep. I'm so excited I don't know how to contain it." She giggles out. She had been playing with the ring since he placed it on her finger, it felt so surreal. "Well if you're not going to sleep there is something else we could be doing." He says placing more kisses on her neck, moving down to her breast. But just as quick as their activities had begun they halted because the phone was ringing off course. Garcia called them in for a new case. Both groan in frustration sharing a few more kisses before separating to get ready and go into work. Arriving at the office everyone has the same look on their face, the why can't we just have two consecutive days off for once look. Spencer and Melinda were so caught up in the mornings frustrations they forgot about their recent engagement until Rossi came up to congratulate them. "Congratulations on what exactly?" They both ask. Rossi's comment had alerted the team to them immediately. He gestures to the ring on her finger. "Oh yea, thanks." Melinda beams out joy flowing through her. "Almost forgot about that after that phone call this morning." They are met with a sea of congrats. Emily and Penelope are already arguing over who gets to be maid of honor and asking if they already had a date in mind. The BAU family was hectic but it was home and they were excited to see what new adventures await for them

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #Female reader #female oc #Criminal Minds #unsub #bau x reader #bau team #aaron hotchner #david rossi #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #Penelope Garcia #fluff #engagement #Dear Stranger Series

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thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years ago

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Monument Woman

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OC (Rosemary Carter)

Warnings: Talk of death and illness

A/N: I’ll be on vacation this week, but I’m hoping to post weekly - Thursdays as reblogs of the previous chapter, Fridays around 6pm EST new chapters, and Saturdays as next day reblogs. And then posting when ever I so choose for one shots and drabbles.

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit. I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tag List:

@zeldasayer , @beskars , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale , @ahopelessromanticwritersworld , @lilkermit14 , @tortles [please message me to be added or subtracted]

Part 3 – The Clock is the Enemy

“What a beautiful day, Rosie.” Robert’s smile was small, but evident. He laid back in the patio chair with a blanket around his shoulders. The normally oppressive summer heat of August had been milder this year, but Robert was always cold now. His shoulders hunched over under the heavy cotton fabric, as if the weight of the world were on them.

She looked over at him from inside the kitchen and smiled, glad that he was feeling more energetic today then he had been the last couple of weeks. She had taken him to the doctor this morning and the news was grim – mere weeks were probably left for Robert and her heart clenched as she realized she had to watch yet another person she loved slowly die in front of her. Tears sprung in her eyes and she quickly looked away so he couldn’t see them.

She stood at the stove waiting for the coffee to finish, her hands tapping the side of the brightly decorated mug in front of her. Since his confession months ago about his diagnosis, she spent as much time with him as she could, helping him as he got his affairs in order. Last week, she moved in with him as his health took a turn for the worse and he struggled to care for himself. He felt as if he should have told her no, but he was so grateful for her, he remained quiet on the subject.

When the foam had dissipated, she poured in the cognac and topped it off with a lemon slice – just the way Robert always took his coffee at home. She carried it out on to the porch and sat next to him. He sipped the hot liquid and smiled.

“You know, my mother drank her coffee like this, too.” He nodded at Rosemary’s inquisitive look. He never talked about his family or his existence before Saugatuck, claiming his life here along the coast of Lake Michigan had enough memories to explore for a lifetime.

“I never heard of anyone drinking their coffee like that before I met you.”

“You don’t know a lot of Ukrainians, then.” He smiled. “She drank it with more cognac than is probably recommended, but she needed the pep in her step as she headed off to work.”

“What did she do?”

“She taught home ec at a local high school.” He grinned as Rosemary started to laugh.

“Did she include the coffee recipe in her class?”

“No, but it would have probably helped!”

The two laughed again and soon it petered out to a comfortable silence. The trees waved slightly in the breeze and they could hear the kids down the road shouting and laughing. The day was perfect and they both soaked it up knowing that these were numbered.

---***---

“Marcus! I’m so glad you called!” Hetty Pike’s smile was evident in her tone as she heard her only son’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hi, mom.” He couldn’t help but grin every time he talked to his mother. She was a bubbly woman who talked with her hands a lot. When he was a kid, she always held his face in her hands and told him that she loved him, her head shaking as if to reiterate what she said. When he’d protested the action as a teenager, she told him she’d never stop because it was her duty to know he was always loved. “Is dad around?”

