CONTENT: they’re 18+, mild violence, injuries + blood, kidnapping, mild torturing(it doesn’t get too bad), angst
NOTES: in honor of my last one doing better than I expected, I’m putting this one out early. hope you enjoy if you do maybe reblog :)))
“c’mon parker, pick up” you muttered, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear while you tried to open your apartment door with a handful of groceries. the phone beeped again. then the key in your hand fell on the floor.
“you’ve got to be shitting me,” you groaned. you dropped all the bags onto the floor but kept one hand on your phone while you picked up the key and unlocked the door. as soon as you kicked it open you grabbed a handful of bags and threw them in, not caring if they fell out now. once you got the rest of them, you closed and locked the door. he still didn’t pick up.
you sighed, deciding to leave a voicemail.
“god parker, when I see you, I’m gonna beat the shit outta you. what did I tell you about answering my phone calls? I don’t care if you’re patrolling or getting beat up at the moment, you answer me! got it? okay, I’m sure you do. um… well I just got home and I’m putting my groceries away, so uh, once you actually get this maybe let me know if you can still come over alright? I love you.”
Summary: Your new coworker causes problems between you and Frank. You can’t figure out why—you’re nothing special. But when drinks at the bar prove you wrong… the night ends in blood.
masterlist | tag list open. Comment or DM a 💀 to be added, 18+ only, age must be in bio.
Warnings: slow burn conflict to violent explosion, threats, detailed violence, blood, jealous!Frank, protective!Frank, negative self-image/imposter syndrome/negative self-talk & self-worth, manipulation (not Frank), sexual innuendoes, implied fingering, attempted drugging (not Frank), fuck ton of cussing, power plays, mentioned death of an animal (trust me, you’ll see, it’s not sad).
W/C: JESUS CHRIST 10k
Requested by anon: here
A/N: I kept Frank as still being semi-active as The Punisher. My personal opinion: Frank would not do the job if married. He loves you too much to put you in unnecessary danger. HOWEVER… it’s hot as fuck so that’s my reasoning. Pics from Pinterest, not mine.Reader is always 18+. Minors do not interact. Tag list is open for 18+. Asks open for Frank.
Frank can smell bullshit the way a shark smells blood: one drop, a quarter mile away.
Shit’s not close enough to see yet, but it fuckin’ stinks.
A cool breeze whistles through the crack in the window as the rain patters down, crisp ozone and wet tarmac in Frank’s nose. Night settles in; so consuming it’s comfortable. Maybe it’s the anticipation of waiting for you. His girl, gettin’ off her shift to get in his car, get you back home safe, drive you through that coffee joint for a chai latte and a coffee just to drag it out longer. Windshield’s speckled, raindrops streaking, but he’s still got a clear enough view. Woulda been out there waitin’ for you, but last time he did, you said you loved the rain and the run to the truck. So… he stays put. Gives you whatever simple pleasure he can.
The seat creaks under Frank as he adjusts, elbow on the console, chin in his hand, eyes fastened to the door you’ll be comin’ out of. Totally casual. Boot totally not taptaptaptaptapping in the footwell. Van off, artillery in the back; the unsavory pieces Frank isn’t scared to show you anymore.
Started stinkin’ six weeks ago. Not your bullshit. Jason’s bullshit. Your new clean-cut, savvy-tongued, personal ass-kissing coworker. Started small. Innocent enough. Frank knows better.
A text on your phone during dinner guy’s first week. Frank raised a brow in question, fork left hovering in front of his mouth. “Sweetheart, that guy botherin’ you?”
You raised a brow at your screen, then your expression neutralized. You blink across the table at Frank. “Him? Oh, god, no. He’s been a breath of fresh air.”
…Breath of fresh air. You hear that shit? Christ.
“New guy at work just has questions. Normal stuff.”
“Questions can’t wait until work hours?” Frank’d asked, voice smooth through the lurch of instinct in his chest.
“Eh, he’s… trying,” you reason, “to get up to speed. You know how it goes being new.”
No. No, he doesn’t.
Then the phone calls. He ain’t even subtle.
