“Part 5—Ain’t No Cure for That” (Shane Walsh x fem!Reader)
“No Surrender, Baby—A Short Series”
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
SUMMARY — Coming soon to a farmhouse near you: Rick’s sister spent twenty years pining after her brother’s best friend. Shane Walsh spent twenty years pretending he wasn’t pining right back. Then the world ended.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — This chapter came a bit late as I'm currently running a fever. But it has everything we like, namely some action, some confessions, and of course Shane making the wounded dog eyes at Reader.
WORD COUNT — 6,287
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It’s been a few more surprisingly peaceful days at the Greene land. Shane’s leg was healing against its will, for one. With how much he was marching around and fixing things you considered it a God’s given miracle he still even had legs.
As for Carl, he was up and walking on his own now, which clearly changed things for the group. Now they no longer had any excuse to stay and it made you nervous. Mostly because Shane already kept trying to persuade Rick to pack up and leave for Fort Benning about every other day.
Hershel wasn’t exactly opposed; he and Shane were like fire and water, constantly arguing about how to run things. Given what kinds of stories Shane had been sharing with you by the fire just about every evening, you couldn’t help but side with him. Hershel had been keeping you safe so far, this much was true, but he had no idea what was really lurking out there.
Rick and Shane were constantly butting heads too, but you didn’t try to make peace between them. It was no use. In your experience, forcing them to make up only made these two fight even more.
But one day you noticed something nobody else could. Sometimes, Shane and Rick would work together. Just like that. There was no clear pattern to it, no indication of any particular cause, just… Once in a while, one would approach the other, one of them would grunt questioningly, the other would grunt affirmatively and they wouldn’t try to kill each other anymore. All of a sudden, they would be best friends again, perfectly capable of amicable cooperation (for an hour or two). Just as they were working together right now, fixing the southern part of the fence.
You took your morning coffee with you to the porch and watched them from a distance like they were morning news. Truthfully, you really did miss your Netflix subscription, maybe it was just about boredom. Certainly not because Shane would be out there shirtless in the field basically every damn day.
You noticed how animated Shane was while talking to Rick and you tried not to giggle about it. It wasn’t hostility, not in the slightest. He was telling him something, maybe even reminiscing—judging by how hard Rick laughed at the end of that story, it must have been the latter. And then you spotted somebody else watching them closely. Lori. It soured your mood in an instant.
Rick was oblivious, but Shane wasn’t. He still kept talking, grinning at Rick’s laugh, but you noticed how his gaze kept flicking towards the porch now, towards Lori. She was standing there, in the shadow of the porch with her arms wrapped around herself like she was cold in eighty-degree weather. You wanted nothing to do with her huffing and puffing so you inched closer to Shane and Rick now, trying to overhear what they were talking about.
“You even listenin’?” Rick asked, nudging Shane’s shoulder with the back of his hand.
“Yeah,” Shane lied. “I’m sayin’ I dunno why that dumbass thought climbin’ a dumpster would help him get away. We still cuffed ‘im and everythin’.”
“I know what you’re sayin’. I asked if we got enough wire to finish this section.”
Shane looked down, puzzled, at the spool of fencing wire between his boots.
“Uh. Maybe. Gotta check the truck.”
Rick followed his gaze towards the house and you saw the exact moment your brother noticed Lori too. Rick’s smile dimmed, just a fraction. It made you unreasonably angry.
“Yeah, alright.” Shane set down the pliers and wiped his hands on his pants. “I’m gonna grab some water. You good?”
“I’m good.”
Shane drank straight from the water jug, like the manners his old man never managed to beat into him were still worth ignoring. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and only now caught you watching him.
“What?” he called out, already defensive.
You just laughed at his irritated expression and walked faster towards them.
“Nothin’,” you said, too innocent. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Shane and Rick said in unison and then looked at each other, confused. You laughed louder.
“You were tellin’ that story wrong, by the way,” you said.
Shane frowned even more. “The hell I was. That’s exactly how it happened.”
“No, you left out the part where you also nearly fell into the dumpster tryin’ to grab that perp.”
“I did not fall, I entered the dumpster in pursuit of a suspect and then—”
“Fell.”
“Entered.”
“Fell.”
Rick laughed then and you realized he was watching you two like one might watch a soap opera—one that was probably bad, but entertaining just because it was so bad. You supposed this was Rick’s candlelight pantomime.
“Remember when she used to do this?” Rick asked Shane, leaning against the freshly fixed part of the fence. “Follow us around, correct every damn word outta our mouths?”
“Yeah,” Shane said, not looking up. “Used to drive me insane.”
“Used to?” Rick asked.
“Damn, I must be off my game!” You feigned shock and Rick laughed again.
Seeing him like this felt triumphant. But the laugh was short-lived. You watched as Rick’s eyes drifted back towards the house, the now-empty porch. You knew that look. You had seen it on Rick a hundred times before the world ended, back when Lori would go quiet for a day or two and Rick would spend the whole time trying to figure out what he’d done wrong.
“Fence’ll hold for now,” Shane said then, louder than necessary. “Gotta check the north side. Dale said he heard somethin’ last night, but if you ask me that’s just early onset amnesia.”
“Jesus, what’s your issue with the man? He’s nice!”
“Nice?! Lemme tell you sumtin’ man, okay, Dale’s obsessed with everybody’s business!”
“Yeah, okay, alright,” Rick raised both hands, careful not to have that discussion again. “You want company?”
“Nah. You finish here. I’ll take the kid.”
He jerked his head toward Carl, who was sitting in the grass beside the hay shed, looking bored out of his mind.
“Okay,” Rick said and that was that.
Shane started walking, but he only made it a few yards when you fell into step beside him, light and quick and still impossible to shake.
“You’re limpin’ worse,” you said.
“I’m not limpin’ worse.”
“You are. You ever heard of restin’? You don’t gotta do everything ‘round here, you know. Hershel will never thank you for it.”
Shane exhaled sharply through his nose. “You ever consider becomin’ a cop? ‘Cause you got the observation skills for it.”
“Nah. Too much paperwork. And I’d have to arrest you for public indecency eventually.”
Shane stopped in his tracks. “What the hell’s that s’pposed to mean?”
“You drink straight from the jug, Shane. It’s gross.”
“Ain’t nobody else drinkin’ it!”
You laughed then and the look of utter indignation was gone from his face. You were just about the only person who could yank his chain like that and get away with it; hell, make him like it even. He picked up the pace and you followed.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, trying his best to sound angry.
You knew him too well to buy it.
“Cute?” you repeated.
“I said you’re goddamn annoyin’, you must’ve heard wrong.”
“No, I’m pretty sure you said ‘cute’, which I am, by the way.”
“You’re pretty sure a lotta things. Most of ‘em wrong.”
He stopped and so did you, watching his nostrils flare. You knew that back and forth made him want to shake you and kiss you at the same time. You were counting on it, in fact.
Shane opened his mouth to argue, but didn’t. He could read you just as well as you could read him. He knew exactly what you were doing. He was quiet for a long moment, but at the same time that constant look of urgency in his eyes, the reflex to grab his gun, it all somehow… Eased up.
“Too many eyes,” he muttered.
“Christ, but those people have got you on a leash. You scared of a little gossip again?”
“I’m scared of your brother puttin’ a bullet in me before sundown.”
You snorted. “Rick’s not gonna shoot you, you two are all brotherly again and it’s gross.”
“Yeah? You sure about that?”
“Yes,” you insisted. “I’m sure.”
You still looked at him like he hung the moon and Shane could feel a stupid grin trying to form on his face. He fought it, lost a little.
“Not here,” he said finally.
“Then where?”
He jerked his head toward the back pasture, where an old hay shed sat and where Carl played with two sticks. Poor kid.
“There. After dark. I’ll volunteer for patrol.”
So you came to the spot he had indicated when all the lights were out; the camp and the house settled into watchful silence, with T-Dog and Daryl checking the perimeter by the southern fence. Shane was already waiting by that shed with his arms crossed, trying to look like he wasn’t waiting.
“Didn't think you’d show,” he lied.
“Then you don't know me at all,” you replied.
“What? Nah.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Reckon I know you better’n most.”
He moved aside so you could enter the shed, then followed you in. The shed was an intimate space, perhaps would have felt even nicer if it wasn’t smelling of mildew so much, but you kept reminding yourself this was the apocalypse. Nevertheless, Shane reached fr you the second you were near. You let him put his arm around you and he kissed the top of your head like he was trying to remind you both he thought of you as something precious. Something he had to protect.
“So,” you muttered, looking down, but not moving away, not even a little. You could tell Shane wouldn’t make a move any further. He was there with you but… Not with you.
“Somethin’ botherin’ you still, isn’t it?” You sighed. “I can tell.”
Shane didn’t answer right away. His arm stayed around your shoulders for a moment longer, but in the end he stepped back first.
“It’s ‘cause I left Rick at that hospital,” he said finally. “We haven’t… Really had a conversation ‘bout it and every time I’m about to tell him, it’s, uh, it’s Lori. It’s like she don’t want us alone together or sumtin’.”
You tensed, because in your general experience that woman’s name was never followed by anything good.
“Why would she do that?” you asked. “I mean, aside from the fact she’s the fuckin’ devil an’ all.”
“Christ.” Shane shook his head and looked at you in exasperation. “What’s your problem with her?”
“How much time d’you have?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“No, why do you hate her so much?” he asked. “Really.”
He could see you debating whether to answer.
“Come on,” he pressed, softer now. “It’s just us in here. You can say it.”
Shane didn’t really have to press you all that hard, though. You have told him bits and pieces along the years. You’d visit King County for Christmas, Thanksgiving, family events, sometimes even birthdays. But over the years your visits became less and less frequent.
You were never allowed to take Carl anywhere, not unless Rick or Lori were present. During Thanksgiving, you usually just watched Rick and her having whisper-shouted arguments in the kitchen.
To you, the woman was ruining any real chances for what you knew Rick wanted deep down inside—true love, one that would accept his softer side and maybe, if he was lucky, would finally get him to grow a stronger backbone. If you were being really honest, Rick was your older brother, but sometimes he made you want to fight his battles for him.
Shane watched your internal debate with a fond expression. You had always been on the smaller side, but you carried yourself like someone twice your size when you were angry enough.
“She never trusted me with Carl,” you said finally. “Not for a minute. I’d come to visit for Christmas before, remember? I’d ask to take him to the park, just down the damn street, and she’d make some excuse. ‘He’s tired.’ ‘We got plans.’ ‘Rick’s not home yet.’ Always somethin’. She made me feel awful about it, like I was some unstable crazy person she couldn’t leave that kid alone with for five minutes.”
“And Rick,” you sighed deeply, “he’d just let her do anything she wanted. Just let her decide on everythin’ all the time. Let her push him around, push me around, and then when they thought nobody was listenin’, they’d be in the kitchen screamin’ at each other in whispers. Every holiday. Every birthday. Sometimes it made me glad our Ma wasn’t there to see Rick so brokenhearted.”
You looked up at Shane again, but he was avoiding your eyes now. Something you said must have rang true, that was the only reason he’d go as quiet as this.
“And she, she was always so fuckin’ miserable,” you continued, rolling your eyes. “No matter what Rick did. That woman’s got a gift, I’m tellin’ you. Even now. I’ve been watchin’ your group, tell me somethin’, have you ever seen Lori do one damn chore? All she does is strut around with a sour look and ask everyone to watch Carl all the time. Includin’ that guy with the crossbow, who I’m pretty sure makes more conversation with the boy in grunts than she ever does.”
Shane listened without interrupting. Mostly because there was nothing to interrupt that with. You had no way of knowing this and he’d never tell, but Shane still remembered that talk he and Rick had in the patrol car, on the day Rick got shot.
Over the years, Shane had seen Lori’s tight smiles and, if he was being honest, what he hated to see most was the way she would correct Rick in front of people. He’d never let it stand if it were him. But he wouldn’t tell you that either.
Except, if he was honest, he tried not to laugh at you mentioning Daryl, because he knew how much Dixon would hate that read.
“Yeah,” he said finally, when you were all done. “I saw some of that.”
“Yeah,” you scoffed. “I bet you did.”
He frowned. “What’s that s’pposed to mean?”
“It means,” you took a deep breath, knowing this was getting into a dangerous territory of personal, “the only person I never seen her do that shit to was you. It’s like she wouldn’t dare or somethin’. Like she knew you wouldn’t just take it like Rick does.”
Shane went very still. “You’re readin’ too much into shit.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah. You are.”
“So you were friends?”
Shane shot you a look. “Not really, no. I took care of her an’ Carl ‘cause that’s what Rick would’ve wanted.”
You didn’t say anything to that and even in the pale moonlight Shane could see the color rise in your cheeks.
“Why do you care?” he asked. “You worried about Rick? Or you worried ‘bout somethin’ else?”
“Don’t do that,” you said quietly.
“Do what?”
“Turn it around. Make it about me.”
He laughed. “Darlin’, everything’s about you with me lately. Ain’t exactly a secret.”
He was close now. Close enough to reach out and touch you, and he did. Your hand found his in the dark and you laced your fingers together.
After another tense moment, Shane said your name, but you wouldn’t speak, you were all talked-out.
“C’mon, babygirl, say somethin’. Anythin’.”
So, finally, you put your arms around his neck and—
“What in God’s name is goin’ on here?!”
It was Rick, using his best Deputy tone.
Shane went still against you so fast it was like somebody flipped a switch. He stepped back, but it was too late. The door to that shed was half-opened anyway and you’ve been caught.
“Look man…” he said, and his tone was already guilty as hell.
Rick stood about ten feet away, just at the edge of the porch. He looked… Not angry. Not yet. Confused, maybe.
“I asked you a question,” Rick insisted.
Shane finally turned to face him. “Wasn’t what it—” He stopped himself. “Yeah, okay. It was what it looked like.”
Rick didn’t move. Just looked from Shane to you and back again.
“My sister,” Rick said, his expression shifting into something darker, “and you. What the hell, Shane?!”
“I know,” Shane said and stepped outside.
“Oh, so you know?” Rick’s voice was slowly rising. “Good, just as long as we all fuckin’ know then! You, get in the house.”
That last part was for you. You could tell now the camp wasn’t even pretending not to listen. Everybody was. Including Lori, standing by the front door, with her arms crossed over her chest again. If you were a mentalist, perhaps you’d connect the gesture to some hidden meaning.
But, as things stood, you were busted. You had bigger things to worry about. Like Shane and Rick arranging a pistol duel on top of the hill at midnight or something equally stupid. You wouldn’t put it past them.
“Inside,” Rick said again, like he was giving you an order.
You didn’t move at first and so Shane nudged your shoulder.
“Go,” he murmured. “Ain’t gonna help nobody standin’ here givin’ ‘em a show.”
So you walked towards the house, past the tents and whoever had crawled out of them for the evening program. You didn’t look at Lori when you entered the house, even though you could already tell she wanted to say something to you. The screen door slapped shut behind you.
“Alright,” Shane said. “You wanna do this? Let’s do it. But not here. Not with every asshole in camp listenin’ in.”
Rick scoffed. “You don’t get to decide where we do this, Shane. Not after I just found you like that.”
A few people in the camp looked embarrassed, but nobody moved.
“Yeah,” Shane said, louder. “You caught us holdin’ hands. Congratulations. Now unless you want me to stand here and draw you a picture—”
Rick walked up to him and for a second Shane thought he was going to hit him, too. Which he probably would have let happen anyway.
“Barn,” Rick said finally. “Now.”
He started walking. Shane hesitated, glancing once towards the house, then he limped after Rick.
“What’s going on?” Maggie asked you as soon as you were inside.
You groaned and shook your head. “My brother and his best friend are gonna kill each other in the barn for my honor or somethin’.”
As soon as you said it, Maggie paled.
“NO!” she shouted and ran out that door, leaving you stunned.
Shane had just caught up to Rick when Maggie burst out the front door shrieking like she was burning alive.
“No! Stop!” She flew past the few people by the porch, waving her arms urgently.
As soon as he saw her, barefoot, in her pajamas, Shane’s hand went to his Glock before his brain caught up.
Maggie didn’t stop. She ran past them for the barn.
“What the hell?” Rick asked. “Maggie?”
Shane was already moving. He broke into a limping stride after her, fast as he could make himself go. Rick was right beside him now. Whatever was about to happen between them in that barn, it sure as shit was going to have to wait.
“Maggie!” Shane shouted. “Stop!”
She didn’t. She reached the barn doors and threw herself against the heavy wooden bar. But she was just one woman and the door…
The door was rattling.
Something inside was thrashing, hammering against the wood.
And groaning.
“Maggie, get away from there!” Shane shouted.
He pulled his Glock and racked the slide.
“No, you don’t understand!” She shouted, absolutely terrified. “You can’t open it, you can’t see…!”
The door split in between from the rattling motion and then grey, dead fingers punched through the gap, grasping at nothing. Maggie screamed and finally stepped away from the door.
Rick had his gun out too now, looking pale. “How many?” he demanded.
“Please,” Maggie sobbed. “Please, just… Dad said we could fix them, he said they’re sick, he said—”
“HOW MANY?!” Shane roared and Maggie looked at him with absolute hatred.
The question was redundant by now. The whole barn was moving, two dozen bodies or more throwing themselves against the walls with wet, raspy snarling.
Shane moved then. He grabbed Maggie by the arm and yanked her back further from the door. She fought him, but Shane pushed her backwards behind Rick.
“Rick, get her outta here!” Shane ordered. “Now!”
“Hey!” Maggie protested. “You don’t give me orders!”
“Shane, wait a damn minute, you don’t tell me—”
“RICK!” Shane shoved Maggie at him, hard enough that Rick had to catch her. “Get her back to the house and wake EVERYBODY up! We got a herd in a box ten feet from where your son sleeps!”
Rick’s mouth snapped shut. Just for that moment, the fight between them was done and buried.
“Okay,” Rick decided, stepping back into his Deputy role. “But we’re gonna need every gun and every knife this farm’s got.”
That last one was directed at Maggie, who was still conflicted.
“Don’t just stand there, Rick, go!” Shane shouted.
Rick finally ran back to the house, hauling Maggie with him. As soon as they were gone, Shane’s eyes were back on the trembling barn door, Glock up and ready. He tried to remember how many rounds the mag still held, but on second thought decided to leave that be.
The wooden door still held, barely, the bar groaning against the iron brackets. Dead fingers clawed out and Shane counted at least four hands before he stopped himself from thinking about that, too.
“Goddamn it,” Shane hissed through his teeth. “God fuckin’ damn it!”
Then, he heard people running behind him and he exhaled. He saw Daryl, half-dressed, holding his crossbow up. Rick and T-Dog were right behind him, guns in hand. Dale was limping after them with a rifle and for some reason Andrea was with him as well. Shane groaned.
“What the hell is in there?!” Andrea shouted.
“What the fuck d’ you think?!” Shane roared, pointing with his Glock to the trembling barn door. “Hershel’s been keepin’ pets!”
T-Dog’s eyes went wide. “You serious?”
“Do I look like Louis fuckin’ C.K. to you?!”
Rick wasn’t speaking, which in Shane’s experience meant he was thinking of a plan. Sure enough, his former partner looked around the area and finally focused on something. Shane glanced that way. There was a wooden wagon maybe fifteen feet away, one wheel missing, but he supposed it was heavy enough.
“What’re you thinkin’ man?” Shane asked, voice a bit steadier.
“We don’t have enough ammo for all of them.” Rick held his hand up. “Everyone, help me get that wagon over here, now! And fetch every piece of wood, every rope, every fuckin’ thing you can find!”
They moved. It made something ugly in Shane’s gut twist when he watched them listen to Rick so unquestioningly. But then the barn rattled again and so he ignored it, for now.
T-Dog grabbed one side of the wagon, Andrea the other, and together with Rick they dragged it across the dirt towards the doors.
“Shane!” Dale called, still clutching that rifle. “How many?”
Shane didn’t speak for a while. “Twenty, maybe more,” he said finally. “An’ I still say we oughta shoot ‘em before they eat us.”
“Nah, look at what happened at the quarry.” T-Dog shook his head. “We start shootin’, every goddamn walker from the area’ll come runnin’. Then what?”
Shane felt his sanity slipping. “So what, we just have a fuckin’ sleepover?!”
“He didn’t say that,” Rick cut in, his hand raised towards Shane like he was pacifying a horse. “T-Dog, help me push that thing closer.”
The wagon thumped against the doors.
“This better work, ‘s all I’m sayin’,” Shane muttered, shaking his head.
“That’s not gonna hold,” Andrea said.
“You got a suggestion, I’m all ears!” T-Dog straightened, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Shane, we can’t just—” Andrea started.
“Can’t what?”
“I don’t know, shouldn’t we talk before we storm the fuckin’ gates?!”
“Jesus Christ, did we ask for a committee?!” Shane shouted. “You got an idea or you don’t, otherwise don’t piss me off!”
“I got somethin’ that might help,” Dale said then and trotted towards the tents. Shane didn’t bother with whatever the hell this even was.
“Alright,” Rick said, his voice cutting through the argument. “Alright, we can’t have a shootout, T-Dog’s right. We chain it. Anything iron in this damn farm, we wrap around these handles and the wagon frame. Dale, check the stables for rope or chain. Andrea, you go with him.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Daryl,” Shane called.
“Yeah?”
“You got bolts enough for twenty?”
“Not a fuckin’ chance,” Daryl said, squinting at the barn. “But I got a hatchet an’ a knife. That’s two, maybe three ‘fore the rest come down on me.”
“Yeah, you’re a real comfort, d’you know that?”
Daryl shot Shane a look. “Just bein’ honest.”
In the meantime, T-Dog came back, hauling a rusted chain with Rick. “Found this in the tractor shed. Ain’t much, but it’s somethin’.”
“Toss it here.”
They worked together. Shane looped the chain through the door handles and around the wagon axle, yanking it tight. In the meantime, Dale came back from the camp, carrying the rope Shane had seen him fidget with some days earlier.
“Got it!” Dale exclaimed, then together with Andrea they doubled it around the frame, knotting it with sailor knots.
“Good work,” Rick said, taking a step back to watch the door again.
“Where the hell’s Hershel?” Shane cut in.
Nobody answered.
Shane scrubbed a hand across his face. “Then I’ll ask again. Where the hell is Hershel?”
“Don’t look at me,” Daryl muttered, crossbow steady. “Ain’t his keeper.”
“Old man’s probably inside,” Andrea said, glancing toward the farmhouse.
“Somebody get him,” Shane ordered. “Now.”
Dale stepped forward. “Okay. I’ll go.”
“No,” Rick said. “I’ll go. You stay here, help them hold that door. Shane—”
“Yeah, I’m stayin’ right here,” Shane said.
Rick hesitated, just for a moment, and Shane took it like a slap to the face. He was competent enough to hold this door, damn it.
“Just go,” Shane urged him. “We got unfinished business, it ain’t gonna be finished now, not with that hangin’ over our heads.”
“Yeah, alright,” Rick said, giving Shane one last look that Shane really couldn’t decipher. And he used to know Rick better than anyone…
“Go find Hershel,” he urged him. “We’ll deal with the rest after.”
Rick nodded, turned and jogged toward the house.
The door rattled again and half a walker’s head forced through the gap, grey face split open. Andrea made a choking sound and nearly fell backwards when retreating.
Shane didn’t think. He stepped in, pressed the Glock to the thing’s temple and pulled the trigger.
The crack of the gunshot resonated everywhere. Everything went still, but then the barn erupted. The walkers inside threw themselves at the doors with fresh frenzy.
“Goddamn it, Shane!” T-Dog shouted.
“It was comin’ through!” Shane roared back.
“They’re all comin’ now! Every walker for a mile’s fuckin’ comin’!”
Shane knew it. He knew it the second his finger pulled the trigger. But there was no unringing this bell now.
“Then we hold ‘em!” he shouted. “And we clear this barn at first light!”
“You step aside right now! That is my family in there!”
Shane spun around and saw Hershel running towards them in a nightshirt and trousers, shotgun desperately clutched to his side.
Rick was beside him, hand on the old man’s arm, trying to hold him back. To his dismay, Maggie followed with you in tow. Your hair was messy and you looked shocked beyond belief.
That shock made Shane a little less angry. At least you weren’t stupid enough to have known about the barn and keep it from him.
“What’s in there is a goddamn time bomb,” T-Dog said, pointing to the barn.
Hershel’s face twisted with grief. “You don’t understand. They’re sick. They can be healed, there’s research being done, the CDC—”
“The CDC is ashes!” Shane shouted. “We were there! There ain’t no cure, old man, and every second you keep these things here, you’re puttin’ every last one of us in danger!”
“You shot one of them!”
“It was comin’ through the door!”
“You put that gun down,” Hershel said, his voice shaking. “Or so help me God, I will remove you from my land.”
Shane didn’t move, but the sneer he made ugly. He could feel everyone’s eye fixed on him and it only pissed him off more.
He took another step toward Hershel. “You asked me to ride out with you tomorrow,” Shane said. “Check on neighbors. Supplies. Livestock. I was startin’ to trust you. Started thinkin’ maybe this place could work. And the whole time you had Aunt Edna and Cousin Jimmy chained up in the attic like a family secret. Puttin’ all of us at risk! All of us!”
Hershel’s face went red from anger. Shane saw Rick step beside him, ready to intervene.
“They are not monsters,” Hershel said. “They are sick people. My family. My neighbors! Men and women I knew. I owe them more than a bullet in the head from some lawman who lost his soul!”
Shane let out a humorless laugh.
“Lost my soul?” he repeated. “You wanna talk about souls now? Fine.”
“Shane, that’s enough.” Rick moved between them, one hand up towards Hershel, the other pressing against Shane’s chest. “Back down. Now.”
Shane’s eyes snapped to Rick, full of that familiar anger that fueled him when he had no will to even keep on going.
“You backin’ him? After what we just saw?”
Rick looked at him sternly. “I’m backin’ not gettin’ anybody shot tonight.”
For a long moment, nobody moved. But the barn door shook and the dead, they never tired.
Then—
“Move!” Your voice cut through and Shane turned to see you and Maggie running together, each holding a chicken. He didn’t even notice you were gone.
For a moment, Shane thought he was hallucinating, but no. There you were, determined and quick, your years of running track allowing you to sprint towards that barn within seconds.
“Jesus Christ, get away from there!” Shane’s attention was now entirely on you and he approached in long strides, as fast as his injured leg allowed.
But you didn’t listen. You climbed the ladder by the side of the barn, then dropped the chicken through the skylight. You reached for Maggie and she handed you another. The poor thing also landed inside.
For a moment, nothing happened. You stood on top of that ladder and made Shane almost lose his mind.
“God fuckin’ damn it, get down from here right now!” Rick shouted then, worried beyond belief.
Then, the door stopped shaking. The walkers got busy, the screams of the chickens quickly cut short.
You looked down at Rick, then at Shane, still panting slightly. Very slowly, you got down.
“Maggie told me everything while you three were screamin’ at each other,” you said. “They’ve been feedin’ them so they stayed quiet. And they will stay quiet if we get away from here and stop yellin’.”
While Rick still looked at you in utter disbelief, Shane wasn’t backing down.
“Put the damn gun down,” you said to Shane, quieter, using your gentlest tone.
You moved closer to him and he lowered his head to you on instinct. Like he was trying to shrink himself down. Then, you did something Shane never expected—you placed your hand on his cheek and you said something only he could hear now.
No surrender, baby.
You knew Rick would kill you for this. That was the thing Shane said to you before your last high school track meet. You were stressed out of your mind and too embarrassed to ask Rick to comfort you, but Shane somehow saw it in your face. He found you before the event and put you back together.
You knew that right now everyone from Shane’s group was looking at you like you were crazy, but you didn’t care. They didn’t have to get Shane. They didn’t have to get how you felt.
Shane turned his face and leaned into your palm. He stood frozen for half a second, the last wet sounds of the walker feast still audible in the quiet of the night.
“Are you outta your goddamn mind?!” he hissed, and you could hear the panic in his voice. “You can’t—” he started, then couldn’t even say it. “You can’t do shit like that. Not in front of me. I can’t, you… You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered. “You know that?”
It was the most tenderness he would allow himself, what with every pair of eyes in the camp still on you both.
Andrea made an odd sound then and Shane pulled back, quick as lightning. He turned to face the rest of them—Rick with the look of utter hurt and disbelief about him, Hershel still gripping that shotgun, Maggie looking at you with a smirk, Daryl standing off to the side looking the most uncomfortable Shane had ever seen him.
“Alright,” Shane said. “They’re fed. They’re quiet. That buys us time. But this ain’t over.”
He looked at Hershel, then at Rick.
“Sunrise,” Shane said. “We deal with this at sunrise. We open those doors, we clear ‘em out, and we burn what’s left. Every last one.”
Hershel shook his head. “You’ll do it over my dead body.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Shane. Just stop. Think.” Rick stepped closer, his tone sharp.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” you sighed and cut in. “We can’t have a shootout. Get it into that thick skull of yours.”
That whole tenderness from before was gone. You moved closer to Shane and took his hand in yours to redirect him. “Shootin’ them is a dumb fuckin’ idea. It’s too much noise. Us talkin’ out here right now is way too much noise.”
“She’s got a point there,” Dale muttered, still looking at Shane like he was a rabid dog.
“You got somethin’ else to say, Dale?” Shane snarled. “Or you just gonna stand there lookin’ at me like I’m about to bite somebody?”
Dale raised both hands. “Just agreeing with the lady. Noise brings ‘em in. We all know it.”
Shane’s grip on your hand tightened. He still wouldn’t let go.
“You fire that Mossberg,” you said quietly, “every walker in a five-mile radius comes to dinner. You really want that?”
Shane’s tongue ran over his teeth. He glanced at the barn, at the wagon still wedged against the door. The walkers were calm… For now.
“No,” Shane grunted finally. “I don’t want that.”
The others around you seemed to have calmed down as well, even if that whole situation was starting to be awkward. Andrea still looked at you in slight awe and you knew why.
“It’s like she’s a Shane whisperer or somethin’,” she said to Dale, not even bothering to be quiet.
“Fine,” Shane said, raising his voice so the others could hear. “No shootin’. Not tonight. But that barn gets dealt with. First light, we figure out how to clear it. Knives, hatchets, arrows, whatever don’t make a racket. Daryl, can you make more bolts?”
“Didn’t volunteer m’self,” Daryl muttered.
Hershel made a strangled sound. “You cannot do this!”
“Shane,” Rick raised his hand, trying to pacify his former partner. “I’ll hgandle this. C’mon,” he said to Hershel. “We can talk ‘bout this calmly in the mornin’.”
Shane’s mouth flattened into a hard line. You knew why. He didn’t like backing off. Seems like if it was up to him, he wouldn’t let Rick step in and handle anything. You were beginning to get sick of their rivalry.
“Fine,” Shane said finally and you all collectively exhaled. “But I’m tellin’ you right now, sun comes up, that barn gets cleared. I don’t care if I gotta do it alone.”
“Alright, show’s over!” Rick said quickly, using the momentum of Shane backing down. “Doubt any of us’ll get any sleep tonight so I say we set up watch. Shane an’ I’ll take the first rotation. Andrea, you and Dale after.”
You were expecting an argument, but there was none from Shane. His spine was rigid and his jaw clenched hard. You knew he wanted to punch something, but for some reason he kept quiet. Pacified. The rest of the group dispersed, talking amongst themselves in hushed voices.
Finally, he turned to you.
“Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that on me again. You hear me?”
Your eyes widened. He squeezed your shoulder hard.
“Yeah,” you muttered. “You said.”
“But I fuckin’ mean it. You get killed, this whole thing was for nothin’.”
“Shane,” Rick said quietly. You realized he was, of course, still standing there.
“You wanna do this right now?” Shane asked.
“I think now.”
Shane finally turned away from you. Rick glanced towards the house, then back at Shane and you. At your apparent proximity. You saw only then how tired your brother was, how tightly his brow was furrowed.
“Alright,” you said, deciding to remove yourself from the confrontation. “I’ll… Go and check if I’m not at the house or somethin’.”
Happy is intense. That is a fact universally acknowledged by literally everyone who's ever known him.
Happy also, apparently, kisses you like you're the most precious thing in the world. Gentle hands, soft caresses, nose nuzzling yours, arms holding you flush to his chest.
yall can thank the gif at the end of this fic for inspiring me to actually edit and post this
The first time someone from another charter caught sight of the two of you together, he actually stopped in the middle of his sentence.
Happy had one broad palm cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing slow, absent circles over your cheekbone while you stood between his knees in the clubhouse garage. He wasn't even saying anything. Just looking at you with that same unreadable expression he wore before violence, except somehow softer around the edges, his forehead resting against yours while you laughed quietly about something completely insignificant.
The visiting Son blinked.
"...That's Happy?"
Chibs didn't even look up from cleaning his glasses.
"Aye."
"...The Happy?"
"Aye."
The man watched as Happy nudged his nose gently against yours.
"...Huh."
Happy was intense.
That was simply a fact.
He walked like violence had learned to wear boots. He spoke in short, clipped sentences that made people nervous even when he was discussing something as harmless as coffee. Prospects straightened their backs when he entered a room. Rivals looked for exits.
People who didn't know him assumed he would kiss the same way he fought.
Hard.
Demanding.
Possessive.
You had assumed that too, once.
You had been spectacularly wrong.
Because Happy kissed you like you were something fragile he'd never forgive himself for breaking.
It had taken you by surprise the first time.
You had expected rough hands.
Instead, he'd lifted one slowly toward your face, almost hesitating before his fingertips brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
"You sure?" he'd asked quietly.
You had laughed.
"Happy."
"You sure."
"Kiss me."
He had.
And it had stolen every coherent thought from your head.
Not because it was overwhelming.
Because it wasn't.
His lips had barely pressed against yours at first, soft enough that you could have leaned away if you wanted to. He waited, giving you room to close the distance yourself before kissing you again, a little longer this time, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your jaw as though he couldn't help touching you gently.
By the time he finally pulled back, you had simply stared at him.
"What?"
"...Nothing."
"What?"
"I just..." You smiled helplessly. "Thought you'd kiss differently."
He frowned.
"...Bad?"
"No."
You reached up and rested your hand against the side of his neck.
"Better."
His ears had gone just faintly pink.
Months later, it hadn't changed.
If anything, it had become even worse.
Or better.
Depending on who was asking.
Happy wasn't affectionate in public in any obvious way.
He wasn't climbing into your lap or making speeches or calling you sweetheart every thirty seconds.
Instead...
He'd walk past you, his fingers brushing your lower back for the briefest second.
He'd straighten the collar of your jacket without thinking.
He'd tug your beanie down over your ears if it was cold.
He'd quietly move you to the inside of the sidewalk.
Tiny things.
Practical things.
Until he kissed you.
Then every ounce of restraint seemed to disappear—not into passion, but into tenderness.
He always held your face.
Always.
Sometimes with one hand.
Sometimes with both.
As though he wanted to memorize every inch beneath his palms.
His thumbs never stayed still.
Slow circles against your cheeks.
The edge of your jaw.
The spot just below your ear that made you melt every single time.
And he had this habit—
This tiny unconscious habit—
Of brushing his nose against yours before every kiss.
Every.
Single.
Time.
The first few times you'd giggled.
"Did you just boop me?"
"...What?"
"You keep doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Nuzzling me."
"I ain't—"
"You literally just did."
"..."
"...Happy."
"...Shut up."
He'd kissed you again just to stop you talking.
You had laughed into it.
He'd smiled.
Just a little.
Barely enough for anyone else to notice.
Enough that you felt it against your mouth.
Late evenings were your favorite.
The clubhouse would finally quiet down, the television would still be playing somewhere, someone (Tig, maybe Bobby) would inevitably be snoring, half the lights would already be off.
You'd find Happy sitting outside on the steps and you'd settle beside him without asking.
Sometimes neither of you spoke for twenty minutes.
He liked silence.
You liked silence with him.
Eventually he'd look over and lift one arm.
You'd immediately slide closer until you were tucked against his side.
His arm would wrap around your shoulders automatically.
Like breathing.
Like muscle memory.
"You tired?" he'd ask.
"A little."
"You should sleep."
"In a minute."
Another few quiet moments.
Then you'd tilt your face toward him.
He always noticed.
Always.
His hand would come up beneath your chin.
"So demanding," he'd murmur.
"You love it."
"...Maybe."
You'd grin triumphantly.
"You admitted it."
"I admitted maybe."
"Counts."
"It doesn't."
"It absolutely does."
He'd sigh with exaggerated patience before leaning forward.
The kiss would begin exactly the same every time.
His forehead against yours.
His nose brushing yours with that familiar little nuzzle.
Then his lips finding yours in an unhurried, lingering kiss that never felt rushed, never felt like he was trying to prove anything. Just warm, careful affection, his fingers threading into your hair while the other arm pulled you a little closer until there wasn't even an inch of space left between your bodies.
You could always feel the steady beat of his heart through his kutte.
Always.
Sometimes the kiss deepened naturally, lingering as you smiled against his mouth and kissed him again before he'd even fully pulled away, your fingers curling into the fabric at his shoulders while he let out the quietest breath through his nose, almost amused. He would rest his forehead against yours again, eyes still closed, his thumb brushing over your cheek as though he couldn't quite stop touching you.
"You know," you whispered one evening.
"Hm?"
"If people saw you like this..."
"Hmm."
"They'd think I'd kidnapped the real Happy."
"...Probably."
You laughed softly.
"They'd never believe you spend half your time just holding me."
"I like holdin' you."
"I noticed."
"You complainin'?"
"Not even a little."
His eyes finally opened.
There was that same expression again.
The one nobody else ever seemed to see.
Quiet.
Warm.
Almost impossibly gentle.
Then, without a word, he nudged your nose with his one more time.
"You did it again," you whispered.
"...Did what?"
"The nose thing."
"I don't do a nose thing."
"You absolutely do."
"..."
"..."
"...Maybe."
You smiled so brightly it made something inside his chest ache.
"My soft biker."
A long pause.
"...Don't call me that."
"You love me."
"...Yeah."
It came out so simply you almost missed it.
No hesitation.
No embarrassment.
Just quiet certainty.
"...Yeah."
Then he kissed you again, slow enough that the rest of the world seemed to disappear, his hands still impossibly gentle, holding you as though every scar he'd ever earned had taught him exactly how precious it was to protect something soft.
Nobody in SAMCRO reacted anymore.
That was perhaps the strangest part.
Not because Happy had become less terrifying.
He absolutely hadn't.
He was still the man who could silence an entire room by walking into it. Still the one everyone instinctively gave space to when tempers started climbing. Still the enforcer whose reputation had spread far beyond Charming.
The only difference was that now there was a very specific exception to every single rule anyone had ever learned about Happy Lowman.
One afternoon, a prospect walked into the clubhouse carrying a box of parts and froze halfway across the floor.
Happy was sitting in one of the battered armchairs, you sideways across his lap without a care in the world, your book forgotten on the armrest. One of his arms was looped securely around your waist while the other hand lazily stroked up and down your back beneath your sweatshirt in slow, absent passes.
You were talking.
Happy wasn't.
Just listening.
Every now and then his free hand would slide over the expanse of your thigh, squeezing slightly before settling back over you knee.
The prospect looked around.
"...Uh..."
Nobody else looked up.
Bobby kept reading paperwork.
Juice was losing a game of solitaire he'd somehow invented himself.
Chibs was making coffee.
"...Guys?"
Juice glanced over.
"What?"
"...Happy."
Juice followed his gaze.
"Oh."
"..."
"...What?"
"...He's..."
"Kissing her?"
"No—"
Happy had leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against your temple before resting his forehead there for a second.
"...That."
Juice shrugged.
"He does that."
"...All the time?"
"Pretty much."
The prospect stared.
"...Doesn't that seem..."
Juice frowned.
"What?"
"...Weird?"
Now Bobby looked up.
"No."
"...Really?"
"Nah."
"You get used to it."
"I don't think I could ever get used to Happy being..." He gestured vaguely. "...that."
From behind the bar, Chibs snorted.
"Lad."
"What?"
"We've watched that hard bastard stop in the middle of an argument because she yawned."
"..."
"He tucked a blanket around her once during Church."
"..."
"Dinnae even interrupt the meeting."
"..."
"He just stood up, found a blanket, tucked her in, kissed her forehead and came back."
"..."
"...Finished discussing gun shipments."
The prospect blinked several times.
"...None of you think that's insane?"
Five blank stares answered him.
Because none of them did anymore.
It wasn't strange.
It was just...
Happy.
With you.
The only people who continued finding it astonishing were visitors.
One Tacoma brother actually choked on his beer.
Happy had walked over while you were talking to Gemma, quietly slipped an arm around your waist from behind and rested his chin lightly against the top of your head.
You smiled without looking.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"You eat?"
"Mhm."
"What?"
"Pasta."
"You lie."
"I had garlic bread."
"...Better."
Then you'd turned around inside his arms.
Without saying another word, Happy cupped your jaw, his thumb gently rubbing across your cheek.
Nudged your nose with his.
Then kissed you, soft and unhurried.
The Tacoma member whispered to Kozik, "...Does he always do that nose thing?"
Kozik took a drink.
"Every damn time."
"...Seriously?"
"If he doesn't, she's legally allowed to complain."
"I am," you called without opening your eyes.
Happy huffed the tiniest laugh against your lips.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
Three states.
Too many miles.
Too many motel rooms.
Too many nights where Happy woke reaching across cold sheets before remembering you weren't there.
Phone calls helped, but they weren't enough.
Your voice through a speaker wasn't enough.
Pictures weren't enough.
Knowing you were safe wasn't enough.
He simply...missed you.
In the quiet, relentless way Happy did everything.
He didn't complain.
Didn't tell anyone.
But Chibs noticed him staring at photographs on his phone longer than necessary.
Tig caught him absentmindedly rubbing the ring you wore on a chain around his neck.
Bobby heard him mutter,
"Two more days."
As though he were counting down prison time.
The bikes rolled into Charming just after sunset.
The sound alone reached the clubhouse before they did.
You were already outside before engines had completely died.
Happy spotted you immediately.
Everything else...
Just disappeared.
The bikes.
The club.
The noise.
The conversation.
There you were.
Standing at the edge of the lot with the smallest smile already breaking across your face.
He was off his bike before anyone else had even removed their helmet.
You met him halfway.
You barely had time to say—
"Hi—"
Before he was there.
Both hands found you at once.
One spread across the back of your neck.
The other around your waist.
Firm.
Certain.
Like he'd needed to reassure himself you were really there.
Then he kissed you.
Not rough.
Never rough.
Just...
Desperate.
As though every mile he'd spent away from you had gathered itself into that single moment.
His mouth found yours with a quiet, shaky exhale that you felt more than heard, the kiss lingering immediately, unhurried and yet somehow urgent all at once. His fingers flexed gently against the back of your neck before sliding into your hair, careful despite the unmistakable need behind the movement, while his other hand drew you closer until your bodies were completely flush, leaving no space for doubt that he was home and you were exactly where he had wanted to be for fourteen endless days.
You answered him just as eagerly, one hand curling into the front of his kutte while the other settled against his jaw, feeling the familiar roughness of stubble beneath your fingertips. He kissed you again before the first kiss had fully ended, forehead brushing yours for the briefest heartbeat, his nose automatically nuzzling against yours—because of course it did, because even now he couldn't seem to forget that tiny habit—and then he was kissing you once more, slower this time, deeper only in feeling, not in urgency, lingering as though he were trying to make up for every goodnight kiss he'd missed.
His hands never stopped moving.
Not wandering.
Just...checking.
One smoothed slowly down your back before returning to your waist.
His thumb brushed your cheek.
His fingers threaded through your hair with extraordinary care, despite how tightly he held you against him.
You felt him breathe.
Felt the slight tremor in the exhale.
When he finally drew back it was only far enough for his forehead to rest against yours, both of you still catching your breath, his eyes closed as if opening them might somehow make you disappear again.
"You okay?" you whispered.
A long silence.
Then, quietly—
"...Missed you."
Two barely audible words, but from Happy Lowman, they landed with the weight of a confession.
You smiled, your eyes already shining.
"I missed you too."
His thumb stroked beneath your eye.
"You been okay?"
"I have now."
That earned the smallest, almost disbelieving shake of his head.
Then, because two weeks had apparently left him with affection still stored up inside him, he leaned in once more.
Another gentle brush of noses.
Another lingering kiss.
Softer this time.
Slower.
The frantic edge melting away now that he'd convinced himself you were real, warm beneath his hands, smiling into the kiss exactly the way he'd imagined on every lonely mile home.
Around them, no one interrupted.
Jax simply climbed off his bike.
Chibs lit a cigarette.
Bobby started carrying gear inside.
Juice smiled to himself.
The new prospect looked between the couple and everyone else.
"...Shouldn't someone..."
Chibs raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"...I don't know...say something?"
Chibs glanced toward Happy, who was still standing with his forehead resting against yours, one large hand cradling your face while you quietly laughed at something only the two of you could hear.
"Nah," Chibs said with a fond smile.
"He made it home."
As far as the club was concerned, that was exactly where he belonged.
slice of life in a world where Frank worked through some of his trauma and you both have a beautiful little girl together. Frankie being the hardworking provider that he is and you both take care of eachother in all the ways you know how to.
Warnings: Husband!Frank x Wife!Reader, Dad!Frank x Mom!Reader, idk what age daughter is a toddler?, Protective!Frank, minor description of violence, fluff, smut, oral (m+f receiving), f! masturbation (kinda?), squirting, kitchen sex, couch sex, finger sucking, mating press, breeding kink, preg!kink and lactation!kink kinda? Or just Frank in awe of his wife and the mother of his child - idk i got a little filthy with this towards the end, theyre both just disgustingly in love with each other okay?
w.c: 6.4k
Frankie ❤️
gonna be late again honey I’m sorry
The little frown on your lips forms before you can stop it as you look over at your daughter. Your lips, your nose (though you wish she had her fathers), his deep brown eyes and unruly tufts of dark hair.
A perfect little mix of you and Frank.
“Daddys gonna be late bubba” you sigh, running a hand through her dark locks.
“Dada late all th-time!” She stomps her feet in a fluster
Yep, she gets her temper from her dad too
“I know babe but daddy works really hard doesn’t he?” You try to calm her down as her eyes start to well up.
And honestly girl, same. But you guess you had to be the adult here.
Frank had been working late every night this week, and Friday nights had quietly become yours and your daughters favourite.
Why?
Purely because it meant Frank didn’t have to leave early to go to work the next day. And that you both got to cuddle up next to him on the couch and watch the millionth re-run of Frozen.