“Abe! Abe! Pick up! Marcus is on the phone!” He could hear her voice clearly even as she pulled away to call out to her husband. Pike rolled his eyes with a small smile as he heard his father’s booming voice come over the line, drowning out his much softer mother, who said her good-byes while the two men talked.

“Son! It’s been ages! How goes the art thieving?”

“Not bad, dad. I’m calling because I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

For the next hour, they chatted as Marcus sought out his dad’s advice on various aspects of the reopened cases. The senior Pike had been an electrician before he retired and often provided advice to the agent on cases where he could, often becoming a sounding board as his son worked verbally through the case.

After walking through a few scenarios, Hetty got back on the line and the three talked about this and that for a while longer before Pike said his good-byes with promises to call more often and to try and come out for his sister’s 40th birthday party next month.

The energy of the phone call dissipated into nothing as Pike stood in his kitchen, the quiet house a stark contrast to the liveliness he grew up with. He became lost in thought as memories flitted through his brain – happy memories of his parents who were so deeply in love, every day was a chance to prove it to the other; of his sisters and him getting into numerous shenanigans that left them breathless with laughter; of his blue-collar father being proud of his son’s artistic talent and happily attending his shows.

Pike let himself smile a bit before pushing himself off the counter, pocketing his phone as he wandered down the hall into his studio. He bought the small two-bedroom house in the outskirts of D.C. because its large windows let in tons of natural light, allowing him to set up an in-home studio to indulge his artistic appetite in.

Art had always been Marcus’ passion and something he had been good at since he was quite young. He was proud that he could parlay that passion into a career. He didn’t do anything professionally, instead choosing to let his talent serve as a distraction from the stress of real life. As he sat in front of the blank canvas, his hands rested in his lap, fiddling with the pencil.

By this time, his brain was creating a mash up of his memories and Carmichael’s words from some months ago. He hadn’t been on a date since the last time he was stood up, but no matter how much he hardened his heart, he still yearned for someone to love, the kind that his parents had. The kind he thought he had with his first wife, then Lisbon, then Eleanor and Carrie and Sumata.

It seems the only place he could express his heart freely and without pain was on the canvas. He shook his head as he turned on his playlist and let himself get lost in the one place that he could be himself with no judgement.

---***---

Several Days Later

“Helen?” The director looked up from her desk and looked startled at the pale woman standing in front of her. She immediately rose and skirted the desk to take Rosemary in her arms, giving her a warm hug. She felt the younger woman’s arms snake around her waist, and she continued to hold her as sudden sobs wracked the body pressed against her own. They stood like that for many long minutes before Rosemary pulled away and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.

The two women sat down in the office chairs and Helen took Rosemary’s hand again, noticing the slight tremors she failed to feel before. She squeezed slightly and waited.

“Helen, I need to take some time off. Robert is getting worse and I don’t want to leave him alone right now. I know I have vacation. . .” Helen cut her off.

“Take all the time you need. I know this has been hard for you, don’t worry about us here. We’re fine. Marquetta can handle anything that comes in for you and I’ll take over the programs you are scheduled to work. You need to focus on you and Robert.” She didn’t say it, but the and your good-byes hung in the air between them.

“Okay. Thank you.” Rosemary stood on shaky legs and they hugged again before she went to her office. Despite the grief that hung around her neck like an albatross, she set her away message on her voicemail and email before packing a few things up for Banana. The dog had gone with her to Robert’s and the mutt spent his days sleeping against Robert’s frail form, providing a steady stream of warmth and companionship when Rosemary was at work.

After looking around her neatened desk, she walked to her workshop and glanced around there. She left a few notes for Marquetta on some projects that needed to be completed before walking over to her locked cabinet. She pulled out her keys and opened it, glancing at the bronze sculpture housed inside. She looked at it for a bit longer before closing the doors again. It was still on her to-do list but it was going to have to wait; Helen knew it was there, but only Rosemary had access. With the turn of her key, she left the museum to focus on the one person who needed her the most.

---***---

Three weeks later

The day was a sunny one, the sky a deep azure blue that spoke of the coming fall and as he laid in bed with the windows open, Robert took as deep a breath as his lungs would let him. He loved Saugatuck in the fall – the leaves, the roadside stands that popped up as the harvest came to fruition, and he loved to decorate the store as Halloween grew closer.