You walked in the apartment humming acknowledgment, phone sandwiched between your shoulder and cheek while someone else gabbed. When you did answer, it was respectful. Tasteful, nothin’ out of the ordinary. That amicable professionalism Frank dotes on, hearin’ you talk all smart, talk your shop. You’d chime in, small cues you were home. Polite excuses to get off the call. Didn’t work.
Frank cornered you against the countertop, hands planted on either side so his barrage of affection was inescapable. Soundless, you laughed, squirming in the cage of him as Frank nipped your neck, kissed your jaw, muttered nothings about gettin’ you a bath ready, askin’ if you taste as good as you smell, pressin’ about your day… so when you didn’t reciprocate… when you—still laughin’, still smilin’—turned away to give attention to the damn phone call… Frank knew exactly who stole your attention, knowin’ damn well you’re home. And it pissed him the fuck off. Not pissed at you. Christ, no. Never you, his sweet angel. Pissed the fuck off at the guy callin’ a married woman—Frank’s girl—after hours, keepin’ you on the phone ‘about work’ until night came around and Frank suggested, in good nature, you needed sleep.
Frank didn’t sleep much that night. When he did? He dreamt about reachin’ through the receiver to crush Jason’s windpipe.
The double-doors unlatching retrieves Frank from his thoughts. Automatic, he sits straight, heart stuttering the second he sees you walking out into the night rain. Wind catches your hair, tugs your jacket, but when you look up through the needles of rain? See him there, the van? Jesus, he’s gone. Delight lifts you up. Puts a skip in your step, literally. You beam. Smile. Wave like you ain’t seen him in weeks even though he kissed you goodbye that same morning.
Frank rolls the window the rest of the way down. Leans out the side, elbow hooked out, squinting against the weather. Gives a whistle, looow’n slow, goddamn obnoxious as the commoners settle and the city comes to life with rats.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Frank calls across the lot. “Need a ride, huh?”
You laugh, keeled a bit, shoes staggering a step. God, that sound fucks with a man’s common sense. “Yeah!” You call back, playing into it. “I need a ride. You got a seat?”
“Yeah, princess, I got a seat alright. Wanna learn how t’drive this bad boy, huh?”
“Frank,” you shout back, weak from laughter, “it’s an automatic transmission.”
“Sweetheart, you’re supposed t’play along, not use that beautiful brain ‘a yours.”
You dash the rest of the way with a wild grin.
Frank reaches over and pushes your door open so you can barrel in.
You do.
The van rocks as you catapult yourself into Frank, lips crashing into his. Your mouth’s cold on his, sweet from whatever you were drinkin’, soft from the chapstick you can’t survive without.
Frank knows he won’t make it into Heaven, but god damn you taste like it.
Breathlessly sweet, you pull back first, an arm hooked around Frank’s neck as best you can in the confined space. You nudge your nose against his, cold to warm, heart tripping as the best part of your day nears. “Chai latte time?”
“Hell yeah, baby,” Frank rumbles, his hand splayed over the entirety of your lower back. “Chai latte time.”
“Yes!” And after another quick, planted kiss of appreciation that conjures a groan in his throat, you plop back into your seat.
But as Frank shifts the van into drive, foot on the brake, he feels your excitement diminish. Craning his head over, he sees you—his girl—a wry smile, a hand on your stomach like you’re full.
“Well…” you start, “maybe a… decaf for me.”
Frank gawks. “You feelin’ alright, sweetheart?” Pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. “They workin’ you too much in there, huh?”
You breathe a dismissive laugh, guiding his hand down. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Promise.” You tip your head against the seat, smile all soft. “I had a chai already. I don’t think I need anymore caffeine before bed.”
You. Already had a chai. From somewhere in the vicinity. Frank blinks. You hate the chai’s in the vicinity. Frank specifically drives you twenty minutes outside of town to get the chai you like. Every damn night, Monday through Friday, rain or shine. Before he can get the question out, you answer.