“Mmm” she’s contemplating “ca-we take dinner fa-dada!”
She exclaims like she’s had a eureka moment, bobbing up and down with excitement
"hmm" you glance at the clock, hesitant with how close it is to her bed time. But when you look down you see her sporting those goddamn brown puppy eyes - you wonder when Frank taught her how to flash those pretty browns at you to get what she wants.
And just like with her father, you can't say no to them.
“That’s a great idea bub! You thought of that all by yourself?!” You pick her up, giving her a big squishy smooch on her chubby little cheek as she gives herself a very pleased nod, your little genius, always wanting to take care of her daddy - that she gets from you.
After heating up and packing three containers of baked ziti you throw them in a warmer bag and haul your daughter into the car to commence mission: food delivery. Sending Frank a quick text before backing out of the driveway.
You
Dinner's on its way baby ❤️
Your phone starts ringing almost instantly, connected to the Bluetooth in the car your daughter sees Franks face pop up on the console
“-Dada!!” She squeaks
Laughing as you answer on the hands free
“Is that ma monkey?” He asks on the other end, you can hear how hard he's trying to mask his exhaustion behind the light laugh and sounds of metal clanking away in the background.
Your poor man
She just giggles in response with her little hands covering her mouth, looking at you cheekily through the mirror.
“sweetheart, you don’t have to bring me dinner s’ok - gonna get late for her” he says with a tired gruff referring to your daughters bed time
You look through the rearview at her. Her cute little face almost swallowed by the brown fluff of her bear hoodie. Bright eyes full of excitement, going on an adventure to daddy’s work site.
“she’s not sleeping anytime soon Frankie, plus, we’re already on the way and I’ll put her straight to bed when we get home, promise” you counter
“… alright, m’at the site on the corner of vine see you soon honey” he concedes.. happily
“I know baby, see you soon”
“Byeee monkey!” He calls out
“i seeee you dadaaaa!!” she squeals, waving at Franks contact photo on the console.
After the line disconnects you look back at your little girl, mouth slightly agape as she stares out the window at all the street lights passing by in a flurry.
"watcha thinkin' bout bub?" your chirpy tone pulls her focus back to you
"dada s-eepy?" - you know she means sleepy, and god how you'll miss the broken way she pronounces words when she grows up a little more.
"hmm yeah I think so, but we'll make daddy smile won't we?" amazed at how perceptive she is.
How lucky you are that the best parts of both you and Frank had combined together to make your beautiful little girl.
It’s dark when your car pulls up, you see Franks truck and another one a little further away from his. Pulling it into park you stare up at the bones of the building, wooden pillars with metal scaffolding surrounding it. You wonder where Frank is hidden away in the eerie industrial maze.
You
Here x
Frank's phone buzzes in his pocket and the small smile breaks through when he see's your message.
"be back" he pretty much grunts at the other guy working late with him.
"Ya heading out? I’m done for tonight anyways, hold up i'll walk with ya" he calls out jogging behind him.
Franks eyes roll with an internal groan as he walks out.
“where daddy?” she asks so innocently, big brown eyes blinking up at you
“He’s coming bug” you smile sympathetically.
You both really are cut from the same cloth, she misses her dad and you just miss your Frankie.
“I not a buuug!!!!” She squeals and you can’t help but laugh at the adorable nickname you and Frank both gave her. A very fitting one at that, given she’s always crawling and squiggling about somewhere - always needing to be on the move.
You’re both still debating on who she got that from.
“Reeeeeally? But you’re the cuuuutest bug I’ve ever seen” you tease, reaching your arm back and tickling her pudgy little belly.
The sounds of her cackle warms your heart as you step out of the driver seat.
“Mumma’s just getting dinner out ok babe?” She nods, distracted with her little plushie
The air is a little more crisp outside, picking up the food carrier you pop it on the hood of Franks truck.
When you look up you see Frank walking towards you. That yellow hard hat, the blue button up and those cargos - and all of a sudden you're acutely aware of just how long it's been since your husband has been inside of you. You guessed that’s what having a tornado as a toddler will do.
But, you pack that thought away for later, for now you just unpack dinner.
As the two man walk out of the site Frank sees you pulling containers out as you bounce your daughter on your hip. The fuzzy brown ears on her hoodie flopping up and down and he smiles. Feeling a warmth settle somewhere deep - his girls, his whole world.
"that the old ball and chain there?" The other man laughs pointing at you.
His voice grates through Franks mental sanctuary.
"don't talk ‘bout my wife like that" he gruffs, low.
warning shot one
if theres one thing Frank fucking hated - and never entertained. It was construction talk, the way men would bitch and moan about their wives or the predatory comments about other women.
Especially when some of the men would leer at women walking by a site and he’d hear one them call to him “whewww see the legs on her?” And Franks response, always, was either “thought you were married?” Or “bet your wife’s reeeal fuckin happy bout you lookin’ at other women huh?” With a scoff before walking away.
Every damn day he practiced self-restraint when they didn't end up with a sledgehammer to the face.
Frank had lost a whole family once already and by some miracle was given a chance at another one. He could never wrap his head around how these ungrateful bastards got so lucky to have it so easy.
So yeah, if you wanted to make stupid comments about women - Frank was NOT your guy. And most of the guys on site knew that, except this one - he was new.
Nino? Nick? whatever, he probably wouldn't be around much longer for Frank to find out. Because as they both got closer Nino or Nick decided to dig his own grave.
"daaaaamn that your wife? no wonder you got pissed man, how the fuck'd you get her?" he jests in some pathetic attempt at dude-bro banter. But as they get closer Frank clocks the way the mans eyes rake you.
wrong guy
"said don't talk about her" Frank grunts
warning shot two
"even got yourself a kid huh?" he claps Frank on the shoulder, sleazily eyeing you with your daughter on your hip "yeeeah if I had all'dat ain't no way she ain't staying knocked up, be all up in that every fuckin night"
yep, r.i.p Nino or Nick. the tombstone is carved.
Franks fist finds the mans collar in less than a second and he slams him into the side of his own truck, still covered by the hunk of metal so your daughter doesn’t see.
The rattle of the metal and glass causes your head to shoot up towards him. Still far enough away from the both of you. But Frank see's the concern written on your face from over the truck as you turn your daughter away and distract her.
"talk about m’family again, go on" Frank dares him through bared teeth.
"s-shit man i'm sorry alright" he yells
“tryna scare my kid now? Keep your fuckin' voice down or I’ll rip your throat out” he snarls, nose flared
*crack*
Franks hardhat connects with that mans nose, followed by the sound of squelching flesh and cartilage.
His eyes wide staring back up at Frank as crimson starts pouring out of his nostrils
"try come back tomorrow and y'aint gonna look at another woman ever again" the words spew out of Frank, a promise this time, not a warning.
It takes him a little more than a second for him to scamper off into his truck as Frank loosens his grip before he drives off, not daring to look back at you or your daughter.
As you continue to unpack dinner you watch the gravel and dirt fly up in a trail as the other truck speeds off, and through the dusty cloud you see Frank walking towards you again. Hardhat off as he wipes off the mans blood off on the back of his cargos.
"that my girls?" he calls out
"DADAAA!" your little one screeches as she bolts towards Frank.
"hey bug" Frank laughs with a groan, something tired from the back of his throat but happy nonetheless as he scoops her up in his arms and walks towards you.
One hand wraps around your waist as he pulls you closer, your daugther on his other hip.
"hey mama" he smiles down at you
"hi baby" you smile up at him
theres a silent conversation happening in both your eyes as you stare into his, one of;
"everything all good?" asked with a slight furrow of your eyebrows
"all good, ain't gotta worry bout it" answered in the assertiveness of his tired but firm eyes
You bring your lips to his in a soft but quick kiss that speaks "i miss you, i love you"
The little giggle between you both pulls you apart and finishes your wordless conversation.
"watchu laughin 'bout cheeky?" Frank hums with a grin
"mumma and dada kisssssYYYY" her bubbly laugh, like music to both of your ears as you and Frank both sandwich her squishy face between yours giving her a kiss on either cheek and her giggle erupts into a cackle as the scruff of Franks beard tickles her face.
"and now mumma and dada kissed you!" you poke at her.
Frank seats her down on the centre of the hood of his truck as you open up the the containers. The rich tomato and herby aromatics waft up and with you both here, Frank feels a wave of relief after what had been a rough day. A silent confirmation that, no matter where he was, as long as you both were there, he was home.
"smells amazing honey" he hums and you feel his palm on the small of your back.
"bring-dinner fa-you dada" she beams up at Frank, so proud
"mhm, was all bugs idea" you add, equally as proud smiling down at her
"that right? how'd ya get so smart kid? got that from mama didnt'chya" and Frank's beaming right back at her as he holds the back of her little head lowering his own to give her a kiss on her crown.
“Open up” you say softly as you bring a forkful of baked ziti to her mouth, Frank smiling down at the both of you as she makes a big ‘aaahhhh’ and chomps down her dinner.
The sticky sounds of her chewing are interrupted when she asks curiously "daddys friend go home?"
You and Frank both dart a look at each other "neeeh, not daddys friend, jus some guy, but yeah bug - he's gone home"
"ok" she simply hums as she continues with her dinner
“Ya been good for mama today?” He tries his best to keep a stern tone, but it’s futile - she has him wrapped around her little finger - because he can’t even finish the question without the corner of his lips tilting upwards.
She gives him an exaggerated nod “wanna tell daddy what you did today?” You encourage her along.
“Found-a-pider!!!!” She gasps, half a chewed pasta falling out of her mouth.
Frank takes a few seconds to decipher her words “o-OH you found a spider ?! See that’s why your name is bug” he teases
“Noooo dada he-ma frieeend!” She groans dramatically throwing her arms up in the air
gets that from mama Frank laughs to himself
“Yeah? How’s he ya friend?” he asks mid shovelling down his dinner wondering if he’s going to go home to a pet spider.
Leaning into him you whisper "if she had a sibling maybe she wouldn't be befriending spiders". A cheeky call-back to the talks you and him had been having about trying for another and he just responds with a throaty chuckle and a squeeze of your hip.
“I help’t himmm-help him go back ou-side like this!” She cups her little palms together, showing her dad how she held the spider and took it into the garden.
Frank shoots a quizzical look at you
“It was a harmless one baby” you say softly in his ear with a smile when you see a quick flash of worry across his face.
“You picked up a spider ??! You’re so brave bug” he picks up her soft little palms in his own calloused ones and gives her a kiss
“So brave just like daddy hm?” Now it was your turn to beam at the both of them.
And she nods proudly.
This perfect little moment with your perfect little family.
Three bellies full and a few laughs later you’re all done with dinner. You and Frank move like a well oiled machine - Frank packing up the containers, you wiping the dried remnants of red pasta sauce off the corners of your daughters mouth with wet wipes.
“Alright, way past bedtime kid” Frank scolds affectionately at the big yawn that escapes your little one.
He reaches forward to pick her up
“Nooo-nottt seepy, i-help dadaaa-then-dada come home?” She blinks up at him, rubbing her puffy reddening eyes. Her question asked with such innocence that it melts Franks heart.
Too much time away from his girls this week and he feels it deep, obviously she did too.
“Be home soon okay bug? You gotta show me where Mr Spider-Man lives yeah?” His voice softening into a low gruff as she pretty much curls up in his arms, trying her best to fight off sleep and nodding her head in reply.
His little fighter - like father like daughter
You open up the back door for him as Frank carefully places her down and buckles her up.
“g’night bug, i love ya” he sighs kissing her little hand as she gives him a sleepy wave “nanight dada”
The door softly clicks shut as Frank steps out, leaning back against the door and like instinct you slot yourself between his legs.
Your press your body into his, soft warm hands skimming up his collar and cradle the side of his rough face. Thumbs swiping over his cheekbones and you finally get a good look at him.
Tired lines etched into the hollows of his ember eyes. Pressing a kiss under each one, each kiss speaking “thank you for everything you do for us”
“Been working so hard” you coo at him with a soft kiss now on his lips before looking up at him
“I know baby, few more days yeah?” He wraps his arms around you tight, his sigh of exhaustion filters down the bridge of your nose as he rests his forehead atop yours.
“Your girls miss you Frank… I miss you” you whisper, sneaking a soft kiss down his neck and your bodies press tighter against each other, like they had their own language.
The longing for one another simmering under the skin of the both of you.
Frank steals one more kiss before you pull away to glance through the window at your daughter. Eyes closed and already in dream land.
“see you at home? I’ll go put this one to bed” you hum as your head swings back to his.
“Alright baby, won’t be too far, just gon' lock up” he hums with a pat on the swell of your ass before opening your driver side door for you.
“Thank you for dinner sweetheart” Franks voice cuts through the roar of your igniting engine.
“Anytime Frankie, deserts waiting at home” you wink and he chuckles, deep and throaty as he closes your door and taps the top of your car as you drive off.
The drive home is quiet, the crackle of the radio humming low as you periodically glance back at your girl - still lightly snoring away. A serene comfort that you’re so grateful to have
After pulling into park you carry your sleepy little sack of potatoes into the house. Placing her down, you gently take her out of her jacket and shoes. She stirs a little but she's pretty much knocked out - victory.
By the time you've folded her clothes, put her night light on and kissed her goodnight Frank is back.
You hear the faint clinks of glass coming from the kitchen. When you round the corner you see him standing at the sink, unpacking the containers and loading them into the dishwasher.
Lightly padding up behind him you wrap your arms around his big torso "leave it Frankie I'll do it" you say with a kiss on his scapula.
"s'alright baby, ain't much" he smiles
Stubborn man
He closes up the dishwasher and turns around to face you, eyes still tired but content now that he's at home.
"so... what was that about? ..that guy?" you ask a little hesitantly as your palms run up and down his beefy arms.
"din't know how to quit runnin' his mouth" he shrugs as his palms fall to your hips
you give him a pointed look but can't mask the smirk on your lips "frank, what did he say?"
Unsure if he's about to get a lecture "ehh don’t matter” he drawls with a jerk of his shoulders “ain’t no body talkin’ shit bout' m’girls hm?" and that's the gods honest truth, lecture or not.
You take him in for a moment, his gruff exterior but the most golden heart and you wonder how you got so lucky. Your beautiful man, so protective so caring, so yours.
Coming up on your tippie toes you press your lips to his, lingering there for a second as your hand snakes behind his neck
Oh, no lecture?
"my baby, you do so much for us hm?" you coo between a kiss.
Your other hand trails down his torso, each button flicking under your nail as you undo them till you reach the button on his cargos. Twisting your palm and sliding it over his crotch. You smile into his lips when you feel him hiss at your hard press on his bulge.
"yeah? our big protector, our provider" you croon between another syrupy kiss as your palm slides over his cargos to pull on the zip
Franks chest swells with pride, this is what it was all about - protecting and providing for his girls. Protecting this life that he got a chance to have again.
"aren't you baby?" you whisper as your hand slides into his briefs, wrapping your fingers around his cock, urging an answer out of him, hoping he see's himself as you see him.
"shit" he hisses as you start stroking him.
you look up at him as he nods, eyes locked on yours and you mimick his head movements.
"yeah you are" you smile, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth "m'so proud of you Frankie, you work so hard, we're so lucky"
Your other hand slides over his shoulder, pushing his shirt off him.
“m’the one that’s lucky baby, y’gave me everything” he smiles, his hands return to knead into the flesh at your hips
Pulling apart from his lips you crane your neck down and Frank's eyebrows crease together at the loss of your hand on him.
But when he see's the way you bring your palm up to your lips, keeping your eyes on him and spit your saliva right in the centre of it and his eyes blacken with lust.
desperation and something deeper.
Cupping your palm, you bring it down to spread your spit from the tip of his cock down his shaft, before pumping his cock again in wet long strokes.
When you look up at him you see him glancing down the hall way, having some sort of internal debate and you know exactly whats going through his mind.
are we going to start something we don't get to finish?
"hey, look at me baby" your hand slides from behind his neck to his cheek as you push him to face you again "she’s asleep Frankie" you reassure him
When he looks back at you, you’re already kissing your way down his neck, over the dense muscles of his torso. Appreciating the strength beneath them, the type of strength that comes from hard work and labour - not the show boat-y kind as you slowly sink to your knees in front of him.
“-b-baby w-hat’re you doin?” He asks breathily, voice cracking a little as you peel the waist band of his briefs down to pull him out.
The scent of him, the glistening tip that you love.. you practice an inordinate amount of self-control when you don’t drag him down to the kitchen floor and sink yourself down on him.
Instead
You smile up at him, the weight of his heavy tip resting on your bottom lip pushing it down. “I’m taking care of my husband” you hum as your pillowy lips kiss his tip.
He sucks in a breath as he white knuckles the edge of the counter top that he’s leaning on “a-ain’t gotta do that c-c’mon” he stutters trying to pull you up as you place another kiss on the underside of his veiny shaft.
“Babyyy, I want to, you wouldn’t deny your wife what she wants hmm? That’s not like my husband” you chide, batting your eyelashes at him before licking a long languid stripe from his balls all the way up to his tip.
Cheeky.
Frank bites down hard on his lower lip, trying to stifle the groan in his throat as his head drops back
the most angelic devil woman he’s ever laid eyes on
The first taste of his saline tip on your tongue along with his musk from his hard day of work floods your panties with arousal. As if she’d been dormant for the past few weeks, now violently awoken and hungry for Frank.
You can’t stop the muffled moan that escapes you as you wrap your lips around his girth and push him further into your mouth “uh-mmissed you” you garble out between messy licks and sucks of his cock.
“gggod baby” he breathes, head lolling forward to look down at you.
His perfect wife, head bobbing up and down, craning your jaw open as you try and take more and more of his cock in your mouth. You feels his hands rake under your hair, pulling the strands back
"eeasy baby" you hear him coo softly above you, his grip tightening slightly - guiding your movements. You relax at his touch, your throat even more so, taking him in closer to the back of your throat. “yyyeaah thass’it honey there you go” you love when he lets himself feel good, no guilt, no overthinking, just getting lost in his own pleasure.
The taste of him, his coos from above you and his firm grip on your head has your cunt crying for Frank. Your hand, with a mind of its own snakes up your thigh, under your dress and into your panties.
Your fingers slide through your soaked folds, circling your slick around your clit as your hips start mindlessly bucking back and forth as your other hand pumps away at Franks cock in sync with your mouth. It's not enough though, and you’re already pulling your own panties to the side, lips still locked around his cock, cheeks hollowing and tongue swirling around him as you push two fingers into your sopping wet hole.
Your moan comes out as a hum around him, as you work your fingers in and out of yourself. The vibrations sending a jolt through Frank as his hips thrust forward making you gag. The rings in your throat constrict around him making your pussy constrict the same way around your fingers "christ baby" he grits out
Frank sees your knees splayed out over his feet and your wrist cocking back and forth between your legs. He hears the wet plaps of your fingers diving in and out of your wet hole.
And fuck he's never been so jealous of two fingers in his entire life.
“g-get up baby, need ‘er, need you” he pants as he guides your head off him. You hollow out your cheeks sucking off him with an obscene pop and that cheeky twinkle in your eye.
He pulls you up by your arms guiding them over his shoulders, you hook them around his neck as he claps the back of your thighs, jumping into his hold as he picks you up. Your lips are on each other instantly, tongues exploring each other as he crosses the other side of the kitchen and sits you down on the counter.
Jumping a little at the cold granite on your hot bare skin from where Frank has already started pulling your dress up and flinging it off over the counter "wanna see you baby" he pants, his eyes rake your naked frame. Perfect heavy tits above that perfect soft belly and down to your pretty mommy pussy.
“Been openin her up f’me?” He rasps and you manage a breathy little “uh-huh” before he encircles your wrist that was busy between your legs. He brings it up to his mouth pushing your two fingers in, groaning at taste of you on your fingers as his eyes roll back. “taste so fuckin good baby”
You feel his palm splay wide in the centre of your chest, gently pushing you down, bare back on the granite. Laying you out like the perfect meal.
His perfect meal
Frank takes one of your ankles in his hand and brings it to his mouth. Dotting kisses from the inside of your ankle, the back of your knees and reaching his sweet spot right between your legs he pauses.
Pushing your legs further apart to see your perfect glistening cunt, all his. He takes a deep inhale of your scent "fuck" he mutters before diving tongue first into your heat. The first taste of your slick on Frank's tongue melts his brain - the sweet, tangy elixir that he hadn't tasted in weeks.
That first stroke up your slit has your back arching off the countertop "ohhfuckkk frankie" your moan flies out of your throat before you can stop it.
"sh-shh-shh, wanna enjoy my desert baby, no interuptions yeah?" he smiles with a kiss to your inner thigh as you glance down the hall to check it’s all quiet.
His laps turn feral pretty quickly as he sloppily makes out with your cunt after you nod down at him with the all clear.
Franks tongue alternates between broad laps over your slit to pointed precise flicks over your clit before he fucks his tongue into your hole. Your hand comes over your mouth as you drop down and melt into the cold granite.
“w-wannnittt-inside frankie” you mewl softly, writhing on the counter.
“I know baby, but, been too long yeah? gotta open you up, just gotta gimme one c’mon honey just one” he pants between his licks and sucks.
You’re embarrassingly close, already. So it doesn’t take long when Frank pushes his fat finger inside of you and his mouth returns to your swollen clit. Suckling as he slips another finger inside. Your greedy walls sucking in whatever he’ll give you as he hooks the pads of his digits into that spongy little spot.
The way Frank could be away from your cunt for years but still knows exactly where to find all those spots that make your squirm.
Your hand flys into his hair as you push yourself up, looking down at him in his own personal heaven between your legs. That overwhelming feeling in your belly, the pressure building as your toes curl over the edge of the counter “-yeahh fuck right there baby, oh fuckfuckfuck mcominggg Frankie” you breathe above him, breathy and desperate.
“c’mon baby, soak my face, fuckin’ missed ‘er” he grunts between his suckles on your clit, fingers still pumping in and out and he feels the way your walls are already fluttering around him. You feel his heavy paw press down gently on your lower belly, the pressure getting more intense. "waitwait fra-"
And it snaps.
“ohhhhmyyygoddd” you cry out trying your best to muffle your cries with your fist as you gush around his fingers. Your walls convulse around him pushing his fingers out as all your juices spray his beard and Frank laps it all up with his hoarse grunts like it’s holy water “yeahyeahyeah that’s it baby that’s it gimme it’all” his nose nudging your clit, his jaw open, tongue out begging for it all as his hands keep your legs wide open for him. His lips and his tongue on your cunt guiding you through your peak. Your body twitching, hips bucking in his face as your eyes roll back in your skull.
"f-frankieee please baby, please, need you" your hushed cry pulls him up from his pussy drunk haze as your hips go from a seizured twitching to a slow writhe.
He kisses up your body with a slow reverence from your pussy up over your belly, once swollen and taught now soft. Over the marks that serve as scripture, proof that you brought life into this world, gave him his baby and the start of your family.
The journey of his lips and beard leave a trail of your juices up your navel and between the valleys of your tits. Frank kisses over one of your pebbled nipples, licking and sucking your beautiful tits still swollen from when they were full of milk and he hums in appreciation as he suckles a little harder, massaging the other in his strong hand.
His aching cock leaking at the memory of the milky taste.
“baby…” you sigh at the feel of his tongue over your sensitive peaks “pleasee” you beg again soft and whiny and he finally makes his way back up to your lips.
Your pussy is already trying to suck his cock in when you feel his tip prodding at your hole. Your arms slink around him as your legs hook around his lower back again.
His thick cock starts pushing into your greedy little cunt, the first inch making your head go fuzzy as it lolls backwards.
Frank brings his hands to the side of your face, holding your head up “eyes on me baby” his breath is hot in your mouth, eyes boring into yours.
The stretch is sublime when Frank bottoms out. Moaning as softly as possible into each others mouths.
“Huuuuuhhhfuck there she is baby yeeeah there’s my girl” Frank groans breathily. Your eyebrows knitted together, mouth agape in a soft o as he pushes his tongue into your mouth.
“Hnngggmissed you Frankie, missed you so much” you cry into his mouth between sloppy kisses.
The quiet of the kitchen is interrupted with your breathy and staggered moans and the wet slapping sounds of Frank’s cock pumping in and out of you.
“missed her baby-fuck-missed you” Frank pants into your mouth between long strokes as your hands stay hooked around his neck
You feel his hands drop from your face, one hand pinning your hips in place the other splayed side supporting your weight between your shoulder blades as the pace of his thrusts pick up. And you feel that tightening coil again, winding and winding, hot and desperate low in your belly as his tip bullies its way up to your cervix.
“mmmfuckkk-s-s-so d-deep baby-fuck-so good” you mewl and your desperate sounds spur him on more as he pummels his cock into you.
“Y-yyyeah she-fuck-she’s suckin’ me in baby, ohfuck-yeah she missed me?” His low grunts sounding more depraved as his hips start snapping up harder.
“Uh-m-ye-ah-so-mu-ch” you pant out between each thrust. Your trembling thighs struggling to hold your legs up around him.
Even as he fucks his way through your cunt he notices.
"got you baby" he whispers as he picks your legs up and drapes your calves over his big shoulders, the backs of your thighs pressed against his torso as he lifts you off the counter. Hands firm on your ass as you yelp into his mouth when he starts bouncing you up and down on his cock.
He walks you both over to the living room still slamming your hips into his before lowering you down on the end of the couch, back flat on the cushiony sectional.
Frank wastes no time in ridding himself of his cargos and boots kneeling on the couch.
He brings your legs back to the exact same postition as he lowers his weight down onto you. Folding you into a mating press, he brings one of his palms over your mouth.
He lines up his cock again, and slams his cock into you, filling you up to the hilt. Your cry is muffles under his hand as he tightens it around your mouth. "gotta be quiet honey" he croons softly in your ear but you're so gone, babbling away under his iron grip over your mouth.
The new angle and depth of his cock-so deep you feel him in your lungs. Your eyes flutter shut as you start barrelling towards the light, toes curling and pussy pulsing.
He knows you're close again.
"lemme see those pretty eyes baby" he pleads as his hand drops from your mouth your jaw, angling your face, eye to eye with him. When you open, you see his pupils fully blown, glinting obsidian orbs staring straight into yours.
Hungry and ravenous.
"look at me when you cum, know you're so close baby" he pants as his grip tightens around your jaw. Hips rocking back and forth and you manage a pathetic nod as his tongue swirls around in your mouth.
Each thrust pushing you closer and closer, your muscles taught and tense, nails sinking into Franks thighs as he sends you keening over the edge
"c-cummingggg fffrankie ohhhfuckk" your eyes welling up and fluttering but trying your best to keep them open as Frank stares down at you. Not even aware of the way his features mirror yours - furrowed brows and jaw slack.
You feel every muscle fibre in your body set alight as he sends you keening over the edge "there you go baby-fuck-there you fuckin go" he coos. Your second orgasm hits you harder as you convulse around him, your walls clamping down on his veiny shaft as his hips start to stutter.
"gonna fill 'er up yeeah? take my cum, gonna be so fuckin full o'me-fuckin christ-she needs it huh baby?" he's muttering away nearing his own demise.
The way you feel so consumed by him right now, his words, his weight on you, hands on you and cock burrowed away so deep - mind, body and spirit - all his.
"y-yyyeahhh ne-oh fuck-i need it baby, wanna be soo full and swollen again please, wanna have your baby please frankie" you babble under him, so lost in your high.
and that undoes him - the feel of your cunt sucking him in, your desperate words the vision of you swollen and full, carrying his child.
"christ-im cumminnn baby-fuck-imma make you a mama again yeah-you look so fuckin pretty, carryin ma kid" he grunts, hot and heavy into your mouth as his balls start to tighten. "these perfect tits gonna be so fuckin full o'milk again-yeah?fuck-" he grunts as he lowers his head down to suck your tits into his mouth.
You nod with a whiny mewl, pulling him up closer by the neck.
"yy-yeahh make me a mommy again frankieee" you pant into his mouth, eyes looking straight into him.
Frank sinks his cock into you one last time in a hard thrust and you feel your walls flood with his white hot ropes of cum that your pussy so graciously sucks in deeper.
"gggodd-yeah there you go mama, you take it baby s'all for you, fuck"
His brawny arms circle your body, pulling you even closer to him, his hips rutting into your cunt - like he's trying to fuck his cum straight into your womb.
He lifts his weight a little, freeing your legs so they lazily wrap around him now. He takes a quick glance back, making sure it's all quiet before settling back on top of you. Both hearts racing, panting breaths and bodies sticky with sweat. Cock still nestled inside you, plugging his cum in deep.
"you mean it?" he asks in earnest after a few minutes, his eyes more vulnerable.
your palm comes up to cup his grizzly face "of course i mean it baby, i'd give you anything" you smile up at him with a small nod.
He looks down at you, eyes full of love, adoration and awe. Grateful in a way he could never put into words.
"id give you the world if I could" he confesses, low and with all the truth in the world behind it as he lowers his lips down to yours again.
"you already gave me the world Frank"
🤍
If you enjoyed this please consider reblogging, commenting or liking <3
a/n: you guys I swear I was going to end this when reader drives off but I just couldn't help myself, for shameeeeeee soch for shameeeeee
Also wrote the end of this smut with a raging hangover
anyways heres hoping this gets me out of my slump, i hope you guys like this xx
summary: After Frank sees you holding your niece, he’s overcome with baby fever. So of course, when you get home he can’t stop himself and long story short he begs to put a baby in you!! 😃
authors note: read part 1 here!! okay this is basically just the after events of them getting home, Frank tells her how he feels and yk what’s next 🤷♀️🤷♀️ can read this without reading the first part!!
content: fem reader, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), uhh- major breeding kink, desperate!frank, size kink, spoiler- it doesn’t fit, husband!frank, pet names (mama, sweetheart, baby), praise, yearning!frank, he begs?!, aftercare!! because frank is a real man 🫡
word count: 4.6k
The front door had barely clicked shut behind you before the weight of the evening started pressing down on Frank. The drive home from your brother’s house had been thick with silence, his hand gripping your thigh, thumb stroking over your bare skin like he could somehow imprint the memory of you holding your niece right onto your skin.
Hours later, your house was quiet except for the hum of the city outside the windows. You’d changed into one of his worn t-shirts, the hem brushing your thighs as you moved around the kitchen making tea. Frank had tried to distract himself by flipping through channels, checking his phone, even loading the dishwasher. But nothing worked. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you cradling the baby against your chest, that soft smile on your lips as the little one wrapped her tiny fingers around yours. The way you’d rocked her so naturally, like it was the most effortless thing in the world. Like you were made for it.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop imagining it was your baby- his baby- sleeping against your chest instead.
Two hours have dragged by in this strange, warm feeling. You’ve curled up on the couch together watching something on TV, but Frank barely registers any of it. His arm stays locked around you, fingers tracing slow patterns over your stomach. Every few minutes he presses a kiss to your hair, the curve of your shoulder, each one lingering longer than the last. His body is tense, a low thrum of need running under his skin that wouldn’t settle.
By the time the clock ticks past midnight, his body is aching.
Frank finally stands up from the couch and crosses the room to where you’re standing by the window, staring out at the scattered city lights. He comes up behind you without a word, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back against his chest with a shaky exhale. His hold is tighter than usual, almost desperate, like he’s afraid you might slip away.
“God, baby,” his voice is rough, overcome with yearning as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. “I haven’t been able to think about anythin’ else since we left your brother’s. The way you looked holding her. Like you were meant to be a mom.”
“Aw, sweetheart,” you say gently, letting your head fall against his, as he breathes into your neck desperately. You knew something’s been up, especially with the way Franks been so quiet, almost something pensive about him.
A large hand of his slides down, splaying wide over your lower stomach, as his fingers press in with a kind of reverence. You can feel how hard he is against your ass, his hips involuntarily rolling forward as if his body is already trying to make it real. You try to stop yourself from letting out a whine, obviously needy now that he’s making all this baby talk.
“I keep picturing you like that with our baby,” he whispers hoarsely, his lips brushing your ear. His breathing is hot and uneven, like he’s not in control of himself. “Your belly full because of me. Your tits all heavy. Fuck, I’m losing my mind thinkin about getting you pregnant tonight.”
He turns you slowly in his arms, cupping your face with both hands. His eyes are glistening with pure, aching want. Gently, his thumbs brush over your cheeks as he searches your gaze to figure out what you think, his breathing ragged.
“I need it, sweetheart. Please-” His forehead drops to rest against yours, voice dropping to a broken murmur. “Let me take you to bed. Let me put a baby in you.” His voice is dripping with desperation, like he needs to see you like that. Holding his child.
“Alright baby, alright” you whisper, moving your hands behind his neck so he can anchor you, knowing the extreme weight of your words. You pull your head back, and nod gently. “I want that too Frank.” you whisper, a little emotional. “I wanna make a family of our own.” You let out a small, choked noise as Frank nods, moving your hair out of your face for you.
He presses his lips to your forehead, still being gentle for you despite how out of control he feels. “C’mere” he says, hands trailing down to your hips, before he lifts you up firmly, your legs wrapping around his torso. You can’t help but squirm, almost bucking your hips into his abs. “Easy, baby,” he murmurs, moving his face to your neck, peppering you with gentle, wet kisses.
You whine, head lolling to the side, and Frank gets it. “Mhm, I know baby, shh,” he coos, lips on your collarbone as you hold onto him desperately. He holds you steadily with one arm, the other reaching down, his fingers brushing against the hem of the fabric of your shirt. Well, his shirt. He lifts it up, and you help pull your arms out of it as he tugs it off, over your head.
You curse yourself for wearing a bra and panties under the shirt, because you need him so bad- but now there’s an extra barrier between you. Your tits are sore and aching, pressing against his chest as he pulls you closer, wanting to feel you against him.
Holding you steadily, he starts taking heavy steps towards the staircase, holding your head against his shoulder carefully, as if to keep you safe. Like a steady rhythm, he presses a kiss to your shoulder each step upstairs. Before you know it, you’re in your room, your bedside lamp filling the space with a golden glow.
You can’t help but gasp and whine at every graze of your skin on his, you don’t know what’s made you so sensitive tonight- besides your desperate want for Frank, to have his babies. “I know, sweet girl, I know,” he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with need. He’s laying you on your back, nestling you in the middle of the sheets on your bed.
You gasp at the contrast of the cool sheets on your skin, your body on fire with want. “Frankie,” you whine, clawing at his chest, trying to pull him closer onto you. He’s hastily moving his hands down your body, desperately kissing everywhere he can reach.
You whine, feeling molten as his hands burn into your bare skin. “Mhm sweetheart, we’ll make you feel so good” he coos, kissing your forehead, as one arm lifts your torso from below so he can undo your bra. It’s quickly thrown to the side, and his lips are all over your chest as he feels you with his calloused hands. “There we are baby, s’that better?” he whispers against your skin, palm kneading one of your tits, as his stubble grazes the other one.
His tongue is between your tits, moving lower as he worships his way down your body, kissing and licking until he reaches your stomach. His calloused palm rubs over it gently, his yes filled with longing. “Gonna make you the prettiest mama ever.”
His fingers are tracing the waistband of your lacy panties, and soon he’s sliding them down, discarding them to the side as he settles between your thighs, both his arms hooking under one to reach you better. “There’s my girl, all wet and ready f’me” he groans, inhaling your scent. “Been thinking about this pretty pussy all night.”
Slowly, he lowers his head, the flat of his tongue pressing against your slit. “Ohh, you taste so sweet baby” he murmurs against you, which makes you shudder.
He licks at you slowly, with purpose- like he has to savour the moment. His tongue parts you gently, your slick gathering in his mouth as you whine. “Mph, fuck- you’re perfect mama.” He’s loving on you, pressing messy kisses against you, his tongue working soft kitten licks against your folds, like you’re something fragile.
“Frankie I need you so bad” you moan breathlessly, his gentleness driving you to the edge. He mutters something against your core, and then he’s licking more messily, more fervently. His arms are still wrapped around your plush thighs while he starts to devour you now. You moan every time his nose nudges your clit, back arching up desperately. “Mm, oh- fuck!” you moan, legs feeling like jelly as he eats you like a favourite meal. “Frank- fuck!” you cry out, desperate for release.
Your hands move to his hair, and you push his face down- a little too frantic. He chuckles into your heat, but understands what you need. “Alright baby, easy.” he says lowly, licking noisily at your pussy, moving up to suck on your clit. That nearly breaks you, and you can’t do much but whine helplessly.
“Aw my baby’s so needy,” he groans, voice laced with faux sympathy. His eyes meet yours, mouth still clamped down on you, and his tongue meets your entrance. “Let go baby, alright?” he coos, tongue fucking you gently.
Your hips buck against his face as sweat gathers above your brows. “Frankie I’m so close-” you all but cry, knees weak as his mouth is back on your clit, the pressure deliciously perfect. “Shit- mph- Im gonna cum-” you mumble, barely able to get out a proper sentence.
“Cum f’me baby, that’s it” he praises as you finally break, thighs shaking around his head. Your orgasm hits you hard, back arching as you gasp and cry out his name. Frank licks you through every wave, murmuring sweet filth against your sensitive flesh.
He moves back, climbing back up, beginning to kiss you so deeply that you can taste yourself on his tongue. “My sweet girl” he praises, pulling the shirt off his body in one tug. He hovers over you, undressing himself as you watch him, both your legs limp. Still, his eyes don’t leave yours as he pulls his trousers off, your clothes now in a pile to the side of your bed.
“Look at me, baby,” he whispers, climbing back onto the bed, his cock bouncing against his thigh. He’s big, but thick too, and it’s a real stretch getting him to fit most of the time. He climbs between your thighs again, lifting your head gently to fix the pillows beneath your neck. “There we are mama, get’cha all comfy.”
Though it’s never been said, and he never pressures you into anything, you know one of his favourite positions are missionary. You don’t know it, but it’s because he can see your beautiful face, feel you against his chest as he holds you, makes love to you.
His mouth is beneath your ear, peppering kisses down your neck as he moves further down. He can’t hold himself back anymore, so he takes his dick into his palm, tugging himself a few times, head falling back in need as he groans. He looks back to you, lining himself up at your dripping slit. His aching tip nudges against you, slipping past your clit since you’re both wet with need. You twitch at the brief contact, and Frank tries again, pushing against you till his tip finally slips inside, plopping in place.
You gasp as he finally enters you, pushing in slowly. “There we are baby- god, you’re so tight” he groans, a hand on your hip. He bites his lip in concentration, pushing further as he watches your face. Your eyes close, wincing at how overwhelmingly big he is. “Think you can take it?” he asks sweetly, trailing a hand to the side of your face and cupping it lovingly.
You nod, eyes still squeezed shut as he stretches you out further. “That’s it baby,” he says, thumb moving along your jaw, “let me see those eyes.” You open your eyes and they meet his dark ones, all while he’s still gently pushing into you. “Almost there, you’re doing so well” he praises, leaning down to kiss your forehead. None of this matters to him if you’re not feeling loved.
He’s almost fully in, lips still brushing past your hairline, murmuring words of praise. You gasp sharply, digging your nails into his shoulders at the intense fullness, and he hasn’t even bottomed out yet. You feel like you’re going to tear. “Frank-,” you moan, but youre wincing; it sounds like you’re in pain.
“Hey, hey..” he says, eyebrows furrowed in concern as he moves back slightly to see you, “want me to stop, baby?” He rakes his fingers through your hair, tilting his head as he watches your face.
“I can take it” you say, shaking your head, wanting more.
“I know you can sweetheart, but I can’t let myself hurt you.” His voice is soft and caring, like he’s talking to something fragile. Still, his fingers are running gently through your hair as he watches you with his big dark eyes.
“Please Frankie, I want all of you,” you protest, shaking your head, “I promise I’m okay.” He can’t help but sigh, like he’s fighting with himself. He tilts his head, quiet for a second before he speaks.
“Baby, we can still do it like this, I can’t have you hurting yourself.” he says softly, shaking his head. He looks upset, like it’s his fault you’re hurt. “It ain’t worth it-”
“Frank.” You cut him short, and his hand makes its way to cup your face. “I can take it. I want all of you.” He frowns, watching you like the most treasured thing in his life before he sighs in defeat.
“Anything hurts, and you tell me to stop- okay? Anything.”
You nod, your sweet eyes never leaving his. “Alright baby,” he whispers, clenching his jaw as he pushes himself even deeper. “Deep breaths f’me, that’s it.” You hold his shoulders as he gets impossibly deeper, inhaling and exhaling deeply like he said. His own voice is strained when he speaks, “Attagirl, you’re doing so well.” It’s like he forgets his tight you are every time you fuck.
“Fuckkk” he groans, bottoming out into you. “I’m all the way in, sweet girl. Right up against your womb.” Something about the way he says it so bluntly makes you moan. His thumb drags across your bottom lip as you cry out, he hasn’t even started moving yet.
“Mm, please Frankie,” you whine, bucking your hips against him subconsciously.
“I know mama,” he murmurs, slowly starting to rolls his hips into yours. Your legs burn from having them up for so long in the air, and as if Frank can detect it, he helps you rest them around his hips. “There we are baby,” he groans, a little more need in his thrusts now, like he’s setting the rhythm.
You whine each time his cock grinds in and out of you, deliciously dragging past your walls. One of his hands is working at your tit, squeezing and moulding like you’re made of dough, just so he can feel every part of you. His other hand trails down to your side, stopping at the crease where your hip meets your thigh.
He keeps his hand tight there to keep you steady and continues thrusting- deep, needy rolls of his hips that quickly turn desperate. Skin slaps wetly against skin as he fucks you harder, eyes locked on yours the whole time. "You're so warm," he groans, head lolling back "m'gonna pump you so full tonight, baby."
He looks down, watching your stomach in awe, before guiding your hand to rest over your own stomach. "Feel that sweetheart? I'm so deep inside you." You nod, biting your lip at the overwhelming feeling of being so full. All of your senses are going insane. His own hand presses gently but possessively on your lower belly, feeling the bulge of his cock with every thrust. "That's where our baby's gonna grow.“
You moan and whimper beneath him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, trying to pull him impossibly closer. “You're taking me so well, my sweet girl.” The eye contact makes it even more intimate- his breath mingling with yours as he pants dirty, loving words into your neck. "Gonna cum so deep inside this pretty pussy. Fill you til you're stuffed."
After long, desperate minutes of missionary, his body presses flush to yours as he pants, sweaty and breathless. He kisses you hungrily, your tongues clashing all needily, and then slowly pulls out with a reluctant groan. “On your stomach f’me, sweetheart. Wanna breed you even deeper.”
He helps flip you over, his hands running down the slope of your back, lips following them to press hot, wet kisses all the way to your ass. Carefully, he hovers over you, then covers your back with his much larger body. He pulls your hips up just enough with a soft: “Attagirl,” and places a pillow beneath them. With a few more kisses against the back of your neck, he sinks back inside you in one smooth, filthy thrust. You cry out at, glad he did it slowly before, so at least you knew what to expect.
The new position lets him press you into the mattress, caging you in completely as he starts pounding desperately, like a dog in heat. “Oh fuck, baby, this is perfect. I can feel every inch of this sweet pussy.”His thrusts are deep and urgent, hips snapping against your ass with obscene sounds. If you weren’t so horny, you would’ve told him to quiet down, “incase the neighbours hear”. One hand reaches underneath to rub your clit while the other strokes your back lovingly. “Feel how deep my cock is, baby? Gonna pump load after load into you till you’re leaking me for days.”
You’re crying out into the sheets, pushing back against him desperately as your pussy flutters around his thick length. Frank’s voice stays sweet but deliciously pervy, the way you like it, right by your ear. “That’s my girl. Love how wet you get when I talk about breeding you. Gonna keep you stuffed every night till your belly starts swelling. Can’t wait to see these tits get heavy too- mm, all for our baby.”
You moan louder into the mattress, the pillow under your hips tilting you perfectly for him. Every thrust grinds against that spot deep inside you, making your toes curl. Frank’s weight pins you down so sweetly, as a thick arm braces beside your head, while the other keeps rubbing slick circles over your puffy clit. The slap of his hips against your ass fills the room and makes everything sound even filthier.
“Fuck, listen to that,” he growls against your ear, voice rough and loving all at once. “Taking me so well, brave girl.” He nips at your shoulder with his teeth, then soothes it with the flat of his tongue, all while his hips continue bucking into you restlessly. “You’re so tight, baby. Getting close again?”
You nod frantically, words lost in your throat as another deep stroke forces a broken whimper out of you. He feels your walls flutter harder around his cock, and groans lowly, like he’s pleased.
“Yeah? Gonna fall apart while I breed you? Go on sweet girl, lemme feel it.” His fingers press a little firmer on your clit, and he quickens his pace until finally, the coil snaps. You cry out his name, pulsing and gushing around him as pleasure takes over your body. Frank groans like he’s the one falling apart, his hips stuttering for a split second before he continues to fuck you straight through it, drawing out your pleasure for you.
He doesn’t even stop. If anything, he gets more desperate, like he wants even more from you.
“Attagirl- fuck, just like that.” His hand slides from your clit to grip your hip hard, pulling you back onto him with every thrust. “Gonna fill you up baby, keep this womb nice and full f’me.”
He shifts his angle slightly to drive even deeper, the head of his cock nudging your cervix with every snap of his hips. You’re still weak from your orgasm, whimpering as he uses you, his breath hot against your neck. “You okay baby?” he asks, voice gentle. “Think you can take it? Lemme get you nice and full?”
“Frankie- please-” you manage to choke out, voice hoarse. You push yourself back with all your might, and he understands.
“Alright, mama. I’m right there. Gonna pump you so fucking full.” He presses a kiss to your back, before his thrusts eventually turn erratic, grinding against you like he’s trying to bury himself inside you forever. “That’s it- fuck- gonna breed this perfect pussy.”
With a groan that sounds like it was ripped from his the bottom of his chest, he slams against you one last time and stays there, his cock throbbing inside you as he starts to cum. You’re flooded with that familiar substance, white hot like thunder, as pulse after pulse of it paints your insides.
He keeps rocking shallowly through it, pushing his load deeper, making sure none of it escapes. “Right there, baby, that’s where it belongs.” he groans, holding you tight as his hips continue bucking. His eyes are squeezed shut in pleasure as he groans lowly, and you’ve never felt him so vulnerable inside you.
You’re both panting, skin damp with sweat, limbs weak and limp. Frank stays buried deep against your soft ass, as he carefully collapses his weight onto you in a protective cage. He presses wet kisses along your spine and the back of your shoulder, murmuring praise between each kiss, like he wants your skin to absorb his words.