He let himself get lost in the memories of the past for a moment before forcing himself to focus on the paperwork in front of him. His lawyer had dropped off a new copy of his will and testament and Robert carefully read everything before signing it. Even as he laid there dying, there was something about signing the will that created a finality to it all.

As he sealed the envelope and sent a text to the lawyer to come pick it up, he heard Rosemary enter the house. He could smell food and for the first time in days, he felt his stomach grumble in hunger. He began to push himself out of bed when Rosemary enter the room and frowned at him.

“Get back in bed.” Her tone was firm, but gentle.

“I can get up; I’m not going to eat in my bed.” Robert grumbled as she walked over and gently pressed him back into the pillows. Rosemary was only a couple of inches shorter than his six-foot frame, but with his body becoming weaker, she seemed taller and stronger than she ever had before to him.

“You’re going to stay here. I don’t need you falling like you did yesterday and scaring the bejesus out of me.” Rosemary wandered back into the kitchen, pulling out the take-out boxes from Coral Gables. She arranged everything on a tray and took it into the bedroom. Just as she set everything down, a knock came at the door. She walked back towards the front of the house, seeing a woman standing on the other side of the screen door.

“Fern!” Rosemary was surprised to see her close friend on the porch, her voice rising in excitement. They hugged and Fern made sure to squeeze her poor friend a little harder than usual. They broke apart. “What are you doing here?”

“Robert is one of my clients. I dropped off some paperwork for him earlier and he told me to come pick them up. Sorry to interrupt dinner.”

“Never! Come in, I bought more than enough, and he won’t eat that much.” Rosemary’s voice dropped a little and she smiled slightly as a friendly hand rested on her wrist. “Anyway, please stay and join us.”

Fern nodded and walked into the house towards the bedroom as Rosemary ran to get more plates and silverware. When she entered the room, the two were in discussion, their voices low and serious. The conversation stopped as she walked up to them and both smiled at her.

The three sat and ate, enjoying each other’s company and Rosemary noted that Robert ate more than he usually did, which made her feel better. Fern stayed long after dinner was over and as Robert dozed off, the two women continued to visit, but moved the conversation into the living room.

They had been friends for several years, meeting after bumping into each other at Robert’s store. Soon their duo became a quartet as local banker Amy met them at a local charity event and Rosemary’s old college friend Tina joined them as she set up her vet practice in Douglas, just south of the town. The three women had been worried about Rosemary for weeks, visiting where they could and keeping a lively group text going.

When she realized it was midnight, Fern took her leave and Rosemary cleaned up the kitchen. She walked into Robert’s bedroom to check on him. He woke up when he heard her and smiled. She touched his shoulder and sat in the chair next to his bed, the place she spent the most time in these days.

“I’m sorry I woke you. How are you feeling?” He reached out to pat her hand and she held it as tight as she dared. He was so pale, as if he were fading away from her in front of her very eyes.

“Like death warmed over.” The chuckle sounded strained as his breathing continued to be hard for him. “Rosie, I never said it, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“I always make time for you, Robert. You know that.”

“And dinner is always Coral Gables.”

“Exactly. Tradition.”

“Tradition.” Robert coughed hard and heavy. He took the tissue she handed to him and wiped the spittle from his mouth. “A good historian loves tradition.”

“And the story it tells.” She sat back and watched him. He suddenly looked at her, as if he were seeing her for the first time.

“Rosie, are you happy?” She looked at him, surprise on her face. “I mean in general. I’ve never seen you date anyone long term, you hardly go on vacation. You work a lot. Are you happy?”

“I guess? I don’t know. I love my work, I have the girls, I have you. And yeah, sure I could do with more vacation time, but who doesn’t?” She looked away, focusing on the window, although it was too dark to see. “Dating is. . . It’s not easy and most men don’t seem to appreciate my odd hours. Or I’m too tall. Or I’m too loud. And I’d rather be single and happy than in a relationship and miserable.”

“That’s fair.” He smiled. “What happened to that doctor in Kalamazoo?”

“Him?” She wrinkled her nose. “God, he was a massive asshole. Ego the size of the Grand Canyon. I went on two dates with him and had enough.”

Robert laugh slightly before sighing.