“Jason and I got called out for a meeting on the other side of town. He must’ve remembered I mentioned you and I go there every night after work, that it’s our thing. It was on the way back,” you explain. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Frank. sees. double. Knee-jerk reaction, Frank double-stomps the brake, his stun moving the truck. Guy drives a married woman to the place she shares with her husband, buyin’ the same fuckin’ drink he gets her every night? Guy buys the married girl the drink before her husband can—that’s the bullshit. It fuckin’ reeks.
You shift, sensing the fizzling tension radiating from Frank. “…What?” you ask, quiet, like anything too loud’s illicit.
Low, a promise to make it known: “He know you’re married?”
Brows knotted, then lifting up, you waggle your hand at him, ring catching in the distant streetlamp light. “You made it pretty hard to miss, Frank.” You pause, eyes narrowing as you study him; the impossible person you’ve managed to learn, love, and keep. “…Why?”
“He ain’t actin’ like you’re married.”
“What?” You sit forward, knees angled towards him. “That’s ridiculous. He’s just a nice guy, trying to make friends. He does these things for everyone.”
“Work ain’t f’friends.” Frank immediately hates saying it, regrets the low-drip of spite that’s got you tensin’ your shoulders, face twisting in pure confusion.
“Frank…” your tone to reason.
Here’s the problem: ya don’t see it.
Rain pelts the windshield. Heavy, angry spit from the sky.
He shakes his head, almost… solemn. “Don’t get it, sweetheart, do ya?”
“Get what?” With a red-mottled face, panic bouncing in your veins. “I’m so confused here, Frankie. I don’t- I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be getting.”
Frank leans an arm on the center console. Waves you in close with his other hand.
Like the two of you are magnetized, you follow, leaning your chin in his palm, your eyes searching between the both of his for answers. For clarity.
“Baby…” Frank drops his voice the way he does when he needs understanding without proof. It’s a big ask. Frank knows. Frank knows you trust him, too. And you know—trust—Frank won’t lead you in the wrong direction.
The rough pad of his thumb slides slow strokes over your cheek, his dark eyes holding yours. “Guy ain’t doin’ this shit for the right reasons,” Frank says. “Ain’t doin’ it ‘cause he’s nice, or-or tryna make friends. Nah. Guy knows exactly what he’s doin’. He’s tryna weasel his way t’ya. Playin’ nice, playin’ dirty, yeah? Guys ain’t nice t’pretty ladies f’the hell of it. He ain’t a good guy.”
Your lashes falter as you process, mouth circled in disbelief. Wind howls through the seams of the truck, nullifying the silence. “You’re… deducing that from what…? A tea?”
“Everything. The texts. Calls. Keepin’ you late at work. Buyin’ you shit like that, yeah?”
“No—” your head glitches a shake, hesitant at first. “No. That’s not it at all, Frank, oh my god. That’s- that’s ridiculous.”
Thunder roars like distant bombs. Lightning draws a jagged white fissure through the sky.
Frank grimaces, pressing his mouth into line. “Ain’t ridiculous. It’s right, sweetheart. You need t’stay away from that guy, you hear me? Away, before he does somethin’ I really don’t like. You need me t’talk to him, huh? Give a gentle nudge?”
“Approach Jason and threaten him over work and tea?” You shake your head, exasperated by being in the middle of such absurdity. Ferocity of your truth—the false belief you’re never enough—in your eyes, you pin Frank’s stare. “You have nothing to worry about. I have nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah?” His brows lift in a goad. “Why’s that, huh?”
“Because I’m not spec—”
Your phone cries and vibrates on the dash like a wasp.
You startle, eyes snapping to the phone.
Franks clocks it with a vile glare.
The air constricts; a noose around both your necks.
The name?
Jason.
You hesitate, heart in your throat, stomach an empty pit.
Jaw pulsing, expression empty—the preamble to violence against another man—Frank stares out the windshield with darting eyes. For five long seconds, you don’t see Frank. You see The Punisher. You see what man’s capable of, if pushed too far; if what’s his is threatened.
Eyes on Frank, you slink your arm out to silence the call.
Softer, barely a whisper, you say, “Neither of us has anything to worry about, okay? I’m not special—”
“Bullshit.”