“Took me so well, pretty girl. Look at you, all stuffed and dripping.” One of his hands slide under you again, resting warmly over your lower belly where he’d pressed his palm earlier. “Can already imagine it. You round and glowing, carrying our little one. Gonna keep you like this, sweetheart. Filled up and loved every fuckin night.”
He stays inside you for a long moment, softening slowly but refusing to pull out yet. It’s like he wants to stay in the comfort of you for as long as possible. Lazy little rolls of his hips keep his cum right where he wants it, deep inside you. Eventually he moves himself to the side, pulling you against him so you’re tucked against his chest, a leg draped over his. His hand never leaves your belly, and as if he’s already protecting something precious, his thumb strokes back and forth against you.
He looks down at your hopeful eyes, and kisses your forehead, before moving to your lips, slow and sweet this time. “Rest up, baby,” he whispers, his voice husky and warm. “Gonna need to fill you at least twice more before morning.”
You stay curled against his chest, both of you still catching your breath. You smile softly against the skin of his chest, already feeling the warm trickle of his cum starting to slip down your thigh, but you know he’ll just push it back in with his fingers- or his cock- soon enough. Frank’s cock has softened inside you, but he keeps you pressed close, an arm around your waist while his other hand continues that soothing moment over your belly like he’s already imagining it round.
After a few quiet minutes, he presses a gentle kiss to your temple and gently starts to ease himself out of you. You whimper at the loss and the sudden feeling of being empty, but he’s already shushing you softly, as a parent would to a child.
“I know, baby. I’ve gotcha.” His voice is low, but so full of warmth as he speaks to you. He rolls you onto your back carefully, before kneeling between your spread thighs, his eyes darkening for a second as he watches his cum slowly drip from your pussy. Before you know it, two of his thick fingers push it back inside you, making you twitch. Your lips part and you whine softly, eyebrows furrowed from how overwhelmed you are.
“I know baby, I know.” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your lower belly, before he slowly climbs off the bed. “I’ll be two secs,” he whispers reassuringly, turning around and leaving your room.
He returns quickly with a damp, warm cloth and a glass of water, watching you with awe as you lay down. He gently helps you sit up first, holding the glass to your lips as you drink. “Small sips, sweetheart. There we go, such a good girl f’me.” You drink obediently as he lets you hold the cup, so that he can move down slightly. He starts to wipe away at the crease between your thighs with the warm cloth, wiping away the mess as he presses small kisses to your inner thighs, urging you to part them slightly.
“Sore?” he asks, noticing the slight tremble in your legs. You nod, and he smiles warmly, setting the cloth aside. “Alright,” he says quietly, moving his big hands to your thighs, starting to work at your them firmly, before moving to your calves.His hands are strong but still gentle as he massages you, until you’re basically melting into the sheets with a soft sigh.
Once he’s satisfied you’re taken care of, he slides back into bed and pulls you beside him, whispering “that’s it pretty girl,” as your head rests near his heart. The covers are drawn up around you, enveloping you both in warmth. The air is warm, but in a familiar comforting way. His calloused fingers trace up and down your back, making you giggle, while his other hand cups the back of your head lovingly.
“You did so well tonight,” he whispers against your hair. “I’m so proud of you, sweet girl.” He tilts your chin up for a slow, deep kiss, and it’s nothing urgent this time, just purely affectionate. His mouth is warm and familiar, and if you could, you’d stay like this forever, with his skin against yours, his lips begging against yours.
“How do you feel? Any pain anywhere?” You shake your head, nuzzling back into his neck. He hums, full of relief and tightens his big arms around you, never wanting to let go.
“I meant every word mama, I can’t wait to watch your body change, to see you carry our baby.” His hand moves back to your belly, rubbing over it tenderly. “Even if it doesn’t happen right away, I’m keeping you stuffed and loved until it does. I’m gonna take care of you baby. Always.”
He reaches over and clicks off the lamp, tucking you even closer to himself as your legs stay tangled together. His voice grows a little sleepier, but it’s still full of that quiet reverence.
“Close your eyes, I gotcha. Gonna hold you all night long. And in the morning, I’ll make you breakfast all nice an pretty, and we can do it all over again if you want.”
You hum quietly, already drifting off to the beat of his heart. All you can feel now is the gentle press of his palm on your belly. You feel safe and cherished, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.
It’s also all Frank’s ever wanted, after facing all the hardships in his life. A beautiful girl to love, someone he can confide in and call his. And finally, he has it. Nothing could make him happier. And he won’t let anything take this away from him.
He sighs contentedly as your warm breath fans against his skin, knowing you’re lying there, safe and full of him. No matter what, he’ll give you this baby. He’ll help start the family you’ve both always wanted, and be here for you through thick and thin.
As his eyes close, and his arm aches from the weight of your head against it, he thinks about the future you’re going to build together. The sounds of giggles and laughter filling your home. The warmth of a family to call his own.
Okay so I had this little idea so I’m taking a little brain break to jot this down and upload it because I just think the image is cute/funny 🥵
Warnings: nothing too graphic, frustrated Tommy wants sex with his girl!
———————————————————————
It was not easy to have sex on an air mattress.
The fan in the corner was high-powered, silver plastic-blade spinning as quickly as the motor in the back spurred it to. Tommy had blindly reached behind him during your makeout session to turn the switch on and drown out the constant creaking from the blow up bed the pair of you were laid on. You weren’t told by his older brother, Brendan, when the pair of you agreed to spend the night, that the two of you were going to have to camp out in the living room because their only spare bedroom was being painted and nobody was allowed to stay in there and inhale the fumes. The sofa in the corner wasn’t big enough for the pair of you to sleep comfortably on either, so Brendan had offered the inflatable bed.
It was better than nothing. But not very suitable for what Tommy was trying to do to you.
Balancing your life as a nurse and a single mom to a five-year-old is hard enough. Love is the last thing on your mind, until Tommy Conlon walks into your life and makes you wonder if maybe there’s still room for it after all.
warning/tags: based on this ask, smut, minors DNI, porn with plot, no slowburn, grinding, unprotected piv, over the clothes handjob, fingering, creampie, no physical descriptions of reader except she has hair, a little fluff, long af so read it with time, mentions of DV (like in the movie)
You hated the night shift with a bone-deep resentment. It wasn’t just the parade of drunks and crazies who stumbled through the ER doors after midnight. It was knowing that every extra hour you spent here meant another chunk of your already pitiful paycheck vanishing to the sitter. Lila deserved better than a string of late-night strangers watching over her, and you deserved to be the one tucking her in instead of dragging yourself home at dawn, smelling of hospital.
It was close to one in the morning when triage called your name. “Room four. Walk-in laceration. Deep cut to the eyebrow. Came because the bleeding won’t stop.”
You nodded, tugging on fresh gloves as you headed down the hallway. You expected the usual, maybe a drunken stumble, or a bar fight. You stopped on your feet as you pushed the curtain aside.
The man sitting on the exam table looked like he’d stepped out of a gym magazine. His broad shoulders were impressive even under a plain grey hoodie, and you spotted right away how scabbed and bruised his knuckles looked, a typical sign of a bar fight. He kept his head low, his elbows on his knees, while pressing a wad of gauze to his brow with his hand.
He lifted his head when he heard you approach, looking at you with ocean-deep blue eyes. There was a cut slicing through his left eyebrow, still weeping blood that had already trickled down the side of his face. And yet, despite the obvious injury, he didn’t flinch or scowl.
For a moment, you forgot the room around you. You shook it off, stepping closer.
“Looks like you took a pretty good hit there,” you said, doing your best effort in order to keep your voice even. “Let me take a look.”
He didn’t move at first, almost like he was surprised someone was speaking to him so gently. Then he took the gauze away, revealing the full split in his skin. The cut was deep enough that the edges wouldn’t sit together on their own. It definitely needed stitches.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean t’ bleed all over your floor.”
You gave the faintest, amused exhale. “Trust me, this floor has seen worse.”
Something like humor flickered in his eyes. You stepped between his knees to get a closer look, clicking on your penlight. He smelled faintly of sweat, and his breath hitched almost imperceptibly when you tilted his chin with two gloved fingers to move his face toward the light.
“This is going to need sutures,” you said, meeting his eyes again.
“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “Figured.”
“Did you get in a fight?”
He didn’t respond for a few seconds, and you wondered if he’d pretend it was something else. But then he gave a small shrug. “Somethin’ like that.”
You didn’t pry, people lied, people hid things, and your job was just to patch them up and send them out, not listen to their life stories. You prepped the tray, laying out the needle driver, the suture kit, and the anesthetic. Tommy’s gaze followed your hands, like he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.
“Little pinch,” you warned him, holding the syringe.
He barely blinked when the needle slid in, no hiss or flinch from him. You found yourself glancing at him longer than necessary, studying the way he seemed to be used to pain. As you waited for the anesthetic to take effect, you cleaned the dried blood from his cheek. You could feel his eyes on you, but he didn’t speak.
“So,” you said lightly, trying to fill the quiet, “you planning to tell me what did this? Or am I supposed to imagine something dramatic?”
An amused breath escaped him. “You probably got a better imagination than the truth.”
“Oh? Try me.”
He was quiet again, but the corner of his mouth twitched just barely, enough that the tiniest curve softened his face. “Gym sparrin’,” he muttered finally. “Caught a bad elbow.”
“That’ll do it,” you said. “Well, next time, try blocking with something other than your face. It’s not the ideal choice.”
This time, the exhale he gave was unmistakably a laugh, but he choked it down fast as if he wasn’t used to letting something like that out. “Thanks for the piece of advice. Hadn’t thought of it.”
You stepped closer, lifting his brow to test numbness. “Feel this?”
“Nah.”
“Good. Try not to move.”
He locked his gaze on yours as you threaded the first stitch. And though you’d done this a thousand times, there was something strangely intimate about holding his skin between your fingers, guiding the needle through with precision.
He watched you work, his eyes never leaving your face, and you felt the heat of his stare, making your cheeks grow increasingly hotter.
“You’re good at that,” he said quietly.
“I should hope so,” you replied with a faint smile. “I’ve stitched up more eyebrows than I can count.”
You kept working, closing the skin while he sat still, keeping his arms on his knees and hands clasped.
“So, I take it you fight. What is it? Boxing?”
.
“MMA,” he replied without elaboration.
“How long you been doing it?” you asked, keeping your tone casual, trying to ease the tension.
“Long time,” he murmured. “Since I was a kid.”
“You do it professionally?”
He hesitated, and you could tell he wasn’t used to people being interested in him, not like this. “Kind of,” he said. “Just… doin’ what I know.”
You’d placed half the stitches when you noticed how his shoulders had relaxed, how he was letting his guard slip the tiniest bit under the sound of your voice. “Almost done,” you said softly.
He nodded once, and when the last knot was tied and the final suture trimmed, you stepped back. “There,” you said, removing your gloves. “Good as new.”
He reached up to touch the area by habit, then stopped himself at the last second before brushing against the fresh stitches. “Looks alright?”
“You’ll have a scar,” you said, “but honestly, you strike me as someone who can pull off a few of those.”
He huffed again, a stifled laugh that seemed to surprise him as much as you. You handed him the aftercare sheet. “Keep it clean, watch for infection, come back if anything seems off.”
He took the paper from you, brushing his fingers against yours for a second. A single second, but it was enough to send a warm, startling jolt through your arm.
He flicked his eyes up to yours, and for one suspended heartbeat, he let the truth flash through him, how beautiful he found you, how utterly unexpected it was to be sitting in an ER room at one in the morning, being touched gently by someone who looked at him like he truly saw him. Then the walls snapped back up.
“Thanks,” he said. “For… all that.”
“It’s my job.”
“Still.” His gaze dipped once to your lips, not long enough to make it obvious, just a flicker, and then away so fast it might have been imagined. “You were… real kind about it.”
You smiled. “Come back if you need anything else.”
He stood, pulling his hood up, towering over you close enough that you had to tilt your head slightly to keep his face in view. Tommy looked at you for a long second, like he wanted to say something more, but he swallowed it. He just put his hands in his pockets and walked toward the door.
Tommy had been hit in the head more times than he could count. He’d been punched, kicked, slammed, choked out, elbowed, kneed, and wrestled by men bigger and meaner, and he’d always managed to keep his mind blank when he needed to. Keeping his mind blank was safer. Blank meant control, meant distance, meant nothing could get inside the places he’d spent years boarding shut. But ever since that night in the hospital, since the warmth of your hands against his skin, Tommy’s mind refused to stay blank.
The next day, he woke before dawn like always. The apartment where he’d been living for two months now, ever since he returned to Pittsburgh, was cold, and the floorboards creaked under his feet. He splashed water on his face, checked the stitches in the mirror, and saw the neat line you’d left on his eyebrow. He stared at it too long, he didn’t even know why. Then your voice echoed faintly in his head, warm enough that it had landed somewhere in him he hadn’t expected. It’d made him feel a way he hadn’t felt in way too long.
Tommy gripped the sink. “Fuck,” he muttered, as if cursing at his own reflection would shake you loose.
But it didn’t. He went to the gym before sunrise, wrapped his hands mechanically, and even then, he could feel you haunting the edges of thought. When he started hitting the bag, your face came back anyway, every time he blinked, he saw that moment your fingers brushed his, just for a second. He saw your eyes, the way you leaned close without flinching, the way you didn’t look at him like he was something dangerous or broken or barely-held-together. You looked at him like a person, like a man, like he was allowed to sit there with his guard half-down and not be punished for it.
Two days passed quickly, and nothing changed. If anything, the thoughts got louder. Tommy wasn’t used to wanting things. Wanting was dangerous, wanting made you weak. And wanting a woman felt like standing on the edge of a long drop he wasn’t sure he could climb back from. This was stupid, he didn’t do this. He didn’t get stuck on people, didn’t let himself feel drawn, pulled, warmed, whatever the hell this was, but he couldn’t get you out of his head.
Tommy tried everything. He trained harder, ran until his lungs burned, lifted until his arms shook, went home exhausted, hoping fatigue would scrape you from his thoughts. Instead, exhaustion made it worse. His defenses were lower, he closed his eyes and felt again the moment you’d leaned in close enough that he’d felt the faintest warmth of your breath on his cheek.
By the eighth night, his stitches itched a little, it was normal, he knew that. He’d had enough cuts in his life to recognize healing when he felt it. The area wasn’t warm, wasn’t swollen, wasn’t red. It was perfectly fine. But he needed an excuse to see you again.
What was he supposed to do? Walk back into the ER like some guy who didn’t know how to take care of a cut? Tell you he was worried about infection when it was healing cleanly, neatly, exactly like it should?
He shouldn’t go, it was ridiculous, it would look pathetic. What would he even say? Hey, uh, I’ve been thinkin’ about you nonstop for a week like some kinda idiot, so I made up a reason to see you again.
He snorted and shook his head. Absolutely not. You’re not goin’. No way. Not happenin’.
So the next day, there he was, standing at the hospital’s entrance. He almost turned around, but he kept moving, with slow steps down the hallway. And then he saw you. You were at the counter, typing something into a chart, with your hair slightly out of place from the long shift, the concentration softening your features. A stray strand fell toward your cheek, and you brushed it back, and Tommy felt something far too warm flood through him.
He froze. Every instinct told him to leave, to protect himself, to turn around and go back to how his life was before he’d met you, where nothing hurt, and nothing tempted him.
But you looked up before he could, your eyes found him like you’d been expecting him without expecting him, like time paused for the briefest second when you recognized him. You lifted your eyebrows slightly with surprise.
“Tommy?” you said, stepping around the counter. “What are you doing here?”
He swallowed and cleared his throat, dropping his eyes to the floor before he forced them up again. “Uh… thought maybe, uh… the cut was… infected,” he muttered, hating how rough his voice sounded. “Feels… weird.”
He felt stupid the second the words came out. Like a huge fighter pretending to be concerned about a ten-day-old eyebrow stitch.
But you didn’t laugh, you didn’t even doubt him. As you stepped close and touched his arm lightly, you guided him toward one of the exam rooms. “Let’s take a look.”
Inside, under the light, Tommy sat on the edge of the table again, just like before. You put on gloves, pulling the curtain closed. Tommy watched you with intensity, like he was soaking in every detail he didn’t let himself look at the first time. You stepped between his knees again, and he felt his breath catch.
You lifted his chin with your fingers, and he went very still. The warmth of your skin through the glove seeped straight through him as your thumb brushed near the cut, not touching the stitches, just the skin nearby.
“You’re healing beautifully,” you said after a moment. “No redness, no warmth, no drainage. No signs of infection at all.”
Tommy’s chest tightened. “Oh,” he said quietly.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Any fever?”
“No.”
“Then why do you think it’s infected?”
Tommy hesitated. He shrugged. “Just… felt weird.”
You studied him for another moment, then let go of his chin. He missed the touch instantly and hated himself for it.
“It’s probably just the stitches tightening as the skin closes,” you said, stepping back. “Nothing to worry about.”
Tommy nodded. You started taking off your gloves. “I’m glad you came in, though. Better safe than sorry.”
He lifted his head slightly and saw the way you were smiling at him, like you were genuinely glad he was here.
His pulse thumped once, hard enough he felt it in his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Guess so.”
You scribbled a quick note on the chart, then looked at him again with that same gentle calm that had snared him the first night. “How’ve you been feeling otherwise?”
He swallowed. “Fine.”
“You look tired.”
He let out a faint breath, something between a laugh and a grunt. “Been trainin’ a lot.”
“Fighting?”
“Yeah.”
“You should be careful with your face then,” you teased lightly. “I worked hard on that eyebrow.”
Your smile deepened, but Tommy’s didn’t, he had so many things he wanted to say, but none of them seemed to go past his lips. How could he be so brave in the face of death, but be scared shitless when it came to talking to you?
“If it gives you any trouble, come back.”
He met your eyes and held your gaze longer than he should have. “I will.”
Tommy didn’t even make it to his car. As soon as he pushed through the sliding doors of the hospital, he just walked across the parking lot, pacing back and forth.
He ran a hand over his face. This was stupid, he wasn’t a kid, he wasn’t some teenager trying to gather the courage to ask someone to the school dance. He wasn’t the kind of man who stumbled over simple things. He fought grown men in cages and rings, and gyms. He took punches that would break the average person’s skull. He’d lived through things that should’ve shattered him.
But asking you out? That terrified him. He paced faster, told himself to leave. Go home. Forget the way she looked at you. Forget the warmth in her voice.
He made it halfway to the edge of the lot before he stopped again. He realized he couldn’t stand the idea of you not knowing. Not knowing that you mattered to him. That you’d gotten into his head, his chest, deeper than you had any right to, and he didn’t want you out.
He turned around. “Alright,” he muttered under his breath. “Alright. Go.”
He took a step and stopped. “What’s the worst that can happen?” he growled to himself. “She says no. That’s it.”
He could take rejection, he could take a hit. He could take anything, except the regret of not trying. He forced himself forward, and the automatic doors opened again. You were behind the nurse’s station again, writing notes. You didn’t notice him right away, you were concentrating, your bottom lip tucked slightly between your teeth in a way that made his stomach tighten.
Then you looked up, and your eyes found him. “Tommy?” you said slowly. “Did you forget something?”
He stopped halfway between the door and your desk. He stood there, looking big, broad, and intimidating to anyone else, and looked at you like you were the only thing in the room.
His voice came out rough. “Uh… yeah. Kinda.”
You waited, lifting your brows gently.
Tommy swallowed, feeling the hammering of his heart. He took a few steps toward you, each one careful, like he was approaching something fragile. When he reached your desk, he stopped again.
He cleared his throat. “I… wanted t’ ask you somethin’.”
Your eyes softened. “Sure. What is it?”
Tommy rubbed the back of his neck. He looked like he’d rather take a punch than say the words, but he forced them out. “You wanna… maybe go out… sometime? With me.”
The world didn’t end, and nothing exploded. He’d finally dared to say the words.
You shook your head slightly. Not a no, more like disbelief. “Tommy… I… I don’t think you really want to go out with me.”
He snapped his eyes to yours so fast the movement almost startled you. “Yeah,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “I do.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he beat you to it, leaning his elbows slightly on the counter as if closing the distance made it easier to say things he’d never said before. “I ain’t… good with this kinda thing,” he muttered. “But I been thinkin’ about you. Since that night. A lot.”
His words got your pulse jumping, and Tommy just kept going. “And I ain’t gonna pretend I’m not, or act like I came here for any other reason. I wanted to see you. Wanted t’ ask you properly. Didn’t wanna keep talkin’ myself outta it.”
You felt the warmth climb your chest and into your throat. He looked vulnerable, stripped down, unguarded. “Tommy…” you breathed.
He shook his head slightly. “You can say no. It’s fine. But don’t say it ‘cause you think I don’t mean it.”
You looked at him, and at the way his shoulders were tense, but his eyes were open, at the way he stood there waiting, bracing for a hit that wasn’t coming. And suddenly, saying no wasn’t even an option.
You said the thing that made his heart thump hard enough he actually felt dizzy for a second. “Okay,” you said softly. “Yes. I’ll go out with you.”
Then his chest rose in a deeper breath, the kind you take when something heavy lifts off you. “Yeah?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” you said, smiling.
He looked down for a moment, then gave the smallest huff of breath. “When?” he asked.
“Whenever you want.”
“Tomorrow night,” he said instantly without hesitation. “If you can.”
You nodded. “I can.”
Tommy pushed a hand into his pocket, like he didn’t know what to do with it, then lifted his gaze to you again. “I’ll pick you up. Somewhere nice. Dinner.”
“Alright, Tommy,” you said softly. “Tomorrow night.”
He nodded once, firmly, like he’d just been given a mission, then he stepped back slowly. He didn’t want to leave just yet, but he needed to let you work. As he walked toward the exit, and for the first time all week, everything in him felt sure. He was taking you out, there was no turning back.
You hadn’t dressed up in a long time, at least not feeling the excitement warming your chest, not with that sense of anticipation that kept sneaking up, no matter how hard you pretended to stay calm. The bathroom mirror was fogged at the corners from your shower, and you had your hair pinned halfway up, with strands falling in curves around your shoulders. You were still in your towel, rushing from the sink to your bedroom to your daughter’s room and back again because, of course, your life never seemed to pause when you needed it to.
“Mommy, where’s my bear?” a small voice called from the other side of the hallway.
“On the bed, baby,” you answered, stepping into your room and rifling through your drawer for the necklace you swore you’d left on the nightstand.
The soft patter of feet followed you. “No, it’s not! He’s lost. I lost him, mommy. I lost him forever.”
You suppressed a laugh, leaning toward the mirror to swipe liner under your lashes. “He’s definitely not lost forever.”
Your daughter appeared in the doorway, her curls bouncing around her small face. Five years old and bright as a spark. She was wearing mismatched socks and holding three crayons in one hand, her frustration already forgotten as she saw the makeup scattered across your vanity.
“Are you gonna be a princess?” she asked, climbing onto your bed and bouncing once.
You smiled, grabbing your dress from the closet. “Not a princess. Just… Mommy on a date.”
She blinked. “What’s a date?”
You hesitated a moment. “It’s when you go out with someone you like,” you said finally, simple and honest.
She hummed, contemplating this deeply as only a child could. “Do you like him?”
The question hit more directly than expected, making your fingers pause on the zipper of your dress. “Yes,” you said softly, because you’d never been one to lie to her. “I think I do.”
You slipped into the dress carefully, a simple one, but pretty, black fabric that ended barely above your knee. You looked at yourself in the mirror, thinking about how long it had been since you felt this… alive.
Tommy would be here in less than twenty minutes, and you still had to put on shoes, finish your hair, grab your purse, check on your daughter’s dinner, and…
“Wait,” you said suddenly, turning. “Honey, did you brush your teeth after your snack?”
She froze, her eyes widening comically. “I forgot!”
“Go,” you said, pointing toward the bathroom and laughing.
She sprinted down the hall, and you moved fast, slipping into your heels, adjusting your dress at the waist, spritzing a little perfume on your wrist. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. It’d been so long since a man made you feel this anticipation… this excitement.
You checked your phone. It was 6:48 PM. and that meant the babysitter should be there any minute. Your daughter shouted something from the bathroom about SpongeBob toothpaste, but you didn’t have time to investigate, so you called back, “Rinse carefully!”
Just as you reached for your earrings, your phone buzzed. Great, that must be her.
You picked it up, but the second you saw the text, the smile you had on your face vanished.
babysitter: Hey! I’m SO sorry, something came up last minute. I can’t make it.
I know it’s late but I really can’t get away.
I owe you!!
You stared at the screen. No no no no no. You read it again, hoping maybe it would magically say something different the second time, but it didn’t.
You felt your stomach dropping, but you didn’t have time to sink, because your daughter came skipping back into your room, proudly opening her mouth. “See? Clean!”
“Yeah,” you managed to say, touching her cheek with a shaky hand. “They look great, sweetheart.”
She didn’t notice the tension in your voice, she was too little for it. She climbed back on your bed, reaching for her crayons, content while your entire night threatened to collapse.
Your date, your first date since… well, since before you had her. And a man who had looked at you like you were worth it, with a man who had paced a parking lot working up the courage. With a man who probabl wouldn’t understand if you suddenly cancelled right before he arrived.
You closed your eyes. “Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “Okay, okay… think.”
Call another sitter? Impossible in ten minutes. Ask a neighbor? Not an option, you didn’t know any of them enough to trust them with your daughter. Bring your daughter? You laughed weakly at the thought. Absolutely not. What would he think if you suddenly showed up at the diner with your five-year-old daughter in tow… the same daughter you’d conveniently forgotten to mention existed?
Maybe this was your fault. You should’ve told him from the beginning, laid it all out before saying yes to the date. But you knew how it went: men in their early thirties didn’t exactly line up for single moms. Most of them bolted at the first whiff of responsibility that wasn’t their own. When Tommy had asked you out, like he hadn’t expected you to say yes, you’d just wanted one night to feel like someone else. Not the exhausted nurse, not the mom scraping by, just… you. nd, in any case, you weren’t planning to hide her forever. Just long enough for him to fall irrevocably, stupidly in love with you, so the news wouldn’t feel like a dealbreaker. So he’d look at Lila and see something worth staying for instead of an “extra package” to run from. Stupid, maybe. Selfish, definitely. But hope had a way of making you lie to yourself, and you’d been lying for weeks.
Your throat tightened, and the disappointment was rushing in, just when you’d been so excited. And now… A soft knock sounded on the door.
Your heart jumped. Tommy was already here. You froze in place, but your daughter hopped off the bed, excited to meet this mysterious man who was supposed to take you out on a date. “I’ll get it!”
“No—!” you called, but it was too late, trying to grab at her arm only to catch air as she streaked down the hall like a comet.
Your heels clicked on the floor as you chased after her, but by the time you reached the door, she’d already swung it open.
And there he was. Tommy, standing on your doorstep in the fading evening light, wearing a clean black jacket over a dark shirt. His hair was neat, and you could smell the faintest scent of cologne drifting with the cool air. He looked painfully good, so handsome and broad.
Your daughter looked up at him with awe. “You’re big.”
Tommy blinked once, then, one corner of his mouth tugged upward, not quite a smile, more like the ghost of one. He didn’t react outright to the little girl standing in the doorway. No flinch, no widening eyes, no flash of irritation or surprise that you’d braced for.
You searched his face, trying to read the unreadable. Was he that good at hiding it or did he genuinely not mind?
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Guess I am.”
You stepped behind her, catching your breath as his eyes lifted to yours. He stopped breathing for a moment, then he said, very quietly, “You look… beautiful.”
The words made you feel warm all over your body, but the panic returned in an instant. “Tommy,” you said, stepping into the doorway. “I—there’s a problem.”
His shoulders tensed slightly. “Somethin’ wrong?”
“My babysitter cancelled,” you said. “Ten minutes ago. I’m so sorry. I can’t leave her alone, and I can’t find anyone else, and—I’m really sorry, I know you came all the way here, I just… I can’t go out tonight.”
Your daughter leaned into your leg, looking between the two of you with curious eyes, sensing something was wrong but not quite understanding what.
Tommy flexed his jaw once. He didn’t seem angry, just thinking. He looked at you, then at your daughter, then back at you.
For a moment, you expected him to nod, say “it’s fine,” and leave politely, disappear into the night, and never contact you again.
But he didn’t, he stepped closer, lowering his voice to speak to you. “…then we don’t go out.”
Your breath caught, but Tommy held your gaze. “We can stay right here,” he continued softly. “We can order food. Talk. Watch somethin’ with her. Whatever you want.”
He wasn’t disappointed, he wasn’t irritated or backing away. He was offering himself into your real life, into the messy, chaotic truth of you. A truth that included a five-year-old girl.
You felt your throat tighten. “You’d… be okay with that?”
His eyes softened in a way that made your knees feel unsteady. “I’m more than okay,” he murmured.
You stepped aside, smiling despite everything. “Come in, Tommy.”
He did, Tommy stepped inside your house like a man walking into unfamiliar terrain. He took everything in quickly, the soft light of the living room lamp, the scattered crayons on the coffee table, the half-drawn pictures on the floor, the faint smell of laundry detergent in the air. Your home felt lived-in and warm. Nothing like his apartment with bare walls and empty shelves.
“So, this is Lila.” You crouched a little, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder as she peeked up at him with wide eyes. “My daughter.”
You straightened, offering him a small smile, the one that said. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry I let it get this far without being honest. I’m sorry if this changes everything.
Tommy’s gaze dropped to Lila for a long beat, taking her in, then he lifted his eyes back to yours, and he pressed his mouth into a flat line, not quite a frown, not quite a smile, just acknowledgment. He gave a single, slow nod, the kind that said he’d heard you, he’d seen her, and he wasn’t running for the door.
Your daughter immediately sprinted back to the couch, climbing onto it, and bouncing once before plopping down with arms spread wide.
“Mommy! Can we watch the movie with the dragon?” she called.
You rubbed your forehead with a tired laugh. “Which one, baby? There are about four thousand dragon movies.”
“The one where the girl is a warrior!” Lila’s voice pitched higher with excitement, her tiny fingers ticking off each detail like she was checking boxes. “And she has a little dragon, and a black horse, and a cricket, and she fights, and—”
“That’s Mulan, baby. Why don’t you go look for it on the DVD rack? It’s probably with all the princess ones.”
Lila gasped, already spinning on her feet toward the shelf. Tommy stood awkwardly near the door, keeping his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, shifting his gaze from you to your daughter and back again. He clearly didn’t want to intrude. His presence, normally towering, felt strangely tentative here, like he was trying to shrink himself out of politeness.
You stepped toward him, giving him a grateful smile. “Come in. Really. It’s okay.”
He nodded, stepping further into the living room. He lingered near the armchair, unsure if he should sit, wait, or stand at attention. Your daughter solved the dilemma by pointing at him and declaring loudly, “YOU sit THERE.”
Tommy blinked, and you covered your mouth in embarrassment. “Honey… let him sit wherever he—”
But he didn’t look offended, just startled. And then… a little amused. “Yeah?” he said quietly. “That my spot?”
“Uh-huh,” she nodded, kicking her feet against the couch cushions. “You’re big. You need the big chair.”
Tommy glanced at the chair, then at her, then at you. His voice softened, it was clear he was making an effort into sounding less rough, especially when it came to speaking to a little girl, but clearly had not much experience in it. “Alright. Big chair it is.”
“WAIT! You have to ask it for permission first.” Lila pointed solemnly at the armchair, like it was a living thing that deserved respect.
Tommy paused mid-step, glancing around the room as if expecting someone to jump out and yell “gotcha.” No one did. He dropped his eyes back to Lila’s upturned face, completely serious. She stared right back, expectant.
He cleared his throat, and turned to face the armchair. “Can I sit down?” he asked, just doing what the kid said.
Lila’s face lit up like he’d passed some test. “It said yes!” she exclaimed, bouncing both legs so hard the couch creaked. “You can sit now.”
Tommy gave the smallest nod, and he sat carefully, as if the furniture might break under him. It didn’t, but the chair did creak in protest, earning a delighted giggle from your daughter. “It made a noise!” she squealed.
Tommy almost smiled, and you felt something warm spread slowly through your chest watching him try.
You picked up the phone. “Okay, how does pizza sound?”
Your daughter hopped up again. “Yes! Yes! Pizza!”
Tommy cleared his throat softly. “I can, uh… pay for it.”
You shook your head instantly. “No. Absolutely not. I feel too embarrassed already for ruining the date. I’m not letting you pay for takeout.”
He looked ready to argue, but your daughter tugged on the leg of his chair, distracting him. “Do you like cheese pizza?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Ain’t had pizza in a while,” he admitted.
Her eyes widened. “What? Why?”
Tommy opened his mouth, ready to explain that with training and fighting, he usually took much care into what he ate, but that seemed too confusing and complicated to explain to a five-year-old, so he lifted one shoulder in an awkward shrug. “Just… don’t get it much.”
She gasped dramatically. “That’s SAD.”
Tommy blinked, and you burst out laughing. Slowly, he did too. A small exhale, a twitch of his mouth, a softening in his eyes. Like he didn’t remember the last time a child had spoken to him at all, let alone made him laugh.
You ordered the food while your daughter climbed onto the couch again, dragging a blanket with her.
You glanced at Tommy. “You okay with animated movies?”
He nodded, then frowned slightly. “Uh… can’t say I’ve seen a lot of ‘em.”
Your daughter gasped again as though this were a tragedy. “Mommy, he didn’t watch the dragon movies OR eat pizza?”
“Baby, I think he did eat pizza,” you corrected gently. “Just… not recently.”
“Oh.” She nodded as if this were a great revelation, then she turned to Tommy. “It’s okay. I’ll teach you.”
Tommy stared at her, unsure how to respond, then gave a tiny nod. “Alright.”
You slid the DVD inside the player and clicked play once the film had loaded. Tommy watched you sit beside your daughter on the couch, pulling her into your side. She rested her head on your shoulder immediately, humming contentedly.
“It’s about a girl who goes to war to fight really bad guys,” Lila launched in, barely pausing for breath, “and there’s a lucky cricket, and a funny dragon, and a horse, and the girl falls in love wi—”
You laughed, reaching over to gently tap the tip of her nose. “Baby, don’t spoil him too much, you’ll ruin the whole movie for him.”
Lila’s mouth snapped shut mid-sentence, like she’d just realized the gravity of her near-betrayal. She clapped both hands over her lips, then whispered through her fingers, “Oops. Sorry, Tommy.”
Tommy, still sunk into the armchair like he belonged there, gave the tiniest lift of one shoulder, but his eyes flicked to you for a split second before he looked back at the screen. When the movie started, your daughter scooted forward, leaning her elbows on her knees, fully absorbed. Tommy sat stiffly in the big chair at first, with his back straight and his hands on his thighs like he was waiting for instructions. But after a few minutes, he relaxed a little, leaning back. His eyes flicked to you often in stolen glances he tried to hide. Watching you laugh, watching you smooth your daughter’s hair back, and the way you mouthed some of the lines because you’d clearly watched this movie a hundred times.
And then, unexpectedly, he laughed at something from the movie. It slipped out of him, a soft and yet rough sound that made your heart squeeze.
Your daughter gasped again with delight. “You laughed!” she shouted, pointing at him.
Tommy seemed startled. “Yeah.”
“Do it again!”
“That’s… not how it works.”
“Yes, it is!” she insisted.
You covered your mouth to hide the grin forming. “Honey, let him watch.”
She huffed dramatically and settled back down. Tommy shook his head once, faintly amused. There was a softness there, an unguarded warmth he didn’t usually show, but he couldn’t help it around you.
When the pizza arrived, you all moved closer to the coffee table. Your daughter took two bites before launching into a monologue about kindergarten and her favorite teacher and how she once fed a squirrel at the park and how she thinks dragons were real.
Tommy listened. Sometimes, he blinked slowly, not understanding a word she said about stickers and glitter, but he tried. He nodded at all the right moments, murmured “yeah?” and looked at you sometimes for translation.
Your daughter finally pointed at him with a crust in her hand. “Do YOU have a kid?”
Tommy froze and shook his head once. “No. I don’t.”
Your daughter nodded like this was reasonable. “You should.”
Your heart stopped when you heard those words, feeling your cheeks burn. “Honey,” you said firmly, but your daughter kept going.
“He’s nice,” she said to you, as if announcing it. “And he’s big and strong. And he sat where I told him. And he laughed at the movie. So he should be a dad.”
Tommy made a strangled sound in his throat, caught between confusion and embarrassment. You covered your face with your hands. “Oh, my God. Please, don’t mind her, you know how kids are, they just say whatever pops into their minds. No filter.” You laughed awkwardly.
Tommy’s ears were slightly red. “It’s alright.”
He wasn’t upset, ot uncomfortable, not really. Kids weren’t part of his world, he had zero practice, no blueprint for how to talk to them, what made them laugh, or what scared them off. But sitting here, in your old armchair, watching Mulan on the TV, Lila curled against your side… he didn’t feel out of place.It made sense in a way nothing else had in a long damn time. It all settled over him like something familiar, like he’d stepped into a room he hadn’t known he was looking for.
Your daughter munched pizza for a moment, then leaned sideways into you, already sleepy from a full tummy. You brushed her hair back, and Tommy watched your hand move gently over her curls. He watched your daughter’s eyes flutter closed, and how you lowered your lips to her forehead and whisper something soft.
As Tommy watched you with Lila from the armchair, something in his chest tightened, sank, really. He couldn’t look away, even though part of him wanted to. The way you brushed her cheek with gentleness, the way in which you spoke to her in that soft voice that made everything okay again, it was too familiar. Too close to memories he’d spent years trying to bury. He remembered his own mother like that: the gentle scrape of her fingers through his hair when nightmares kept him awakeunder the covers, the murmur of lullabies she sang until his breathing evened out. She’d looked at him the same way you looked at Lila now, fierce and protective, like the whole world could burn and she’d still stand between it and her kid. That primal, bone-deep love only a mother had fro her child.
When the movie ended and your Lila’s breathing had grown steady against you, you looked up at Tommy again. He was already watching you. “She’s real sweet,” he murmured.
You nodded gently. “Yeah. She is.”
“You’re good with her,” he said.
“I try.”
He shook his head softly. “No. You… you’re good. Real good.”
You smiled. “Thank you, Tommy.”
He swallowed, dropping his sight briefly to your daughter curled against you, then lifting again. “Thank you. For… lettin’ me stay.”
“Of course,” you whispered. “I’m glad you did.”
You lifted her carefully, and she made a soft little noise, a sleepy hum. “Let me put her to bed.”
Tommy nodded slowly. “Yeah. Take your time.”
You carried her down the hallway to her room, tucking her under her blankets, kissing her forehead, and standing there for a moment watching her breathe, letting the peacefulness of it wash through you.
Then you went back to the living room. Tommy was sitting where you left him. He stood instantly when you appeared. You smiled and gestured to the couch. “Do you… wanna sit here? It’s more comfortable.”
He hesitated, but then nodded. He moved slowly, like he was afraid of breaking something, and took the spot on the couch’s far end, leaving a respectful amount of space between you.
You sat beside him, still warm from carrying your daughter, smoothing your dress over your knees. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You folded your hands in your lap.
“I’m really sorry,” you said gently. “That everything tonight got… messed up.”
Tommy’s brows pulled together, his expression denoting his confusion. “Wasn’t messed up,” he said.
“I mean… movie night? Pizza? That wasn’t exactly the dinner date you planned.”
“I didn’t mind.”
“You should’ve had a proper date.”
Tommy shook his head slowly. “This was fine. Better than fine.”
You searched his face, and could see clear as day that he meant it. As you swallowed, you dropped your eyes for a moment before lifting them again. “And… I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner that I have a daughter.”
He looked like he wasn’t sure what to do with the apology at all. “You didn’t have t’ tell me right away,” he said.
“I feel like I should have,” you continued. “It’s a big part of my life, obviously. And some men don’t want to deal with that. And I get it if it’s a deal breaker. I really do. So if you don’t want to see me again after tonight, or if it’s too much, or—”
“Stop.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through your words instantly. You looked up, Tommy was watching you with that same intense focus he had the night you stitched him up, like he was giving you his full attention because what you were saying mattered. “You think I’d walk away ‘cause you got a kid?” he asked quietly.
“I wouldn’t blame you.”
“Well, I would,” he said.
“What?”
He shifted a little closer, not much, but enough that you could feel his attention settle on you. “I ain’t the kinda man that scares easy,” he said. I’d be an idiot to walk away from you just because you have a kid.”
“My life is… complicated, Tommy.” And complicated didn’t even begin to cover it. Between the endless string of twelve-hour shifts at the hospital, and the nonstop orbit of a five-year-old who needed snacks, stories, bandaids, and bedtime songs all at once, you barely had scraps of time left for yourself. Forget carving out space for someone else. Dates? Conversations that weren’t interrupted by “Mommy, I’m thirsty”? A night where you didn’t collapse into bed? Those felt like luxuries
“Yeah,” he murmured. “So’s mine.”
You let out a shaky exhale, leaning back slightly into the couch. He watched you for another moment, then looked down at his hands. “Look,” he said slowly, “I ain’t been around… families. Not much. Not really ever. So I might be… awkward. Or quiet. Or not know what the hell I’m doin’ around little kids.”
“You did fine,” you whispered.
He huffed a soft laugh. “I talked to a chair.”
“She loved it.”
“Yeah.” His eyes softened. “I could tell.”
There was a pause before he said the next words. “I liked watchin’ you with her. You’re a good mom. It’s… nice. Seein’ that. Real nice.”
Something inside you loosened, unwound, melted, whatever word fit the way your heart warmed and softened all at once. You sighed, looking down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “So… you’re not scared off?”
“Not even close.”
You tried to smile, but the emotion in your chest made it tremble.
Tommy looked at your face, almost carefully, like he was trying to memorize something without making it obvious. “Why’d you think I wouldn’t wanna see you again?”
You hesitated, saying it out loud sounded stupid, but you’d been there before, when guys suddenly made up any excuse to get away with you the moment the word “daughter” left your mouth.
“Because… guys don’t usually want a woman who comes with… baggage.”
“I ain’t other guys. And your daughter isn’t baggage.”
“I didn’t want to… trap you into a situation you didn’t sign up for,” you whispered.
Tommy leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, turning toward you. “I asked you out, not some perfect single version of you. Not some pretend life. You. The real you. Whatever comes with that. So don’t go tellin’ me what I do and don’t want.”
Your lips parted slightly with disbelief about how nonchalant he appeared to be with it all. The room felt warmer suddenly, or maybe it was Tommy leaning closer. Or maybe it was the look in his eyes, stripped of the walls he usually kept wrapped tight around him.
You nodded once. “Okay.”
He studied your face for another moment. “If tonight made you think I’d disappear… you don’t know me very well yet.”
“Then tell me,” you said. “Help me get to know you.”
His breath caught. No one had said that to him in a long time, maybe ever. He leaned back against the couch, glancing down as if choosing his words. “What do you wanna know?” he asked.
“Anything you want to tell me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh… don’t talk about myself much.”
“I noticed,” you teased him.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth, and he looked at your coffee table, your daughter’s drawings, the empty pizza plates… then back at you. “You make it… easy.”
Your heart warmed so deeply it almost hurt.
“What about you?” he asked suddenly, like he wanted the attention off himself as fast as possible. “What’s… your story?”
You shifted to face him more fully, tucking a leg under you. You told him small things, how you became a nurse after your mother because of how much you admired what she did for others, how long you’d lived here, one year now after you moved, because your old apartment had become too small for a little girl who practically climbed up the walls. You told him about long nights at the hospital, about balancing work and motherhood, about the challenges and the joys.
Tommy listened, and most importantly, he asked questions, simple ones, but thoughtful. He watched your eyes as you spoke, like the way you told your stories mattered as much as the stories themselves. He leaned in when something made you laugh, softening further each time.
You kept talking a little more, but then the conversation quieted. Not because it was awkward, but because there was a natural pause. Tommy shifted slightly, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. Then he cleared his throat, a small sound but it was enough to draw your eyes to his.
“Can I ask you somethin’?” he murmured.
You nodded. “Of course.”
“It’s about her dad.”
The words were soft, almost reluctant. “You don’t gotta answer if you don’t want to,” he added quietly. “I ain’t tryin’ to pry. Just… curious.”
You inhaled slowly, the question you’d answered many times before, it was something everyone was curious about when you mentioned you were a single mom, but it still stung a little. You picked at the seam of a couch cushion before speaking.
“It’s okay,” you said gently. “You can ask.”
Tommy waited, giving you the silence you needed, not rushing you or pushing you. Just waiting. You folded your hands in your lap. “He wasn’t around much,” you said finally. “Not when I was pregnant. Not when she was born. Not after.”
Tommy’s eyes darkened, not with anger at you, but anger at someone who had hurt you without ever meeting you.
“He… disappeared,” you continued. “Called twice. Maybe three times. Always with excuses. And then nothing.”
“He ever meet her?”
“No.”
“Ever try?”
You shook your head. “I don’t think he wanted to. And I stopped waiting for him to.”
Tommy exhaled through his nose. He looked at your daughter’s photograph hanging on the wall, at her tiny shoes near the hallway, then back at you. “Sometimes…” he said quietly, “it’s better not havin’ a father at all… than havin’ a shitty one.”
The truth in his voicemade you shiver. There was something in the way he said it, in the rawness of your voice that made you believe he knew what he was talking about. “You say that like you know.”
He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, but more like a huff. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”
You waited to see if he’d say something more, not wanting to look intrusive. Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor for a moment like he wasn’t sure where to start. “My dad… wasn’t exactly father of the year.”
You didn’t interrupt, and he kept going. “Man drank more than he breathed. Had a temper. Big one. My mom took most of it. My brother and I took the rest.”
You watched the pain flickering across his face, it looked like a wound that time had attempted to heal, but it was still somewhat open. “You have a brother?” you asked softly.
“Yeah. Brendan.” A faint smile ghosted across his mouth. “Good guy. Real good.”
You could tell, immediately, how much that meant. “Your dad… he hurt you?” you asked carefully.
Tommy swallowed. “Yeah. A lot. Enough.”
“You can stop if you want to.”
He shook his head. “Nah. You asked about him. Just givin’ you the real.”
He leaned back slightly but didn’t put distance between you, just shifted into a position that felt more honest. “I figured out pretty young I had two choices,” he said quietly. “Learn how to hit back, or learn how to take a hit.”
“Did you hit back?”
“Eventually,” he murmured. “But… mostly I got good at takin’ them.”
The admission was so quiet that you felt something ache deep inside your ribs. “And then I got out,” he added. “Joined the Marines. Figured if I was gonna fight… might as well fight for somethin’. Do somethin’ that meant somethin’.”