“I just worry about you Rose. I don’t want you to be alone when I’m gone. I want you to live a happy life, full of love that you deserve. Promise me that you’ll make time for that.”

“I promise, Robert.” She smiled as his eyes drooped closed, his soft snores starting almost immediately. She set back in the chair, propping her feet up on the edge of the bed to watch him until sleep came to claim her.

#Agent Marcus Pike #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #fanfic #the mentalist

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galadrieljones · 4 years ago

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As You Were (Chapter 9)

Fandom: The Last of Us | Pairing: Joel x OC | Content: Fix-it, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Found Family, Joel Lives | Rating: Mature

Masterpost

Summary:

When Joel and Ellie take a wrong turn on their journey from Pittsburgh to Wyoming, they find themselves lost in what feels like a time warp: a beautiful place with a dark and dangerous secret, filled with painful reminders of the past. But they aren’t alone. When they meet Cici and Noah, a mother and son fighting tirelessly for survival, things change. For those with little hope to spare, family is what you make it.

This is an AU, starting after the events of the Summer chapter in the first game, and extending into the timeline of the second.

Chapter 9: Centennial Hall

“It can’t be any worse out there, can it?”

Inside Centennial Hall, Joel and Noah found what looked to have been the leftovers of an elaborate ritual, or religious celebration. The hall was full of candles and red curtains, rows of pews, dead lights strung up from the ceiling and a great deal of writing on the walls. Some of it spray paint, some marker, some regular paint. It was mostly Bible verses that Joel no longer recognized. The building had been completely sealed for what looked like years, and there was so much dust, they kept coughing and and could no longer smell the dead or anything at all. Noah found a room full of desks where twenty-five people desicated in orange robes sat dead. At the front of a room was a white board, and written there, preserved perfectly, in ink were the words: Sacrifice is Life.

“I don’t understand,” said Noah. One by one, he was surveying the skeletons at their desks. “A suicide cult?”

“Maybe,” said Joel. “But this can’t be all of them.”

“What does it have to do with the river?” said Noah.

“We ain’t got all the information yet,” said Joel. “Just…hold your horses. We’ll keep looking.”

There were no Infected in the lower floors of Centennial Hall, no spores, no nothing. But as they ascended the stairs from floor to floor, they began to notice a distinct pattern in the art, the murals on the walls. All of it was cordyceps, the mushroom. Painted in bright oranges and pinks. Sometimes, with the pictures, there were words like, Follow the Signal, or It is the Signal. When they got to the top floor, they found two dead clickers, practically sealed to the wall in old mushroom. They put on their masks, held their guns. After some observation, they determined that the clickers were restrained upon death, chained to their chairs, which were chained to the floor. They were dressed differently, more elaborately, as priests, with gold threaded scarves and wooden sandals. Sacrifice is Life. That’s what it said on the floor, this time painted in a rich green. One of the dead had a book, crusted to the floor beside its feet. Joel picked it out, flipped it open to somewhere in the middle.

“It’s a journal,” said Joel. “And unto us, God bestowed a Signal. The Signal chooses the living and the dead. In choosing It, we ascend. Based on the art around here, I'm guessing the Signal, or whatever, is the mushroom.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Noah. Joel handed him the journal so he could see for himself. “They did this to themselves?”

“Fuckin crazies,” said Joel. “Should’ve figured out of all this would come at least one cult that worshipped the cordyceps.”

“They saw it as a signal? A sign? A sign of what?”

“End times,” said Joel. “Revelations. Et cetera. Stranger beliefs have emerged in the wake of catastrophe. Or, at least they did.”

“This doesn’t answer our questions,” said Noah. “What should we do?”

“I got a bad feeling,” said Joel.

“Me, too,” said Noah. “Let’s get the fuck off this floor.”

Outside, it had started to rain. Thunder clipped in the distance as the day wore on. It was looking likely that they’d have to spend the night, so they set up camp on one of the lower floors, near window. In the clocktower, they had not been able to get in touch with Cici. But Noah knew that his mom kept recordings of all incoming transmissions. Could just be they were over the hill, getting fuel, or outside on the farm. Whenever they returned, she’d see the flashing red light and know that everything was okay.

Noah still hadn’t really processed what had gone on out in the street. He wanted to thank Joel but it felt so basic. He didn’t know how.

“Well, shit,” said Joel.

They were on the fourth floor. Noah had been sparking a cooking fire. Joel was at the window, rifle in one hand. He was trying to get a better look at something down below.

“What’s wrong?” said Noah.

“I ain’t sure,” said Joel. “Come and get a look at this.”

When Noah got to the window, he saw three men in gas masks, emerging in a green pick-up truck from somewhere off the stree. They were dressed like civilians, and when the Infected started to swarm, they tossed a couple stun grenades, and the horde dispersed immediately, with stragglers getting shot on the spot. Once they were clear, the men removed their gas masks, hopped off the pick-up, and started looking around.

“Who the fuck are they?” said Noah.

“I got no idea,” said Joel.

“They don’t look like cultists.”

“They ain’t cultists,” said Joel.

The men entered the building through the front doors. The doors had been heavily chained, but they seemed to have keys. Joel and Noah stood their ground in one of the rooms on the fourth floor, barricaded behind several heavy file cabinets with their guns out.

“You ever killed a person?” said Joel. “Or just Infected.”

“Plenty of thieves and reavers and shit have blown up in the minefield around our house,” said Noah.

“You ever killed a person with your gun?” said Joel, fixing him with a tense stare.

Noah shook his head. “No.”

This seemed to weigh heavily on Joel. “Well I hope that don’t have to change today, son. But if it does—”

“I’m ready,” said Noah.

Ultimately, Joel believed him. The kid was brave as hell, he had to give him that.

They could hear the men downstairs, their voices carrying through the old rotten air ducts in the walls. They didn’t sound terribly One of them was sent to sweep the upper floors. When they heard him getting close, Joel told Noah to stay where he was, and then he moved to position himself behind the door. When the man entered, Joel hastily disarmed him with a kind of developed strength that took him by complete surprised. Joel had the gun fixed on him now, and then he signaled for Noah to show himself and do the same.

The man was young, probably not all that much older than Noah. He had his long brown hair knotted at the back of his neck and a red bandana on his head. He had his hands up. He looked, not scared, but deeply unnerved and suspicious.

Joel said, “No need to alert your buddies. We ain’t here to hurt anybody.”

“Who the fuck are you?” said the man.

“We’re just passing through,” said Joel. “Who are you?”

“Nobody good passes through this hell hole anymore.”

“Not until now,” said Joel. “You with these…Circle fellers?”

“Fuck no,” said the man. “I live on a compound outside the city. We come into the campus every few days to clear out the leftovers.”

“The leftover what.”

“Infected,” he said. “If you haven’t noticed, the entire town is turned or dead.”

“Yeah,” said Joel. “I did notice. You mind telling us what the hell happened here?”

The man had very bright green eyes. They were uncommonly green. “Put your goddam guns down, and I’ll tell you.”

Joel looked at Noah, who was eager. They both lowered their guns, and the man exhaled, but he didn’t move. He cracked his knuckles, glanced to the door.

“You from here?” said Joel.

“I was born here,” said the man. “But my family and me left when I was a teenager.”

“You got a radio?” said Joel.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Why don’t you tell your buddies downstairs what’s going on.”

The man hesitated, seeming a little frazzled. He picked up the walkie off his belt and radioed down to the first floor. “Maverick, this is Iceman. Do you copy? Over.”

“Maverick and Iceman?” said Joel. “Seriously?”

“We like Top Gun,” said Iceman.

"Clearly," said Joel.

“What’s up, Iceman,” said Maverick, over the radio. “You got a report?”

"I got two civilians on the fourth floor,” said Iceman. “Room 402. They’re friendlies, just taking shelter from the storm. Over.”

“You got civilians?” said Maverick.

“Yeah,” said Iceman. “Weapons down. Over.”

There was a long pause. Maverick said, “I’m coming up.”

“Just you?”

“Just me. Over and out.”

Iceman hooked the walkie back to his belt.

Joel said, “Can we trust this Maverick, Iceman?”

“Yeah,” said Iceman. “We’re not fucking military. We don’t care that you’re here, man. We just come into town to kill those things.”

“You said you’ve been coming to the campus, specifically,” said Joel. “Is this where it’s all concentrated? The Infected?”

“Pretty much,” said Iceman. “If we don’t kill them, they wander down the river, to the outskirts. People live out there.”