“Did it?”
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “It did. But it fucked me up too.”
Your heart tightened again. “Tommy…”
He didn’t flinch at the softness in your voice. If anything, something in his expression eased “Lost a lot over there,” he continued. “Friends. Brothers. Pieces of myself I don’t think are ever comin’ back.”
You didn’t speak. You just let him talk, let him unspool himself. “When I came home…” he shook his head. “Didn’t know how t’ be in the world again. Didn’t wanna talk. Didn’t wanna sit still. Just wanted to… disappear. Keep movin’. Fight, not think.”
“And now?” you whispered.
“Now I’m… tryin’,” he said. “Tryin’ not to run all the damn time. Tryin’ to… talk. A little.”
“You’re doing a good job,” you whispered.
He let out a tiny, disbelieving breath, almost a laugh. “You think so?”
“I really do.”
His gaze flicked from your eyes to your mouth and back, then he leaned back again, but only enough to exhale. “So yeah,” he said, returning to your earlier confession. “Sometimes missin’ father figures ain’t the worst thing. Sometimes it saves you from growin’ up broken. She’s got you, that’s enough.”
Your heart squeezed so hard you had to look away for a second, but he wasn’t done. “And if her dad walked away?” he said, voice softening in a way you hadn’t heard from him before. “That ain’t on you. That ain’t on her. That’s on him. He walked out on the best part of his life.”
Emotion swept through you, Tommy saw it, and he just held your gaze with a grounding calm.
“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to unload all of this. It’s a lot.”
“Nah,” he told you. “You gave me real. I gave you real. That’s fair.”
Suddenly, he seemed to realize how dark it had gotten. He glanced at the window, blinking slowly, like he hadn’t meant to stay this long, like he’d slipped into your world and forgotten time existed.
“I should… probably go.”
You nodded, and he stood first, moving with a kind of heaviness, like leaving wasn’t as easy as standing up and walking out the door. You rose with him, smoothing your dress automatically as he shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Want me t’ walk myself out?”
“No,” you said. “I’ll walk you.”
You crossed the quiet living room together, his footsteps soft behind yours. When you opened the door, the night breeze slipped in. Tommy stepped out onto your small porch, and you followed him out. Tommy turned to face you. The porch light cast a gold glow across his face, catching the scar at his brow, the sharp lines of his jaw, and the softness of his eyes that he didn’t give to just anyone.
“Thank you for coming,” you said softly.
He huffed the faintest breath through his nose, almost a smile. “Thank you for lettin’ me stay.”
He took a slow step closer, and you felt the heat of him, he wasn’t touching you, but he might as well have been. Another step, he was so close now… close enough that if you leaned forward even an inch, your chest would brush his... close enough to feel his breath ghosting softly across your cheek.
“You’re real easy t’ be around,” he said quietly. “Feels… good. Bein’ here.”
Tommy watched the way your breath caught, and his eyes dipped to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “Can I…?”
The question trailed off, he didn’t even finish it. You lifted your chin just a fraction, giving him all the permission he needed with that small motion.
And Tommy moved, he stepped into you with intentionality, but still giving you every chance to stop him. His hand came up first, brushing your jaw carefully, grazing your cheek with his thumb. Then his other hand lifted to your waist, sending electric warmth spiraling up your spine.
He dipped his head, brushing your mouth, nothing but a careful press of lips that felt like a question. He tightened his hand on your waist gently, drawing you closer but not pulling you, just guiding. You felt his chest rise against yours, the tiniest shake of breath he didn’t mean to let slip.
You kissed him back, dragging a low sound from the back of his throat. His fingers slid from your jaw to your cheek, holding you like you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.
The kiss deepened. It wasn’t rushed or rough, but hungry in a quiet way, like he’d been holding back all night and this was the first crack. He stroked his thumb over your waist once, and then he moved his mouth from yours to the side of your lips, then lower, across your neck.
You gasped softly as his lips touched your skin, and Tommy froze for a split second, but you didn’t pull away. His lips found the curve of your neck, barely a kiss and almost like a breath, soft enough to make your knees weaken. He dug his fingers gently into your waist, holding you steady while he pressed another kiss, deeper this time, to the side of your throat.
You whispered his name without meaning to. “Tommy…”
His mouth paused against your skin, then he kissed one more time, he brushed his mouth just beneath your ear, and as he dragged his mouth up toward your jawline again, you placed your hand gently on his chest.
He stilled instantly, his body freezing, but not in rejection, in respect. “We should stop,” you whispered. “Before we get ahead into something we can’t finish.”
He stayed close for a few seconds more, with his forehead nearly touching yours and his hand still warm at your waist. Then he pulled back, and you watched a smile paint his face.
“I wanna see you again,” he said without a second of doubt.
Warmth bloomed in your stomach. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I want to see you again too.”
He exhaled a breath that almost sounded like relief, and held your hand a second longer, brushing his thumb across your knuckles, then he reluctantly let go.
“Goodnight,” he murmured, stepping backward down the porch steps.
“Goodnight, Tommy.”
He walked to his car, turning once to look at you again, before he opened the door. Even long after his taillights disappeared down the street, you could still feel his lips on your neck.
The week unfolded with a new brightness that was woven into the edges of your days. Tommy didn’t text often, but he did text, and that surprised even him. It started the morning after the kiss. You were making your daughter’s breakfast, half-awake, wearing pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt, when your phone buzzed on the counter.
tommy:
Did you sleep good?
A simple message, but enough to light up your morning, to know he was still thinking of you first thing in the day. You smiled before you could help it.
you:
I did. What about you?
It took him a full minute to respond, you imagined him staring at his phone for a while, thinking for a long time before typing.
tommy:
Yeah.
Been thinkin bout last night.
you:
Me too.
tommy:
Good.
He texted again that afternoon, and the next day, and just enough the day after that. Never too much, or anything that felt forced. But every message felt sincere.
tommy:
How’s your girl doing?
you:
She’s good. She’s making you a drawing
tommy:
For me?
you:
Yeah, she’s been asking when she can see you again
tommy:
I’d like to see her soon
Both of you
By Wednesday, he started to send more than short answers. He’d ask about your day, about your daughter’s school, or what movie she watched that afternoon. You told him small things, and he surprised you almost daily by engaging, asking questions, and remembering details.
tommy:
She still likes dragons?
you:
Obsessed.
tommy:
What’s her favorite one?
you:
She likes purple ones with wings
tommy:
Friday.
I wanna take you out. If you’re free.
you:
I’m free.
tommy:
Good.
I got somethin in mind.
you:
Oh?
tommy:
There’s a big fair down by the water going on all weekend.
I used to love the fair when I was a kid.
you:
That sounds amazing.
tommy:
Thought maybe your girl might wanna go.
If that’s okay.
You blinked, like the words might rearrange themselves if you stared long enough.
You read the message once, then twice, then a third time. He wasn’t just asking you out again, wasn’t pretending Lila didn’t exist, or skirting around the obvious complication like so many others would. No, he was asking for both of you. This wasn’t avoidance or tolerance, this was him reaching out, deliberately, to pull her into the picture, to make space for her the same way he was making space for you.
you:
Are you sure?
I mean… I thought maybe you’d want us to do something alone.
tommy:
If your daughter’s important to you then she’s important to me.
Ain’t no part of you I wanna avoid.
You pressed a hand to your chest because the emotion hit too fast for you to brace for it.
tommy:
If you wanna do something alone we can.
But I want to know her if that’s okay with you.
you:
It is. It’s really okay.
tommy:
Good. Feels right.
you:
She’s going to be SO excited.
tommy:
I’m excited too.
Been thinking about this all week.
I want this. You, her, the whole thing. I wanna try.
You set your phone down for a second, pressing your palms into your eyes because the vulnerability and honesty were overwhelming.
you:
I want to try too.
tommy:
Friday.
Pick you both up around 5.
Friday evening came. The sky was painted in gold, fading into lavender. And Tommy stood on your porch holding a small stuffed dragon. You opened the door to find him wearing a dark jacket, jeans, and boots. His hair was a little neater than usual, and he’d shaved. He looked… good. Handsome and strong. But under his rough edges, he looked almost shy.
Your daughter came barreling toward him with the force of a hurricane. “Tommy! Tommy! Tommy!”
He stiffened instinctively, just a fraction, then adjusted his stance like he’d prepared to catch a football. She skidded to a stop right in front of him, staring wide-eyed at the dragon in his hand.
“What’s THAT?”
Tommy looked down at it like he’d forgotten he was holding anything. “Oh. Uh…” He cleared his throat, then held it out awkwardly. “This is for you.”
Your daughter gasped with a sound so dramatic and joyful that it made you laugh. “For ME?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Thought you might like it.”
She snatched it from him with both hands, clutching it to her chest. “It’s purple!” she squealed. “With wings like my favorite dragon!”
Tommy blinked in surprise at how much emotion a five-year-old little girl could hold in her small body. “Yeah. That’s… that’s why I picked it.”
Your daughter leapt immediately onto his legs, hugging him with the ferocity of a small bear. Tommy froze like his system had shut down, before slowly, carefully, lowering a hand to pat her back gently.
It was the single most cautious pat you’d ever witnessed, and you had to bite back a smile. “She likes you,” you murmured as you locked your door behind you.
Tommy looked almost startled. “Yeah? Really?”
“She loves the dragon,” you corrected softly. “But yes, she likes you too.”
He looked at your daughter again. “Good,” he muttered.
The fairgrounds exploded into color as you approached, with strings of lights arching over food stalls, the Ferris wheel turning in circles, people laughing, and music booming from the speakers of the carousel.
Your daughter’s eyes went wide. “There’s EVERYTHING here!” she screamed.
Tommy exhaled softly, looking around. “Ain’t been to a fair in years.”
“You said you liked them when you were little,” you said.
He nodded, drifting his gaze over the crowds. “Used to go every summer with my brother. Ride all the coasters. Eat too much shit food we got sick in the car on the way home.”
You laughed. “That’s how you know you did it right.”
Your daughter tugged his sleeve. “Tommy, can we ride the dragon ride? There’s a dragon there. LOOK.”
Tommy followed where she pointed, toward a kiddie ride shaped like a dragon winding in a small circle. He stared for a few seconds. “…Yeah,” he said. “We can do that.”
Your daughter grabbed his hand, and Tommy froze again. Then, slowly, like he was testing the waters, he closed his fingers around her tiny hand.
You felt something soften so deeply inside your chest that your breath caught. There he was, this big man, holding something so small and fragile. Lila’s tiny hand wrapped trustingly in his much larger one. No hesitation or awkwardness, it felt just… natural. Like he’d done it a hundred times before, even though you knew he hadn’t.
The ride line was short, just a handful of kids before you. Tommy stood rigidly beside your daughter in the queue, painfully aware of the parents around him. Every so often, he’d glance at you like he needed reassurance that he wasn’t doing something wrong.
He leaned close. “She’s… uh… allowed to ride by herself?”
You smiled. “She’s five, Tommy. She’ll be fine.”
“And you’re okay with this?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Go put her in the dragon car.”
He took a slow breath, nodded once like he was prepping for battle, and guided your daughter forward. She sprinted to the front, choosing the very first seat in the dragon-shaped car. She climbed in, and Tommy helped her buckle the seat belt, fumbling with it and double-checking the latch.
“Is it too tight? Too loose? You good?” he asked.
She giggled. “Tommy, it’s good!”
“You sure?” he insisted.
“YES!”
He finally stepped back just as the operator started the ride, and you moved to stand next to him. “That wasn’t so hard,” you teased.
Tommy crossed his arms, watching your daughter like a hawk. “I’m keepin’ an eye on her. This thing goes pretty fast.”
“It goes like three miles an hour.”
“She’s too little.”
You bumped his shoulder lightly. “You’re sweet with her.”
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t look at you, just kept his eyes on the ride. “I’m tryin’.”
“She sees it.”
“Yeah? Hope so.”
The ride kept moving, and your daughter screamed in pure joy, waving at you both with enthusiasm. Tommy’s stance softened instantly, whenever she passed in front of him, he lifted his hand in a small wave. It was awkward, a little hesitant… but real.
You spent the rest of the evening wandering through the fairgrounds. Your daughter wanted everything, balloons, popcorn, glow sticks, and face paint.
She pointed at a balloon cart. “That one! The unicorn!”
Tommy crouched down beside her, lowering himself to her height with surprising gentleness. “Okay,” he said softly. “Pick one, alright?”
She pointed again. “That one!”
“Alright. Stay right here. Don’t move.”
He looked at you next, checking if he was doing it right. You nodded, and Tommy bought her a balloon. She shrieked with delight, hopping in a circle before grabbing his pant leg and wrapping her free arm around him in a sudden hug. Tommy froze again, but slightly less than before. His hand hovered, and then landed gently on her back, giving the lightest squeeze.
Later, you all sat on a picnic bench near the food stalls while Lila devoured a cup of ice cream. Her face was sticky, and she was humming between every bite.
Tommy watched her with awe. “She’s somethin’,” he murmured.
“I know.”
“You do a real good job with her.” His voice was quiet but still carried firmness. “Real good.”
You looked at him, and he didn’t look away. “You’re doing a good job too,” you whispered.
His brows lifted, and he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. “I ain’t doin’ much.”
“You’re trying,” you said. “That’s more than most.”
He swallowed as his voice dropped to something almost vulnerable. “I don’t know how to… be around kids. Never had any. Never been around them.”
You touched his hand lightly. “She doesn’t see that. She sees someone who cares.”
“Thanks,” he murmured, looking at your linked hands for a long moment, brushing his thumb slowly across the back of your fingers.
Ten minutes later, your daughter had spotted the carousel next and dragged Tommy by the hand once more. This time, he didn’t freeze, he let her tug him along, only glancing back at you once to smile. When she chose the biggest horse on the ride, Tommy helped her climb up. You stood beside him, both of you watching your daughter beam, her hands gripping the pole and her legs swinging excitedly.
Around you, the carousel lights spun, the music filling the air, and your daughter laughing brightly. Tommy’s hand brushed against yours again, and this time he threaded his fingers slowly between yours. And as the carousel turned and your daughter laughed into the night, the two of you stood side by side, with your hands linked.
By the time the fair was winding down, the sky had turned a deep blue adorned with bright stars. The music softened in the distance as families drifted toward the parking lot.
Your daughter lasted exactly twelve minutes into the drive before sleep won. One moment, she was talking and giggling excitedly, with her balloon bouncing on her wrist and the dragon toy gripped in the other hand. The next, her head was slumped sideways, her breathing slowed, and the balloon slipped from her fingers and floated until it bumped the roof of the car.
Tommy looked back at her in the rearview mirror, the sight of Lila sleeping so peacefully softened his features so noticeably that your heart swelled.
“She out?” he asked.
You turned, brushing hair from her forehead. “Completely.”
Tommy drove the rest of the way with the volume turned low, one hand steady on the wheel, the other draped loosely on his thigh. He kept checking the backseat every few minutes, not out of worry, but something gentler, maybe even protective.
By the time he pulled up to your place, the night was quiet except for the soft breathing coming from your daughter’s seat. You reached for your purse, unbuckled your seatbelt, but before you even opened your door, Tommy was already out of the car and circling to the back.
“Tommy—” you began, following him.
He held up a hand gently, not to stop you, just to wordlessly say he’s got it. He opened the back door carefully. Your daughter was curled on her side, hugging the stuffed dragon to her chest, her lips parted in the softest sleep.
Tommy looked at her like she was something fragile and precious. He hesitated for half a second, checking with you. With a small nod, you stepped aside.
“I’ve got her,” he slid his arms under her tiny body with surprising tenderness. She barely stirred, only mumbled one sleepy sound as her head fell against his shoulder. Tommy adjusted her gently, supporting her head with one big and careful hand.
You had never seen a man so powerful move so delicately.
“She’s okay,” he whispered, like you might be worried. “She’s good.”
“She is,” you whispered back, trying not to melt at the sight of him.
He carried her through the parking lot, up the stairs, into the house, quiet as a shadow despite his size. In her room, you pulled back the blanket while Tommy slowly lowered her into bed. His movements were so careful it almost didn’t seem real, his hands easing away, fingers brushing her little curls by accident, freezing as if afraid he’d wake her.
She sighed, rolled onto her side, and hugged her dragon again. Tommy stepped back, relaxing only when he realized she was still asleep. His eyes held something strange and soft, a tenderness he didn’t think he had in him.
You whispered, “Thank you.”
He nodded, stepping out of the doorway so you could tuck her in. After a final kiss to her forehead, you turned off the light and closed the door behind you, leaving her in the warm quiet of her room.
The house felt different when you walked back into the living room with Tommy, more intimate. Tommy… he stood there like he wasn’t sure what to do now, like the vulnerability of the whole night had shaken him loose and left him standing softer than he meant to be.
You smiled, brushing your hair back. “Do you… want a beer?”
He paused, then slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
You grabbed two cold bottles from the fridge, popped the caps, and handed him one. He took it with the same care he’d shown carrying your daughter, brushing his fingers against yours for a second longer than needed.
You both sat on the couch, close enough to feel each other’s warmth, not close enough to touch
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
Tommy looked at you. “For what?”
“For tonight,” you whispered. “For the fair. For carrying her inside. For being so sweet with her.”
He stared at his beer like he needed something to focus on. “Ain’t nothin’.
“It wasn’t nothing,” you said gently. “It meant a lot.”
He took a slow sip. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Meant a lot t’ me too.”
You let out a breath, leaning back into the couch. “And I’m sorry,” you said suddenly.
Tommy snapped his head up. “For what?”
“For her asking for a million things,” you said with a small, embarrassed laugh. “For dragging you to rides and making you chase balloons and spill ice cream and—”
He cut you off firmly. “Don’t apologize for her. Or for any of it. I mean it,” he said, turning toward you fully now. “She’s five. She’s excited. She’s a kid. That’s how it’s supposed t’ be.”
You swallowed, feeling surprised at his certainty. “And you ain’t gotta be sorry for me bein’ there,” he added. “I wanted t’ be. She’s important to you, so she’s important to me.”
Your throat tightened again. “Tommy…”
“I don’t know what I’m doin’,” he admitted. “Not around kids. Not around… all this.” His hand gestured vaguely to your cozy living room, the toys in a basket, the tiny shoes near the door, the warmth he wasn’t used to. “I ain’t had much of it, but I’m tryin’. And I wanna keep tryin’.”
You felt tears threaten, not sad tears, but something warm and overwhelming. He wasn’t trying to impress you, he wasn’t performing. He was telling the truth. Tommy was offering you something you hadn’t dared to hope for anymore, a man who wanted all of you. Not just the easy nights when you could laugh and flirt without interruption, but every single tangled part, the messy, the real, the part that came with responsibility and no off switch.
He wasn’t flinching. He wasn’t making excuses or quietly fading away. He was staying, and he didn’t just look comfortable. He looked… glad. Truly glad, like being part of this chaos, this small and imperfect family you’d built on your own, was exactly where he wanted to be.
You didn’t realize you’d moved until your hand found his, resting on the couch between you. His fingers froze for a second, then curved gently around yours, brushing the back of your hand in slow strokes.
“You did good tonight,” you whispered.
He huffed a breath, almost a laugh. “Didn’t drop her.”
“You did more than not drop her,” you said. “You listened to her. You were patient. She adored you.”
His jaw tightened with emotion he didn’t know what to do with. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “I adored you too.”
He leaned back slightly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, like he was trying to ground himself. “It’s been a long time since I… since anythin’ felt like this.”
“Like what?” you asked.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead he looked at your hand in his. “Ease,” he murmured. “Warmth. Like I’m supposed t’ be here. In this room. With you. And her.”
Your chest tightened so sharply it almost hurt.
“Tommy…”
He swallowed hard, looking away for a moment, jaw clenching. “I ain’t used to that. I’m used to walls. Distance. Hurtin’ people or gettin’ hurt. But this—” He gestured vaguely between you. “This is… good. Scares the hell outta me.”
You slid a little closer on the couch, closing the space by inches. “It scares me too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Your knees touched, and slowly, so slowly you felt every second, he shifted toward you, angling his body closer, his hand releasing yours only to slide up your arm, tracing a path so light it made your skin shiver.
You didn’t stop him, so Tommy leaned in a little more. The space between your mouths narrowed until you could feel his breath trembling with restraint.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, almost pained.
You didn’t even think. “It’s perfect.”
A low and relieved exhale escaped him, and then Tommy slid his hand to your jaw, curling his fingers behind your ear, guiding your face up as he leaned down.
The first kiss was soft, barely there, like he was remembering the shape of your lips before claiming them. He pulled back half an inch, resting his forehead against yours, and he kissed you again. Deeper this time, his mouth was warm and sure against yours, the kiss was unfolding like something he’d held back all night. You sighed into it, catching his shirt and pulling him closer. He made a low sound in his throat and moved over you, guiding your body backward until your spine met the couch cushions.
He hovered above you, braced on one hand, the other sliding around your waist, gripping just enough to feel the shape of you under him. You arched instinctively, making him groan.
“Jesus…” he breathed. “I want you so bad.”
Your breath hitched, before his mouth crashed back onto yours hungrily. He shoved his tongue deep, fucking into your mouth like he was starving for it, curling around yours until you moaned into him. His heavy body pinned you harder against the couch, but it still wasn’t enough. You hooked a leg high around his leg, yanking him flush, grinding up shamelessly so the thick ridge of his crotch slotted right against your soaked cunt through your clothes.
He groaned as his hips jerked forward on instinct. You could feel every obscene inch of him, rock-hard and straining painfully against the tight denim, the head of his dick throbbing insistently like it was trying to punch through the zipper just to get inside you. The rough drag of fabric between you only made it worse, his erection pulsing right where you ached.
“Fuck,” he murmured against your mouth, almost a growl. “You’re… you’re killin’ me.”
He moved his lips down your throat, each open-mouthed kiss leaving your skin on fire. Tommy slid a hand up your side, stopping just beneath your ribs, holding you like he wasn’t sure if he should pull you closer or let you breathe.
You arched your neck as he lingered on the curve where your pulse fluttered. “Tommy…” you whispered. He lifted his head instantly, checking you. You cupped his cheek. “It’s okay,” you breathed. “Just… not too far.”
His eyes darkened with both desire and restraint. “I know,” he whispered as he kissed you again, his nose brushing yours. “I know. I won’t. I swear.”
But his body pressed closer anyway, like he physically couldn’t stop himself. He rolled his hips forward in a slow grind, and when you didn’t pull away, he rutted into you shamelessly, with deep strokes that notched the swollen head right over your clit every time, chasing relief for the aching throb in his groin while stoking the wet heat between your thighs until you were clenching around nothing, desperate for more.
He kissed you, sliding his tongue against yours in lazy strokes that left your lips swollen and tingling. Again and again he came back for your mouth, sucking your bottom lip, biting just hard enough to sting, then soothing it with another slow lick, until your head spun and your whole body felt molten under him.
His hand roamed with tenderness, splaying his palm over your waist, digging his fingers in like he needed to anchor himself; sliding up to cup the underside of your breast, brushing the stiff peak through your shirt until you arched into it, then down again, gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, pulling you tighter against the insistent grind of his erection.
He never shoved under your clothes, never rushed past the line, but every touch made your breath shake, like he was memorizing every inch of you while barely restraining the urge to tear everything off and bury himself deep.
His voice was low against your collarbone. “God, you feel good…”
His mouth traveled back to yours, capturing your lips one more time before he slowed, then stilled, breathing hard above you. He pressed his forehead to yours. “I should stop. Right now. Before I do somethin’ I shouldn’t.”
You cupped the back of his neck, threading your fingers through the short hair there. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He let out a shaky laugh. “If I stay any longer, I will.” He kissed you once more time before pulling back. “It’s late,” he murmured.
“I know.”
He pushed himself up off you slowly, like every inch of separation cost him something. Tommy dragged a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the roots as if the sting might ground him back to reality. His chest rose and fell too fast from the way he’d been grinding into you like he could fuck you through the clothes if he just pressed hard enough.He shifted his weight, dropping one hand low to discretely adjust the thick, straining bulge in his jeans. The denim was stretched tight over his cock, the outline unmistakable now, still throbbing from all that relentless rutting against your heat. He tried to angle away as he stood, but you’d already felt every pulsing inch of him notched right where you ached most.
Tommy snagged his jacket off the back of the chair, then his eyes found yours, the look wasn’t polite. It said I’m walking out that door because if I don’t, I’m gonna bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you until neither of us can stand.
He walked to the door, cupping your waist one last time. “You’re somethin’ else,” he said.
“So are you.”
He stepped outside onto the porch, breathing in the cool air like he’d been holding his breath beside you. “I’m seein’ you again,” he said, no hesitation at all.
“I hope so.”
“You will.” He paused, looking at your lips again with that hungry restraint. “Soon.”
You whispered, “Goodnight, Tommy.”
He gave you a small, crooked smile. “Goodnight.”
And he walked away slowly, every few steps looking back at you before getting into his car and finally pulling off into the night, leaving you breathless on your porch, and wanting him even more.
The next day, Tommy had texted you, already planning the next time he was gonna see you. Dinner, together on Friday night, this time only you and him alone.
Friday came fast, all week, your mind kept circling back to him. His hands on your waist, his body over yours, the way he whispered how good you felt. By Friday morning, you were already checking the clock too much. By the afternoon, you were useless, picking up the same objects twice, staring into your closet like none of your clothes were good enough.
Your daughter sat on the living room floor, drawing a dragon with concentration, her tongue sticking out just a little. You peeked around the corner and said, “Honey? I need to tell you something.”
She didn’t look up. “Is it about TOMMY?”
Your heart fluttered. “Yes,” you laughed. “About Tommy.”
She turned all the way around, looking at you with her big eyes wide open. “He’s coming to play dragons?”
“No, sweetheart,” you said gently. “Tonight he’s taking mommy out. Just him and me.”
Her mouth made a perfect O. “A date?”
You swallowed softly. “Yes. A date.”
She crawled closer on her hands and knees like a kitten. “But… why?”
Your heart melted at the blunt innocence. “Because I like spending time with him. And he likes spending time with me.”
She squinted at you like she was a detective. “Like friends?”
“Like… something that might become more than friends.”
She blinked, then asked the most important question in her mind. “Will he bring me more dragons?”
A laugh escaped you. “Maybe next time. Not tonight.”
She nodded solemnly. “Okay. But tell him I said hi.”
“I will.”
You kissed her forehead, ruffling her hair. “Now I have to go get ready, alright?”
“Can I watch you get pretty?”
You hesitated, but she was already scrambling to her feet. How could you say no?
You stood in front of your mirror, trying to decide between two dresses. Lila flopped dramatically onto your bed with a gasp.
“That one!” she declared, pointing to the dress you weren’t even holding.
You laughed. “Sweetheart, I’m not wearing the Christmas dress to go out.”
“But it sparkles!”
“It does,” you agreed, “but I don’t want to blind Tommy.”
She hummed thoughtfully, then poked your leg. “Wear the green one.”
That was the one lying across the back of your chair, a soft green dress that hugged your waist and was backless, simple but elegant. “You think so?” you asked carefully.
She nodded enthusiastically. “It makes you look like a princess.”
“Well… okay then.”
You slipped it on. Your daughter rolled onto her stomach with her chin in her hands, watching you like you were a princess from a movie. You brushed your hair, then curled a few pieces.
“You’re so pretty,” she sighed. “Tommy’s gonna FALL OVER.”
You choked on a laugh. “Let’s… hope not.”
Next came a tiny bit of makeup, nothing heavy, just a shimmer across your eyelids, mascara, a soft hint of color on your lips.
“Mommy?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
“Why?”
You thought about it, lowering your hand after finishing applying your mascara. “Because I really like Tommy,” you admitted.
She nodded like she understood the weight of that. “It’s okay to like him.”
You smiled. “I know.”
“Is he going to be your boyfriend?” You froze, and her eyes widened at your silence. “Oh.”
You sat beside her on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair back gently. “I don’t know yet,” you said honestly. “But… maybe in the future. If things go well.”
She considered this with the seriousness of a little kid. “Well,” she said decisively, “I like him. He’s big, but he’s not scary.”
“You don’t think he’s scary?” you teased.
She shrugged. “He’s nice big. Like a bear. Or a giant.”
“Well… I’m glad you like him,” you said, pulling her into your lap for a hug. “That means a lot to me.”
The babysitter arrived ten minutes early this time. They exchanged greetings, and Lila immediately began showing her the newest dragon drawing.
“You going somewhere fancy?” the sitter asked with a smile when she saw your dress.
You tried hard not to blush, imagining Tommy’s reaction when he saw you. “A little.”
“Well, you look great.”
Your daughter burst in before you could respond. “My mommy looks like a princess, and Tommy is her knight!”
You covered your face. “Okay, sweetheart, that’s enough.”
The babysitter laughed reassuringly. “Go. Have fun. She’s in good hands.”
You knelt to your daughter’s level. “Alright, honey. I’ll be home in a few hours. Listen to the babysitter, okay?”
“Tell Tommy I said he BETTER bring me a dragon next time.”
You laughed softly. “I’ll pass the message.”
You kissed her cheek, hugged her little body, and stood. As you grabbed your purse, you took one last deep breath and stepped out into the cool night air. The moment the door closed behind you, your heart began to race, and at the bottom of the stairs, leaning casually against his car was Tommy.
He straightened when he saw you, dragging his eyes slowly over you, taking in your dress, your hair, the soft color on your lips, and the look that crossed his face was equal parts heat and disbelief. “Jesus…” he murmured. “You look…” He swallowed like he needed a moment to compose himself. “…you look incredible.”
Your heart fluttered wildly. “You cleaned up nice too.”
“Ready?” He asked, you nodded and walked toward him.
Tommy opened the car door for you like he’d rehearsed it. The door swung open, his other hand hovering near your waist as you climbed in, like he wanted to help but didn’t want to presume. When he slid into the driver’s seat, he glanced at you again, just a quick look.
“You look real good,” he said, catching on your lips for a half-second too long.
“Thank you,” you whispered. “You too.”
He huffed a quiet laugh like he didn’t quite know how to take a compliment. “I tried.”
The drive was smooth, Tommy kept one hand on the wheel, the other draped loose over his thigh. Every so often, you caught his eyes flicking your way, then back to the road, like he couldn’t help it.
After a few minutes, he cleared his throat. “You nervous?” he asked.
You smiled at how transparent he could be around you. “Yeah. You?”
He didn’t even pretend. “Yeah,” he admitted. “A little.”
You rested your hands in your lap. “It’s a good kind of nervous.”
He glanced at you then. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”
After a couple of minutes, the restaurant came into view, and it was nicer than you expected. One of those intimate and romantic places that look like they come from out of a romantic movie.
Tommy parked the truck, got out, and walked around to open your door again. You took his offered hand as you stepped down. He curled his fingers around yours firmly, as if he didn’t want to let go too quickly.
Inside, you were seated in a small booth in the corner, with a candle flickering softly between you. Tommy sat across from you, his posture was alert but comfortable, you noticed it in how relaxed his shoulders looked. The table was small enough that your knees brushed under it, but neither of you moved them away.
“So…” you said, picking up your menu with a grin. “Do you come here often?”
Tommy raised an eyebrow. “You makin’ fun of me?”
“Maybe,” you teased.
A slow smile tugged at his lips. “I don’t. Been here a few times. Figured it was… nice. For a real date.”
“I’m glad you brought me here.” You could see how much thought he’d put into it,how much this actually mattered for him.
He ducked his head slightly and focused intensely on his menu for a moment. After a few seconds, he said, “You can get whatever you want. Don’t hold back.”
You laughed. “What do you think I’m going to order? A gold-plated steak?”
He smirked. “Dunno. You look pretty fancy t’night.”
You laughed, and the sound seemed to soften something in him, his whole expression shifted into something almost boyish.
It didn’t take long for conversation to start flowing. You told him about your day, about Lila’s latest favorite movie, about the dragon drawings overrunning your fridge. Then you nudged lightly, “What about you? What did you do today?”
He took a sip of water, exhaled, and started talking, slowly at first, then progressively more comfortable as you coaxed him gently.
He told you about training, and you listened. “You must be exhausted after that,” you said.
“Not so bad,” he replied, shrugging. “Been doin’ it a long time.”
“Still,” you said. “You work hard.”
His eyes lingered on you. “You do too. Harder than me, I bet.”
You shook your head. “Tommy…”
“You do,” he said more firmly. “Raisin’ a kid, workin’ at the hospital. That’s real strength.”
The sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten.
“I’d like for you to come see me fight one day,” he said almost careful, like he was testing the words before letting them out. “I get it if it’s not your scene. But I promise it’s not at rough as it sounds.” He rushed the last part, like he didn’t want you to feel pressured, already giving you the out.
You tilted your head, smiling “I think I’d find it… interesting.” The word came out soft. “And if you don’t win, I’ll be right there in the front row with ready to patch you up. Might even kiss it better.”
Tommy let out a rough chuckle. “Nah. No way I’m losing if you’re there staring at me the whole time.”
Heat crept up your neck, but you held his look. “Then I’ll be the one cheering the loudest.”
Before he could respond, the waiter returned, and you both ordered. When the food arrived, you slipped easily back into laughter and conversation. Tommy told you about Brendan, sharing stories from his childhood, at least the few happy ones he could remember. Later, as plates were cleared and you shared dessert, you noticed the way he watched you, and how every now and then, your knees brushed under the table, and his breath would hitch for a split second before he leaned back in, unable to keep distance for long.
“You’re easy to talk to,” he said quietly at one point.
“You are too.”
He snorted. “I ain’t easy at anything.”
“You’re wrong.”
He looked at you, like he was trying to understand why you kept saying things that made his chest feel strange. “You havin’ fun?”
You didn’t even need a second to answer. “Yes,” you whispered. “A lot.”
You watched as the relief softened his features. “Good.”
He took a slow sip of his drink, then said, “I ain’t had a night like this in… a real long time.”
“Me neither,” you admitted.
When the bill came, Tommy reached for it before you even moved.
“Tommy, we could split—”
He shot you a look that said not to even bother finishing that sentence. “I asked you out,” he said, sliding his card into the leather folder. “I’m payin’.”
You raised your hands, surrendering. “Alright.”
He smirked. “Good.”
Outside, the night air was cool, he walked beside you, close, but not too close. His arm brushed yours once, and he didn’t pull away. You reached the car, and he opened your door again. When you turned to thank him, he stood a little too close. Close enough that you felt his breath and saw the flicker of heat in his eyes.
His voice dropped a fraction lower. “Still nervous?”
“Not as much.”
His gaze dipped briefly to your lips, then he stepped back letting you climb in. When he settled in the driver's seat, he drummed his fingers restlessly against his thigh, like he was trying to work up the courage to say something. He kept glancing at you, then back to his hands, then at you again.
You had to bite back a smile. “Tommy?” you asked softly.
His grip on his thigh tightened. “Yeah.”
“You okay?”
He let out a low breath. “Yeah, I… yeah. Just…”
He looked at you then, like he was weighing the risk against his desire.
“Can I… ask you somethin’?” he said finally.
You nodded. “Of course.”
His rough voice was barely above a whisper. “You wanna… come over? To my place?”
For a moment, he didn’t breathe. He looked so nervous it was sweet. With his eyes faintly wide, and his grip tight, like he thought he’d just ruined everything and was bracing for the blow. But you had no doubt. In fact, you’d been waiting and hoping for him to ask exactly that. The night wasn’t ready to end, and neither were you. Your skin still felt hot from the memory of that last kiss on your couch, you’d replayed it too many times since, imagining what would’ve happened if Lila hadn’t been asleep down the hall.
“Yes,” you said quietly. “I want to.”
His exhale came out shaky and relieved. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” you repeated, smiling. “Take me.”
He let out a tiny and disbelieving laugh. “Alright then.”
The drive took only five minutes, but it felt like the air grew warmer with every turn. His apartment complex was modest, tucked behind some trees. He parked, killed the engine, and for a second neither of you moved. Then he got out and came around to open your door, because of course he did. As you climbed down, his hand lingered on your lower back longer than it needed to.
Inside, his apartment was clean and minimalist. The lights were low, but you could see a couch, a coffee table, and a dining table with four chairs.
He closed the door behind you and stood still for a moment like he wasn’t sure if he should let you settle in or grab you by the waist and kiss you senseless. He chose the second.
Tommy stepped in close, allowing you to feel his breath warm against your cheek. “C’mere.”
You didn’t even have time to respond before his mouth was on yours, hungry and impatient, sloppy in the way you’d been craving. He slid his hands to your waist, pulling you in and pressing you against him. You responded by tangling your fingers in his shirt and pulling, and he groaned as he stumbled you backward until the back of your knees hit the couch.
You fell onto it with a soft gasp, Tommy followed, bracing himself with one arm above your head, the other gripping your hip as his mouth crashed into yours again. You tugged him closer by the front of his shirt and he deepened the kiss, settling his body partially over yours, pressing into you in a way that made your head spin.
He dragged his lips to your jaw, then your neck, his breath trembling against your skin. He whispered into the curve between your neck and shoulder. “Fuck… I want you so bad.”
Your fingers sank into his shoulders, feeling the strength there. Tommy kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to memorize every inch of your mouth. When you finally pulled back to breathe, your lips were swollen, his were flushed, and both of you were panting.
He rested his forehead against yours. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, even as his hand slid over your waist.
You shook your head. “I’m not telling you that.”
He let out a strained laugh, kissing you again in a quick press. “Good.”
You leaned back slightly, still breathless. “Tommy… I need to tell you something.”
He froze immediately, his eyes darkening with concern. “What?”
Your hand slipped to his jaw, brushing the faint stubble. “It’s been… a long time since I’ve done this.”
“How long?”
Your voice came quiet. “Since my daughter.”
Tommy’s expression shifted instantly. The desire was still present in his eyes, but it softened into something more protective. “Since… she was born?”
“Yeah, I just… I was busy. A lot changed. I didn’t really date. I didn’t have time or energy for people who weren’t serious. And I didn’t want anyone around her who wasn’t safe or good. So… it just never happened.”
Tommy studied you for a long moment, and then a hand slid up to your cheek, brushing tenderly along your skin. “That’s okay,” he said softly, so softly it almost broke you. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”
“I just didn’t want you to think—”
“I don’t think anything bad,” he leaned in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Not one thing.”
You exhaled shakily, and he rested his forehead against yours until your noses were touching. “And if it helps,” he whispered, “it’s been a long time for me too.”
“How long?”
He shook his head. “Long.”
“Tommy…”
He sighed, brushing his knuckles down your cheek in a careful stroke. “Long enough that tonight feels… important.”
He kissed you again then. "Bedroom?" His touch on your cheek, grounding you even as his hips shifted subtly, grinding just enough to make you gasp. "We'll be more comfortable there. If you want."
You swallowed, nodding, your body already aching for more. "Yeah. I want."
He led you down the short hall, keeping his hand laced with yours. The bedroom was simple too, a bed that wasn’t too big with dark sheets, a nightstand with a half-read book and a water bottle, and a closet.
Tommy turned to you then, stepping close and backing you toward the bed. "You sure about this?" his eyes were searching yours in the dim light. "We can stop anytime. Just say the word."
"I'm sure," you whispered, loud enough to be heard over your heart pounding. "I want you, Tommy."
That seemed to unlock something in him. He walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. You sat, and he followed, kneeling between your legs on the edge of the bed, his broad frame was towering over you in a way that made your thighs clench. Tommy ran his hands up your sides, brushing the undersides of your breasts through your dress.
"Can I take this off?" he asked, hooking his fingers under the straps of your dress. "Wanna see you. All of you."
You nodded, lifting your arms as he peeled the fabric up and over your head, tossing it aside. The cool air hit your skin, pebbling your nipples instantly under the thin lace of your bra. Tommy dropped his gaze to take you in. "Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself, like he couldn't believe you were real.
His hands came up, cupping your breasts gently at first, circling the stiff peaks through the lace with his thumbs. "These are perfect. You feel that? How hard you got me already?" He took your hand, bringing it to the front of his pants just so you could feel the hard press of his cock, already stirring to life.
You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping as he squeezed your tits, massaging them with a hunger that made heat pool between your legs. "Tommy..."
He leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, down the swell of one breast. "Tell me if it's too much," he said between kisses, his voice muffled against you. "Or if you want it different."
"It's good," you breathed, threading your fingers into his short hair. "Keep going."
He unclasped your bra with one hand and slid it off, exposing you fully. His eyes met yours for a beat, checking, before he dipped his head, taking one nipple into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue made you gasp, swirling slowly, sucking gently at first, then harder as you whimpered. His free hand worked the other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers, pinching just enough to send jolts straight to your clit.
"Like that?" he asked, pulling off with a soft pop, his lips looking shiny and swollen. "Feels good?"
"Yes… god, yes," you panted, guiding his head to the other breast. He obliged immediately, latching on with a groan, sucking deeper this time, grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud in a way that had you squirming.
Your heart melted at how attentive he was, how much care he poured into every single touch. He wasn’t just skilled, but considerate too. He knew you were nervous after so long without this kind of contact, without anyone touching you like this, and wanted you to feel good instead of just taking what he needed. Every time he checked in with you, it chipped away at the last of your hesitation. He wasn’t rushing, he was making sure this felt right for you, that you were enjoying every second, that the nerves twisting in your stomach turned into heat instead of fear. And god, it worked, the more he asked, the more he listened, the safer you felt.
His hands were everywhere, kneading, caressing, worshiping your breasts like they were the center of his world. He alternated between them, lavishing attention until they were flushed and aching, every lick and suck drawing out louder moans from you.
All the while, his body pressed closer, one knee nudging your thighs apart so he could settle between them. You felt the hard bulge of his cock against your inner thigh, but he didn't grind, he sucked harder on your nipple, flicking his tongue relentlessly while he trailed his hand down your stomach.
He paused at the edge of your panties, lifting his head to look at you. "Can I touch you here?" he asked, tracing the lace trim. "Tell me if it's okay."
"Please," you whispered, lifting your hips instinctively. "Touch me."
He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips like he was relieved, like making you feel good was all that mattered. He cupped your pussy over the thin fabric, pressing his palm firmly against your mound, and you bucked into it, the friction sending sparks through you.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he murmured, almost in awe, as his fingers rubbed slow circles over your clit through the damp lace. "That feel right?
"Yeah… harder," you gasped, and he adjusted instantly, pressing more firmly, rubbing up and down your slit until the fabric clung to you, outlining every fold from how drenched you were. He went back to your breasts then, closing his mouth over one nipple again, sucking in time with his strokes.
You were writhing now, clutching the sheets with your hands, the dual sensations were overwhelming: his hot mouth tugging at your tit, nipping gently, while his fingers worked you over your panties, teasing your entrance through the barrier, circling your clit until it throbbed. "Tommy... more," you begged
.
He lifted his head, kissing the underside of your breast softly. "Want my hand under? Want my fingers inside you?" His eyes searched yours, always checking. "Or we can keep going like this if you want."
"Inside," you nodded frantically. "Please. Need you."
He kissed you, before hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your legs slowly, like he was savoring the reveal. You kicked them off, spreading your thighs wider, exposed and dripping for him. Tommy groaned, settling back between your legs, one hand returning to your breast, kneading it gently while his other hand finally touched you bare.
His fingers were calloused, rough from training, but so gentle as they parted your folds, slicking through your wetness. "God, you're so wet for me," he rasped, circling your clit with his thumb while he teased your entrance with one finger. "This okay? Tell me how it feels."
"Perfect—keep going," you moaned, rocking your hips into his hand.
He slid one thick finger inside you deliberately, letting you feel every rough callus drag along your slick walls as he pushed in to the knuckle. The stretch was perfect, enough to make your breath hitch, not enough to overwhelm. He curled it upward immediately, hooking right against that swollen and spongy spot deep inside, pressing firmly until sparks exploded behind your eyelids and your hips jerked off the mattress on instinct.
“Like that, baby?” His thumb never stopped its relentless circles over your clit. “Feels good? Want it deeper? Tell me.”
“Deeper… fuck, Tommy, deeper,” you pleaded, your thighs already trembling around his wrist. “Another one. Please.”
He groaned against your breast, the sound vibrating straight through your nipple as he obeyed without hesitation. He withdrew just enough to line up a second finger, then pressed both in together, carefully stretching your soaked cunt wider. The burn was exquisite as your walls fluttered and clenched greedily around the invasion, when he sank them to the hilt.
Tommy paused there for a heartbeat, letting you adjust, letting you feel how full you were, how perfectly his fingers filled the aching emptiness you’d been carrying since that night on the couch. Then he started to move with slow pumps at first, dragging out almost to the tips before sliding back in, curling them hard against your g-spot on every upward stroke.
The wet squelch of your arousal filled the room with every thrust, loud enough to make your cheeks burn even as it turned you on more. He scissored his fingers gently between thrusts, spreading you open, working your tight walls until they softened and yielded around him, greedy for every inch.
His mouth found your tits again, he e latched onto one swollen nipple, sucking hard, hollowing his cheeks, flicking his tongue fast and mean over the stiff peak while his free hand kneaded the other breast, rolling the neglected nipple between fingers.
“Feels good?” he rasped against your slick, spit-shiny skin. His fingers were fucking you faster now, deeper as the heel of his palm was grinding down hard on your clit with every brutal thrust. “This what you need? Want me to curl ‘em more? Tell me, baby, I’ll give you anything.”
“Harder… fuck, right there, don’t stop,” you gasped, digging your nails into his shoulders, bucking your hips wildly to meet his hand. “Right there, Tommy—”
He growled, the sound was feral, and he gave you exactly what you begged for. He slammed his fingers deeper, curling viciously against that spot on every stroke, slapping his palm wetly against your swollen clit with force. The pressure coiled tighter, a knot low in your belly that kept winding and winding until your whole body felt like it was vibrating on the edge.
He never let up on your tits, they were so sensitive now, flushed and aching, every hard suck and pinch shooting pleasure straight to your core, amplifying the rhythm of his fingers fucking you open.
Your thighs shook, your breath was coming in short and desperate sobs, and the coil inside you finally snapped.
“Tommy—I’m—fuck—I’m cumming—”
He didn’t slow down. If anything, he fucked you through it harder, curling his digits relentlessly, grinding your clit in tight circles, sealing his mouth around your nipple, sucking hard as your walls clamped down around.
You shattered. The orgasm ripped through you in violent waves, forcing your back to arch off the bed, and your thighs to clamp around his wrist. A broken cry tore from your throat as your cunt pulsed and gushed around his fingers, soaking his hand, the sheets, everything. Tommy kept fingering, kept grinding until every last tremor was wrung out of you and you collapsed back against the mattress.