“We found a dog,” said Joel. “With a bullet in its gut, in the southern part of the city. Was that you?”

“No,” said Iceman. “But reavers pass through on occasion, and other types. They probably killed it for food then got spooked. Look, dude. I’m telling you now. Whatever you’re doing here, you should leave, as soon as possible. La Crosse ain’t a safe place.”

“What happened here?” said Noah. He stepped out from behind the file cabinet. He held the rifle down by his side. “That’s all we wanna know. Then we’ll leave.”

Iceman took a deep breath. Everything was chill and copacetic, and that was not something Joel had grown accustomed to. It must have been that Midwestern nice.

“Maverick’ll tell you,” said Iceman.

Joel cocked his shotgun once, almost to punctuate the moment. He could be real intimidating when he wanted to. He then returned to Iceman his pistol, like a a good faith gesture, holding it by the barrel. Iceman took it, holstered it by his side, and thanked him kindly.

The door opened then, slowly. Joel raised his shotgun and said, “Maverick?”

“That’s me,” said the man. He came inside with his hands up. He had red hair and a red beard. He was a little older than Iceman, probably ten years or so. “I come in peace.”

Joel lowered the shotgun.

“Everything okay?” said Maverick. He was looking at Iceman, real wary.

"Everything’s fine,” said Iceman. “This is—” He looked at Joel. “What were your names again?”

“I’m Joel, and this is Noah.”

“You guys father and son?”

“No,” said Joel. “We’re just looking for answers.”

“What kind of answers?” said Maverick. He was wearing a blue Nike windbreaker. Outside, the rain and the wind had kicked up. Thunder bellowed.

Joel beckoned for Noah then, to come take over. His job was to protect, which is what he was doing, but the questioning was up to the kid.

“What’s going on here?” said Noah. He approached, slung the rifle strap over his shoulder. “What happened in this place?”

“Why do you care?” said Maverick.

“Because my mom and me got a farm, down in Viroqua,” said Noah. “The tributaries down there are all fucking contaminated with spores. It turned an entire Amish community and a bunch of people in the town. The whole Driftless is turning, all in the past two years, and a couple guys that came through lead us to believe that whatever was causing it, it was originating in La Crosse. That's why we're here.”

“It’s poisoning the rivers?” said Maverick.

“Yes,” said Noah. “Everything that’s flowing downstream from La Crosse is full of spores. Man, we can’t even trust the water table anymore. We’re gonna have to leave our farm after surviving there for twenty years. I just wanna know why.”

Maverick seemed a little pained by this. He had this kind of viking look about him. He was big and robust, and he went over to one of the desks, upended by the window, and picked up a chair. He sat down, like he was tired, and he started striking his knife against a whetstone from his pocket. “That sucks,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Do you know?” said Noah.

“Yeah,” said Maverick. “I know. You seen these signs everywhere, the fucking Circle of the Holy Signal?"

"Yeah, we saw," said Noah.

"That’s a cult that took over after the military left, all the way back in 2016. They were armed up, pushed out a lot of families with strongholds over the course of like, a year? We all went north, a bunch of us built up a compound in Midway. Every fucking week, for a while, people were coming to us, escaping, with stories of the Circle. They used the Fireflies to preach and recruit around the region, mainly Madison and Minneapolis, on the promise of some sort of scientific research that could lead to a cure.”

“The Fireflies?” said Joel. “They had a hand in this?”

“No,” said Maverick. “But they provided a platform for a lot of little paramilitary groups in this area."

"Yeah, I think I remember that," said Joel.

"There wasn’t a lot of support up here for a long time, except for the Fireflies," said Maverick. "People believed anything they said. I think they thought they were doing good or something. Doing right by the region. I mean, we had been mostly abandoned. I don't blame them. The Circle made them think it was some sort of sanctuary.”

“But it wasn’t,” said Joel. “What was it then?”

“A straight-up cult,” said Maverick. “They were like, totalitarian here. They provided food and shelter, if you believed. They killed you, or imprisoned you if you fought. They worshipped the goddam mushroom, people said. The fucking cordyceps. They thought it was like, a sign from God. And they would sacrifice the Infected, like an offering.”

“Sacrifice?” said Noah.

This was the part they did not know, that they could not glean from the ramblings in the journals, or the writing on the wall.

“They would capture them, cut their throats and bleed them,” said Maverick. "When they ran out of Infected, they started abducting people from the town and turning them, and then do the same thing.”

“They would turn people on purpose?” said Joel.

“Yeah,” said Maverick. “It's pretty fucked up.”

“What did they do with the bodies," said Noah, "of all the dead Infected?"

“Dumped them off the bluffs,” said Maverick. “Right into the Mississippi. Must have been like this for, hell, ten years? Thousands dead. I don't remember."

"Jesus," said Joel.

Noah stayed silent upon the revelation. He didn't seem to have much more to say. He picked up his hands, looked at them as if contemplating the whole and death of his youth.

"Anyway," said Maverick. "They all killed or turned themselves like two years ago. Like a Jonestown thing. They're gone. Maybe you’ve seen some of the aftermath here, in Centennial Hall.” He was looking at Noah now, shell-shocked, staring down at the floor. “If the rivers are poisoned down in the Driftless, could it be from all the bodies?" continued Maverick. "Maybe the spores got waterborne somehow? If you go down to the banks of the Mississippi, you can even see. The mushroom grows everywhere. It’s a bad place."

The room had grown subdued and morose. Iceman came up from where he'd been chilling off to the side, looking at his boots. He was sorrowful, looking up at Noah like they were victims of the same war. “I’m sorry about your farm,” he said. “I know what that’s like, man. I’m sorry.”

“You guys can come back with us,” said Maverick. “Go get your mom, in Viroqua. There’s plenty of land up in Midway. New people come all the time.”

“No thanks,” said Noah.

"The offer stands," said Maverick.

"I need to see it," said Noah, looking at Joel now. "The riverbanks."

Joel shrugged. "The truck is on the other side of town," he said. "Maybe in the morning, we can drive over, get a look."

“You shouldn't stay here,” said Maverick, resigned. He got up from his chair, sheathed his knife. “We can give you a lift, to the banks. There's probably Infected that need killing out that way anyway. You two know how to kill clickers, right?"

Joel sighed, hugely, was thinking about Cici, what she would say. He didn't want to walk her kid to the edge of the earth, looking down into the maw of the devil, but he didn't have a choice in it. He decided it could've been a lot worse. They could have walked into the cult, still active. In some ways, it was a mighty relief, the fact they'd come into the aftermath. They had their guides and everything: Iceman and Maverick. "Yeah, we do," he said.

"Then come on. Let's go."

They went outside into the rain, and Joel and Noah road in the bed of the truck, while Maverick and Iceman sat up front in the cab. The other two guys, they met them briefly, but they stayed behind, had been cooking something that smelled good out of a can in a fire back in Centennial Hall. There was something nice about that, thought Joel. Kind of wholesome.

They drove about two miles in the storm, the lightning making huge webs in the sky. Noah was quiet the whole way, all coiled up inside like one of his mother's makeshift bombs. Joel kept trying not to see himself in all that but it was impossible. There wasn't any way to defuse the boy. You just had to give him the space and the time to blow.

They headed north somewhat until they crossed the La Crosse River by bridge. The La Crosse was a tributary that paled in comparison to the massive scope of its source. The Mississippi itself churned in the stormy weather, its water black as tar and slapping to the banks. They parked beneath a bunch of trees off the side of the road in a wooded area, climbed a bluff and forged ahead through the pelting rain. At the dead end was a huge stone table stained permanently with blood, and when they got out there, they peered over the side, and they saw, exactly what had been described to them. The mushroom grew right down the side of the bluff and into the banks, plumes of it, beautiful in its deadly posture, bending toward the water as if to kiss its depths. With the rain, there would be no spores in the air. It would all be stifled down there in the water, proliferating with haste and sending downstream. The cordyceps could be seen growing up and down the banks, as far as the eye could see.

Noah had his shotgun in his right hand, standing there in the rain. He stared down into the water. Joel went over there, clasped his hand to the kid's shoulder. He said, "Is this it," having to shout somewhat to be heard over the storm. "Is this what you needed to see?"