Only then did he ease up, slowing his thrusts to gentle strokes, circling your oversensitive clit with feather-light touches now.
“Fuck… you’re beautiful when you cum,” he rasped as he slipped his fingers free slowly, leaving you empty and fluttering, and he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan, never breaking eye contact.
"Need a second? We can slow down if—" He asked, but you didn't want slow down. The aftershocks of your orgasm only made you crave him more.
After five long years without the touch of a man, Tommy had woken something primal in you, a hunger you hadn’t even realized was sleeping inside your bones. You’d forgotten what it felt like to be wanted like that, and now the hunger was awake.
Your hands reached for the hem of his shirt before he could finish, curling your fingers into the soft cotton and tugging upward. "No," you breathed. "I don't need a second. I need you."
Tommy lifted his arms, letting you peel the shirt off him. It hit the floor with a thud, forgotten instantly as your gaze raked over his bare torso. God, he was built like a Greek god, with his broad shoulders carved from years of training, every muscle defined and rippling under his skin. His chest was like a wall, you moved your eyes to the chiseled V of his abs, and the happy trail leading to the place you wanted to see the most.
Your hands explored him greedily, sliding up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin. "You're... incredible," you murmured, tracing the lines of his pecs, the way they flexed involuntarily under your touch. He was ripped, every inch of him honed to perfection, like a fighter's body should be, but up close, it was overwhelming. Powerful arms that could pin you down or hold you up, abs that tensed as you scraped your nails lightly over them. You leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his collarbone, inhaling the musky, masculine scent of him that made your head spin.
Tommy exhaled, settling his hands on your hips, squeezing gently as you worked lower. "Like what you see?" he asked, a hint of that rare, teasing half-smile in his voice.
"More than like," you replied, your voice a purr as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his pants. You popped the button, dragged down the zipper slowly, feeling the heat radiating from him even through the fabric.
He lifted his hips just enough to help you shove the pants down his thighs, kicking them off along with his shoes. Now he was down to his boxers, black and fitted, straining obscenely over the massive bulge of his cock. The outline was clear: thick, long, the head already pushing against the elastic, a dark spot of pre-cum soaking through where he'd been leaking for you.
You palmed him over the thin material, wrapping your hand around the hard length as best you could, feeling it twitch and throb under your touch. He was huge, veins pulsing under the fabric and against your palm as you stroked him slowly from base to tip.
Tommy tipped his head back for a second. "Fuck... yeah, just like that."
"I want it," you whispered, squeezing him a little harder, rubbing your thumb over the damp spot where his pre-cum had seeped through. The words tumbled out, bold and needy, your core aching anew at the thought of him inside you.
He looked down at your hand stroking his cock, and then he snapped his eyes back to yours. He reached down, covering your hand with his own, guiding you to stroke him firmer. "Take it," he rasped. "It's yours."
The words sent a shiver down your spine. You stroked him for a while longer, slow pulls that had his hips bucking subtly into your hand and his breaths coming ragged. You watched his face, the way his brows furrowed, how he parted his lips on quiet groans, how his abs flexed with every twist of your wrist. He was beautiful like this, undone, but still so controlled, letting you set the pace even as his cock wept more pre-cum, soaking your palm through the boxers.
Finally, you couldn't wait any longer. You pushed at his chest gently but firmly, urging him back. "Lay down," you said. "I want to ride you."
Tommy complied without a word, shifting up the bed to lean against the headboard, his body stretching out beneath you like an offering. He hooked his thumbs into his boxers and shoved them down, freeing his cock at last. It sprang up, thick and curved slightly, the shaft veined and flushed. Your mouth watered at the sight, god, he was perfect, bigger than you'd even fantasized, and you ached to feel him stretch you.
You straddled him quickly, until your knees were bracketing his hips, your slick folds brushing against his length as you settled over him. Tommy's hands found your waist, steadying you, but he didn't push, just held you.
"You set the pace," he murmured, eyes locked on yours. "Whatever feels good for you. I'm here."
You nodded, reaching down to grip him, lining him up with your entrance. The first press of his head against your soaked pussy made you both gasp, he was so thick, splitting you open inch by inch as you sank slowly.
"Oh god—Tommy," you moaned, bracing your hands on his chest, digging your nails into his pecs as you took him deeper. The stretch was exquisite, burning in the best way, your walls fluttering around him until you bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.
He groaned, tightening his fingers on your hips but not guiding you, allowing you to move however you pleased. "Fuck, you feel amazing," he breathed. "So tight. So wet for me. Take what you need, baby."
You started slow, rolling your hips in experimental circles, feeling every ridge and vein drag against your sensitive walls. The fullness was overwhelming, hitting spots inside you that made you see stars behind your eyes. You built a rhythm, lifting and dropping, grinding your clit against his pelvis on every downstroke.
Tommy watched you, transfixed as his hands roamed up to cup your breasts, flicking your nipples in time with your movements. "That's it," he encouraged you. "Ride me just like that. Does it feel good?"
"Yes—feels so good," you panted, speeding up, bouncing harder now, the slap of skin on skin filling the room. Your tits bounced with the motion, and Tommy couldn't resist leaning up to capture one in his mouth again, sucking hard as you rode him. The added sensation pushed you higher, and you took the lead fully, chasing your release, angling your hips to hit that perfect spot inside, grinding down until he was as deep as possible.
Tommy let you, his groans were muffled against your breast, his hips staying still beneath you, letting you use him however you wanted. But you could feel him throbbing inside you, his control fraying as your pace grew frantic. "Gonna cum," you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to your chest. "Tommy—I'm close—"
"Cum on me," he growled against your skin, dropping one hand to rub your clit in tight circles. "Let me feel you squeeze my cock. Cum for me, baby."
Waves of ecstasy crashed over you, your pussy clenching around him as you cried out, shuddering. You ground down hard, riding out the orgasm, milking him with every pulse until you were boneless, collapsing forward against his chest.
That was when Tommy wrapped his arms around you, holding you close for a moment, kissing your shoulder as you caught your breath. But he wasn't done, not even close. You felt him shift beneath you, planting his feet flat on the mattress for leverage, gripping your ass firmly.
Tommy drove up into you with force. His cock slammed home in one punishing stroke, the head battering that spot inside you that made your vision go white and your breath punch out of your lungs in a broken cry.
“Fuck—Tommy—”
He didn’t slow down or ease up. He kept giving you relentless upward thrusts that lifted your hips off him every time before slamming you back down onto his length. His hands gripped your ass harder, digging his fingers into the flesh, spreading you wider so he could bury himself even deeper with every snap of his hips.
.“Still with me?” he growled. Even now, mid-fuck, with his hips pistoning like a machine, he checked. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
“Too good—don’t stop,” you gasped. “Harder—please—”
“Like that?” he snapped his hips up harder, the head of his cock grinding against your cervix with every stroke. “You take it so fucking well. So tight.”
The bed creaked under the force as he continued to snap his hips with power, every drive stretching you wider, filling you completely. "Fuck—take it," he grunted, sweat beading on his brow, muscles straining as he pounded into your slick heat. "You feel so fucking good. So tight around me."
It was overwhelming, almost animalistic, his hands were bruising your hips as he held you in place, using your body to chase his release. You moaned brokenly, oversensitive but loving it, the slap of his balls against you echoing with the wet sounds of your arousal and Tommy's breaths that came in harsh pants.
“Fuck! Where do you want it?” he ground out, the words slurring together as he fought to keep control. “Tell me quick… can I… can I finish inside you? Need to know, baby. Right fucking now.”
You clenched around him on instinct and nodded frantically. “Inside,” you gasped. “Cum inside me, Tommy. Fill me up! Please.”
He groaned your name like a curse. “Fuck—can’t hold it—gonna cum—”
One last brutal thrust, holding you down so every inch of him was buried to the hilt, and he broke. His cock pulsed violently inside you, and soon thick spurts of cum were flooding your already soaked channel. He kept thrusting through it, nothing but short, jerky rolls of his hips that milked every last drop out of him, grinding his release deeper while your walls spasmed and clenched around him in aftershocks.
A low, guttural moan tore from his throat, shuddering beneath you as he emptied himself completely, “Fuck… take it all. All yours… all fucking yours.”
For long moments, neither of you moved, his softening cock was still twitching inside you every few seconds as the last pulses faded. “Still okay?” he murmured eventually, pulling you down so you lay fully on top of him.
You managed a shaky laugh against his neck. “More than okay.”
You didn’t want to break the moment. If it were up to you, you’d stay right there all night, wrapped in the solid heat of his arms, his big body curled protectively around yours, the thump of his heartbeat against your back making everything else feel distant. But the clock on his nightstand glowed, it was far later than you’d realized, and Lila was waiting with the sitter.
“I should get going,” you said softly, your voice was still a little husky from everything you’d just shared. “I wish I could stay longer, but Lila—”
“No, no, I get it.” Tommy cut in gently before you could finish, like he’d already anticipated the words. He pressed a slow kiss to your forehead. “She comes first. Always.”
He rolled off the bed. Naked and unselfconscious, he padded to the bathroom, you heard the faucet run, then he was back seconds later, with a warm, damp washcloth in one hand and a soft towel in the other. He knelt between your legs without a word. The cloth was warm against your sensitive folds as he cleaned you with careful strokes, wiping away the mess he’d made. Every few passes, he paused to press soft, open-mouthed kisses to the crease of your thigh, the soft skin just above your knee, the curve where leg met hip.
You shivered again, this time from the tenderness more than anything else. When he was done, he helped you sit up, steady hands on your waist. You reached for your dress, muttering half-heartedly, “I can do it myself—”
“Let me,” he said simply, already gathering the fabric. He slipped it over your head with surprising gentleness for someone so strong, smoothing it down your sides and zipping you up.
Then he stepped back into his own clothes, and finally dressed, he wrapped both arms around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against his chest. His chin rested on your shoulder as he spoke low against your ear. “I had a great night,” he said. “Probably the best night I can remember in… a long damn time.”
You turned in his arms just enough to meet his eyes. “Me too,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his in a kiss. “It was… perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
He kissed you back, deep but gentle, like he was memorizing the taste of you, then pulled away with visible reluctance. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
A/N: Soooo, here’s the fic based on an idea someone sent me a long time ago about Tommy Conlon and a single mom reader.
I was writing this and pasting each section into the draft as I went until it eventually reached the limit lol. It was originally meant to be longer and just one part because nobody reads series anymore apparently, but I guess now I’ll have to make a second part to include the rest of what I had in mind. Let me know if you’d like to read that, or if I should just leave it like this.
I feel like I poured a lot of personal details about myself into this, both into the reader and a bit into Lila as well. (Also, I have no idea how a five-year-old is actually supposed to speak or how much they understand about life, so just ignore that haha.)
Pairing: Boyfriend!Tommy Conlon x Girlfriend!Reader
Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, mentions and depictions of a PTSD episode, mentions the death of a friend, mentions of friendly-fire bombings, brief mention of Paddy Conlon's abusive past, established relationship (girlfriend and boyfriend), no use of y/n, pet names used (baby, babe, my girl), fluff, caring for Tommy, slight angst but with comfort, not proof read!!
Summary: The city was getting too much for him. It caused an episode... So you decide to take Tommy out. Far out. To do an activity you haven't done since you were but a child.
Word Count: 2.4k A/N: This is part one of a series I am cooking up! if you enjoyed it and are interested in reading the next chapter, I'm happy to create a tag list for when it drops!! Pls comment below if you are interested!!!
"How close am I?
To losing you? " — About Today by The National
Tommy sat on the bathroom floor sweating up a storm as tears rolled down his face at fast speeds. You weren't home, busy at work, something, he didn't know. He couldn't even comprehend that the bathroom was the bathroom. All he could hear and see was the battlefield, Manny's body limp next to him. He could hear the bombs and his comrades yelling and screaming. He can hear the flag waving hard and fast.
Why are they bombing us? We're not the fucking enemy!!
"Baby?" His head shot up, his breathing was hard and ragged. Why were you here? You weren't deployed with him. You're at home. Safe. Though in a completely different city than his own and his late mother's, you were safe in Pittsburgh. He only received a letter from you 2 weeks ago. From Pittsburgh. "Oh fuck... Tommy!"
He then got pulled out of the hallucination, the bathroom fading back into existence but the screams and bombs were still loud in his head. But he felt warmth on his chest, his shoulder. Then his neck and face.
"Tommy, hey... Hey." He then felt himself gently get pulled to the side then turned around. He watched the bathroom ceiling become his new view as you held him to lay backwards on your chest.
His breathing slowed gradually. Slowly, but gradually. The tears were not falling anymore besides the spares that he blinked out, but he continued to sweat.
"Come back home Tommy... Come back to me. Okay? You're with me, safe."
"Baby..." He lifted his hand up and started to feel around before he grabbed your hand and held it tight.
"I'm here." You held his hand tightly in return, he matched it almost instantly as a large gulp went down his throat.
"They're going to get you too... Why the fuck are you here?! They'll kill you too!" You hid your head into his hair holding back your own tears as he started to produce more tears of his own.
Tommy repeated the same phrase for well over 2 and a half hours before he fell asleep in your hold. The exhaustion and what you could definitely smell of slight alcohol, finally took over.
You were beyond happy he wasn't an abusive drunk like his father. He was just brutally honest to the point he could get emotional. But this... You needed to get him comforted, enough where if he did have another nightmare, he'd wake up knowing he was okay.
So, you then gently stood up and used all your might and strength to pull him into the living room. Getting him onto the rug with the weighted blanket you bought him and a pillow was your top priority. Not the groceries, not your work report.
Tommy needed you, and you couldn't protect him from the first half. So you'll protect him now.
Tommy woke up to the sound of the TV softly playing above him and the smell of cheese and tomato toasties wafting through the air. He could briefly hear the theme song to 'The Nanny' playing from the television but he was still not sure as he felt half asleep.
"...Baby?" The television got turned down almost instantly as he heard the leather on the couch crinkle under movement. Tommy decided to slowly sit up and look over the coffee table to see you sitting up as straight as a meerkat. What had you so panicked? "Why am I on th' floor?"
"You don't... remember?" The way you slowly got up and made your way towards him almost made him... Feel scared of himself. Did he do something? Did he hurt you? He remembers drinking a little— Oh. Oh fuck.
"Shit... Shit shit shit." He then quickly got up, ignoring the slight stumble as the weighted blanket fell around his ankles.
"Tommy calm down—"
"You're not meant to deal with that! I can handle it myself I never want you to experience me like that!" You had already stopped in your steps as he began pacing back and fourth. His fingers were tight in his hair as he held back a punch to the wall. "If I fucking laid a hand on you I swear to God—"
"You cried in my arms." That made him stop. He didn't look at you, but the way he angled his head, you knew he was now listening. "...You cried and screamed that they would get me. And that I shouldn't be there because I was meant to be safe at home."
So he... didn't hurt you. That was good. He probably would've ended it all if he laid even a pinky on you.
"I've never had you hold on so tight before... But it didn't hurt. I think, in your head, you were trying to cover me from blasts." You swallowed a sob, and held back the tears that were threatening to spill out everywhere. "I found you on the bathroom floor like you'd seen a ghost, honey. It scared the shit out of me... I thought I wouldn't get you out of it."
"..." Tommy didn't know... What to say. All his eyes could now focus on was the blanket and pillow. You dragged his unconscious body all the way to the rug. And got him comfortable. Even though you had just worked a 19 hour shift because your boss can't take a fucking hint and let you off. This was meant to be an afternoon for you to relax on. Not take care of him. "I'm... Going out for a walk."
"Tommy wait—"
"No. I'm going out." He then walked past you and left the townhouse you both called home with a slam to the door. In reality, he didn't mean to slam it. But his emotions had taken over, the feeling like he was a burden came crashing down at an avalanche pace.
He didn't look back when he heard you calling out from the porch, but he heard your tone. How sad it was, how desperate it became when you saw he wasn't turning around. The urge to just do it. To turn around, run right back to you and hold you tight.
But he showed his true colours, he showed he wasn't as strong as he wanted to be. You didn't need to baby him through that, he can handle it. He can fucking deal with it.
But the voice in the back of his mind craved for it. The hugs you give him, the way your voice softens as you speak to him like somehow he is the most precious thing in your life. He loves it. He yearns for it. Obviously, all internally. If he externally shows it, it shows a weakness. A weakness he can't have anyone see.
Tommy doesn't even remember when the sun started to set, all he remembers is sitting on a park bench, listening to kids yell and play on the playground nearby. Dogs parking at pigeons and squirrels. The habits of citizens that he wishes to have and experience. But he feels way past that now.
Maybe soon Tommy Conlon will realise that he's really not as alone as he thinks and feels he is.
No, he doesn't remember coming home.
No, he doesn't remember getting out of his drenched with sweat clothes and then getting into bed with you.
And he really doesn't fucking remember gently pulling you into him and hugging you so tight it may just make you stop breathing.
But that was all very late last night, practically the next morning. Because what he does remember, as it is happening right before him, is you handing him a small bag with a sandwich and water bottle inside. Plus a large duffle that was sitting near the front door.
"What's all this?"
"Your travelling necessities."
"Uh, for?"
"I'm taking you whale watching." He blinked. Slowly raised a brow and then nearly scowled.
"Don't baby me."
"I'm not babying you Conlon. I'm giving you care, care that you deserve. And since you won't go to therapy, I'm getting you out of your head, out of this townhouse and out of this shit hole of a city. We're going on a road trip to go hopefully see whales." He didn't bite back, though the urge was there, he couldn't find himself too.
Because here you were, putting everything out there for him, to go see... Whales. An activity he knows you loved doing when you were younger with your mother. Something that would calm you both and take you far away from all expectations.
Maybe you thought it would help him too. And the small fucking part that hoped it would help him too was growing bigger by the second.
"I... Ok. We'll, go see whales." The entire sentence was said in a heavy sigh, one of relief? Or one of giving up? He wasn't sure. All he did know was that now maybe he'd finally get a break. No more fights. No more family matters. No more scaring his girlfriend by being on the bathroom floor.
A break he has been desperately wanting for ages and he's only just seen it becoming a reality.
It only took you both an hour and a half to pack the car, fill the bowls on the porch for the stray cats that would always come around just for you and make sure nothing was left behind. Because here you both were now, on the road, leaving all the negative emotions behind for a while.
Tommy sat in the passenger seat, his hood pulled up, a blanket over his legs and his fists clenched tight. He was still slightly apprehensive of this, but the way you started excitedly but gently started to talk about the last time you saw a humpback whale's tail? Well, how the hell could he ruin that?
"My girl, addicted to whales."
"Hey! They're super cool. All whales. Humpback whales, Southern Right Whales... Whale Sharks. Maybe not killer whales all that much... They're terrifying. Oh and Blue Whales. Also cool." Tommy couldn't help the scoff mixed with a laugh falling out of his lips.
"I got it... I got it." He watched the front window with all the interest in the world before his head lulled to the side to just stare at you driving. Tommy Conlon never usually lets himself go and be... Soft.
But today, today he'd allow it. The car was safe, you were safe. He was safe. Because he knew you wouldn't leave him behind; and he wouldn't leave you behind. You were in this life together, for the long run.
For eternity.
"Want to stop and get some drinks?"
He only had to nod to see you turn on your indicator on to the familiar street with the drive-thru. Same order, each time you both went.
One medium sized chai latte with extra milk and one regular black coffee, nothing added.
Maybe that's what he feels is living. All the small things...
The beach wasn't very crowded, probably as it was grey out. Maybe a few stragglers doing the same as you both or even just enjoying the breeze that likely meant a storm was on its way.
Tommy stood slightly behind you, his eyes locked on the back of your head as you talked his ear off about the experience you had last time when whale watching. You didn't see any, but you do remember seeing a turtle, so that was your highlight of that day.
"It was so pretty Tommy... I should've named it for good luck."
"Just name it now then?"
"16 years later? Seems a bit late, don't you think?" When you looked over your shoulder to give him a smile, he swears his heart stopped for a second. Tommy really wasn't sure how he scored a girlfriend like you. One that would take a whole week off of work just to drive him across the country to go see whales after an episode and still give him a smile like that.
"Fair, I guess." He then decided to step up next to you, his eyes locked onto the roughing up waves that were rolling over each other to reach the shore first. He wonders where they've come from. Where they will go next. The waves almost match yours and his relationship. Rolling over each other with each of your own problems, his more than your own, but you still stick together. Wondering which shore to crash upon again and again, not knowing where you'll be going before then.
You both stood still for at least 35 minutes before he felt your head drop onto his shoulder. You were tired, you did most of the driving all the way over and it probably didn't help that you were likely still coming down from all your emotions after his... incident.
"Want to go sit down on the bench? We can still... See the water from there." Your gentle nod against his skin was enough for him to guide you both over to the seat. It was worn from all the salt from the sea, but stayed true to it's structure. Tommy should take some tips...
"Hopefully some will be out today."
"Hopefully. What should I be looking out for?"
"A whale."
"Funny."
You snorted quietly before going back to watching, your head however still on his shoulder. That was until a distinct splash made your head shoot up.
"Tommy! Look! Look look look!" His eyes quickly went to where your finger was pointing and he also decided to sit up just a little. Because there it was. A large humpback whale peeking up out of the water before delving back down again. A smaller one then proceeded to do the same but much quicker. "Did you see them!?"
Tommy slowly nodded, but he was stuck in place watching where they'd both went down. Humpback Whales. He just saw two of the most majestic creatures this world has to offer, going on their way up North for feeding. Not a care in the world that it was stormy above, they had a destination and they weren't going to stop until they got there. Perseverance. A great trait to have.
"Babe." You turned back to look at him, your eyebrow raised ever so slightly.
"Yeah hun?"
"I love you. So fuckin' much." He looked down to see your pinkie intertwine with his thumb, he held on tight as a response.
"I love you too Tommy. Very, very, fucking much."
If you enjoyed, please reblog to help this reach a wider audience!! All types of support are welcome as well! Likes, comments or even a request sent in!
Under no circumstances, do not repost my work on any other sites or put it through any AI softwares.
While this was so heart breaking, it was so healing. The entire time I felt so much love reading this. From both Tommy and reader!
The small details you add make the relationship feel lived in and real which helps insert us more into the story! I love it! The toasties, The Nanny, feeding the stray cats.
Just the fic in general is so unique. A flashback that results in whale watching??? ORIGINAL AS HELL.
Fantastic job once again, Lottie!!!! 🩷🩷🩷🩷 you never disappoint!
GIRL PLEASE do you have any series recs for Tommy Conlon? I am so thirsty for this man…I need like a 100k words of filth rn😭
Sorry for the delay. Okay, Tommy Conlon recs.
Here are a mix of Tumblr and AO3 links. Of course there are more but I couldn't think of them all.
My absolute all time favorite multiple chapter Tommy fics (80+ chapters). It never gets old, I've reread it over and over for years. One of my favorite fanfic couples. It is called,
"A Slight Misunderstanding", no matter the length it never slows down.
@darklydeliciousdesires has quite a few Tommy C fanfics, including one of my favorites, "Paradise Circus." Along with fantastic oneshots.
@cinnxmxngxrl has a few wonderful Tommy C fanfics. The most recent being brilliant. Her group love fic gives me goosebumps!
@jelly-rei has written for our big mans.
@hardyimagines
@littletwilightbunny on going good Tommy C fic
@thedevilshardy @tomhardyspinkyfinger @feveredvisions have some Tommy fics.
I have written some little Tommy snippets. Just search his name on my blog and scroll.
I also have a side blog where I reblog TH fanfics of all kinds, @thefics-that-drip.
If I left any writers out, it isn't on purpose, it's been years of reading fics and I can't remember every single author. Please feel free to reblog and add yourself OR add authors you know of.
Tommy Conlon was supposed to be your past. But when he re-enters your life years later, you realise he never stopped looking for you.
✦ warnings — angst, smut, complicated love
✦ status — completed
Happy doesn’t know how to flirt like a normal person, so his version of courtship is silently standing too close and threatening people who annoy you.
reader has an evil ex
The first time Happy Lowman threatened someone for you, you genuinely thought he was going to kill a man over a parking spot.
Which, in hindsight, probably should have been your first clue.
You’d lived in Charming for almost eight months by then.
Eight months of trying very hard to keep your life small, uncomplicated, and quiet.
You worked at the feed store on the edge of town because it paid decently and because no one expected much from you there beyond stocking shelves, carrying bags, and ringing up customers. You rented a tiny duplex with perpetually crooked blinds and a water heater that screamed like a dying animal every morning. You kept mostly to yourself.
And you absolutely did not get involved with bikers.
That last part had been easy enough initially.
Everyone in Charming knew the Sons of Anarchy. They rolled through town like they owned it because, honestly, they kind of did. Loud motorcycles. Louder personalities. Men that looked dangerous in ways that made normal people instinctively move aside.
You’d learned quickly that the smartest thing you could do was be polite, mind your business, and never ask questions you didn’t want answers to.
Most of them were harmless enough to you.
One flirted shamelessly.
One complained constantly.
One had asked you for aspirin four separate times in a single week.
And then there was Happy.
Who mostly just stared.
It was deeply unsettling.
Not because he was ugly.
Unfortunately, the man was devastating to look at.
Tall. Broad. Dark eyes that never seemed to blink enough. Tattoos crawling across his scalp and disappearing beneath black T-shirts. Heavy boots. Heavy hands. Heavy silence.
He looked like violence wrapped in skin.
And he stared at you constantly.
Not in a normal way.
Not in a flirtatious way.
Just… intensely.
Like he was trying to solve you.
The first few times he came into the feed store, you’d assumed he was waiting for someone.
Then you realized he was absolutely watching you.
Not talking.
Not smiling.
Just standing there.
Watching.
It got worse after you made the mistake of being nice to him.
Which really shouldn’t have counted as a mistake, but apparently it did.
He’d come in one rainy afternoon drenched nearly through his cut, carrying a leaking cardboard box.
You’d glanced over the counter.
“Need help?”
“No.”
The box meowed.
You blinked.
Happy stared at you.
The box meowed again.
“…is that a kitten?”
A pause.
“Yeah.”
“Why do you have a kitten?”
Another pause.
“Found it.”
You looked at the enormous tattooed biker holding a tiny soaking wet kitten in a collapsing cardboard box.
The image nearly broke your brain.
“Oh my God.”
Happy frowned immediately.
“What?”
“Nothing.” You bit your lip hard to stop smiling. “It’s just… weirdly adorable.”
The silence that followed was catastrophic.
Because apparently Happy Lowman had no idea what to do with compliments.
He stared at you for a solid ten seconds.
Then at the kitten.
Then back at you.
“…huh.”
That had been the beginning.
After that, he started showing up constantly.
Never for long.
Never with any obvious reason.
Sometimes he bought things.
Sometimes he didn’t.
But he always lingered near you like a particularly dangerous storm cloud.
And the longer it went on, the more bizarrely protective he became.
It started small.
A customer snapping at you because you were out of stock on horse feed.
Happy appeared silently beside the man before you could even answer.
“Problem?”
The customer visibly paled.
“Nope.”
Then left immediately.
You stared after him.
Happy stared at you.
“…did you just intimidate a man for being rude to me?”
“No.”
“You absolutely did.”
“He was annoying you.”
Like that explained everything.
Which, to him, apparently it did.
After that, it escalated.
Someone cut in front of you at the coffee shop.
Happy appeared.
A guy at the gas station looked at you too long.
Happy appeared.
One drunk idiot at the bar grabbed your wrist while trying to flirt.
Happy didn’t just appear.
He materialised.
One second the guy was grinning stupidly.
The next, Happy had him shoved against a wall with one tattooed hand around his throat.
“Touch her again,” Happy said conversationally, “and I’ll remove the hand.”
The bar had gone dead silent.
You were frozen.
The drunk man looked moments from passing out.
And Happy looked perfectly calm.
Not angry.
Not emotional.
Just matter-of-fact.
Like discussing weather.
You grabbed his arm immediately.
“Happy.”
His eyes flicked to you instantly.
You felt the shift in him like electricity.
Still dangerous.
Still lethal.
But suddenly focused entirely on you.
“Let him go.”
A beat.
Then he released the man.
The drunk stumbled away so fast he nearly fell.
Happy watched him leave before looking back at you.
“You okay?”
The concern in his voice hit you harder than the violence had.
Because it was real.
Completely genuine.
Like your answer actually mattered to him.
“I’m fine,” you said carefully.
He nodded once.
Then stayed standing beside you the rest of the night like an attack dog pretending not to guard something.
Which was when Juice finally lost his mind laughing.
“Oh my God,” he wheezed from across the pool table. “He’s courting you.”
Happy’s head snapped toward him.
Juice continued anyway because apparently self-preservation wasn’t high on his priority list.
“This is literally how Happy flirts.”
You blinked.
“…what?”
Chibs looked deeply entertained.
“Told ye, brother. Ye cannae just threaten everybody she talks tae.”
“I don’t.”
“All ye do is threaten people she talks tae.”
Happy looked offended.
“You threatened a cashier because she looked tired,” Tig informed you cheerfully.
“She was rude.”
“She asked if you wanted a receipt.”
“She sounded aggressive.”
You stared.
The table collectively dissolved into laughter.
Happy looked increasingly irritated.
Mostly because nobody seemed to understand that he was being completely reasonable.
That was the terrifying part.
He genuinely thought this was normal behavior.
“Wait,” you said slowly. “Are you actually flirting with me?”
Happy looked at you.
Then away.
Then back again.
“…yeah.”
You nearly choked.
“That’s flirting to you?”
A shrug.
“I don’t know.”
And somehow that was worse.
Because he sounded so genuinely uncertain.
Like he knew he was probably doing this wrong but had absolutely no idea how else to do it.
Tig cackled.
“She’s gonna have to teach you how to people, Hap.”
Happy ignored him completely.
Still watching you.
Waiting.
You realized suddenly that he looked tense.
Actually tense.
Like your reaction mattered far more than he wanted it to.
And that realization did something deeply unfortunate to your heart.
Because Happy Lowman was terrifying.
But he’d also apparently been trying to court you for weeks like a feral guard dog that found a favorite person.
You pressed your lips together hard.
“…you know most people buy flowers.”
“I can buy flowers.”
“No threatening florists.”
“I wasn’t gonna threaten the florist.”
Juice snorted.
“Liar.”
Happy glared at him.
You laughed before you could stop yourself.
The sound made Happy go still.
Not visibly.
Most people wouldn’t have noticed.
But you did.
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
His expression softened almost imperceptibly.
Like hearing you laugh affected him physically.
And suddenly you understood why everyone at the table looked so fascinated.
Happy Lowman was gone for you.
Completely.
It only got worse from there.
Or better.
Depending on who you asked.
Happy started picking you up from work without ever technically asking if you wanted rides.
You’d walk out of the feed store at closing time and find him leaning against his bike.
Silent.
Waiting.
The first time, you’d blinked at him.
“…what are you doing?”
“Taking you home.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
A shrug.
“You got followed last week.”
Your stomach dropped.
“You knew about that?”
Happy stared at you like the answer was obvious.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Another look.
“You think I wouldn’t know?”
Which somehow wasn’t an answer and yet absolutely was.
You had, in fact, been followed.
Nothing dramatic.
A man in a truck lingering too long behind your car after work. Following two turns too many.
You’d eventually lost him by pulling into a crowded grocery store parking lot.
You hadn’t told anyone.
Apparently that didn’t matter.
Happy knew anyway.
A cold realization crept up your spine.
“…how much do you know about my life?”
Happy considered the question seriously.
“Enough.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“You’re safe.”
Again, like that explained everything.
Maybe to him it did.
You should have been alarmed.
Maybe you were a little.
But mostly you felt something warm and terrifying bloom beneath your ribs.
Because no one had ever made you feel protected before.
Not really.
Not without strings attached.
Not without making you feel weak for needing it.
Happy never acted like your safety was an inconvenience.
He treated it like fact.
Like breathing.
Like if someone scared you, that became his problem automatically.
Which was deeply insane.
And dangerously addictive.
So you let him drive you home.
The ride itself was another problem.
You’d never been on a motorcycle before.
Happy handed you a helmet.
“Hold on.”
“That’s all the instruction I get?”
“Don’t fall off.”
“Very reassuring.”
A tiny pause.
Then, quietly:
“I won’t let you.”
Your heart did something embarrassing.
You climbed on behind him.
The second the bike moved, instinct took over.
You grabbed his waist.
Happy inhaled sharply.
You felt it.
Every muscle in his body tightening beneath your hands.
“…you okay?” you asked over the engine.
“Yeah.”
He sounded strangled.
The ride home was fast.
Not reckless.
Just smooth and controlled and terrifyingly intimate.
Your chest pressed against his back.
Your hands locked around his stomach.
His body heat surrounding you entirely.
By the time he parked outside your duplex, your pulse was all over the place.
You climbed off carefully.
Happy stayed seated on the bike watching you.
“You don’t gotta keep doing this,” you said softly.
“Want me to stop?”
The question landed heavier than it should have.
Because he sounded genuinely prepared to.
Immediately.
If you asked.
You looked at him for a long moment.
Then shook your head.
“…no.”
Something warm flickered briefly through his eyes.
“Okay.”
That should have been the end of it.
Instead, he started showing up nearly every day.
Not clingy.
Happy would probably rather die than admit to clinginess.
But consistent.
Steady.
Like he’d silently decided your life was now part of his routine.
Coffee left on the counter during your morning shifts.
Your car mysteriously repaired after mentioning a weird noise once.
A space heater appearing outside your apartment after your heater broke.
You never saw him deliver these things.
They simply… appeared.
Like a very violent ghost trying to provide enrichment.
The club found the entire thing hysterical.
“You know he threatened a mechanic for overcharging you?” Juice told you one afternoon.
You looked up from your drink.
“He what?”
“Guy tried charging extra because you’re a woman.”
“Happy scared him so bad he fixed your brakes for free,” Tig added.
“He did not.”
“Oh, he absolutely did.”
Across the clubhouse, Happy sat at the bar pretending not to listen.
Which would have been more convincing if his attention wasn’t visibly locked on your conversation.
You stared at him.
“…you threatened my mechanic?”
Happy shrugged.
“He was a dick.”
“That doesn’t mean you can menace people.”
“He can.” Tig grinned. “That’s kinda his thing.”
Happy ignored him.
Still watching you carefully.
Like he was trying to determine whether you were actually upset.
You sighed.
“You cannot solve all my problems by threatening people.”
A pause.
“Can solve most.”
Juice nearly fell off his chair laughing.
And God help you, you laughed too.
Happy’s expression softened again.
That tiny almost-smile threatening the corner of his mouth.
You were beginning to realize he liked making you laugh.
A lot.
Not because he was naturally funny.
He wasn’t.
At all.
But because your happiness affected him in a way he didn’t know how to hide.
It was written all over him.
In the way he watched you.
In the way he automatically moved closer whenever you entered a room.
In the way his entire body subtly tracked your position like gravity.
And the worst part?
You were getting used to it.
Used to his presence.
Used to his quiet attention.
Used to feeling absurdly safe whenever he was nearby.
Which became painfully obvious the night your ex showed up.
You hadn’t seen Daniel in over a year.
Not since leaving Stockton.
Not since finally realizing that love wasn’t supposed to feel like constantly apologizing for existing.
The relationship had never crossed into physical violence.
And you’d spent years making yourself smaller trying to avoid triggering him.
Leaving had been the hardest thing you’d ever done.
Staying gone had been harder.
So when you walked out of work and saw him leaning against your car, your entire body locked up.
“Hey, baby.”
The nickname made your stomach twist.
Daniel smiled like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn’t spent months calling from blocked numbers after you left.
Like he hadn’t once screamed that nobody else would ever want you.
“You moved far.”
Your pulse thundered.
“What are you doing here?”
“Wanted to talk.”
“No.”
His expression darkened immediately.
There it was.
That switch.
The one you knew too well.
“I drove three hours and you’re seriously gonna act like a bitch right now?”
You took a step back automatically.
Daniel noticed.
And smiled.
Cruel.
“You still do that.”
Your throat tightened.
“I’m leaving.”
“You always were dramatic.”
He moved closer.
You froze.
And then suddenly Daniel stopped moving.
Completely.
The change was instant.
His expression shifting from irritation to confusion.
Then confusion to fear.
Slowly, he looked past you.
You already knew.
You turned.
Happy stood ten feet away.
Silent.
Still.
Absolutely terrifying.
You had seen Happy angry before.
This wasn’t that.
Anger at least looked human.
This looked cold.
Predatory.
The kind of stillness that existed right before violence.
Daniel swallowed visibly.
“…who the hell is that?”
Happy started walking forward.
One slow step at a time.
Heavy boots against pavement.
Your pulse jumped for entirely different reasons now.
Happy stopped beside you.
Close enough that his arm brushed yours.
Daniel looked suddenly much less confident.
“Problem?” Happy asked.
His voice was calm.
That was the worst part.
Daniel laughed nervously.
“No problem, man. We’re just talking.”
“She said no.”
The silence afterward stretched.
Happy didn’t raise his voice.
Didn’t posture.
Didn’t threaten outright.
He simply looked at Daniel.
And somehow that was so much worse.
Daniel shifted uncomfortably.
“She’s my girlfriend.”
“Ex,” you corrected immediately.
Happy’s eyes never left Daniel.
“Ex.”
Daniel scoffed.
“She always does this dramatic shit.”
The temperature around you seemed to drop.
Happy tilted his head slightly.
“You got about ten seconds to leave before I stop being polite.”
Daniel tried to laugh again.
It failed badly.
“You threatening me?”
“Yes.”
Direct.
Flat.
Honest.
Daniel stared.
Happy stared back.
And for the first time since arriving, Daniel looked genuinely uncertain.
Then he made the mistake of looking at you again.
“You seriously fucking a biker now?”
Happy moved.
Fast.
One second beside you.
The next directly in front of Daniel.
Not touching him.
Just there.
Towering.
Dangerous.
“You need to leave,” Happy said quietly.
Daniel actually stepped back.
You had never seen him back down from anything before.
Not once.
But Happy Lowman looked at him like he had already calculated where to bury the body.
Daniel pointed at you.
“This isn’t over.”
Happy smiled.
It was not a nice smile.
“Yes, it is.”
Daniel left.
Quickly.
His truck peeled out of the parking lot hard enough to screech tires.
You stood frozen.
Adrenaline crashing through your system.
Happy turned toward you instantly.
The violence disappeared from his expression so fast it almost gave you whiplash.
“You okay?”
Your chest tightened painfully.
Because he sounded so careful.
So worried.
And suddenly, horrifyingly, you realized your hands were shaking.
Happy noticed immediately.
His jaw tightened.
“He touch you?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
You nodded.
Happy exhaled slowly.
Then looked toward the road Daniel had disappeared down with an expression that suggested murder was still very much on the table.
Without thinking, you grabbed his wrist.
His attention snapped back to you.
“Don’t.”
A beat.
Then another.
Finally:
“Okay.”
Because you asked.
The realization hit hard.
Happy Lowman — terrifying, violent, deeply unhinged Happy Lowman — would apparently listen to you over his own instincts.
Your throat burned unexpectedly.
“I’m sorry.”
His brow furrowed instantly.
“For what?”
“For… this.” You gestured vaguely. “He shouldn’t have involved you.”
Happy looked genuinely confused.
“He scared you.”
Like that was the only relevant detail.
You laughed shakily.
“That’s your entire moral compass, huh?”
Another tiny shrug.
“Mostly.”
God.
You covered your face briefly.
“This is the worst flirting I’ve ever experienced.”
Happy stepped closer.
Not crowding.
Just near.
“You want me to stop?”
There it was again.
That immediate willingness.
Not defensive.
Not angry.
Just prepared to back away if you wanted him to.
And maybe that was the moment everything shifted.
Because you finally understood something important.
Happy wasn’t trying to control you.
He wasn’t protecting you because he thought you were weak.
He just… cared.
Deeply.
Violently.
Completely.
In the only way he knew how.
You looked up at him slowly.
“No,” you admitted softly.
Happy went very still.
“No?”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
Something flickered across his face.
Hope.
Raw enough to hurt.
Your chest squeezed.
“You know,” you said carefully, “normal people usually ask someone out before threatening their ex-boyfriend.”
A pause.
“Should I ask now?”
You stared at him.
He looked completely serious.
The absurdity of the situation nearly made you laugh again.
“Yes, Happy. You should probably ask now.”
Another pause.
Then:
“…you wanna get dinner?”
The question sounded awkward in his mouth.
Unpracticed.
Like he genuinely had no idea how this part worked.
And somehow that made it sweeter.
You smiled despite yourself.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “I do.”
Happy blinked.
Like he maybe hadn’t expected success.
Then his shoulders relaxed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
“Okay.”
You laughed quietly.
“That’s your response?”
Another shrug.
“Got nervous.”
The confession hit you like a truck.
“You?”
“Yeah.”
You stared at the terrifying assassin biker standing in front of you admitting nervousness like it physically pained him.
Your heart was absolutely doomed.
Dating Happy turned out to be one of the strangest experiences of your life.
Not bad.
Just strange.
Because Happy approached relationships the same way he approached everything else:
Intensely.
Immediately.
Completely.
There was no casual setting with him.
No games.
No pretending not to care.
No gradual emotional distancing.
Once Happy decided someone mattered to him, they mattered fully.
Which was both wonderful and mildly terrifying.
He still didn’t flirt normally.
At all.
Your first official date ended with him threatening a waiter.
Not seriously.
Just enough to make the poor guy nearly drop a tray.
The waiter had winked at you while refilling water.
Happy stared at him until he fled.
You pinched the bridge of your nose.
“You cannot intimidate every man that looks at me.”
“He was flirting.”
“So are you technically.”
Happy frowned.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Another long pause.
Then, completely sincere:
“Because I mean it.”
You nearly choked on your drink.
Happy looked confused by your reaction.
Meanwhile your heart was attempting to exit your body.
He said things like that constantly.
Accidentally devastating things.
Not smooth.
Not polished.
Just painfully honest.
You learned quickly that Happy didn’t really understand subtlety.
If he cared about you, he showed it.
Physically.
Practically.
Relentlessly.
He checked your locks. Walked on the outside of sidewalks. Memorised your coffee order after hearing it once. Brought you painkillers and heating pads during your period with the grim seriousness of a man preparing for war.
“You didn’t have to get all this,” you’d protested weakly from your couch.
Happy set another grocery bag down.
“You said your back hurt.”
“That doesn’t mean you needed to buy an entire pharmacy.”
A shrug.
“You need snacks too.”
You stared at the sheer quantity of chocolate.
“…did you threaten someone at the grocery store?”
“No.”
A beat.
“…little bit.”
You burst out laughing.
Happy watched you carefully.
That tiny almost-smile appearing again.
He loved making you laugh.
Loved it.
You realized one night at the clubhouse that he actually sought it out.
You’d been exhausted after a terrible shift.
Quiet.
Headache building behind your eyes.
Happy noticed immediately.
Without a word, he disappeared.
Ten minutes later he returned carrying a tiny, extremely ugly stuffed animal from the gas station.
You blinked.
“…what is that?”
“Dog.”
“It looks diseased.”
“It reminded me of Tig.”
Across the room, Tig yelled, “Fuck you!”
You laughed so hard you snorted.
Happy’s expression softened instantly.
There it was again.
That look.
Like your happiness physically settled something inside him.
Chibs watched the interaction with poorly hidden amusement.
“He’s whipped,” he informed the room.
Happy flipped him off without looking away from you.
The scary thing was, you were pretty sure Chibs was right.
The scarier thing?
So were you.
Because somewhere between the terrifying protectiveness and the silent acts of care and the bizarrely earnest attempts at romance, you’d fallen in love with him.
Which honestly felt a little inevitable.
Happy loved with his entire chest.
Even if he barely knew how to say it.
You figured it out anyway.
In the way he always touched you gently despite looking built to break things. In the way he listened whenever you spoke. In the way he never mocked your fears. In the way he looked at you like you were something precious and bewildering and entirely his favourite thing.
It terrified him sometimes.
You could tell.
There were nights he went quiet.
Watching you from across the room with something almost uncertain in his expression.
Like he didn’t fully trust good things to stay.
One night you finally asked.
You were lying together in his bed above the clubhouse.
Rain hitting the windows softly.
Happy stretched beside you, one heavy arm across your waist.
“What?” he asked.
“You get weirdly sad sometimes.”
A pause.
“Don’t know what you mean.”
“You absolutely do.”
Silence.
Then:
“…you deserve normal.”
Your chest hurt immediately.
You turned toward him.
Happy stared at the ceiling.
Expression unreadable.
“You think you’re not normal?”
A dry huff.
“C’mon.”
“No, seriously.”
Happy finally looked at you.
In the dim light he looked softer somehow.
Still dangerous.
Always dangerous.
But tired.
“You know what I do.”
You did.
Or enough.
You weren’t naive.
The Sons lived in violence.
And Happy… Happy was the violence people sent after other violence.
Yet somehow none of that changed the way he treated you.
“You know,” you said quietly, “most people don’t threaten mechanics on behalf of women they barely know.”
A tiny smile tugged briefly at his mouth.
“He was overcharging you.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is?”
You reached up carefully.
Touched his face.
Happy went still instantly.
Not tense.
Just attentive.
Like every nerve in his body focused on your hand.
“The point is nobody has ever cared about me the way you do.”
His eyes locked on yours.
Raw.
Unprotected.
“You should probably get used to it,” he said quietly.
And God.
That was it.
That was the exact moment you knew this wasn’t temporary.
Not a fling.
Not an accident.
This was forever if you wanted it.
Happy Lowman loved like a blood oath.
There was no halfway.
You shifted closer.
“C’mere.”
Happy frowned slightly.
“I’m already here.”
You laughed softly.
Then kissed him.
Slow.
Gentle.
Intentional.
Happy made a rough sound low in his throat and pulled you against him immediately.
Careful even then.
Always careful with you.
When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“You know,” you murmured, “you could also just tell me you like me.”
A pause.
Then:
“I think I’m past like.”
Your breath caught.
Happy looked faintly uncomfortable after saying it.
Like honesty made him itch.
You smiled helplessly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The room felt suddenly very small.
Very quiet.
Happy’s hand slid against your waist slowly.
“You?” he asked.
There was something vulnerable beneath the question.
Something careful.
Like despite everything, despite the possessiveness and certainty and devotion, part of him still genuinely wasn’t sure you could feel the same.
You kissed him again before answering.
Then whispered against his mouth:
“Yeah, Hap. I’m past like too.”
He stared at you.
Actually stared.
Then kissed you like he didn’t know what else to do with the feeling.
It was overwhelming.
Not rough.
Just intense.
Happy always kissed like he meant it.
Like he didn’t understand the point of doing anything halfway.
Later, when you were half asleep against his chest, you murmured:
“You know your flirting still sucks, right?”
Happy’s chest rumbled with quiet laughter.
The sound startled you enough to lift your head.
“You laughed.”
“Sometimes.”
“That was a real laugh.”
“Don’t tell anybody.”
You grinned.
“Your reputation?”
“Yeah.”
You snuggled closer.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then quietly:
“Guy at the diner looked at you weird today.”
You groaned instantly.
“Happy.”
“What?”
“You cannot threaten every man on earth.”
“I can try.”
You burst out laughing again.
Happy’s arms tightened around you.
And even in the dark, you felt him smile against your hair.
Like maybe this — your laughter, your warmth, your presence tangled into his life — was the closest thing to peace he’d ever found.
And maybe for you, it was too.
Because Happy Lowman didn’t know how to flirt like a normal person.
He loved in silent proximity. In protective violence. In fixed engines and warm coffee and standing just close enough that nobody else could touch you.
And somehow, impossibly, it was the safest love you’d ever known.
So when people asked later how the two of you got together, you usually just smiled.
Because there was no normal explanation.
Just a terrifying biker who fell in love with you so hard he started treating every inconvenience in your life like a personal threat.
And you, apparently insane enough to fall in love with him right back.
Warning/tags: 18+; Canon-divergence, canon-typical violence, angst, humor, fake dating, forced proximity, slow burn, eventual smut, magical elements (thanks to the homeless woman), Reader is from a different reality
Death is supposed to be the end–a conclusion. But for some reason, you didn’t stay dead. After a car accident killed you and ended your budding success as a romance author, you wake up in a world that’s supposed to be fiction. Except it’s not, and the violence and danger–along with the far too handsome Jax Teller–are very real. Grieving your previous life and struggling to find a purpose in the new one, you can’t help but wish you’d woken up inside of a romantic comedy instead of the Sons of Anarchy, especially living through multiple romantic tropes with him. But the real Jax Teller isn’t your typical romantic lead, and all you want is to find the strange homeless woman and get some answers.
Summary: Your first morning as the Castiglione’s starts with sex and ends with something new.
MASTERLIST
Warnings: explicit, graphic smut — MDNI, 18+ ONLY. cunnilingus (whatever that is), piv, breeding kink, reader tops but that don’t mean Frank ain’t soft dom, breeding kink ummm consequences, pron wit some plot, Frank calls reader "little" but I use this as reader being soft, not in actual size.
w/c: 6851
my first ever requested pic!fic! see the req here. requested pic is the first one in the banner
Frank sleeps like a marine is trained to: stone still, without a sound, and alert at the drop of a pin.
So when the paths of early morning sun spill through the sheer curtains of your bedroom and into your eyes for a gentle rousing to the day, you make no sound, no movement, other than fluttering your lashes open.
It’s as though the world’s softly coaxing you to this rare moment— one where you wake up before Frank.
The heavy knit blankets trap in heat from his bare body molded flush behind you, still trying to complete himself through you.
You must’ve fucked him to remission last night because he sleeps. A deep sleep slows his breathing, shoulders unraveled from their usual tension, a heavy arm draped over your body to keep you there. A natural, placid cadence to his body. The gradual rise of his chest with an inhale, white lace bedspread expanding with it.
The easy, prolonged deflation of an exhale. Your husband, finally—finally—at peace.
He’s heavy in the morning. Heavy limbed. Sleep-warmed. Heavy cock jutting against your ass.
You grin to yourself, sleepy victory. Your thighs squeeze together all over again, thinking about last night. I’m the luckiest woman alive, you think, your naked body snug against cotton sheets and the bulk of muscle behind you.
Still new on your finger, on the pillow beside your head, the morning light catches on your wedding ring.
Today begins the very first day as husband and wife…
Today… the start of a new forever.
Today… feels like The Punisher has finished, and Frank Castle can rest. Grow old with you. Learn to enjoy life. Take things one day at a time and unclench his fists, put down the gun.
Yeah…
Today will be different.
Today is everything—the start of something new.
As Frank sleeps, your eyes track your shared bedroom with a new perspective. Since when does everything look so… soft? Like a hole punched out of heaven and transplanted into your life. Your bedroom… it’s a place of patience where love can only grow, nurtured by the placidity of those who inhabit it. Mahogany wood, delicate sheets. Frank’s teased you relentlessly about the grandma decorations, but the rustic quality now shapes both of your lives.
White wedding gown in a lacy heap on the plush carpet, where, last night, Frank knelt before you as he shed it from you like you’re holy instead of human.
Books on the nightstand, a vase of fresh wildflowers that served as your wedding bouquet yesterday. A framed photo of you two, and a second of Maria and the kids beside it. Gone, never forgotten. You don’t want them to be forgotten or put away. So they have a place on the nightstand, right by you and Frank.
And above you… your eyes strain to lift to the wall, glancing at the photo there too. A pond landscape. Ornate details preserved in paint from decades ago. One of your favorites, the artist of no importance other than the serene grounding you feel looking at it.
In the stillness of morning, you decide to try your luck. How much can you get away with before your husband wakes? And what better way to wake than under your touch, being worshipped and appreciated and rewarded?
You arch your ass back, pushing against his dick. A movement easily disguised as shifting in your sleep.
A grunted breath pushes from his nose. An instinctual press of his hips forward, into the plush of you again. Chasing you, your body, even in sleep.
You bite your bottom lip to contain your grin. And for good measure… you do it again. A soft grind. Another sleep-conflicted breath from Frank. Another push of his erection flat against your ass cheek.
Cause and effect.
You move, he moves.
You tease, he seeks.
Somewhere during your experimental touching, Frank’s breathing shifts. The sound ceases. A reflective flex of his muscles as his eyes open. An intentional relaxing as he registers his surroundings.
Frank sleeps like a marine is trained to.
He wakes like it, all the same: muted sound, bracing for trouble, cataloging the world around him.
When there’s no war to be had, no danger to be found, his body slackens. Does some experimenting of his own as his arm curls in, tightens, hand spanning over your bare stomach.
You feel all of it behind you. Frank waking, remembering yesterday, two seconds into consciousness and he’s making his existence about you.
“Good morning, Mr. Castiglione,” you whisper, sleep hoarse and sweetly innocent, cheeks stifling your grin.
“Mornin’, Mrs. Castiglione,” he rumbles in a groggy breath, halfway distracted, probably wondering if what he felt was a dream.
In all honesty… Frank doesn’t hate it. His true last name. You don’t either. It’s something no other woman besides his mom has ever had. It’s his, and he’s giving all of it to you.
“How long you been up, hm?” he asks, thumb making wide arcs along your rib, just barely skimming the underside of your breast.
“Not too long,” you mumble your musing, exposing yourself as you not so innocently push into his hard-on again.
Grunting, Frank catches your hip with the hand from your tum. “Playin’ games, sweetheart?”
“Only ones I intend to finish.” You turn under his arm, face him.
Sleep heavy lines pull his face, but the light of a new day—a brand new day—deepens his complexion, those ever-assessing dark eyes. Makes him… a different man. A softer one. Someone who chose to leave his war and make a home with you instead. Still looking at you with raised brows nonetheless, a playful inquiry to your intentions.
You lift a hand, fingertips dancing featherlight over the bristles of his stubble, simply… admiring the man you share a bed with, a home, a last name… a life.
The affection, so light it’s heavier than a full hand, drags a breath from his nose. His hand traverses your body, full-palmed, memorizing all of you as his wife. The arch of your ribcage. His thumb drags down the middle of your stomach. Over the soft curve of your side. The silky plane of your thigh, winding to your back to claim the small of it.
Gentle exploration in the early morning light. Soft breath mingling. The room smells of your leftover perfume, sleepy skin, the heat of the sun burning through the curtains.
Your affinity makes every little touch galvanic. Quiet gravitation pulls you two closer, drawn by something far greater and far older than attraction.
Your knee hooks over his hip.
His hips rut against you, hard cock prodding your stomach.
You tangle a hand in his hair, panting velvety breaths against the mouth you have yet to kiss today.
Rough hands squeeze and smooth your soft skin with reverence reserved for the holy.
A mutual compulsion for one another; a shared longing for surrender, to be undone and vulnerable at the hands of the person of you love, only to be remade by them, renewed in primal union.
The urge—the yearning—to be… complete.
“Frankie…” you whisper, eyes flickering between the intensity of his stare and his mouth. “I need you, please…”
“You got me,” a promise in a rough murmur as he rolls in closer, your mouths a breath apart. “All ‘a me.”
The clash is desperate, but… venerating.
Frank’s mouth slots to yours, swallowing your stifled moan. The kiss is a form of devotion that goes beyond fidelity. It’s a necessary salvation he can only find in you; loyalty the essence of his being.
Your brows knit as you kiss him back, throat closing because of the overwhelming piety he’s only ever shown you. You fucking taste it on him. You feel it in his hands, his fingers clasping into your side, clinging to the idea of forever like this, with you.
Tongues tease and lap outside of your mouths, just the very tips. A slow, sensual chase that has your thighs wet already.
Your hand drops to his dick, but before you can wrap around him, Frank shakes his head. Pulls back from your lips to mutter, “Nah, sweetheart. Ain’t ‘bout me. Want you. Lemme have you, huh?” An open-mouth kiss, quick and needy like he can’t help himself. “Lemme taste you, baby. Sit on my face, hm? Sit on your husband’s face.”
Sit on his face.
Not on your back, Frank between your legs.
No.
He wants you to use his face like a pedestal, giving you a seat to bare your naked body to the air as he weakens your legs, eats your orgasm out of you.
Your cheeks flare hot. “F-Frank…” weak protest, self-consciousness hesitating your hands on his chest.
“C’mon,” he jerks his chins, pupils swallowing his irises. “Up. Up, pretty girl, wanna taste m’ pretty goddamn wife. Wanna taste ‘er. Lemme help you up, hm?”
Shaking legs shift up, Frank’s hands steadying your waist as he lays back flat.
The blankets fall from your body. Frank’s eyes are everywhere, drinking you in with admiration exclusive to you. Your uncertain face, colored dark from his request. The slope of your shoulders, curve of your neck, plane of your stomach. Your full breasts, nipples hard from the cooler air beyond the sheets.
An enraptured look, an idolatry—his brows pitched up, eyes so soft but hungry, lips parted in awe—that look festered in him the day he saw you. Frank licks his lips. Voice dries to a rasp. “Yeah, baby, yeah. C’mere. Gotchu, pretty girl. Won’ let you be cold.”
He guides you into position.
Your body shakes. Knees bracketing his head on the pillow, your thighs trembling, Frank groans as heat pours from your cunt and over his face. Hasn’t even fuckin’ touched you and you’re hot, needy.
His hands—wide and flat—knead your ass, crawl up your sides, your ribs.
Faced with the picture frame on the wall, you white knuckle the headboard, looking down at him with beet-red nerves, flush deepening as he gapes at your pussy above his face, folds spread and glistening.
“Jesus,” he gruffs, jaw popping, nostrils flaring; primal itch burning his skin to take and claim what’s his. “Got the prettiest pussy, baby, fuck, si’down on me. Yeah, yeah, there you go, c’mere, mmph—”
The first lap comes with a slow, fat tongue. Long, indulgent, pushing through your folds to lick the slick from your hole to your puffy clit. Frank groans into your heat, your taste rolling his eyes back.
Face contorted as you watch him taste your cunt, your thighs quake around his head. Your hands fist into the headboard, rattling the frame.
One taste and he looks at you… And the look he gives is… cruel.
Stomach dropping out, heart hammering, your breath stutters at the blackened intensity of his glare. Eyes narrowed, nostrils wide, mouth tugging as he resists the temptation to devour you to oblivion.
“Fuck,” he praises in a ragged breath, the sweet saltiness of you igniting something dangerous. One fucking taste and he’s like this. Frank yanks your hips down.
You gasp his name as your cunt drops flush to his face, face screwing as you’re eaten alive.
He pins you there, mouth latched onto your slick folds, nose smashed against the hood of your cunt.
And he eats. Devours you, lapping eager worship as he spreads you down the middle with his tongue alone. Sucks your clit into his mouth, releasing in a delicate graze of his teeth but never fully, no. He won’t break off your pussy. Tongue works possessed hunger, hooking into your hole.
He eats and eats and eats.
You try climbing up the headboard for escape as the alarming white-hot elation rakes your insides. Terrifying pressure, that uncomfortable, blissful urgency causing you to try to flee.
Try.
“Stay put.” Frank grunts, forearms banding around your waist to drop you back down—and snare you. He traps you there, riding his face. His tongue, teeth and mouth feed in a frenzy.
Tears in your eyes, you stare at the painting in front of your face. Hips jolting. Thighs seizing. Your cunt suffocating your husband as he feasts on your slick and pussy as though it’s his only purpose.
Saliva and intimacy coat your inner thighs as Frank makes a mess of you. Smears his face every which way, kissing, sucking, snarling into you.
Arms hooking the headboard, you cry and huff a litany of moans in his name. Face to face with the painting above your bed, white-hot sparks searing your nerve-endings, you see your reflection in the picture. It’s you, just… a version of you to only exist with Frank. Mouth agape, jaw slack, desperation stinging tears in your eyes as the smell of sweat and sex basks in the heat of the rising sun.
You see this picture every goddamn day but now—right now, with your husband feasting on your cunt, making a mess of his face and your thighs—you see the fine details. A duckling treading water after its family. The cattails blowing in a gentle breeze. A fawn bent for a drink at the water’s edge.
You can’t stand it. The painting, your reflection, the panicked overstimulation of your clit on the verge of implosion into Frank’s mouth.
Escape futile, your legs cinch either sides of his head, stomach flipping as your peak vacuums out your breath, hips involuntarily grinding down, down, after more friction, more of his mouth. You shove against the headboard, knocking dents into the wall to deepen the ones already there. Drywall dust falls behind the bed.
Beneath you, Frank’s in heaven. Pussy drunk, slick disoriented, he ruts his flat tongue straight down your middle mercilessly. Aggressive scoops through your folds, eating your core out of your body, ending in ruthless swipes over your clit.
The wet suction of his spit mixes between your thighs. Obscene noises that have you blushing, flustered, hot and without a goddamn care because you’re close. “Oh, god, Frank, oh god, don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop—”
Grunts vibrate right into your cunt, starved and sloppy as he gnashes his tongue and lips over your engorged clit. “Yeah, fuck my face,” he snarls against your pussy, dick instinctively rutting the blankets over his lap. “Fuckin’ cum on m’face.”
Beyond your control, greedy and possessed, you rock down onto him. His stubble rakes your thighs raw. Slick sticky on your skin, his face, he groans incoherent praise against you. You can’t hear it, blood rushing in your ears, eyes falling back as your head does, lust disorienting—
“Ooooh, Frank! Fuck! I’m—”
Cumming.
With the sweetest fucking sound he’s ever heard, his name laced with a scream far too obscene for the time of day.
Frank eats you through it. Licks straight from the source of your empty cunt as it pulsates and clenches for something, anything, but he won’t give it to you yet. He slows as you come down from it, your head blooming with hazy pressure, relief.
Licking and sucking turns to rewarding kisses. One against your drenched folds. Another to your sensitive clit, jolting you. Last one with a hum against your thigh.
“Tasted so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, using his hands to move your body for you when you can. “C’mere, Mrs. Castiglione, yeah. Come t’Frankie.”
Limbs reduced to jelly, jostled by the severity of your orgasm, you oblige, head empty, as Frank steers you back down, on top of him.
Curled in on yourself, spine weak so you hunch, straddled on his lap.
Frank tugs the blanket up around your waist, wiping the plaster of your slick from his face onto his shoulder.
“You good?” he asks, smallest smirk pulling the corner of his mouth.
Dumbfounded, forgetting every word in your vocabulary, you nod. Little shaky nods, eyes a thousand yards off, chest heaving.
A chuckle rumbles in his chest. He lifts a hand to beckon you down, come relax, but you stiffen. Shake your head a firm disagreement.
Hand paused mid-reach, Frank quirks a brow.
Exasperated, glowing, you bat his hand off stare down at him like he’s stupid. “I’m not done with you yet, are you kidding me?”
“Yeah?” A brow raises at the attitude, giving you one chance to correct it. “Pretty little wife gonna take this dick?“
“Your wife’s gonna ride your dick, baby.” You straighten on his lap, spine finding strength after the blowout orgasm, reaching behind you and beneath the blankets to pump him. Just to see his reaction.
It’s a jolt, a grunt, his face steeling as he throbs in the wrap of your hand. “Wife’s gonna get thrown on her goddamn knees ‘f she keeps playin’.”
You tut, condescending though you know the threat’s entirely true. Standing tall on your knees, teeth holding your bottom lip, you smear his tip through your sopping wet folds.
You suck in a staggered moan, belly opening and fluttery at the mere thought of having him stuffed so deep inside you.
Frank groans, stomach contracting. His hands plant on your hips, head thrown back on the pillow. Tendons in his neck rope out. Veins thread his forearms. Battling the willpower to not shove you down on his cock, Frank trembles. “Put. It. In.” A low, drawn out demand through clenched teeth. “Playin’ with me all goddamn mornin’. Lemme tell you sumthi— fuckin’ Christ, baby—”
You stop him. Shut him the fuck up. The vise of your cunt splits as you sink on his cock. Walls stretching, burning as the tip carves you out.
“Attagirl, attagirl,” Frank pants, rabid black eyes snapping from your slackened jaw to gawk at how your cunt pulses defiance around the fat inches it has to work desperately to fit. “S’my wife, m’perfect fuckin’ wife.”
Pussy hugging his overwhelming girth, coherent thoughts burn up in your throat, seared dry in your stomach. “Oh god, Frank, oh god, Frank—”
“Yeah? Whatchu prayin’ f’, huh? Prayin’ I’ll go easy? Prayin’ I’ll fill you the fuck up? Fuck you stupid?”
You nod. And nod and nod and nod. Yes, all of it. Yes, to whatever he says.
Feral awe as he stares up at you, Frank eases your hips down. “Last inch, baby, last inch. C’mon, pretty girl, yeah, yeah, there- there she is— fuck.”
His eyes cross, the hard mound of his throat exposed.
Red scrapes rise over his chest as you claw, his blunt tip punching breath out of your lungs.
And you both freeze with his cock bottomed out, head knocked against your cervix.
Cunt flush to his base… you’re fused together.
While you pant and flutter to adjust for his size, Frank marvels over you. His upper lip tugs in a snarl of no sound. Eyes rove. A hand stays planted on your hip to steady you. The other reaches up, pawing your tit, thumbing your perked nipple. “Dirty little wife,” he grits, low, rasped. The sound of complete devotion. “Wakin’ me up jus’ t’sit on my dick, huh? This what you want?“
“Oh, I need it so bad, Frankie. I need- need my husband so bad—” everything else lost to a hum as you start to roll your hips.
“Yeah, baby, c’mon, ride your fuckin’ man.” Head thrown in the pillow, Frank’s face twitches a snarl of pure ecstasy. His thighs jolt under you, animalistic restraint thrumming. “Yeah, ride your fuckin’ husband.”
An angel in slow motion, your head falls back. Mouth slack, slurs of fuck, I love you, Frank, my husband, spilling out in cock-intoxicated freedom. Spine curved in the shape of bliss, your tits bounce on display for your husband, navel taut with your arch.
“Fuck, baby, yeah, s’my beautiful goddamn wife,” Frank grits through his teeth, massive fingers pressed in the meat of your hips, thighs, digging into you for control. Without it? Without binding himself to you? He’ll fuckin’ lose it. Snap. Flip you over and rail you until you’re pumped so full you walk away pregnant.
With every rock of your hips forward, his cock bulges against your stomach. Makes a fucking outline in Frank’s image. Thick and domineering, scorching breath from your throat as he rearranges your insides. Cock so big, crammed to the brim, he hits everywhere you need him to. Tip prodding your cervix. Veined shaft rubbing that perfect spongy spot. Coarse hair at his base grinding your swollen clit.
Self becomes an abstraction. How can you be an independent being when you feel Frank in your stomach? In your throat? Everywhere?
“Pretty pussy’s drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy this mornin’,” his nostrils flare, control collapsing. “Gonna make me bust, that what you want, huh? Want your man t’fill you up?”
“Y-yes, yes, please. Frank, please,” you shudder on his dick, a hand planted in the middle of his chest to steady your grind.
Sweat clings to your bodies. Heat festers in the pursuit of primal release.
“C’mere,” Frank beckons, one hand leaving your thigh to grab your chin, guide you down. “C’mere, princess, yeah, need you closer. Yeahhh, there she is. There’s m’girl.”
Bent over him, bouncing your ass back on his cock, you drop your palms to cage both sides of his head.
“Open,” he orders, eyes fastened to your lips.
You comply. Your mouth opens wide. Wider than necessary, showing him how you’d look with his dick in your mouth. Doe eyed and fucked out.
Frank jams two fingers—middle and ring, left hand—into your mouth.
“Suck.”
You don’t need the order. You already are. Your lips seal around his fingers—his wedding band against your lips—tongue swirling between them, around them, as he finger fucks your mouth.
“Good girl,” Frank coos. “Listen so good f’me, huh? You like that? Bein’ told what t’do?”
The moan you give around his fingers, cheeks full with them, breaks something in Frank.
It starts slow, greedy. He ruts his hips up. Snappy bounces, plunging in so completely your moans punch out and muffle on his fingers. In the span of seconds, he drives faster. Harder. Impaling you on his cock, your ass smacking down.
He’s in your mouth. Your cunt. Your fucking head. You’re stuffed so full of your husband you’ve lost sight of separation. There is no you without him. No him without you.
Your eyes roll around in your head, tits skimming his chest as he pounds you.
The tidal wave builds again. A hot exhilaration rushing through your core, forcing you to writhe above him.
Hooking the two fingers under your tongue, Frank shakes your head. A little sway, keeping you coherent. “Eyes, pretty girl, hm? Lemme see ‘em. You look at me. You do that f’me?”
You wonder how you could be stuffed completely by him, every open, needy hole. Cock-drunk thoughts, but still. Your lashes flutter, perking open at his command.
“You look ‘t your husband when you cum. You hear me?” He draws his fingers from your mouth, licking your spit off them himself.
“Y-yes, Frank. I look at my husband when I cum. I look at my husband when he makes me cum.”
“Gooood girl. You keep bein’ good f’me, hm? Be m’good girl. Cum on your husband’s cock.”
You collapse on top of him. Tits to chest, elbows caging his head, your hands tear into his hair as he fucks you senseless.
“Jesus-fuckin’-Christ, baby, so fuckin’ wet. Drippin’ down my goddamn balls.”
Squelches from your soaked cunt echo in the room as Frank hammers into you. Your thighs are drenched. Your ass is slathered in your juices, his saliva. Everytime you drop down or roll back in time with him, you feel it on his thighs, his balls.
“P-please fill me up, Frank, please,” you whine, words stumbling out as he hammers your cervix. “I want it. All of it. So so so bad. Wanna be filled up, Frankie. Want your cum to stay in. Don’t wanna waste any of it. Please. Please.”
“Fuck.” Snarled temptation. Skin slapping. Greedy, primal inclination to give you what you’re not asking for. Grunted possession as he bands an around the small of your back, hand indented to the flesh of your hip to fuck you down as he spears up into you. “Say what the fuck you mean, hm? Bein’ greedy ‘bout it? Just wanna be filled up with cum, huh? Or you wantin’ somethin’ else?”
“S-something else,” you pant, teeth grazing his jawline in messy bites. “You know what I want.”
“Say it. Fuckin’ say it.”
He fucks up into you. Drags you down in tandem. A filthy grind as he chases your orgasm. Every inch of him driven to please every inch of you. Whatever you want—say it. He’ll fuckin’ give it to you.
Your head spins. Your stomach tightens again, core flaring like a faulty transistor. You’re going to cum again. Cum with your pussy throbbing around Frank’s rigid cock, coat him in it, sucking his out of him.
Sweat sticks your bodies, skin catching friction. Hot, ragged breath shared back and forth. Frank’s grunts into your ear. Your breathless moans into his neck. Not an inch of space to separate you. Sharing breath. Sweat. Hips working an angry pump onto each other.
Heaven.
“Wanna- wanna have a- a baby with you, Frankie, please—”
“Yeah? Wan’ me t’put a baby in you, huh?”
“Y-yes! Yes, Frankie, please.”
“Gonna give you so much fuckin’ load you’ll be spillin’ it out. Give you what you want, baby, yeah, fuck you ‘til you’re full ‘a me.”
“M-make it stick, Frankie.”
“It’ll fuckin’ stick.”
You whine at the idea of being pumped to the brim with his cum, no other choice but to leak what your cunt can’t swallow, using it to make life inside of you.
“Cum.” Frank grits, thrusts slipping pace. A jagged falter as he nears. “Be a good lil’ wife, huh? Cum on my fuckin’ cock.”
You go rigid, muscles locking until they quake, bracing for explosion as his base scrapes your clit, head kisses your cervix, shaft sliding over the sponge of your g-spot. It’s too much. It’s too fucking much.
Panicked bliss peeling your eyes wide, forearms planted by his head, hands ripping into his hair, you plead. “Oh- oh god, Frank. Oh, fuck, you feel so good. Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop, ‘m so close, so close, Frankie—”
His eyes. You’ve never seen something like them before. An innate tenacity twisting his face into a snarl of pure rapture. Eyes lock with yours, tracking every fine detail of your pleasure as he bounces you up and shoves you down on his cock. The warp of your face. Your mouth pulled open in high-pitched moans beyond your control, beyond your comprehension. Brows pinched, your body building up for the demolition at his hand.
And you crumple.
Your hands cage his face, eyes fastened to his while you cum so he can see it—you—all of it, what only he is able to give you. Ecstasy razes you. Shatters your foundation, leaving you crying out for your husband as you fall.
He’s right there to hold you through it. Fuck you through it.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, there she is,” Frank adds to the unbridled fit, his voice raising. “That’s my fuckin’ wife. Fuck, fuck— soakin’ my dick, so fuckin’ tight. Gonna fill you the fuck up, pretty girl, give you a goddamn baby—”
One pump— faltering.
Second pump— faster, chasing, hungry.
Third— final. Buried to the fuckin’ hilt. Frank plunges in balls deep, mouth sealing around yours for a mismatched, groaned kiss as he spews hot, thick ropes deep inside of you.
A percussive silence settles around you. Labored breath, weak limbs. Neither of you kiss properly, but your mouths stay layered, recycling the same shaky breath.
Your hands go lax on his face, and the rest of your body follows. You crumble on top of your husband, cheek smashed over his heart. It beats rapid thunder under your ear, same as yours.
Chest sawing, Frank unravels the binding hold, but thag doesn’t mean he lets you go. No, Frank Castle circles his fingers over your back. Chin tucked to his chest to peer down at you, his other hand smooths hair out of your face. Taking care of you first—always you first—even as his cock flexes aftershocks inside of you.
“Hey,” Frank murmurs, voice spent, rough. His hand tangles in the hair at the back of your head where he holds you. “The Mrs. still alright, hm?”
You manage a weak thumbs up and a croaky, “…never better, Mr. Castiglione.”
Frank actually huffs a laugh. Small, low, but it counts. “Hm. Good.” Two pats to your ass. “Gotta do sumthin’—”
Whoosh. The rustle of blankets. The tossing of limbs.
“Wha– Frank—!” You squeal as he rolls you. Both of you, flipping you onto your back.
Cock still in you, turning your world, you bounce back on the mattress but can’t go far with Frank looming over you.
“S’what you wanted, hm?” Breath heaving from his nostrils, Frank pulls out in a grunt.
You shiver at the loss, but you’re not empty for long.
He uses his middle finger to collect the cream spilling from your cunt. Swipes it up.
Then back in.
Pushes that finger—his cum—back inside, down to the goddamn knuckle.
You gasp in overstimulation, nails digging into his forearm to cease any cruel movements. “Frank, Jesus!”
“Jus’ Frankie, baby,” he teases. “Ain’t gonna do nothin’,” he murmurs sweet assurance, sweeter praise, finger plugging you up. “Jus’ givin’ this pretty pussy what she wants, huh?”
Moan hummed behind your chattering teeth, you nod fervid agreement. You cling to his forearm, his skin torched hot and sticky.
Laid back on the pillows with your legs spread, his finger stopping you up with his load, wisps of hair clinging to your forehead, you’ve never looked so goddamn beautiful.
You’re his. All his.
Name. Pussy. Life.
Mrs. Castiglione, his pretty wife. Leaking his cum. ‘Til the day he fuckin’ dies.
In degrees, your body relaxes around his finger. Your walls flutter, pulsing around him. Shaking, your hands skate up his arms, lying over the slants of his neck.
Frank leans forward. Presses a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. Then your nose. Then both cheeks. “Tha’s it, baby. I gotchu. Relax, pretty girl. Givin’ what you asked f’, huh? Still want it? Still wantin’ that baby?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, drawing him in close again. That’s all you want. Frank, your husband, as close as possible. You bring him in for a kiss. Passion subdued, but not gone. Lips meet with languid gratitude, still buzzing dormant lust.
A few minutes pass. Soft kisses frequented. Frank’s rumbled whispers, his little crooked grin. Your breathy giggles, face bright with exertion.
After those few minutes, he withdraws his finger from yours. Forehead against yours, he pops his slick-covered finger in his mouth. Sucks it clean. Dips back in, planting a rough kiss to your mouth before he moves off the bed.
Buck naked, standing at full height with a geography of gnarly scars and brutal muscle, Frank takes one step for the door.
One.
“Hey!” You call out, brows pinching as you tuck the blankets over your chest, rising to your knees. “Where’re you going?”
Frank falters. Glances back at you over his shoulder, brows up. “Get you a washcloth, that alright?”
“…no.”
“…No,” he echoes, making sure he heard right.
“Right,” you nod once. “No. I said no.”
“First day married ‘n you’re wantin’ a UTI?”
You roll your eyes. “Nooo, I’m just… not finished with you yet.” A pause. Feigned innocence of your wandering eyes. “Still.”
“Baby… Christ. Permission f’a guy t’ take a piss?”
“Permission de-nied. Get back here.”
Before he can protest, you reach out. Snag his arm. And drag his ass right back to bed.
Four weeks doesn’t change much.
There’s still bills, work, dinner— the mundane routines of everyday life.
Four weeks is certainly plenty of time to forget what you begged your husband for the first day a married couple. He’d forgotten too.
But… it does give time for things to…grow.
As you pile up groceries on the checkout conveyor, you miss the frightened glance the cashier gives your cart.
Two tubs of peanut butter.
Three jars of pickles (bread and butter, dill, and spicy, obviously).
Triple brownie blast ice cream.
Ten pounds of red meat.
Screw vegetables, because yuck.
Mustard, which is for your family-sized bag of potato chips. If Frank gets his paws on these, you’ll have to cut them off. No other option.
Exactly nothing from the list of health-conscious foods you normally buy, because, fuck it, those don’t sound near as good as this assortment.
The cashier, weathered and far too intuitive without a fuck to give, eyes you up and down as you pop in front of the card reader.
“…Expecting?” Donna (according to her nametag) asks, movements mechanical as she scans the items.
Your laugh comes immediately, head shaking as you hover your card over the reader. “Oh, god, no,” you dismiss, humming the last of your laugh.
Expecting. You. No, you’re—
Oh. Oh- shit.
You’re not laughing now.
You’re acutely aware now of how you begged Frank to fuck you to pregnancy. Sound fades to a distant buzz, the register beeps like a distant heartbeat. Everyone goes about their business as you remember.
Make it stick, you begged and panted as he filled you over and over and over.
You gulp. Audibly. Your expression blanks out. Your eyes stare through the total.
Frank promised it would. That bastard. He always keeps his promises.
Donna snorts to knowingly herself, at your reaction, and slaps a box of pregnancy tests over the scanner. “Got three of my own. Crunchy peanut butter’s best with the pickles.” She nods at your wedding wing. “Hope he’s a good one.”
The best, you wanna say, but your mouth’s desert dry.
All you can think about is the possibility that… it stuck.
Your head bobs in time to Shining Star by Earth, Wind & Fire, CD player from the living room booming the fluidity of the disco through the house. One of Frank’s favorites.
Meat sauce bubbles on the stove, fragrant of basil and marinara. Lasagna noodles cool in the sink, cradled by the colander.
Glass bowl of whipped ricotta, chopped parsley, parm, and mozzarella cheese balanced on your hip, you stir the lasagna filling.
Frank will be home from the construction site any minute, and you want this to be… perfect. But also… not a big deal, right? Not… overdone.
You opt to make his favorite dish of yours, the lasagna.
From the oven, fresh rolls swell and carry the scent of dough from the cracked windows.
The pee stick waits on the counter, capped, results down by the calendar. Days change everything. One day, that’s all it takes.
The front door rattles, keys jingling in it.
Your pulse quickens. You stir quicker, like that’ll save you from something.
The heavy, easy prowl of Frank’s boots coming down the hall. You can hear the questions in his gait.
Oh god oh god oh god oh god.
Stirstirstirstir. Like your life depends on it.
Your back stays to Frank as he fills out the doorway, hulking body leaning against the frame. Skeptically amused, lips halfway quirked, eyes narrowed, Frank glances around.
The music. The food. You.
Tongue licking over the corner of his mouth, he nods to himself like yeah, uh-huh, alright.
You’re both aware of each other. You both say nothing. Yet.
He can’t hear your heartbeat, right? It’s not that loud, right? Flush pricks your throat, chest.
“What, uh, whatchu doin’, pretty girl? Hm?” Frank finally asks, head tilted.
“Makin’ dinner,” you shrug a shoulder, flicking a brief glance back at him just to shrug again, lips wriggled in a bashful smile.
“Alright. Whatchu makin’?”
“Lasagna.”
“Occasion?”
“Occasion?” You step to face him, the room’s distance between you. “I don’t need an occasion to make you lasagna.”
That furthers his suspicion. Slits his eyes more, chewing on his bottom lip. He nods at the shove, eyes fixed on you. “Whatchu got in the oven?”
You hesitate, look down at the cheese mix. “…Urmmm… just… buns.”
“Buns.”
“Buns.”
“Buns… with lasagna, sweetheart?”
“Okay, stop analyzing the bread type. I have a bun in the oven, Frank, yes.”
“…Jus’ one? It a big bun ‘r sumthin’?”
Frank pushes off the frame. Ambles for the oven, brushing you as he does. His hand finds your hip, pulling you into his side to trail you along with him.
He stops at the oven, keeping you tucked against him. He bends at the hip to peer in through the glass. Squints a fraction while you’re about to go into cardiac arrest.
“Sweetheart. Those’re rolls,” Frank says, standing upright, pressing a kiss to the middle of your forehead as he mutters, “Ain’t buns.”
Oh my god. You’re dying inside. Your husband. One of the smartest, most capable men you know isn’t getting it. Your shoulders sag. Laughter bubbles up, both over it and genuinely humored. “Frank, please. Give me a break here.”
“What? Jus’ sayin’ they’re rolls, baby.” Frank grabs your chin as he coos at you, evidentially in a very unserious mood. “Teachin’ my girl ‘bout her breads, yeah, can’t have you callin’ rolls buns.”
Normally you’d love it, laugh, slap his chest. Right now you’re about to dump the cheese on him because you’re about to scream with life-altering news.
“Damn it, Frank.” You pivot in. Face to face with him, your expression stone serious and mouth tight. You push the bowl into his chest, yours on the opposite end of the rim of it. “Read between the lines!”
Frank blinks. At you, the bowl. Big, beautiful idiot.
“Frank. Castle. For the love of god. I have a motherfucking bun in my motherfucking oven.”
You watch his wheels turn.
You see the equation solving in his head, his eyes drifting as the answer solidifies.
Bun.
Oven.
You.
Four weeks ago.
“It stuck,” you whisper now, hands shaking, palms sweaty on the glass.
Now he gets it. His eyes jitter, face terrifyingly smooth aside from the line between his brows like the news hurts in the best way.
“You, uh… you sure? Sure it, uh… stuck?” His throat slinks, demeanor ground down to a devastating type of hope. Hope’s a horrifying experience when you’re Frank Castle. His hand hovers by his thigh, fingers reaching for your stomach, stopping short because what if it’s too good to be true? What if he ruins it by touching?
You help him reach. Your fingers curl around his wrist, closing the distance.
Hand splaying wide and possessive over your stomach, Frank blinks a rapid succession as he stares through the glass bowl at your belly. Still not showing, but it’s there. His breath stalls. Words have little meaning compared to the war in his chest.
“It stuck, Frankie,” you whisper, tears streaking down your face the instant you see wet tracks down his cheeks. “It stuck. We did it.”
Shredded and thankful, he huffs a breath. Clears his throat. Fingertips press gently into your skin over your shirt. Red-rimmed eyes flurry to yours, tears exposed and awe on blatant display for you.
“…Thank fuckin’ Christ,” he rasps. “It stuck.”
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You and Frank tie the knot and he's taken quite a liking to his new title.. and yours
Warnings: husband!frank x wife!reader, protective!frank, feisty!reader, PinV, smut, MDNI, 18+, pwp, lots of plot, semi-healed frank, encounter with a-hole side character, lots of cute fluff, oral (m receiving), lowk breeding kink, lowk cumplay, lots of use of the word wife lol and husband but that’s kind the whole premise of this
w.c: 4.5k
—
It was the perfect little ceremony, perfectly you and Frank. Small and intimate, in the backyard of your home. The closest people to you both gathered to watch you and Frank officially tie the knot.
In the few days after you notice how Frank loves using that word more and more. “Wife” it rolls off his tongue with so much pride.
He’d be on the phone to someone and you hear him say “gotta check with my wife” or “yeah I’ll drop my wife off then I’ll come” and how he would always emphasise the “my wife” each time. It made you chuckle a little when you’d look up at him with butterflies in your tummy. You’re not sure if it was the 'my' or the 'wife' or both words strung together that got you all giddy but everytime you look up at Frank you’d always see that big dumb grin on his face when he says it.
You also notice how Frank is just a little more… well, Frank. Outside of the house he was more protective, he hovered more, he was always there, more..yours and you were more his - if that was even possible. He made sure everyone around him knew it too. His hand always on your hip or around your waist, the glint of the wedding band on his finger ever present.
Inside the your home it was much the same, you and Frank still doing the same things you liked doing for each other. Like the way you made and packed his lunch every night and how he would always bring you your night time tea a little before you’d both head off to bed. But it all felt a little more intimate. Realistically you both knew a ring wouldn’t change how much you both loved each other. Ring or no ring you knew you were his forever and he was yours.
There was juuuuust one thing that had changed a little. A minor thing really - Frank was being so gentle in bed. You loved it, you did - it was slow and sensual and passionate.
But god you needed him to demolish you. He had you feeling like such a desperate little thing, you were almost ashamed.
Here he was - your loving husband making sweet sweet love to you, making you see stars every time. But you wanted the depraved version of him. The one that would sound like an animal when he'd pound into you. The way he would let his base instincts take over, how his pupils would blow wide when he’d fuck you so hard you could barely speak.
You weren’t sure why marriage had changed the way he was in bed. Maybe he was just feeling a little more ‘sentimental’? And this is how he could show it since you knew he wasn’t a big “words” guy when it came to this stuff.
You’d heard the horror stories of people who get bored of each other after they get married and have robotic mechanical sex till they eventually stop all together but stay together for the sake of staying together. But it had only been a couple of weeks, surely he wasn’t bored.. right? You tried your best not to spiral. No, you’d just try a different tactic - maybe it was a short term thing anyway.
What you didn’t know was that, Frank was trying really really reeeeally hard to not break you. He was still counting all of his lucky stars that by some good grace of the universe he was given another chance at this life. A life with you, as his wife - another chance to start over. When he was on top of you, pumping in and out of you he just needed to show you how much he loved you, how grateful he was that you had given this to him. And this is how he thought he could, by making love to you, slow and sweet. But when he would see the little piece of gold on your ring finger there was something that would start clawing deep in his gut. You were his, his wife he was your husband and fuck he just wanted to claim you over and over again.
But he wouldn’t fuck this up, is what he told himself. So he relented, slowing himself and his brain down. Little did he know that under the surface of your soft moans and cries was that side of you that needed him in that carnal, animalistic way.
🌀🌀🌀🌀
It's a Sunday afternoon and you both make your way through the grocery store, Frank steering the trolley and you linked on his arm. “Want that sub for lunch tomorrow?” You ask him with your eyes moving down your list checking items off. “Whatever’s easy honey” he hums, scanning the isle and the people walking through it as he usually does.
“Wanna make what you want baby” you reply pouting up at him. He looks down at you with a smile pausing before he continues “yeah subs good, thank you sweetheart” he says kissing away the pout on your lips. You smile as you walk forward to grab the baguettes you know he likes. When you turn to walk back to him he’s already there, right behind you. Like he can’t leave any room for someone else to get near you.
“Okay, all done I think” you chirp, checking off the last item on your list. When you look up you see Frank chuck a bag of chocolate covered pretzels in the full trolley. You look up at him confused “I ain’t driving back when you complain about not having a ‘sweet treat’ ” he chuckles, sandwiching the last two words between his air quotation marks. You roll your eyes but laugh anyway as you walk towards the registers.
It’s a Sunday afternoon so you’re not surprised that the line is long with everyone else doing the weekly prep grocery run, but it’s a little more full with the self serve registers not working. “Shit! I forgot the milk” you sigh in frustration “can you get it pleeeease we’re almost at the front frankie” you plead unnecessarily because he’s already moving. “Oh we need 2!” You call out to him “yes ma’am” he laughs as he weaves out of the line and disappears.
You’re smiling to yourself when you turn back. Triple checking again if you haven’t missed anything. When you look up you’re one person away from the register. You move to the front of the trolley to start piling items onto the conveyer belt when you see a man cut in front of you with a hand full of groceries.
He pushes your groceries that you had already placed down back and places his own down in front. “Uhh, excuse me? Did you not see the line?” You pipe up - annoyed. “Calm down lady I only got a few you got a whole trolley get over it” he drawl’s dismissively.
And honestly, sure if he had just asked politely, you would have absolutely let him go in front. But talking to you like that and telling you to ‘calm down’ ooooh no no no, you were not going to let that slide.
“Yeah, and if you had just asked like a normal person I would have let you, but since you wanna be an ass then go wait in line like everyone else” you retort, rolling your eyes at the fact that you had to teach common decency to a grown man in a grocery store line.
“What are you some fuckin bored housewife? Got nothing goin on so you gotta pick fights with people in the supermarket” he laughs arrogantly before he turns back around “what happened don’t get fucked enough?” he smirks looking over his shoulder.
Your nostrils flare as your mouth opens again to retaliate but in the blink of an eye all you see is the back of Franks hoodie. He slams the cartons of milk down on the conveyer belt. Staring down at the poor excuse of a man in front of him.
“Talk to my wife like that again and I’ll break your fuckin jaw - I suggest you listen to her and get your shit and go wait in the back” he grunts out like a bull ready to run at a red flag. You look down and see his hands twitching as they close and open. You pray for the guys sake that he doesn’t open his mouth and say something stupid. He looks up at Frank, his mouth opens as if he’s about to reply before he closes it. Atleast he’s got some sense you think to yourself.
He picks up his items and tries to move around Frank to go wait at the back of the line before Frank side steps and blocks him again. Frank tilts his head down, bringing him nose to nose with the man, chest puffed out, teeth clenched with his muscles around his jaw feathering out.
“And trust me, she gets fucked reaaaal good - the next time you so much as think about my wife like that you don’t get a warning, got it?” He growls out through bared teeth, in a decibel low enough for only the man to hear.
The guy doesn’t even say any thing he just gives Frank a hurried nod before scampering away.
After he disappears out of sight Frank turns to you, his eyes scanning your features. “y'alright?” He asks concern and curiosity in his tone, you nod as you stack the rest of the groceries on the conveyor. “what happened ?” Frank asks wanting to hear from the beginning. “He cut in, was a dick about it so I told him to fuck off” you shrug as if it was no biggie. A small smirk breaks out across franks lips
“that’s my girl” he laughs before grabbing the back of your head and kissing your forehead.
You stood there, a mess between your legs watching him to pay for everything as you try your best to not drop to your knees for him in front of everyone right there and fill your mouth with him. God you felt heated - he’d called you his wife before, sure, multiple times. But not like this, not laced with this much possession and protectiveness behind it. His wife, Frank Castle’s wife.
🌀🌀🌀🌀
On the ride home you give Frank a play by play of what happened. He’s listening intently with one of his hands on the steering wheel and the other intertwined with yours. “And THEN he LAUGHED, can you believe it?! Ugh asshole” you huff, finishing your recount. Frank is quiet as he spins the wedding band on your finger “fuckin jagoff, shoulda knocked his teeth out” he mutters, annoyed at himself.
“and then what? spend the night by myself while my husband sits in a jail cell” you say flatly, staring up at him with a pointed look in your face.
You catch the little smile on his face “your what?” he asks, squeezing your hand a little. You smile, pulling his hand up to your lips “what? My husband” you say in a playfully singsong-y way as you kiss the top of his hand.
He places his hand back down, palm wide on your thigh “yeah that’s right, your husband” he chuffs, squishing the meat of your leg as he pulls up into the driveway, not missing the way your legs squeeze together a little.
God he’s so cute, your heart swells when you look at him - the big bad punisher - gleaming from ear to ear at the title he gets to wear now - your husband and he’s never been more proud.
You hop out of the truck, and grab Franks keys. In the years of being together you’ve learned - there’s simply no use trying to help bring the bags in, he won’t let you. So you unlock the house and hold the door open for him instead as he lugs everything inside like a pack mule.
🌀🌀🌀🌀
After helping pack everything away Frank retreats to the couch. He sinks into the plush sofa as he clicks on the TV. Pushing himself further into the seat as his legs splay out wider while he gets comfy. You’re watching him from the kitchen as you start prepping veggies for the week to make life easier for yourself after work.
You keep getting distracted as your eyes keep floating up to him. He just looked like the perfect seat for you, the want still there between your legs. Growing more ravenous at the way he was just sitting here. One arm propped behind his head watching whatever game replay was on the TV. With his big meaty thighs spread wide, one foot resting on the coffee table.
As you continue to wash and prep for the week you keep thinking back to the store. The almost growl he had in his voice when he called you his wife. The way he was infront of you in a heartbeat, like an immovable wall not letting anything touch you. You try to ignore the sticky mess in your panties as you dry your hands off.