Noah just nodded, simply. He didn't waste any time. Then, when they heard the horde of Infected coming up behind them, crawling out of the earth as true undead, they turned around and picked their guns up to their shoulders, prepared to face the music. It was so many, Maverick and Iceman shouted to retreat to the truck, but instead, Noah calmly and quickly lit up a pipe bomb from the parts in Joel's back-pack and tossed it dead into the center of the mass. It was probably twenty or so deep. They all turned to see and blew to fireworks. Those that remained got shot. It all seemed very plain in the chaos of the storm. Joel thought the same thing now that he had thought earlier, kicking through the body parts, making sure they were all dead in the grass. It could have been a lot worse.

They thanked Iceman and Maverick, who gave them a ride back to their truck at the O'Reilly's Auto Parts on the south side of the city. They were headed back now, to their families and their farm up in Midway, having done Noah and Joel a very gracious favor. Driving home in the storm, Joel had to evade some flooding on the main road, so they stopped at the junction where Highway 27 turned to Highway 14 in Westby and parked under an awning at an old drive-through movie theater. The screen had been torn in half a long time before by what looked to be a tornado, and the remains had overgrown with vine. It was all whipping in the wind now. Joel remembered tornadoes from his youth, and the fear they had instilled in his heart. Anytime they had to go down to the cellar, he remembered suppressing his anxieties to assuage Tommy’s. It would be a common theme for him, running the undercurrent of his whole life. He hoped that Noah would not turn out the same. And as for Ellie, he did not even think about that. He had not found a way to think about that yet, what that meant to him. If it meant anything at all, or everything. That was too deep to think. That was something else.

This was not a cyclone kind of storm, not that day, thought Joel. It was just steady rain. The brunt of it was past them now and the thunder had become a low rumble in the distance. It was getting to be pretty dark. He did wonder what Ellie might be doing. Looking out a window probably, and scraping her knife against a piece of wood. This much, he could think about. She didn’t really fear rainy weather. She seemed to like it, in fact. The first time he'd spent any real time with her at all, it had been raining just like this, the two of them waiting for Tess at the safe house in Boston.

“What are we gonna do?” said Noah, after a little while. He had his shotgun in his lap. He was looking out the window at the rainy field, the wind blowing through the grass and the tall wildflowers.

“We’re just gonna wait it out for a while,” said Joel. “As soon as the rain lets up, we’ll get back on the road. Shouldn't be too long now.”

“No,” said Noah. “I don’t mean tonight. I mean, me and my mom. What are we gonna do? We can’t stay here. Not anymore. It’s fucked, Joel. We’re fucked.”

Joel took a deep breath and put his hands on the steering wheel. It was a dejected tone in that truck. He said, “I talked to your mom about that, yesterday. We’ll help you guys get wherever you wanna go, you can count on it.”

“Why?” said Noah, earnestly. He was looking at Joel in confusion, his hair still damp and curling behind his ears. “Why do you care about us?”

“I don’t know," said Joel. "But I do know that I ain’t gonna leave you all alone here, fending for yourselves.”

“Is it about my mom?” said Noah. “Do you like her or something?”

“Excuse me?” said Joel.

“I’m just asking,” said Noah. “I don’t care.”

“It ain’t like that,” said Joel. “I hardly know your mom.”

”That doesn’t mean anything.”

”I said it ain’t like that. But I do know enough, about the two of you. And Ellie, well. She seems to like you guys a lot, and this place.”

“That matters to you?” said Joel. “Ellie’s opinions?”

”Sometimes,” said Joel. “I guess. That's—that ain't easy.”

Noah set his head against the window, fogging it up with his breath. “Well, thanks,” he said. “Either way.”

“You’re welcome,” said Joel.

There was no music to be had on the radio. Noah had one cassette tape in the car, which they played on the tape deck for the next hour, waiting for the rain to give. It was a compilation of Madonna songs from the 1990s. Joel found it curious. When it had first begun, he almost started to laugh.

“This Cici’s music?” he said.

“Yeah,” said Noah. "Sorry."

“Better than nothing. My mom used to listen to this stuff when she would drop me off at school.”

”Hey,” said Noah. “I meant to ask you something.”

”Shoot," said Joel.

”What the hell is Top Gun?”

It was not quite as torturous as it seemed.

***

On the tape deck:

“Take a Bow” by Madonna

#the last of us #tlou #the last of us 2 #tlou2 #joel miller #ellie williams #joel tlou #ellie tlou #as you were

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