You grab a cold beer from the fridge, crack it open and pad towards him. He looks up at you then at the beer in your hand outstretched towards him “s’this for?” He asks with a curious smile on his face as he takes it from your hand.
“Just cos” you hum with an innocent little smile as you straddle him.
“I got the best wife huh” he says taking a quick swig of the beer as he places the it down on the side table to run his hands - cold and wet with the condensation of the bottle - up your legs, skimming just under your dress and resting on the curve of your ass.
“Hmmm yeah you do” a breathy laugh leaves you as your hands slide up his chest and around his neck. You lower your lips down to his, kissing him slow. Before pulling away ever so slightly “hey, thank you.. for today” you whisper looking into his eyes, your tone more sincere than before.
He looks between your pupils “for what baby?” He asks confused
“Just, y’know the store, being you, being my husband” you smile kissing the tip of his broad nose.
He smiles again that proud one “say it again” he asks, voice a little more soft. You laugh into him “my husband” you coo, emphasising the my. You feel his hips shift up at the word when you lean back down to kiss him.
He wraps one arm firm around your waist as the other slides up your back, his hand cradling your head. He deepens the kiss and you feel his tongue open your mouth up further. You comply, easily.
You feel that mess in your panties as your hips push down on him, feeling him harden under you. You feel his shaky exhale into your mouth when he feels the way your hips are grinding on him. He can’t help but rut his hips up into you. A small sigh leaves your mouth as your hands trail down his torso to rub firmly over his hardening length causing a sharp hiss to escape franks throat which you swallow in your mouth.
You wiggle your hip back a little to pull his half hard cock out. Keeping your eyes locked on his as you spit a string of saliva straight down that lands right on his tip and trickles down. You see Franks eyes grow wild when you wrap one hand around his cock, smearing your spit before you start pumping his cock up and down. The action pushing your tits together between your arms "s-so fucking pretty baby" he exhales lowly his eyes falling down to your tits then back up to your eyes.
"take your shirt off frank" you almost order, not without a flutter of your lashes of-course. He doesn't even respond with words, just quickly ripping his shirt over his head and throwing it behind the couch.
"so fucking pretty" you whisper teasingly in his ear mirroring his words. But he was, just so. fucking. pretty. His pretty big chest, littered in his pretty scars that your tongue and lips had spent hours upon hours running over as he told you the stories of most of them.
You give him one last kiss before you lift your hips up and sink down on the rug in front of him between his legs.
“Baby-wh-what are you doing” he exhales out sharply
“Shh, just want my husbands cock-keep watching the game” you smile as you hook your hands around band of his jeans and pull them down. His eyes still trained on you still, you see the little furrow in his brow and the twitch in his nose at the word.. husband as he lifts his hips to help you pull them off.
Your eyes fall down to his pretty cock, hard and beading with that delicious pre-cum. Your tongue darts out licking your lips, hungry for it. Leaning forward you like a stripe up the vein that runs from the bottom of his shaft up to the tip and lick up the pre-cum before wrapping your lips around him.
"g-gggod baaby" he drawls, his head falling back on the couch. You start bobbing your head up and down. Humming around his cock as you savour the taste of his cock. The vibrations causing his hips to twitch.
You look up at him, his cock in your mouth and see his heaving chest his fists balled tightly by his thighs like he doesn't know what to do with them. He looks down at you through hooded lids, mouth slightly agape as he watches you slobber over his cock.
Your cheeks hollow out as you suck his cock , pushing him further down your throat. Frank starts breathing deeper, you see the muscles in his abdomen tighten. You bring your hands up and place them over his balled fists and caress up and down soothing him before picking them up and placing them on the back of your head.
You pull your mouth off him, eyes locked on his, tilting your head to the side as you start placing little kisses from the bottom of his shaft up. Franks hands start to card through your hair, sweeping it out of your face before lightly keeping them at the back of your head as he holds you hair. "its ok frankie, use me" you whisper sweetly as you take his cock in your mouth again and push it down do the back of your throat causing you to gag a little. "oh-fuck honey" he grunts, hips twitching up as you feel his grip tighten - his resolve starting to form tiny cracks.
You bob up and down a few more times before you feel Frank gently push your head further down, you smile a little around his cock - your pussy crying tears of joy, so proud of your big man for using you. You guzzle his cock down as Frank pants above you, holding you in place as he fucks your mouth gently before you feel yourself being pulled off him. You look up at him, lips still glistening with your saliva and his pre cum.
Both of your chests heaving, breaths deep and heavy "need your pussy baby p-please" Frank pants out reaching forward he scoops you up lifting you as you wrap your legs around him. His lips are on yours in an instant, your tongues tasting each other, the kiss so desperate it’s like you both need each other more than air.
Frank walks you both back into the bedroom and drops you down before climbing on top of you. And like he cannot handle a split second of not being connected you his lips are on you, kissing and licking down your neck as his hands grab your dress to pull it off you.
He starts kissing lower before he feels your hands grab his face "baby please I need you" you pant "but bab-" he starts before you cut him off, as much as you love the feeling of his tongue licking through your pussy you need him, inside of you, desperately. "frank-please" you beg and he concedes. The first crack in the wall, and you see glimpses of your animal coming back.
He kisses back up to your lips, and you feel his hands pull your panties down, you bring your legs together for him to peel them off your legs before you spread them wide for him again to settle between them.
Your hands run up his big arms, hooking behind his neck to pull him closer down to you. "you sure baby?" he asks softly, looking deep into your eyes. "y-yyessss frankie-baby please" you whine as you grind your hips up and down his cock. Frank groans when he feels your soaked pussy slick up the shaft of his cock.
He kisses you deep as he lines up his tip right at your entrance and pushes in slowly. "christ-youre so fuckin warm and wet baby, all this for me?" He groans as he fills you to the hilt. You moan into his mouth "mhmm all for you frankie" you mewl at the stretch of his thick leaking cock.
He starts moving in and out of you in long slow strokes. You feel the drag of his heavy cock through your walls as he splits you open. "feel so fuckin good baby" you hear frank muttering to himself above you. Your eyes flutter open as you look up at him, at the way his eyes are screwed shut, with his teeth gritted like he was still holding himself back. Your hands run up his tense veiny forearms, one caged on the side of your head and the other fisted in the sheet beside you.
Your mind thinks back the bob in his throat and the shift of his hips when you called him your husband, and a bright idea comes to mind to help him let go.
You reach your hands up and cradle his big face and he opens his eyes "c'mon baby, be a good husband and fuck your wife" you coo, trying your best to hide your cheeky little smile between your kiss on his lips.
and Frank absolutely looses it - the wall of restraint bursting open as he literally whimpers dropping himself down to you pressing your bodies close, wrapping his brawny arms around you tight before he starts hammering his cock into you - rough and deep.
"goddamn it-fuck-" he breathes heavy before kissing you hastily. All tongue and teeth "my little wife wants to get fucked huh that it?" he rasps between kisses.
He's fucking into you so hard that you cant even form a full sentence "uh-fu-ck-yess-puh-lease" is all you can pant out with each brutal thrust forcing your body to jut up with your breathy whimpers between each syllable as tears prick through your waterline.
He thinks back to that mans comment and a small part of his brain wishes he was here to see just how good he fucks you."what kind of husband would I be huh, not giving my wife what she asks for" he grunts, like he was trying to fuck the title all the way deep inside of you. You look up and see that hunger set ablaze in his pretty brown eyes. There he is, your Frankie that you missed so much.
You feel that coil tightening fast deep in your belly at his eyes, pussy drunk on you. The way he's growling as he shoves his cock deep in and out of you pushing the air out of your lungs with each harsh thrust. "ffffuuuck m'gonna c-come baby-god-f-fill me up frankie-please-wanna b-be so full of my husbands cum" you cry out into his mouth.
'yyyyeeahh? god baby-gonna fill ma fuckin wife up-fuck-gonna be so fuckin full of me huh, my good little wife, my beautiful fuckin wife" he hoarsely whispers into your mouth like he’s chanting a prayer to whichever god gave him you.
"mmmfuckk baby, please please please i'll be such a good little wife for you-please-cum inside of me frankie" you whine out before your cunt starts clamping around his cock. Your words and your slutty little pleads send him over the edge "yeahyeahyeah fuck im cummin honey-christ-so fucking deep baby" frank grunts out like an animal as he slams his cock into you - your walls pulsing as you milk his creamy sticky warm cum out "you feel it baby? Yeah? So fuckin full honey thatsss it gonna take it all yeah? my pretty wifes gonna take it all” frank all but whines out. His arms wrapped tightly around you keeping you there like his little fleshlight as he fills you full of his seed.
Frank swallows your moans and mewls as your body writhes in his hold as you come down from your high. You feel Franks full weight drop on top you, crushing you a little but you welcome it as you tighten your legs and arms around him. He litters kisses down your jaw and neck while continuing his lazy rut of his hips.
You feel the the sticky mess between where the both of you are connected and smile. You feel franks heart hammering away in his chest as you run your hands up and down his upper back. You run your hands through his hair as you feel his lips dot kisses up your neck.
“Missed you baby” you coo gently
Frank lifts his head up to look at you “been right here honey” he says a little confused. “Missed you, like this” you clarify with a cheeky little smile. “Yeah? Missed fucking you like this” he says somewhat shyly as he presses a kiss on the side of your head.
“Why’d you stop?” You ask hesitantly after a moment of silence. He looks down at you for a beat before answering “I don’t know baby, just wanted to show you how much I love you” he says so sincerely it makes your heart bloom and he smiles at the way he feels you pulse around his length, still sheathed inside of you.
“Baby you show me every day how much you love me, you don’t have to hold back… I thought you were getting bored of me already..” you say that last line a little lower.
Frank looks at you like you’ve grown three heads “bored of you? Sweetheart, there is no version of me in any universe that would ever get bored of you” he coos placing another gentle kiss on your lips. “Where am I gonna find someone else who likes fighting with guys in grocery stores huh” he jokes a little and “shuttt uuuup” you smile.
He gives you another kiss before he sits up and pulls himself out of you. His eyes fall down to your cunt, hypnotised by the way his cum oozes out of your hole. He runs his hands up your thigh, and you see the way his softened cock starts twitching back to life at the sight of you.
“What is it?” You ask him nudging him with your foot. “Hm nothin, you just look so pretty when you’re full of me” he says breaking out of his trance.
"gonna get a towel honey" he sighs as he attempts to get up. You pull him back down to the bed and climb on top of him "I don't think we're done yet frankie" you whisper licking up his neck.
"you're gonna fuckin' kill baby" he says in a low chuckle and a slap on your ass before flipping you on your back. You hit the bed with a shreik as you laugh "let me clean you up a different way then huh, heard you got a his & hers special between your legs" he says, voice laced with mirth as he snakes his hand down and runs two of his thick fingers through the mix of the both of you and pushes his fingers inside of you making you moan. “Gotta taste it myself baby, see what all the fuss is about” he whispers as he makes his way down your body.
Yeah you both had a bit of catching up to do.
—
a/n: I hope you guys liked this!! 🫣 lmk if yall wanna see more of husband Frank! Also this is like a semi healed version of Frank that lives rent free inside my head xx
(Sorry for any grammatical errors, I did proof read but I also have really bad period cramps rn and my brain was struggling)
“Part 4—The Girl and the Ghost” (Shane Walsh x fem!Reader)
“No Surrender, Baby—A Short Series”
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
SUMMARY — Coming soon to a farmhouse near you: Rick’s sister spent twenty years pining after her brother’s best friend. Shane Walsh spent twenty years pretending he wasn’t pining right back. Then the world ended.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — I really tried to make their conversation flow, alas Shane is an emotional bastard and I hope I didn't make him OOC by accident... Apologies for the delay between chapters, I made some very important changes. While I always try to stick close to canon and make portrayal of Jon's characters as authentic as possible, I realized in this fanfic I cannot in good conscience include Shane x Lori romance. Not that I want to erase his flaws or anything, it's just that... I created this meaningful bond between Shane and Reader and I don't think in this universe he'd go for Lori. Not while Reader occupied such a huge chunk of his heart. So yes, apologize for the retcon. I had to heavily re-write chapter 4 and 5.
WORD COUNT — 6,537
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You checked on Carl later that morning and you had to admit, it felt good, knowing you had something to do with his recovery. Rick was still there, dozing off in the armchair by the window. You and Lori shared very stiff and very polite reunion pleasantries. She couldn’t ignore you any longer, not directly and right in front of Rick, but that didn’t mean you were best friends all of a sudden. No apocalypse could make you like that woman.
In the end, it was all so awkward that you ran away from that room as soon as you possibly could. You came back outside. In the yard, the survivors’ camp was bustling with noises so for a moment you let yourself enjoy the good, old-fashioned people watching. Some of the survivors were hauling water, evidently pleased with having the pump at their disposal. Beth and Maggie sat out on the porch, husking corn. An old man was setting up a watch station on top of an RV van. A few others were using the clothesline for the laundry, chatting enthusiastically like all of this was a pleasant interruption in their usual routine. Perhaps it was, you had no idea what life was like outside of this farm.
You decided to get busy and went to feed the chickens. As you walked towards the coop, you saw Shane standing nearby, in the dried meadow. He was leaning against the tree, that leg still clearly bothering him and yet he kept refusing to sit the hell down and elevate it. You watched as he took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, shook one loose.
“You trynna start a fire?” you asked, approaching him.
Shane didn’t look up right away.
“Tryin’ to mind my own business,” he grumbled, working the matches. “Nah. Should be so lucky…”
You sighed. “Whole field goes up, at least we’d know who did it this time.”
He frowned. “This time?”
“Yeah, happened once before, but they never found out who did it or why. Hershel told me some stories ‘bout the area, though. Apparently one farm over there behind that forest, it has always been haunted. So I guess it might’ve been the ghost.”
“Haunted. Yeah, right.” Shane snorted, the cigarette dangling from his lip. “That what Hershel’s got you believin’ out here? Ghost stories?”
“Beats bein’ bored.”
“Jesus Christ.” He shifted his weight off his bad leg, grimacing. “Ghost stores an’ chicken farmin’. You always were lucky.”
“Yeah.” You pointed to your bag of feed and then gestured to the coop where the birds were already clucking. “Speakin’ of which, they gotta eat.”
You thought he’d let you leave, but he followed. In any case, you wanted him to follow. Now that you finally had someone to banter with, life was looking less bleak. Nobody really understood your humor like Shane did.
Also, you doubted he’d listen even if you told him to sit down and let that leg rest.
“Lemme guess,” he said. “It was some Civil War soldier wanderin’ the fields at night, lookin’ for his lost regiment?”
“Who, the ghost?” You opened the gate and sprinkled the feed alongside the vegetable peels. The noisy birds gathered around you.
“No, the chicken,” Shane deadpanned. “Yeah, the ghost. Keep up.”
You smirked. “Thought you don’t believe in them?”
A hen squawked indignantly as another stole a scrap from under her beak. Shane shook his head.
“Alright,” he decided, his eyes focused now. “So it ain’t no Confederate soldier. What then?” He took a final drag and stubbed the cigarette out. “Some scorned farmer who hung himself? A witch in the woods? C’mon, don’t leave me hangin’.”
“It’s a girl.”
“A girl?”
“Yeah, one day this guy strolls into town, asks her too many questions while she’s trynna feed the chickens and she strangled him with her own braid. But then she regretted is, ‘cause he was kinda funny.”
Shane just stared at you for a moment, then let out a surprised bark of laughter that scattered three hens into an indignant flutter.
“Yeah, alright,” he said, shaking his head. “You got me. Real cute.”
“See? But don’t worry,” you said, tossing more feed around. “I only strangle people I like.”
“Comfortin’.”
“Mmm.”
You flicked a piece of dry grass at him and it stuck to his shirt. You knew he wouldn’t leave now. No, he just smirked that smirk that used to make you want to follow him into trouble.
“You ever gonna tell me what’s wrong with you?” you asked. “Or we just gonna keep dancin’ ‘round it till one of us drops dead?”
“Ain’t dancin’ anytime soon,” he replied. “Naw, just… Don’t see the point in pourin’ my guts out in the middle of a damn field.”
“Seems like a good place to me.”
“Yeah, well… Think that one’s got designs on you,” he said, nodding toward a particularly aggressive rooster strutting in your direction. “Better watch yourself.”
“Ain’t my first chicken war.” You shooed the rooster with the back of your boot. “You should be restin’ that leg anyway.”
“You should be mindin’ your own business.”
“Tried that. It’s boring.”
“Figures.” Shane sighed. “Ain’t nothin’. Just sprained, not broken, remember?”
He looked towards the house, but then right back at you. It was all so quick that you would’ve missed it if you didn’t know him. But you did know him. You knew that look on his face and it meant his head was somewhere ugly. Something in your chest clenched tight at the thought.
“Come on,” you said, wiping your hands on your jeans. “Help me finish before that rooster declares independence.”
“I don’t help with chickens. I’m a cop, not a farmer.”
“You were a cop. Now you’re just an asshole with a gun.”
Not many people could talk to him like that and get away with it, but Shane laughed again. That did something stupid to you, especially since a couple people from his group turned your way to get a better look. Apparently none of them believed he could even produce that sound. You tried not to let it get to your head.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s me alright.”
Shane’s smirk faded as his gaze dropped to the bandage on your forearm. Before you could pull away, his hand shot out and grabbed your hand.
“The hell is this?” he muttered. “You told me it was fine.”
“It is fine.”
“Looks like shit, there’s dirt all over it.” He let go just as fast. “Gonna get infected out here, playin’ fuckin’ farmer.”
The easy moment between you was gone. Shane was back to being a leader of the pack.
“You ain’t stayin’ here,” he decided, quieter now. “When Carl’s good to move, you’re comin’ with us.”
You just stared at him. “Unbelievable.”
“What?”
“You. You’re unbelievable. Where the hell do you wanna go? This farm is the safest place I’ve been since this whole mess started.”
“Safe?” He scoffed. “Old man with a dozen kids and a prayer book, that’s… That’s real cute. Ain’t gonna matter a lick when a bunch of walkers come runnin’ at you.”
“Shane…”
“Look, I’m just sayin’.” He fished out another cigarette, needing something to do with his hands. “I found you once. Ain’t losin’ you again. And I’m sure as hell not stayin’ here any longer than I have to. This place ain’t equipped to handle a horde any more than our last camp was. Only, this bunch… Lemme tell ya sumtin’, none of them wanna listen to reason.”
You looked at him and this time you didn’t say anything. Just frowned, in that way you did when you were deciding something. Then you took him by the hand and marched further into the drying meadow behind the house, deliberately stomping hard to scare away any potential snakes.
When you were far enough, far enough from the group, from the house, from the other survivors you let go of him and jabbed your finger at his chest.
“You’re gonna tell me what the hell is wrong with you and you’re gonna tell me now, ‘cause I swear to God, Shane… I can’t take no more of this.”
“Jesus!” He yanked his hand away, but not very hard. “The hell’s wrong with you?”
“Plenty. But we ain’t got the time to discuss all that, so you start talkin’, ‘cause the way I see it, you haven’t been makin’ a lotta sense since the moment I saw you. Something’s botherin’ you, I can tell. One moment, we’re talkin’ like we used to, another… You change the subject, try to talk ‘bout weird stuff like, like ‘perimeter checks’ and some bullshit I don’t even wanna know ‘bout.”
“Jesus wept… Sorry that survival’s boring you, princess, I’m sorry for tryin’ to keep these people alive!”
“This ain’t about them! I don’t give a shit about these people, I haven’t even met half of them!”
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“I care about you! But you’re bein’ weird! One moment you’re all ‘hey, you’re my girl, you know that, I’m takin’ you away from here’, another you’re all brooding and moody and you shut me out. And then there’s you and Rick—”
“Hey! Don’t bring your brother into this.”
“Well, I’m gonna! What the hell happened to get you two so… I dunno, you’re just weird around each other too. The only time you talked was when I was around, then nothin’.”
“So what, you’re the detective now, huh?” Shane nodded, an unamused grimace back on his face. “Lemme ask you somethin’, you been sittin’ on that speech long? ‘Cause it’s decent, it’s emotional, I’ll give you that—”
“Stop deflectin’!” You jabbed him with your finger again. “Start talkin’.”
“You really ain’t gonna quit?”
“Nope.”
“Even if I ask nice?”
You scoffed. “Especially then.”
“That so?” Shane looked right at you. Then at your mouth. For a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you, but then he just took the empty feed bucket from you and pointed towards the house.
“Come on,” he said. “Kid’s probably awake by now. You wanted to see him, didn’t you?”
“I saw him this mornin’, he’s fine.” You took a step back instead, annoyed at him for changing the subject. Again.
“Yeah, but he might need—”
“Jesus, just stop! I already saw him this morning, he was with Her Majesty who finally acknowledged my fuckin’ existence! They’re fine. But you’re not. So I’m not leavin’ until you tell me.”
A couple of the nearby survivors looked over again. Shane caught Dale’s eye from the top of the RV. The old man was sitting in his chair and had the binoculars pointed your way.
“Son of a bitch,” Shane muttered, then grabbed your elbow and pulled you around the side of the hay shed, out of sight from the main yard. “Just… Stop. Stop talkin’ to me like I’m some dumb kid makin’ noise.”
“But—”
“Nah, just stop, just listen for once, okay? Listen to me. I’ve been out there, alright? I seen what happens when places like this get overrun. Ain’t no wall high enough, ain’t no god merciful enough, not when there’s a thousand of ‘em pushin’ through the woods at once. You get that? That’s why I said we gotta go. And it ain’t a matter of opinion, it’s a matter of when. So when the day comes, you’re comin’ with me. End of.”
He let go of your arm and turned away, dragging a hand down his face.
“You think I’m sayin’ this just to feel important or sumtin’?” he asked. “You think I get off on makin’ you mad?”
“Sometimes,” you said, still unwilling to take it seriously. It pissed him off.
“I lost you once,” he said, refusing to stay quiet any longer. “I thought you were dead. Thought Rick was dead in that hospital. I lost everyone I ever gave a damn about and—”
“But that ain’t what happened,” you interrupted. “You stopped talkin’ to me long before the walkers.”
He finally looked at you, and there it was—that guilty, heavy look you saw yesterday from the top of the stairs.
“I’m not leavin’ you here,” he repeated. “Not after we got you back again. Don’t care if we haven’t braided each other’s hair for a decade, I ain’t leavin’ you behind.”
“Yeah, who’s makin’ speeches now? Shane, it ain’t been years since I last saw you,” you reminded him. “It’s barely been three months.”
“Yeah,” Shane replied, still angry. “I remember. And?”
“Yeah! And you barely even talked to me then, at the fucking hospital! My brother, in a fuckin’ coma, and you, you just… Pretended we were strangers! Now I’m suddenly important again, now you suddenly don’t wanna lose me.” You flailed your hands around. “It’s fine, you know. You don’t gotta… Maybe I remember you more than you do me. That’s okay. But we used to be the Three fuckin’ Musketeers and when I left that damn town the first time, when I left for Atlanta, you didn’t... You didn’t even call me. For years. But now I’m suddenly a priority? Man, you’re givin’ me whiplash.”
Shane went still and yet the world around you still went on. But nobody spoke. There was nothing but the dry rasp of cicadas and the wind rustling in the dried grass.
“You done?” Shane asked.
You didn’t answer, just crossed your arms over your chest and jutted your chin up. Never were one to give him easy exits.
Shane huffed out a breath and stepped closer, using his size the way he always did when he felt cornered. You didn’t step back.
“I don’t answer to you,” he said.
“Then fuck off,” you answered, your voice more bitter than wormwood.
And he did. He turned around, made three limping strides into the high grass, leaning hard on his good leg. Then he stopped. He looked up to the sky, muttering something, like he was asking some higher power to grant him patience.
“Fuck this,” he said. “You always did this. Couldn’t just fuckin’ leave it.”
He turned around, his face contorted, two incompatible wants tearing at him. He tossed that empty bucket aside, but it did very little to make him feel better. In all honesty he wanted to put his head through a wall.
“You want me to say it?” he asked, hoping the answer would be a no. “That what you want? You want me to stand here in the goddamn chicken coop and bleed out my feelings for you?”
“No time like the present,” you replied.
“Fine,” he spat. “Yeah, I never called you. I watched you pack your shit for Atlanta back in goddamn ‘99 and I didn’t say a damn word to stop you. You happy now?”
“No.” You shook your head. “You could’ve said goodbye at least. Or told me not to go. Or—”
But Shane wouldn’t listen anymore. He just started walking back towards that dried up meadow again.
“Shane!” you called after him. “What the hell?!”
He turned around and saw you following, but he just kept on walking. He heard you coming after him, quick footsteps in the dry grass, and he finally stopped when you grabbed his arm. He turned back around, and the look on his face was full of regret.
“It’s ‘cause there were lines,” he said finally, evidently now resigned to tell how he felt for once. “There were always lines. And you were gettin’ real good at makin’ me wanna cross every last one of ‘em.”
“What fuckin’ lines, what are you talkin’ about?”
Shane knew that he just said too much. You could see it in his face. But you pulled at too many threads now. The things unspoken, old and new, were eating you both from the inside. So no, you wouldn’t let this go. More importantly, he had nowhere to run, not really.
“You think I didn’t notice you followin’ me around, even back when we were no longer kids?” He shrugged. “You think… Christ’s sake, I stayed away ‘cause I had to! You deserved to have somethin’ bigger than King County. And then, then Rick got shot, then the walkers happened and Atlanta happened and I buried you,” he said. “After I buried your brother, I had to bury you too. Believe me, it was the hardest thing I ever had to do.”
“Wait, back up,” you said then and held your hand up. “What do you mean you buried him? I thought you got him out.”
“Ah, fuck,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head again, like he wanted to tear his own skin off. “Okay, I gotta sit.”
You obliged him and you sat down together, the tall dried grass swallowing you both. At first he just played with a few blades of grass. He picked them up and tore them apart. Needed to do something with his hands again, you knew that state. Even he wasn’t reckless enough to light a cigarette here.
As for you, you weren’t going anywhere. You waited him out, looking at him the same way when you were twelve and caught him stealing your daddy’s beer. Nobody else held that power over Shane with just a look. But the worst part was, he knew you’d expect the truth, no matter how ugly it was.
So Shane started to talk. The tale was very dry at first, just facts, like he was giving you a police report of what had happened in King County:
“Yeah, I tried to get him out. Before I went for Carl and Lori, I went back to the hospital,” he said, staring at his hands. “Tried callin’ you too but you weren’t pickin’ up. And when I got there, it was chaos. Doctors runnin’ round, nurses screamin’, people gettin’ chewed up right then and there… And then I see the army and they start to gun them down. Not only the walkers, the civilians too. The fuckin’... The nurses, the patients, and… Yeah. I had to hide, then I got to the room. Rick was… Just layin’ there. There were all these wires, machines, all that. An’ he looked like hell. Worse’n hell.”
Shane’s hands kept tearing at the grass, the pieces falling into his lap. He didn’t look at you, almost like he couldn’t.
“They were quarantinin’ the town, lockin’ it down, and anybody inside that hospital was already dead as far as they were concerned. So… When I got to his room, the machines switched off. I tried to wake him. Shook him, yelled at him, the whole nine yards. Nothin’. No pulse. Nothin’.” He stopped. His hands were still. “Held his goddamn hand. Told him I was sorry. I swear to you, I couldn’t hear anythin’, no heartbeat. The power went out, I thought he flatlined.”
He wouldn’t look at you still. He looked up towards the forest line instead and he stared down those trees like he could see all the way back to King County from here. You knew what he was thinking—Should’ve kept my mouth shut. You could see it in his face.
“So I sealed the door,” he continued. “Left him there. Didn’t have a choice. Couldn’t bring a body through that shootout. Couldn’t… And you, you were in Atlanta. But you were supposed to be next. I was supposed to find you after, I was gonna get you.”
“So you left him?!” You hit his arm—hard—and he let you. Wouldn’t even stop you. “You left him!”
“Yeah, I left him!” He reached for you when you hit him again and grabbed your arm since apparently even he had a limit when it came to self-loathing. “I’m a piece of shit, okay? Wouldn’t search Atlanta neither. Came only as close as the highway before I spotted the first horde and went right back around.”
You went silent for a long while and Shane stewed in it, feeling horrible. You sat there, seething with anger, then yanked your hand away from his reach.
“I can’t believe you.”
“Babygirl, listen…”
You hit him, again, barely grazing his chin. “I fuckin’ hate you!”
You got up and marched right out of there, stomping through the dried grass that was at thigh-length so far out in the field. But Shane followed. He caught up to you in three limping strides and grabbed your arm, spinning you back toward him.
“No,” he spat out, seriously pissed off now. “No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to drag it outta me and then run off with your hands over your ears like a fuckin’ kid!”
You tried to yank free, but he held on.
“You wanted the truth!” he hissed. “You stood there and you told me to tell you. So I told you! You don’t get to act surprised now.”
“Let go of me,” you said
“Not till you look at me.”
“Fuck you, Shane.”
“Yeah,” he shot back, smiling coldly. “Probably. Go ahead. Hit me again. I deserve it. But don’t you dare walk away from me.”
You knew most of the camp wasn’t really that far away and this fight, this thing between you and Shane, it was way too entertaining to pass on. They were all probably listening and you tried your best not to yell.
“Let. Go.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I know what I am. So now you know too. And you hate me for it, and let me tell you somethin’, okay, you should hate me. Rick should hate me too, I think deep down he already suspects.”
You highly doubted Rick knew anything, but then again… You also knew Shane’s self-loathing went deep. Ever since his mother left them, Shane’s alcoholic father never failed to mention it was because she “never wanted any kids”.
“You think I don’t replay that goddamn hospital room every time I close my eyes?” he asked. “‘Cause I do.”
“Yeah,” you scoffed. “But then you went to get Her Majesty, of course!”
Shane frowned, deeply confused now. “Yeah. I did. Got her out, Carl too.”
“Yeah.” You nodded, your face bitter. “But not me.”
“The hell’s Lori got to do with it?”
“Everything!”
Shane stared at you like you just slapped him again. “She was right there. Hiding in her car, with Carl. And so what, I was supposed to, what, leave them? Let the army gun ‘em down so I could drive into the middle of Atlanta and find you?”
You considered it, really considered, and ultimately decided Shane didn’t deserve all that shit you were giving him for it. It wasn’t fair. Your issue with Lori wasn’t even about him. It was all about Rick and how she twisted him around her finger, made him bend over backwards for her while never being satisfied anyway.
It was all about the divorce papers you discovered at their house, done and drafted while your brother lay dying in a coma.
You didn’t answer. Finally, after a long moment, you spoke:
“I’m sorry. If you went in there, into the city, you’d either be bit and roaming or burned to a crisp.”
He clenched his jaw so hard it must have hurt.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Know that now, don’t I? But back then I had no plan and no way to reach you. Called you near every damn day until your phone went to static, then nothin’. So I buried you. Both of you. In here.” He tapped two fingers against his temple. “Built a box and put you in it and walked away. That’s what you gotta do. That’s how you keep movin’.”
Shane finally looked at you and a million thoughts raced through his head.
“I can’t go through buryin’ you again. I won’t.”
You were both silent now and you were all out of punches.
In all honesty, you’d rather walk into a herd of walkers than let Shane Walsh see you cry, but somehow the tears came regardless.
“I don’t know what the hell you want me to say to that, Shane, ‘cause…”
“Nah,” he grunted, impatient. “I don’t want you to say a goddamn thing, but I know you hate me now. So just fuckin’ say what you mean or I swear I’ll lose it.”
Fair. He just spilled his guts and you were being a coward about it. Even if you never liked this mushy shit.
“Jesus, I don’t hate you. I had you in a box too, okay?” You sniffed. “You and Rick. Mom and Dad. Everyone. Whole goddamn graveyard up here.”
You wiped your eyes quickly, but not quickly enough.
“Hey, don’t…” He hated tears. Especially from you. It made him feel useless, made his skin itch, made him want to punch something just to feel useful again.
“Yeah, c’mon,” he grunted roughly then lifted one hand and hesitated, like you were going to vanish if he touched you. He swiped his finger hard across your cheek. It was all too firm, a little desperate, like he was trying to wipe away the proof from your face that this conversation ever happened.
For a long while, you both just stood there. But after a few moments of quiet passed, Shane leaned forward and you noticed he no longer had that hollow look about him.
“I shoulda found you,” he said, quieter.
“No, Shane, listen—”
“Nah, babygirl, I shoulda went down there and looked for you.”
That was the pet name he reserved only for you. It made your chest do something stupid.
“I let myself believe you were gone ‘cause it was easier.”
“Oh yeah?” You scoffed. “And what were you supposed to do then, leave the quarry, run back to Atlanta, then what? You didn’t even know where I lived.”
“I did.”
You stared at him, confused. “What?”
“It’s ‘cause…” He sighed. “After you left, I lasted maybe a week. Went ‘round your house, begged your address outta your mamma. Jesus, the shit she gave me for it…” He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I never wrote you, but I had it.”
The tips of his ears were red. You could tell he hated every minute of that talk. He felt stripped naked, and he hated that you managed to do this to him just by asking.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered.
“Like what?”
“I just told you I had a goddamn address, not a fuckin’ poem.”
You laughed quietly and shoved him, just lightly, like you always did when he got you flustered. “Okay, fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright.” He poked your arm, now a little more playful than dead serious from before. “But you see how none of it ain’t right? That… Ain’t what I promised you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yeah.” He laughed, quietly, like he was afraid the others shouldn’t be seeing him like that. “You don’t remember? Hell, I’ll never forget. Rick and me, we promised your mama we’d walk you home from school, ‘cause you were gettin’ bullied. But we weren’t payin’ attention, talkin’ ‘bout some girl or a game or some dumb shit. We’re nearly there in the parking lot, next thing I know, you’re on the ground. Some bigger boys poked some fun at you, tore your backpack, I think. Ripped your shirt. You tried to fight them alone and I wasn’t quick enough to stop them.”
“Yeah, okay.” You cleared your throat, trying to choke down whatever sentiment that threatened to creep up on you. “I remember. We can stop talkin’ about it now.”
“You were what, yea high, twelve years old, hands on your hips, blood runnin’ down your nose, and you were lookin’ at me like you were the sheriff and I was the one in trouble.”
“Jesus, stop,” you muttered, embarrassed. But at least now you were both smiling.
Shane was quiet for a moment, watching your face so intently like you were the only thing in the world worth his attention.
“You wanna know the part you don’t remember?” he asked.
You made a face. “There’s a part I don’t remember?”
“Yeah.” Shane rubbed the back of his neck, glancing toward the farmhouse again. “Rick walked you the rest of the way home. Told your mama you fell off your bike.” He paused. “I went back.”
“Back where?”
“Back to those boys.”
“Let me guess… To beat the shit outta them?”
He didn’t answer, which was as good as an admission. Sometimes Shane would get this look in his eyes, like the one he had now. Something deeper, darker inside him took over and that angry blackness didn’t bother him at all. But still, you were pretty sure you were the only one able to glimpse it so openly. It was like he wanted you to see it and ask if you’d stay or go.
“Found ‘em behind the gas station. Two of ‘em. Big bastards, thought they were real tough. One of them, I broke his arm,” he said, almost casually. “The other one, I don’t remember exactly. Maybe a rib.”
“Shane…”
“Don’t ‘Shane’ me. They hurt you. They didn’t get to do that to you and walk away from it.”
The wind stirred the dry grass around you, whispering, carrying a fresher scent. You moved closer to rest your head against his shoulder and you saw Shane wanted to retreat immediately—probably fuck off right back to the camp, back to pretending he was just an asshole with a gun.
But he didn’t. His hand lifted, hovered, then settled against your back with too much force.
“Is that why you had a broken nose the next day?” you asked.
“Nah,” he smiled, just barely. “That was… My old man, he beat the shit outta me for fightin’.”
Your head snapped up and your face must have been horrified, because he gripped you tighter.
“Wasn’t bad, c’mon. He hit like a drunk, missed everythin’ important.”
He stared at you for a second, then let out a startled laugh. “Jesus Christ, girl… Only you.”
Finally, after that prolonged moment of holding each other, but not quite, Shane cleared his throat and took a small step back.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with you being here,” he said.
“Why’d you think you gotta do anythin’ at all?”
He huffed out a breath. “‘Cause it’s what I do. I gotta do somethin’. And everything I’ve done since King County… I told myself it was for the group. For Carl. For your brother. But now I ain’t so sure.”
“So maybe it was?” you muttered, getting way too unwilling to discuss the difficult things anymore.
“Some,” Shane agreed, reluctantly. “But some of it was ‘cause I wanted to be the cop again. Be in charge. Some of the reckless shit, I reckon it’s ‘cause I thought you were dead and I didn’t give a damn what happened next.”
You pulled away then and poked him right in the chest, harder than you meant to. “Don’t you fuckin’ do that.”
Shane looked genuinely puzzled. “What?”
“I can hear it in your goddamn tone. You wanna give up and go all Terminator or some shit.”
“Hey…”
“No,” you interrupted quickly. “You start talkin’ like that again and I’m gonna break your other leg.”
“Yeah, I’d wanna see you do that,” he snorted. “Christ, you talk big for somebody half my size.”
“You know I mean it.”
“Sure.”
“Stop pissin’ me off!”
“Nah.” He reached out and pulled you back towards him. “Ain’t gonna happen.”
And then, just like that, he kissed you. His hand was still at the back of your neck and he pulled you closer. At first, you were too shocked to really do anything.
For a moment or two, Shane tensed up, like he knew he fucked up and doubted this would end well for anybody involved.
But you finally found your courage and kissed him back. You grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him towards you, and Shane stopped thinking altogether. He kissed you harder, to make up for the twenty-odd years of wanting you and keeping his hands to himself.
As for you, you finally had what you wanted too and didn’t care about anything else. Just this, you and Shane, hiding out in that damn meadow like two teenagers, trying to shut out the world and everyone else around you.
Shane ran his fingers through your hair and refused to let go. He wanted to touch more. Wanted to leave marks on your skin where your brother and everyone else could see them. Maybe he really was losing it. Or maybe some part of him still believed you would disappear if he ever lost sight of you again.
He broke away first, still catching his breath, and you let out a small whine of protest. Shane huffed out a quiet laugh at that sound and pressed his forehead against yours.
“If you tell me somethin’ stupid like ‘we should stop this’ or mention my brother, I swear to God, Shane, I’ll sic that rooster on you, I will.”
He looked at you, incredulous. “Jesus, woman, can you stop with the threats for one goddamn second?”
“Nuh-huh,” you muttered into the collar of his flannel, refusing to let go of him. “No can do.”
“Alright then.”
Then his mouth was on yours again. Slower this time. You made a sound and his tongue slid against yours, deliberate and insistent. After a while of just this, just you kissing, Shane broke the kiss with a curse, breathing hard. Then he leaned in again and dragged his mouth down the line of your neck.
“Don’t you dare leave now,” you sighed.
“We can’t.”
“Don’t care.”
“Goddamn it, woman, I can see the goddamn RV from here. Dale’s got binoculars and nothin’ better to do with his time.”
That made you laugh, even though you still weren’t introduced to any of these people and had no idea which one exactly was Dale and which was Daryl. Not that you cared.
“Fine.” You yanked on his hair and made Shane bend down to look you in the eye. “But what the hell do we do now?”
He saw that hungry glint in your eyes and it hit him that he had seen it before. Back when everything between you was even weirder and he had to hold himself back even harder. But now there was no more fight left in him. In fact, what was left of his common sense was trying to make a run for it.
“What we do now,” he said, “is we get the hell outta this field, ‘cause I already know these people got nothin’ better to do than gossip. And then you an’ me are gonna survive this shit.”
“Oh yeah?” You took his hand when he offered. “You got a plan brewin’ between those big ears or somethin’?”
Shane snorted and squeezed your hand, maybe a bit too hard. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with my ears, smartass. Always heard you comin’ after me from the other end of the hallway, didn’t I?”
Shane started to walk back towards the house, limping a bit. He made it maybe five steps before he had to stop and adjust his weight.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, before you could say anything.
“Didn’t say nothin’.”
“You were gonna.”
“Maybe I was gonna offer to carry your stubborn ass back.”
Shane let out a laugh. “Sure. You weigh what, a buck twenty soakin’ wet?”
“Keep talkin’. I know where you sleep now.”
He looked down at you. His eyes dropped to your mouth again. Then he grunted and kept walking, trying to put a respectable distance between you before somebody with working eyes and a big mouth happened to look your way sgain. Except that he refused to let go of your hand.
“You don’t know where I sleep,” he said. “I don’t even know where I’m sleepin’ yet. Hershel’s still figurin’ out how to throw us out.”
“Us?”
“Yeah. My group. Rick’s group. Whatever the hell we’re callin’ it now.”
You laughed, exasperated. Shane glared at you.
“Whole point is,” he continued, “you can’t sneak up on me if I don’t got a fixed location. So there.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you said, still laughing.
“And you’re a pain in my ass. We established this.”
“I wasn’t gonna launch some guerilla warfare on you!”
“See, now you mentioned it, I ain’t so sure.”
You were almost by the porch now and Shane let go of your hand. Dale stood there, holding rope and trying to coil it into neat loops. The old man’s eyes moved from Shane to you and back again. You could already see Shane tensing.
“Mornin’,” Dale said.
“Mornin’,” you answered.
Shane just muttered something.
“Rick’s askin’ for his sister.” Dale informed you. “I’m guessin’ that must be you?”
“Yeah,” you said. “That’d be me.”
You noticed Shane watching Dale like the old man was a rattlesnake waiting in tall grass, but you decided not to comment.
“Go on,” Shane said to you, jerking his chin toward the door.
You went up the stairs, but turned around before you entered the house and gave Shane a quick look.
“Don’t be an idiot,” you said.
“Too late,” Shane replied.
You rolled your eyes and disappeared inside. Dale went back to coiling his rope. Shane stood there a moment longer, then let out a sharp huff through his nose, like a dog warning someone off its bone.
“Nice morning,” Dale said, his tone still breezy.
Shane grunted.
“Good to see the boy pullin’ through.”
“Somethin’ on your mind, Dale?”
Dale finished coiling the rope and set it down on the porch railing. “Just noticed you and the young lady seemed awful familiar with one another for folks who just met.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve known her since she was six.” Shane’s hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing hard.
Dale just stared and now they were both surprised that Shane shared anything with him so voluntarily.
“Yeah, nevermind all that. Tell you what, you got a point you’re workin’ toward here, Dale? ‘Cause I got a busted ankle and a long list of shit to do, and chit-chat ain’t on it.”
“Just makin’ conversation.” Dale picked up his rope, slinging it over one shoulder. “But since you ask… This group’s holding by a thread as it is. Rick comes back, we find this farm, now his sister turns up too. Lots of threads gettin’ tangled.”
“Tangled…” Shane repeated, shaking his head. “Ain’t nothin’ tangled, it’s all pretty damn simple. Rick’s family. That makes her my family. End of story.”
Dale looked at him for a long moment, absolutely not buying anything Shane was selling.
“Best get that ankle looked at,” Dale said finally, carefully stepping down the porch steps. “Wouldn’t want you slowin’ us down if we need you.”
“Part 1—After the World Ended” (Shane Walsh x fem!Reader)
“No Surrender, Baby—A Short Series”
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
SUMMARY — Coming soon to a farmhouse near you: Rick’s sister spent twenty years pining after her brother’s best friend. Shane Walsh spent twenty years pretending he wasn’t pining right back. Then the world ended.
AUTHOR’S NOTE —This story came to me while listening to the best album of all time, Born in the U.S.A. One of the songs there heavily inspired this entire thing, but of course when I started writing it entirely got away from me and grew into nearly 30,000 words. So I divided it into parts, but fear not, this story is finished so all the parts will be posted in short intervals (meaning, I have to edit this mess). Word of warning, Reader is kinda toxic in this one, because ultimately I really despise Lori Grimes and wish she was confronted with her bullshit.
WORD COUNT — 4,530
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Shane’s boots pounded against the dirt path, his throat burning as he pushed himself to keep up with Rick. Otis stumbled and fell again, and it took everything in Shane not to kick the man for it. It took everything in him to keep his rage in check.
For now.
“Get the fuck up!” Shane snarled at Otis and grabbed the man’s arm, hoisting him up.
“It’s—it’s just up ahead! The farm!” Otis exclaimed, groaning. “Call for Hershel!”
Shane snarled and looked at the building looming ahead of them, the white-painted wood chipping at the edges, the crooked fence, the windows blinking in the humid sun like nothing was the matter with the world.
His focus snapped back to Carl’s limp body cradled in Rick’s arms, the dark stain spreading across the boy’s shirt, the way his small head lolled back.
“Get up!” Shane barked another order and this time Otis listened.
“I’m sorry! I’m so…”
The more Otis said it, the less Shane wanted to hear it.
Meanwhile, a woman with binoculars spotted them from the house and shouted something Shane couldn’t hear.
An older man appeared on the porch, but all Shane could focus on was Otis panting beside him. There was hot sweat under Shane’s palm where he held the man tightly.
“Please, my boy…!” Rick was panting, begging for help. “Are you Hershel?”
“Get him inside!” Hershel shouted, not a trace of hesitation in that voice. “Patricia, bring me my kit!”
Shane finally let go of Otis and watched other people come out on the porch, then spill back inside in a hurry. Two women, a girl, and—
He stopped in his tracks, fully believing the heatstroke finally caught up to him and he was hallucinating things. There wasn’t time for any of it, not right now, but Shane released Otis from his grip and just… Stood there. And for two full seconds, everything stood still with him.
Then, someone screamed. You screamed, Shane realized, someone else shouted something—Rick?—and Shane snapped back to attention. He closed the distance between where he stood on the path and the porch in three long strides. Because it wasn’t a mirage.
You were there. It really was you. And you were fine. Alive.
And as far as you were concerned, your brother had been resurrected and your nephew was dying before your very eyes.
“Get him upstairs!” Hershel shouted at Rick, who looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself. “Quickly!”
Rick went, but Shane stayed. He dumped his backpack on the groaning, dried up wood of the front steps and, before anyone could stop him, he caught you in his arms. It was rough, almost involuntary, the grip definitely too tight but Shane didn’t give a shit.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing!” A girl standing aside shouted at him.
You muttered something, and he could tell the shock was getting to you.
“Shane.”
That’s all it was, just his name, but it was you, you were saying his name again. Shane had buried you, at least in his head, and now you were here. Living, breathing, talking.
“Hey,” he said quickly, thoroughly ignoring anyone else. “Hey, hey, it’s me. You, you, hey! Look at me, look at me.”
Hershel was now shouting for bandages and boiled water and things Shane couldn’t really process because all he could do was try not to think of that little boy, probably bleeding out, probably turning paler by the second. He made you look away too.
“Quit squirmin’,” Shane rumbled. “You don’t need to see him like that.”
You tried to get out of the embrace but Shane wouldn’t let you. His eyes briefly darted to the others who still stood on the porch, staring at you both. But they weren’t important. Shane dismissed them entirely.
“Let me go! What—” You craned your neck to look upstairs, where your brother disappeared just a second ago.
One of the women stepped forward then, still visibly antsy. “Wait, you know her?” She asked, her tone too familiar for Shane to tolerate. “Hey, is this guy with you?”
“Yes,” you said stiffly. “Rick, he’s… The man upstairs, he’s my brother, that boy, that’s my nephew, he was, he—” Your voice shook and you stopped yourself from talking.
Shane snapped at the woman without even turning to look at her:
“Not the time,” he cut her off with a sharp look, then turned it on the rest of them gathered on the porch like they were waiting for a goddamn show. “Y’all got a bleeding kid upstairs and you’re out here playin’ Twenty Questions?!”
“Jesus,” the woman next to you muttered, sensing that yes, you two were very much familiar and she didn’t want to be anywhere near the eye of the storm. She then touched the younger girl’s shoulder and pulled her back.
“Let’s go help upstairs. Beth, come on.”
The girl, Beth, blinked, mouth opening to argue, but something in Shane’s face made her think better of it. Both of them went inside, the others trailing after her until the porch was mostly empty.
Shane’s dark eyes stayed glued on you. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, girl. How are you alive?”
Behind him, through the screen door, voices rose and fell in a panic.
“I’m… It’s a long story, just let me go up there!” You snapped at him, finally wriggling out of his embrace. “Shane, is he, is… How is Rick here?!”
“Yeah, he… He came back,” Shane replied, a little breathless now. “Thought he was dead. But then he fuckin’ came back. And you… Jesus Christ, when Atlanta fell, I thought that we lost you, you…” He stopped himself, letting out a nervous laugh that was entirely out of place. “How did you even get out?”
“I just did, it doesn’t matter,” you insisted. “Tell me what the fuck happened to Carl!”
“Doesn’t ma—” Shane shook his head in disbelief. “Fuck this, no, you… No—no, you don’t get to brush me off like that. Lemme ask you somin’, girl, you been here this whole damn time? While we were out there? This whole damn time, you’ve been fine an’ playin’ farmer?”
He rubbed the back of his neck hard, pacing a half-step to the side like he couldn’t decide whether to grab you again or put his fist through the porch rail.
“What the hell happened?” you asked again and this time Shane decided he didn’t care about shielding you anymore. This reunion was fucked up enough.
“Kid got shot. That guy,” he glanced up the staircase through the screen door, “the fat one. Shot him. It’s bad, I ain’t gonna lie to you.”
“Wha—Otis?” You shook your head in disbelief, but then you saw Otis cower somewhere in the kitchen. “No. The guy’s, he… He wouldn’t hurt a fly, he wouldn’t, he’s harmless.”
“Well, he fuckin’ shot Carl. So. Accident or no, don’t matter right now.” Shane gripped your upper arms to steer you firmly away from the front door. “So here we fuckin’ are. Right now that boy’s bleeding out upstairs and your brother’s losin’ his damn mind.”
And then, Carl screamed. You heard it all the way back on the porch and let out a shocked gasp.
“Hey, stop. Stop.” Shane grabbed you again, harder, when he saw you move towards the stairs. “Don’t go up there.”
A rough hand cradled the back of your head and forced your face into his chest, away from the staircase. Away from the trail of blood.
Shane held onto you and, eventually, you stopped fighting him.
He said your name, again and again, trying to snap you out of it. Or maybe just to confirm he was really seeing you, here, after weeks of telling himself you were dead and gone like everyone else in his life.
“Stay outta this right now,” he rasped. “You hear that? You ain’t goin’ up there, kid.”
“Like hell I ain’t!” You protested weakly, already feeling the tears approaching. “And don’t fuckin’ call me that, we’re too old for that shit!”
“Yeah?” Shane let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. He still wouldn’t let go. “Nah, never too old to tell you off, girl.”
“Let! Go!” You argued and then made your signature move, trying to stomp on his foot. But he knew you too well and stepped aside immediately.
“I need to be there!”
“No,” he snapped, using his cop voice now.
And then you relented, looking up at him and seeing only reason in his eyes.
“Leave it. You ain’t gonna help him like that. If you got anythin’ in you that’s gonna freak out and distract him, you leave it outside with me.”
“Fuck you!” You snapped, but that only made Shane laugh. He never bought your tough girl act when you were kids, he sure as hell wouldn’t buy it now.
“Yeah, there she is,” he said, his tone impossibly fond.
“You fuckin’ stink,” you muttered, trying to sound hateful and failing.
“You stink worse,” he lied, knowing full well his shirt was soaked with sweat and dirt and who even knew what else.
At this point the only thing smelling worse than him would be a walker.
“Try haulin’ your ass through half of Georgia with a bunch of idiots to take care of and see how pretty you smell after.”
Shane held you for a moment longer than necessary.
Finally, with a grunt, he let you go and took a half step back. He looked at you and you knew he was scrutinizing how well you managed to take care of yourself.
“Yeah, well, you look like shit,” you muttered, beating him to it. Shane laughed.
He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe you. “Oh yeah?”
Before you could retort, there was a crash from upstairs and more shouting. You winced and Shane was already there.
“Hey, hey, come on.” He pointed to the porch steps. “You ain’t goin’ up there and that’s final. You wanna be useful? You sit. You drink some water. You tell me where the hell you been.”
You didn’t want him to know you really were going to cry. You never liked crying in front of people. Even if it was just Shane.
“How am I supposed to…?” You wiped your cheeks like you wanted to pull the skin off and Shane found the gesture so familiar it left a pang in his chest.
“Come on,” he added gruffly and put his backpack down to take out his water bottle. “Sit your ass down. You’re white as a sheet.”
You listened and took a couple sips from the bottle, careful not to drink too much. Water was too precious these days.
“Now,” Shane crouched down so he could face you, “you start talkin’. And don’t give me that ‘long story’ bullshit again, ’cause I’m about two seconds from losin’ my mind between you and what’s upstairs.”
You looked at him, but did not stall this time. You just couldn’t believe you got to argue with him again in this lifetime. Last time you saw Shane, the circumstances were equally grim. Rick just got shot. Went into a coma. And Lori was cussing Shane out at the hospital. Let him feel guilty for the longest time, probably just to feel better herself, or less helpless.
You nearly got thrown out of there for going at her as hard as you did, but you regretted nothing. Shane had to hold you back then too.
“Atlanta went to shit so fuckin’ fast,” you said finally. “Real fast. Didn’t even know who to call first so… I didn’t. I barely packed a backpack and saw that I forgot my phone when I was already in the car. Then the roads got closed off and I had to leg it. It was... The army started rainin’ fire on us so I hid in the sewers.”
You doubted you’d ever forget the smell.
Shane listened. Really listened, the way he used to when you would come to him with some problem instead of Rick—because Rick would try to fix it and Shane would just let you talk.
“Pure luck. There was an open pothole right where I tried to hide so I jumped in and waited it out. And, after, I hooked up with a group heading east, but we got overrun outside Macon. I, uh…” You looked away, trying not to admit the shit you had to do to even be there today.
It sure as hell wasn’t anything noble. But then you looked at Shane and he looked you right in the eye, no deflection. And you knew. He was still the person who would never judge you.
“I walked for three days,” you picked up the tale, glazing over the uncomfortable details a little, “and Hershel found me half-dead. Later on he said I reminded him of someone and, well. When I met Maggie we hit it off right away so I guess he’s just a girl dad. That’s most of it, anyway.”
Shane exhaled hard through his nose, shaking his head slowly.
Three days. She walked for three fuckin’ days. Alone.
“Jesus Christ. Hopped down a sewer during a goddamn bombing. Only you, kid.”
“Hey!”
“And you forgot your phone,” he added, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “‘Course you did. Wouldn’t be you otherwise. But hey, you made it, yeah? Wasn’t sure I’d ever…”
Then the screen door creaked open. Your brother stood in the doorway looking like something the walkers had rejected. Shane got up at once. You could tell he was bracing for something, because Rick looked like hell. Carl’s blood was on his shirt, smeared down his forearms and forehead. For a long moment he just stood there, eyes glassy, staring at the two of you on the steps.
“Hey,” Rick said to you, voice cracking.
You were up before you knew it and then you just crashed against your brother’s chest and both of you cried, the stress of the moment mixing with the relief that, regardless, felt strangely hollow.
“Fuck you,” you muttered into Rick’s chest and Rick let out a quiet chuckle. “Thought I’d never see you again!”
Shane stood back, wiping his hands on his pants, watching the two of you with an unreadable expression. He felt useless right now.
Relieved too, maybe.
Guilty—definitely.
Guilt had been his constant companion since the world ended and this whole fucking misadventure began.
For some reason, he felt jealous, too, if he was being honest with himself, which he absolutely wasn’t.
Shut the hell up, Shane told himself.
“Carl?” You finally managed, pulling back just enough to look at Rick’s face.
“Alive,” Rick said. He still spoke quietly, like he was afraid if he raised his voice the world would collapse around him. “Hershel’s… You know. That man, he’s workin’ on him. He’s… I dunno. A doctor, maybe. Seems like one.”
“A vet, actually,” a voice came from behind the screen door and a woman stepped outside, holding three glasses of water. “But he knows what he’s doin’. He’s my dad. I’m Maggie Greene. And you,” she smiled sympathetically at Rick, “you must be the other Grimes.”
“Yeah,” you said. “My brother.”
“Pleased to m—”
“Wait, hold up! A vet?” Shane interrupted. “You tellin’ me we got our boy upstairs with a goddamn animal doctor?!”
You rolled your eyes. “Shane…”
But there was no stopping Shane when he got like this, you knew that. Whenever he was stressed, he needed something to yell about. And right now he found an outlet.
“Shane, Jesus Christ,” you said, trying to pacify him.
“No, there’s no fuckin’ way—”
“He’s all we got, Shane!” Rick snapped back. “Alright? He’s all we got and he’s helpin’. I sure as hell can’t do nothin’ but stand here, so just stop it before I lose my goddamn mind!”
Shane muttered something, rubbing the back of his head again. But he did shut up about it.
“Alright. Fine. Good. That’s… Alright. You got… Here, you got the, yeah, okay. C’mere man,” Shane muttered still, unintentionally getting between you and Rick. He took out a reddened handkerchief and wiped Rick’s forehead with it, trying his best to get all the blood off.
“Hey. At least your sister’s fine, yeah? She’s right here, man. She’s been here this whole damn time feedin’ goddamn chickens.”
You’ve never heard Shane’s voice so gentle.
“Alright,” Shane said, shoving the handkerchief back into his pocket. He glanced at Maggie, who was still holding the water like she didn’t know what to do with herself. “You got any whiskey in this place, Maggie? Somethin’ stronger than water? ’Cause I got a feeling we’re gonna need it.”
Maggie’s mouth twitched. “My daddy’s a Baptist, but I know where Patty hides it.”
“Good girl.” Shane turned back to Rick, all business now. “Now. You an’ me gotta talk logistics, ‘cause—”
But everything came to a halt, because Hershel stepped out onto the porch, wiping his hands. Rick tensed and so did you. For a moment, no one spoke.
“He’s stable,” Hershel said calmly. “For now.”
“God…” Rick shook his head and thanked the man before you, also, tentatively squeezed Hershel’s hand.
He shot you an apologetic look and you couldn’t really say what he meant by it. You’ve spent weeks at his farm and still didn’t know how to read the man. But he never lied, this much was true. So you took his word for it about Carl’s condition.
Shane, on the other hand, wasn’t at all satisfied. His hand tightened on the porch railing.
“For now? What the hell does that mean, for now?”
Rick moved past him, approaching Hershel with a desperate energy. “Can I see him?”
Hershel held up a hand and you knew it then—the real news was coming.
“The bullet was a through-and-through. But there’s significant damage. He’s lost a lot of blood. I’ve done all I can do for him here.” He paused, his expression grim. “He needs a real doctor. A hospital. Equipment I don’t have.”
You let out a choked sound, but then stilled yourself. You remembered what Shane told you. You couldn’t lose it. Not now.
But while Rick stood still like a statue, Shane still wasn’t having any of it. A quiet, bitter laugh escaped him.
“Ain’t no hospitals left, old man. You know that.”
“I can’t stabilize him without more antibiotics and a respirator. At the minimum, he needs a transfusion. He’ll die without it,” Hershel replied. “I am sorry.”
Rick steadied himself against the porch railing and then, as if in slow motion, sat down on the steps. He was looking straight ahead, but his eyes were unseeing. Maggie stepped closer to you. It was clear she felt as sorry for you as her dad did.
“What if we… Got him meds?” You said, quiet. “Those antibiotics. Something.”
It was pleading or maybe bargaining, you couldn’t tell which, and you felt your hands shake as if suddenly the humid Georgian countryside got swept by a frost.
Hershel was about to say something, but then you saw Shane lean over Rick and heard your brother whisper:
“Is that why I went through all of that? To see my boy just…”
“Nah, nah, man, don’t even say that,” Shane said then, using his best cop voice, the one he used when he’d try (or pretend) to get you in line.
Rick wouldn’t respond.
“Lori doesn’t know. Oh my God… Lori, my wife, she doesn’t know. What if he, what if… And then she’s not here to see him?”
Shane crouched in front of Rick, grabbing his shoulders. “Look at me, yeah? Don’t even say that.”
“Look,” Maggie spoke then and as soon as she did you knew that Hershel wouldn’t like it. “The only clinic in town was wiped clean but the old high school—”
“Don’t even think about it,” Hershel interrupted. “It’s crawlin’ with ‘em!”
But Shane’s head already snapped up and he was ready to jump into action. “How far?”
Hershel stepped forward. “I said don’t—”
“How far?” Shane repeated, standing up to his full height, shoulders squared. “You said it’s crawlin’, that ain’t a number.”
“Listen to me—”
“Shane.” Rick started.
“No, man, no.” Shane held up a hand. “Carl’s upstairs bleedin’ out and we’re gonna stand here with our thumbs up our asses because what, it’s dangerous?” He scoffed. “Everything’s fuckin’ dangerous. Breathin’ ‘s dangerous.”
He turned to Maggie. “You been in there?”
“She hasn’t,” Hershel answered for her. “You don’t even know what you’re walkin’ into, son.”
“Ain’t your son,” Shane returned, already checking the shells in his backpack. “And I know exactly what I’m walkin’ into. Same thing I been walkin’ into since this whole world went to shit.” He looked up at Maggie. “You got a map? Or you just gonna draw it in the dirt for me?”
Maggie didn’t appreciate his bluntness. You could tell he made her fiercely uncomfortable. She glanced at her father, then back at Shane.
“She went to school there,” you interrupted, now that you got yourself under control and could speak again. Or at least fake the control well enough to fool Rick.
“Good enough,” Shane said. “Gimme two hours and some ammo.”
A discussion ensued, but then Otis came out onto the porch. You groaned internally. This was the last person Shane or Rick should have been confronted with.
“I’ll go,” Otis said then. “I can navigate. This is all my fault, I never—”
“You’re damn right it is!” Shane shouted, and you saw it then. That anger.
This would not end well for anyone.
Shane took a step toward Otis, his hand already balled into a fist. “You—”
“Shane.” Your voice was quiet, but firm. You jutted your chin towards your brother. He still hadn’t moved from the steps. “Not now.”
“The hell you mean not now?” Shane shot back, gesturing wildly at Otis. “This guy! This guy put a bullet in your nephew, okay? I don’t give a damn about how sorry he is or whether he’s a good man or the damn pope! I care about that kid openin’ his eyes again. You got me?”
Otis stood there and took it. Big man, soft eyes, guilt written all over his doughy face. To his credit, though, he didn’t back down while Shane paced. That only made Shane angrier so you moved between them.
“I know what I done,” Otis said. “That’s why I’m offerin’ to go.”
Shane paced. Thought about it. Meanwhile, Rick got up and stiffly walked up to you, shaking his head.
“What is it?” You asked, not quite ready to let him out of your sight.
The situation was absurd. On the one hand, you should be elated. You just got your family back, after having spent weeks cooped up in this farm, rebuilding your life from nothing at all.
And now you were going to lose your brother all over again, because you knew nobody loved that kid more than Rick.
“I’m gonna go see him,” Rick said quietly and squeezed your shoulder. “Hershel. Can I talk to you upstairs?”
You watched them go while Shane and Otis kept arguing. Maggie excused herself too and you couldn’t blame her. Over these past few weeks, you certainly haven’t painted your family in the stories you told, well… Like that.
Then again, in your opinion very few words could accurately describe the chaos that was Shane.
“Okay, you… Just shut up for a second there, man, let me fuckin’ think!” Shane shook his head, still debating with Otis. “You’re damn right you’re goin’. And you’re gonna carry every last pill an’ scalpel back here if it kills you!”
“No,” you interrupted then and you could tell Shane forgot you were even still there. “I’m coming with you.”
Shane’s head whipped towards you so fast you worried he’d break something. “Like hell you are!”
“You don’t know this area. I do. I’ve been here weeks. Maggie can draw you a map all day long, but I can show you the back roads, the places the herds gather, the—”
“And what if you get bit out there, huh?”
“Let me do it,” Otis said quietly. “Please. It’s best for—”
“Hold on.” You looked towards Otis. “I know you feel bad. But Hershel’s right, that place is overrun and you ain’t exactly a runner. But I am. I ran track half my life.”
Shane let out some noncommittal sound, but it was hard to argue with you there. He still looked at you like you had just announced you were going to grow wings and fly, though.
“Fuck,” Shane muttered. “Fuck! You always gotta make things harder.”
“Shane…”
“No.”
“But it’s my nephew.”
“And you’re—” Shane cut himself off. “You’re stayin’ here. End of discussion.”
“I ain’t gonna slow you down,” you said, grateful that your brain somehow had compartmentalized the recent events and your voice didn’t waver anymore.
“I need someone who ain’t gonna freeze up.”
“I don’t freeze.”
“Goddamn it, girl, you were shakin’ like a leaf ten minutes ago!”
“And I ain’t shakin’ now!”
“Goddamn it,” Shane sighed and shook his head. “Did you not just hear what they said ‘bout the walkers? You ain’t goin’ nowhere near that school. Can’t risk it.”
“Save it.” You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to look intimidating. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“Yeah?” Shane scoffed and walked up closer. “Watch me.”
Shane was giving you the kind of look that made grown men step back. But you never did back down for him, not once in twenty-some years.
“You’re really gonna be a pain in the ass right now?” he said.
“Yeah,” you said, not budging an inch. “So?”
Shane stared at you for a long moment, dark eyes searching your face like he could find some weakness there, some reason to overrule you. He couldn’t.
“You—” But then Shane caught himself looking somewhere around Otis’s gut and the truth of your earlier argument hit him. If push came to shove, you knew he’d rather have you there.
Shane paced two steps again. Came back.
“Fine,” he said finally, his face contorted like he just chewed on glass. “Fine. You come. But you stay behind me, you do exactly what I say, and the second I tell you to run, you run. No arguments. No sass. We clear?”
You just nodded, trying not to look too smug.
“Don’t nod, alright, I gotta hear it. We clear?”
“What, you want me to stand at attention or somethin’?”
“What did I just say ‘bout no sass?!”
“Jesus Christ, Shane.”
“We clear or not? One word. Yes or no?”
You held his gaze defiantly. Two stubborn bastards, that’s what Rick used to call you both. Mostly to your faces.
“Yes,” you said finally.
“Good.” Shane turned away, already regretting this. “Get a list of shit we need. You,” he pointed at Otis again, who still looked miserable, “got a car we can use?”
Summary : Dex has to learn that you can have bad days, too.
Pairing : Benjamin Poindexter x reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : established relationship, hurt/comfort, sensory overload, overstimulation, emotional, traffic light system, safeword use, mentioned free use arrangement, aftercare?, soft ending, dark romance elements, obsessive Dex, protective Dex. DDBA! Dex I think. :)
Word Count : 6k
Requested by : Ko-fi request <3
Notes : Hey ya’ll! If you wanna be tagged, please send me a message! Comments get lost sometimes. Enjoy!
You hadn’t had the best day and it started with the coffee machine not working.
That was entirely your fault. You had cleaned it the night before, rinsed everything carefully, set it back in place, and then just… not set it up properly again. Usually, you would have found it funny. You would have sent Dex a picture of the dead display and made him promise to bring you coffee later.
Instead, you stood barefoot in the kitchen at seven in the morning, pressing the button over and over like one of the attempts might change the result, and felt tears sting your eyes.
Dex was asleep down the hall, face buried in your pillow, one arm stretched across your side of the bed as if he had gone looking for you in his sleep. You considered waking him, and you nearly did, standing in the bedroom doorway with your bag hanging off one shoulder, watching the rise and fall of his back, and thought about crawling under the covers again.
But he had been out all night.
He needed sleep, and you needed to leave.
So you found instant coffee in the back of the cupboard and made it too strong because you were already running late. You burned your tongue, while the clasp on your necklace got caught in your hair. Your tights had a ladder in them, a thin line running up the back of your calf that no one else would probably notice but that you could feel all day like a crack in glass.
You changed twice and hated both outfits.
The third one was acceptable until you got outside and realized the waistband sat weird when you walked. It pinched at one side and shifted at the other. You kept trying to fix it discreetly beneath your coat while waiting for the train, which only made it twist more.
Then the train was delayed.
You kinda wished it would’ve been canceled; it would at least have given you something to be angry about. It was delayed by six minutes, then nine, then twelve, with the announcement changing every time you looked up. The platform filled around you as a lady stood close enough behind you that her bag pressed against your back every time they moved. A man near the stairs was watching videos without headphones, and two women beside you were having an argument in furious whispers.
Your phone buzzed in your hand.
Dex. Coffee machine dead?
You stared at the message for too long.
Normally, you would have answered with something dry and funny immediately. Instead, you typed three different replies and deleted all of them because every version sounded irritated, and you were irritated, but not with him.
You sent a heart.
He replied with three.
That nearly made you cry again.
Work was not terrible enough to justify how terrible it felt.
Nobody screamed at you and nothing caught fire. You didn’t get fired or humiliated, but it was just a constant fucking drag.
An intern, a fresh graduate called Grace, stopped you before you had taken off your coat because they needed help with something they had known about since yesterday. Your computer decided to update while going to the double-booked meeting room, so everyone stood in the corridor pretending not to be annoyed while Brad from HR insisted he had reserved it first. When you finally got inside, the projector would not connect.
Then your manager, Amy said, “This should only take five minutes,” and it took forty-three.
At some point, your coworker Jack, put a hand on your shoulder from behind to get your attention.
You nearly snapped. They apologized. You apologized for reacting. Then you spent the next ten minutes thinking about whether your apology had sounded strange.
That was when you had to go to the bathroom and cry.
You sat in the last stall with the lid down, both feet planted on the floor, trying to breathe quietly so that no one would hear you. You hated crying at work and the bathroom lighting and the thin toilet paper scraping under your eyes. You hated that there was no single problem you could point to and say, there, that’s why I can’t do this today!
Your phone buzzed again.
Dex had sent you a message about going out because task force was spotted in droves on the other side of the city, and that he was going out to get them.
Then cried harder because you missed him, even though he lived with you and you had technically seen him that morning.
You washed your face, went back to your desk, and tried to finish the day.
At four, Dex texted that he would probably be home late.
You stared at that one until the words blurred.
It was reasonable and normal, by your standards. He worked strange hours and disappeared with even stranger explanations. You were used to eating without him. You were used to waking up with him suddenly in bed beside you, one hand finding your waist beneath the blanket.
But you had spent the whole day thinking about going home to him.
You didn’t even want to talk to him. You wanted to walk through the door and see him standing in the kitchen. You wanted him to take your bag without asking and tell you to change into a soft cotton shirt so as not to trigger your sensory issues. You wanted to sit between his knees on the sofa while he rubbed slow circles into your thighs.
Instead, you sent. Okay. Be safe.
He reacted with a heart.
You put your phone facedown and finished the last hour.
The train home was worse than the train in.
You had to stand while a wet umbrella kept brushing your ankle, even though you didn’t realise it had been raining. A man across the carriage kept coughing into his fist and then touching the pole. Every time the train stopped, more people got on and nobody got off.
By the time you reached your building, your shoulders ached from holding them up around your ears. You dropped your keys in the hallway, and the sound of them hitting the floor was so annoying that you just stood there staring at them for several seconds before bending down.
The apartment was dark when you opened the door.
You turned on the lamp instead of the main light and you took off your coat and immediately felt colder. You put it back on. Took it off again because the lining felt horrible against your skin. You stood in the living room holding it, suddenly unable to decide what to do with it even though there was a hook three feet away.
You dropped it on the floor.
Then you felt guilty because Dex liked things clean and in their place.
Fuck.
You sat down beside it and cried with one shoe still on and one shoe off, louder than you cried in the office bathroom. You cried because the apartment smelled faintly like Dex, but he wasn’t there. You cried because you had spent the whole day being reasonable, and now there was nobody in front of you to be reasonable for.
Afterward, you felt stupid and sticky-faced, which just made the sensations worse.
You picked up the coat and put your shoes away. You sent Dex a message asking when he would be home, then deleted it before sending because you didn’t want him distracted while he was out doing very dangerous Bullseye things.
You showered instead, and the water was too hot at first, but you didn’t fix it quickly enough, so your skin felt like it was boiling across your chest and shoulders. You washed your hair. Then the wet texture clung to your back and made you angry, so you wrapped them in one of Dex’s old shirts instead of a towel because it was softer.
You put on your sleep shorts and the gray shirt of his you always stole.
It smelled like the detergent you both used now, not specifically like him, which made you strangely sad.
You tried to eat.
There were pasta leftovers in the fridge. Dex had labelled the container DO NOT EAT in black marker, then added unless you are my girlfriend beneath it in smaller writing because you had told him one you liked one of those cheesy jokes, and Dex being Dex, listened and manufactured it into his life even though he got no real enjoyment out of it. You heated it up, took three bites, and put them back because the tomato sauce was chunky, and it felt weird on your tongue even though technically, there was nothing wrong with it. .
So you made tea and forgot the bag until it went bitter.
You turned on the television, then muted it because the voice of the newscaster irritated you. The silence irritated you too, so you turned it back on quietly with subtitles.
At some point, you checked the locks twice.
You knew Dex would not use the door when he came back. He would use the fire escape.
On most nights, the thought made you smile. Tonight, you wanted him to use his key like a normal person.
You wanted to hear it turn in the lock like a warning. You wanted him to call your name from the entrance so you had time to prepare for being touched.
But whatever. He probably didn't even bring his keys.
You climbed into bed with the lamp on.
Usually, you liked Dex coming home with that focus still in his eyes. You even loved the way he sometimes stood at the foot of the bed and looked at you as if he had followed you there. You liked the games he played to rile you up, because Dex knew exactly how to frighten you without making you unsafe. You liked restraints because he checked every knot, every buckle, every inch of space between your skin and whatever held you down.
You liked being helpless when it was Dex.
Usually.
But tonight, you just wanted him.
You wanted to press your face into his chest and let him complain that your wet hair was soaking his shirt. You wanted him to ask what happened, accept “nothing” as the answer, and hold you still.
The fire escape groaned outside the window.
Then the living room window slid open, and Dex climbed in with blood on his sleeve, still.
You were in that half-sleep state where your body had gone heavy but your mind was still floating somewhere above it, listening to the hum of the television you had left on in the living room and the old pipe knocking faintly in the wall. You were even still aware of your breathing, too shallow to be restful.
You knew what Dex was like after a long night. You knew the way adrenaline ran in his body like a live wire, making him hungry and a little fucking insane. Usually, you were more than happy to let him spend the rest of it on you.
That was the arrangement, after all.
The free use thing had happened over weeks of conversations, some serious, some filthy, some with you sitting cross-legged on the bed while Dex sat on the floor taking it all in like he was memorising a mission brief. What was okay, what was not. It was discussed and re-discussed, picked apart in daylight until even Dex’s paranoid brain had nothing left to gnaw on.
You had said it first half as a joke, grinning over your mug while Dex sat opposite you at the kitchen table looking like you had just handed him a loaded gun.
“What, you don’t like the idea?” you had teased.
His eyes had gone dark in a way that made your thighs press together beneath the table. “I like it too much.”
That had been the problem, Dex had always liked you too much, wanted you too much, so you made rules.
You told him what he could do if you were half-asleep, and what he could do if you were pretending to be asleep, which was different, because sometimes you liked lying there smug while Dex tried to kiss you patiently. You knew what he could do if he came home needy.
Most days, you loved Dex coming into the bedroom while you were still sleepy, his hands sliding under your shirt like he owned every inch of skin he found there. You loved the first drag of his mouth against your shoulder and the rough sound he made when you pressed back into him without opening your eyes. You loved pretending to be annoyed while he kissed down your spine and told you that he knew you were awake because your thighs were already sticky for him.
You loved being wanted like that, loved Dex murmuring filthy nonsense against your skin about how pretty you were, how good you were for him even when you were barely awake. You loved the way he could make free use feel less like being used and more like being worshipped.
Sometimes he was sweet about it, climbing into the bed clean and careful, gathering you back against his chest, and kissing you awake inch by inch like he had all the time in the world. He would slide one hand over your stomach and whisper your name until you made that cute complaining sound he loved, and then he would laugh like you were the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Sometimes he was not sweet, still shaking with adrenaline and put a hand over your mouth before you could say something naughty, only to kiss your temple immediately. Sometimes he pinned your wrists because you liked to fight him for show, and he liked pretending not to know you were letting him win. Sometimes he found you half-asleep and still managed to fuck you awake so thoroughly that by the time you could think again, your face was hot, your hair was a mess, and Dex was in your ear telling you how good you were for letting him have you.
You liked that.
But tonight, your body had already been handled by the entire fucking day. Your nerves had been touched and touched and touched until touch did not feel like touch anymore. It felt more like threat.
You knew that, but then Dex came home and your first thought was still I want him.
You then heard the movement of him walking around the apartment, and not like a direct line to the bathroom, or the kitchen. Not even to check the lock, which he always did even when he had just broken into his own home like a lunatic.
Instead, he was coming to you.
The bedroom door was half-open, and you kept your eyes closed.
You told yourself it was because you were too tired to move, but part of you liked the game. Part of you wanted to be found like this, buried in the middle of the bed in his shirt and your sleep shorts, pretending you hadn’t been waiting all night, helping you forget the day, forget the job, forget everything except getting his hands on the one thing in the world that belonged to him.
He stopped in the doorway, and before you knew it, the mattress dipped.
Dex was always careful at first, even when he was feral. He put a hand beside your hip, not touching yet. His breathing was slow, but not steady. You could hear the way he held himself back for the sake of a rule he wanted to break only because you had once told him breaking it in the right way turned you into putty.
His fingers touched your ankle beneath the blanket, almost testing.
Your body gave a tiny shiver.
Dex went still, before his hand slid higher, possessive enough to make heat flicker through the exhaustion. His palm travelled up the back of your calf, over the bend of your knee, over your thigh. You heard him exhale, and the sound was so hungry it made your stomach flip despite everything.
“Pretty girl,” he whispered.
Your face warmed.
Stupid body. Stupid, fucking traitorous body.
He leaned over you, and his mouth brushed the back of your shoulder where his shirt had slipped wide at the collar. He started with one kiss, quickly followed by another. It became open-mouthed and filthy, like he was trying to be gentle and got overwhelmed. His hand found your waist beneath the shirt, fingers spreading against your skin.
For one second, it worked.
Your violent, devoted, half-mad Dex came home through windows and touched you like you were the only object of desire in the universe, who could make you feel filthy and adored at the same time, who could make being half-asleep feel like the dirtiest kind of safety.
His mouth moved to your neck, hand tightened at your waist.
“Missed you,” he breathed, rough against your skin. “Been thinking about you all night.”
Your thighs pressed together beneath the blanket before you could stop them.
Dex noticed and made a small sound against your throat, almost broken with relief, and shifted closer until his body was against your back. His hand slid over your hip, tugging you back into him.
For one second, you really wanted it.
Your body remembered him before it remembered itself. It remembered all the other nights he had come home ruined and desperate and crawled into bed like your body was the only place he knew where to put the violence. It remembered waking up already breathless to his greedy hands, his mouth saying filthy, adoring things against your skin until you went undone beneath him.
For one second, you wanted to be that girl again.
Dex’s hand tightened on your hip, and your breath broke in a way that sounded enough like pleasure to confuse both of you. He pressed his face into your neck and inhaled like he was trying to crawl inside your veins.
“Color?” he asked, it was rough, but still good of him.
You meant to say yellow.
The word was right there, sitting behind your tongue. Yellow meant slow down, meant you wanted him, but you needed him kinder. It would mean this was good, but also too much. But Dex’s mouth was on your throat, and his hand was warm under your shirt, and you had missed him so badly all day that admitting you needed less felt like losing him for a stupid reason.
So you said, “Green.”
Dex exhaled against your skin. “Yeah?” he murmured.
You nodded, eyes still closed.
You should have said yellow again then. You should have corrected yourself because there was still a good amount of space to do it, while his hand was only at your waist and his mouth was only at your neck, but your mind was gone and your body had betrayed you with that little shiver, and Dex had never been the best at reading the small things. He was more a flashing lights kinda guy.
Feelings had to be handed to him with both hands. It had had to be said plainly, right in front of his face, with no riddles and no hoping he would guess. Dex, through no fault of his own other than his upbringing, didn’t always know the difference between you trembling because you were turned on and you trembling because your nerves were fraying apart unless you told him.
He caught your hip and flipped you onto your back in one rough movement, fast enough that the mattress jolted under you and your breath left in a startled little sound. Dex was above you immediately, one knee between your thighs, one hand braced beside your head, his eyes blown wide with whatever the night had left in him. There was blood at the edge of his collar, and a smear of it near his wrist. His hair was damp from the rain, falling over his forehead in a way that made him look more unhinged at the same time.
“Missed you,” he said, voice wrecked.
Your stomach flipped.
Fuck, he was beautiful like this. Even terrifying, he was beautiful, and you had built so much of your wanting around those two things. Dex looked down at you like he wanted to ruin you and worship whatever was left.
His hand slid to your chin, possessive.
Your thighs pressed together on instincts held apart by his leg between them.
“Mmm ,” he whispered. “My pretty girl.”
Heat curled in you, slick and stupid, even as your skin prickled at the edges. Your bad day had not killed the part of you that loved being grabbed by him, turned by him, handled by him. You loved Dex rough because Dex rough still meant Dex focused, Dex obsessed, Dex so fucking hungry for you that the rest of the world could plunge itself into a void and he wouldn’t give two shits.
His mouth was on yours before you could think. The kiss was hard enough to make your head press back into the pillow. His hand stayed at your chin, holding you there while he took your mouth in a way that made your body go loose for him out of habit. You kissed him back, finger catching the front of his shirt, and when you pulled, Dex made a groan against your lips Then his hand went to the hem of your shirt.
His shirt, technically. He dragged it up your body impatiently, and the cool air hit your skin. You lifted your arms for him before you remembered you were tired.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
Your face went hot.
He threw the shirt behind him.
Usually, you would have laughed and he would have said something deadpan and filthy enough to shut you up. Tonight, the loss of the shirt made you feel exposed too quickly, like your body had not agreed to be perceived that much even if your mind wanted to.
But then Dex kissed down your throat, and you forgot for a second.
His hands were everywhere, greedy at your waist, your ribs, your thighs, reminding himself you were real, coaxing himself out of whatever horror he had done.
You arched under him, and that was honest too.
Your back lifted as your hands found his shoulders. He caught both your wrists in one hand and pressed them above your head, pinning them there against the pillow.
His eyes lifted to yours, fever-bright. “Yeah?”
You swallowed, and this time, no color came out.
Dex took it for yes because it did feel like a yes to you. Usually, you liked being held down. Tonight, you were too tired to know the difference.
Dex reached for the drawer beside the bed.
Your heart jumped, not in fear at first, but in anticipation.
You knew that drawer and what was in it. The rope came out in his hand.
Your breath caught.
“Still green?” he asked.
Say yellow.
Say yellow.
Say yellow.
You looked up at him, at the way his chest rose and fell. You thought about the whole day: the train, office, light, the way you had cried on the hallway floor because your coat had fallen.
You thought, I can take it.
So you said, “Green.”
Dex looked relieved and hungry and dangerously grateful, like he had been waiting all night for permission to stop being human in exactly the way you usually loved.
He tied your wrists to the headboard, roughly, because he was Dex.
He checked the space between rope and skin automatically, two fingers, always. Your wrists went up as the expensive silken rope was bound to the bedframe.
Your body went liquid for one dizzy second.
You loved the helplessness that made your brain melt in a good way. It was a dirty drop of the heart, knowing you couldn’t reach for him now unless he let you. You loved how Dex looked at you when you were restrained, like your trust was the most intimate thing you had ever given him.
“Look at you,” he whispered.
You looked at him looking at you, and for a moment, it was perfect.
Then the rope shifted just slightly. The knot didn’t tighten or hurt. Still, it felt wrong.
The texture scraped your skin in a way it never had before. You could feel every fiber, every point of contact. Your skin pressing against the rope seemed to get louder than everything else in the room somehow, louder than Dex’s breathing, louder than your own heartbeat.
Your fingers flexed, and the rope moved again.
Your stomach dropped.
No.
You tried to breathe through it.
You tried to get the good feeling back. You tried to look at Dex, at his face, at the hunger you usually loved so much. You tried to remind your body that this was chosen and safe and that Dex had checked. That you had said green twice. That you loved this. You loved this. You loved this!
But the rope kept touching you and it felt like pure, crawling wrongness. The feeling started at your wrists and travelled up your arms until your shoulders froze and your chest went tight. The knot might as well have been around your throat for how quickly your breathing changed.
Dex lowered his mouth to your chest, still murmuring something against your skin,filthy and half-mad.
You barely heard it as your eyes filled.
At first, you did not even know you were crying. Then a tear slipped sideways into your hair, then another.
Dex felt you go still, and this time, he noticed immediately.
His head lifted. “Hey,” he said.
You blinked hard, but the tears came faster.
Dex froze above you, that predatory stance gone now.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, panic filling the back of his eyes, unable to read your thoughts.
You couldn’t answer.
His eyes moved over your face, your mouth, your chest, your wrists. He looked almost frantic trying to identify the injury. Was it blood? Bruises, pulled shoulder? Dex was good at identifying wounds.
Emotions made him useless unless you labelled them for him, but this was blatant enough that even Dex understood something was wrong.
“Baby,” he said, voice suddenly stripped bare. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Your breath caught as the rope brushed your wrist again when you moved.
You made a horrible little sound, unable to speak.
Dex’s eyes snapped to your hands.
“What?” he said, reaching up but not touching yet. “The rope?”
You nodded once, almost ashamed.
He nodded grimly. “What about the rope?”
“I-It feels wrong,” you choked.
Dex went white.
Your fingers flexed again, and the texture dragged at your skin, and suddenly you couldn't bear it for one more second. Not even half of one. Your whole body reacted around the rejection, and the word whispered out of you before you had decided to say it. “Red.”
Dex moved instantly.
His hand went to his belt and to his weapons, and for one horrifying second your body thought knife and almost spiralled further under, but Dex was not looking at you like that anymore.
He pulled the blade free with the same face he wore disarming a bomb.
“Don’t move,” he said, practical.
He didn’t untie the rope, because untying took time.
Dex cut it, a clean slice through the first binding, then the second. The rope fell away from your wrists in loose pieces, useless on the pillow, and Dex threw the knife across the room like he couldn’t stand to have it near you a second longer.
Your arms dropped free, and he was already backing away.
Dex had stopped being a man and become an emergency response. His shoulder hit the dresser, hands lifted, palms open.
You were crying, that was all he saw.
Because of me, he thought.
“I’m away,” he said, a little too loudly and too quickly. “I’m away. I’m not touching you.”
His voice was flat. Dex had never been truly calm a day in his life, so was just forcing panic into a box in his mind that was labeled “procedure.”
You tried to say his name, but it came out broken, and it made him worse.
“I’ll go,” he said. “I can go. I should go. You need space. You need me out. I’ll go to the living room. No, not the living room, that’s not far enough. I’ll go downstairs. Outside. I can wait outside. I won’t come back until you tell me. I won’t touch you, I won’t—”
“Dex—”
“I hurt you.”
You wiped at the tears from your eyes now. “Y-you didn’t.”
He wasn’t listening.
His eyes kept dropping to your wrists. His mouth had gone pale and his hands were still up, still shaking slightly like he didn’t trust them anywhere near you.
You said red and you’re crying, was all he could think of.
“I hurt you.” he said, words coming faster now. “I scared you. I tied you down and you cried. I had a knife in my hand. I shouldn’t have had the knife, I knew I was—”
“Dex.”
“I’ll go.”
You tried to get back up, but even the sheets were starting to crawl as you were getting more and more overwhelmed. “N-No.”
“I need to go.”
“Dex,” it came out breathy.
“I need to not be near you right now.”
“Nuh-uh. Dex—”
“I can’t be the reason you’re looking at me like that.”
You were crying harder now because he was spiralling, and you were spiralling, and the two of you were dragging each other down in opposite directions. Dex kept retreating. You kept trying to pull him back with a voice that was too fragile to reach him.
He turned toward the door, and you finally snapped.
“I need you!”
He froze.
The shout tore out of you raw, loud enough to hurt your throat. Dex stopped like you had fired a warning shot.
You shoved yourself upright, blanket slipping around your waist, cheeks wet, chest heaving.
“Stop,” you sobbed. “Don’t you dare fucking leave while I’m-I’m l-like this.”
His face fell, panic still prevalent. “I’m trying not to make it worse.”
You choked on a breath. “You are making it worse!”
Dex went still.
You pointed at the floor like you could physically pin him there with the gesture. “You are standing over there looking at me like you’re a monster and you keep talking about leaving and I can’t— I can’t do this too, okay? I can’t comfort you while you’re trying to punish yourself. I need you.”
He looked devastated, and maybe that meant he was finally listening.
“I just—” Your voice broke, and the next words came out almost screamed, because gentleness wasn’t cutting it anymore. “I just need you to hold me, you fucking idiot!”
Dex stared at you, looking completely lost.
Every terrible conclusion he had been building in his head had slammed into that sentence like a shield and shattered at his feet.
“You want me to hold you?” he asked, barely audible.
“Yes,” you cried. “Jesus Christ, yes.”
His hands lowered by an inch.
“But I scared you.”
“Because I was already scared of everything,” you managed through gritted teeth.
“You said red.”
“And you stopped!”
You could see it finally go through to him. His eyes flicked to the cut rope, then to your wrists, then back to your face. He was still terrified of himself, but he stopped backing away.
“I need you clean,” you said, voice shaking. “Then I need you here.”
He moved immediately.
Thank God.
Giving him an instruction helped him. Dex disappeared into the bathroom with stiff purpose, and you heard water slam on. As he scrubbed his hands too hard. You heard him almost losing it over the sink and forcing himself not to because you had not asked for that.
When he came back, the blood was gone.
His shirt was gone too, replaced with the white sleeveless one you liked, because it made him look less like he had crawled out of an alley and more like the man who lived here. Your man, who slept with one hand searching for you.
He stopped by the bed, still afraid to presume after what happened.
You opened your arms.
He climbed onto the bed slowly, gave you every second to change your mind, and only closed his arms around you when you grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him in.
Then he was truly in, and you folded into him.
You cried into his chest with both fists clenched in his shirt, and Dex held you like he was learning how to touch you all over again.
“Tighter,” you sobbed.
His arms tightened.
“More.”
He held you properly then, careful but not distant. His chin tucked over your head, one hand spread between your shoulder blades, the other on your back, keeping you against him without trapping you. You could feel his heartbeat racing under your cheek, and still, yours was worse.
For a while, neither of you said anything.
Words had been too much all day. Everything had been too much all day. So this was good.
Dex pressed his mouth to your hair.
“I just had a bad day,” you whispered into his chest.
His arms tightened again.
You felt him inhale. “All day?” he asked.
You nodded.
His hand flexed against your back.
He wanted to ask, you could feel it. He wanted names, causes, targets, so he could follow them home and put them through a wall for making you feel like this. But for once, he held it in.
You cried harder, because he was warm and clean and finally close enough. “I meant to say yellow,” you whispered.
His chest stopped moving for a second.
“I know,” you added, before he could spiral again. “I know I said green. I know. I just wanted to be okay. I wanted it to be like usual.”
Dex didn’t speak for a long moment.
Then he held you a little closer and pressed his cheek to the top of your head. “Okay,” he said roughly.
It sounded like he was swallowing glass.
You pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was serious, jaw tight, laying in bed with the woman he loved crying all over his shirt, trying to work out how to shoot a bad day.
And then, with absolute sincerity, he asked, “Do you want me to kill anyone?”
You stared at him.
He meant it.
Fuck.
It was so shocking, so cathartic, that a sudden laugh burst out of you, half-strangled against his chest. You tried to stop it, but the look on his face only made it worse. He frowned slightly, earnest, still holding you like he would rather die than move wrong.
“I’m serious,” he said.
You laughed harder. “Dex.”
“What?”
“You can’t kill someone because I had a bad day.”
His brow furrowed. “Why not?”
“Oh my God.”
“If there’s a person responsible—”
“There isn’t.”
“There’s usually a person responsible.”
“There was Brad from HR.”
You blinked at him. “How do you know about Brad from HR?”
“You texted me about him once.”
“That was, like, six months ago.”
“I remember things.”
Despite yourself, you laughed again.
You buried your face against him again, laughing and crying at the same time until you could barely breathe. Dex still looked confused, but his arms settled securely around you. He understood this much, at least, when you pressed closer instead of pushing him away.
“I don’t need you to kill anyone,” you murmured once the laughter faded.
“Okay.”
“I just need you to hold me.”
His mouth pressed to your hair again. “That I can do,” he said.
And he did, held you until your breathing slowed, until the room stopped feeling like it was on fire.
After a while, very quietly, he added, “I would, though.”
You huffed a tired laugh into his shirt. “I know, honey.”
His arms tightened carefully around you.
“Just checking,” he said.
And because it was him, because he meant it with his whole heart, because the day had been awful and you were safe now, you laughed one last tiny laugh into the dark.