The phone clicks to black.
“It’s not bullshit, it’s true. You don’t have to blow smoke up my ass like I’m not the most average person you’ve met,” you bubble an incredulous, pained laugh.
“Bull-shit.” Frank argues, twisting to drill his truth—the truth—into you, head-on. “Don’t you ever say that shit ‘bout yourself, sweetheart, you’re the—”
A second time. Your phone buzzes a frenzy, incessant and disruptive, deafening in the space between you and Frank. Goosebumps race up your arms, like an augury to what’s to come. Not now, but later.
“I- I need to answer that,” you say, voice thin.
Reluctant, at a loss, Frank throws a nod at it.
You swipe to answer, phone to your ear with a tight, “Hello?”
Frantic nonsense on the other end. Nothin’ Frank can hear. He can, though, feel your anxiety spike. An innate sense tailored to you, Frank slowly turns his head in your direction. Watches you pale, fear zigzagging your eyes.
There’s no fight in him when you’re lookin’ like this. Impatient for answers but quiet, Frank leans over the console. One big hand kneads over your thigh, keepin’ you here, with him. Whatever it is—you ain’t alone. Not with Frank around.
“Oh my god,” your gasp wanes to a halt, eyes round with shock. “Oh-oh my god. Okay! Okay, yes. Yes, l’ll be right there! Just- just give me a few. Okay? Yep. Yes. Bye.”
Click.
The phone slides from your ear. You don’t even realize it’s dropping until Frank grabs it. Sets it in your lap. Kneads a little firmer into you.
“Everything alright, sweetheart?” Dumb question, but he needs to pull you back into focus.
“Um— uh-ha… no.”
Frank braces, steady inhale through his nose. “Talk t’me.”
“We, uh- Me and- yeah. We have a presentation tomorrow. Like— big presentation, Frank. Like, could be a promotion and a raise big.”
“Yeah, alright. I remember, baby. What about it?” Kneading, kneading, kneading. Here for you. All of you. Always you.
Your hands steeple at your mouth to keep the bile gone. “It’s gone. Our system crashed during backup. Frank— it’s all gone.”
“Fuck, sweetheart—”
You bolt to action, scrambling for your things. “I’ve- I’ve gotta go back in. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry, Frank, but I have to. This is one of our highest priority clients I cannot fuck this up. This- this cannot be happening.”
You fly outta the car after smearing a distracted kiss to Frank’s cheek. You don’t hear him ask you to wait. Or call your name. Rain and thunder drown him out; an army of one muted by mother nature and some motherfucker named Jason.
You sprint for the door, swinging it open and a flood of sallow office light spills out, haloing you.
Through the rain, the heaviness in your gut, the scorching of your throat, you yell out: “I love you!”
And the door slams shut behind you, separating you from Frank once again.
Quiet’s got a way of gettin’ in the skin when business’s left unfinished.
Left things unfinished with you.
Frank’s got a few rules. One of the first: fix the fuckin’ problem.
‘Cause you never know when it’ll be your last chance to.
Frank’s eyes track the empty parking lot.
Finds a sedan there. One with plates Frank’s memorized.
Jason’s.
Bastard never left.
And now he’s got you for the night.
Frank snags his phone from his pocket. Thumbs a number without looking. Three rings—an answer.
“Yello?” David answers in a chuckled hum. “Fraaaaank. Long time no talk, big guy. What’s up? How’s it goin’?”
“Need a favor,” Frank grits.
Micro scoffs, “Hello to you too… The family’s great, thanks for asking. Kids’re doing good in school, Sarah has totally forgot about that kiss…”
“Jesus Christ, Micro. Need you to check a file f’me.”
“Dude, it’s dinner time… Sarah made this Mediterranean sala—”
“Salad. Great. Won’t get cold while you check this fuckin’ file f’me.”
“Okay, so I’m sensing I don’t really have a choice here, did I nail that vibe?”
“Right on, genius.”
With a sigh, grumbled huffs, a muffled excuse to Sarah, Frank hears Micro retreating. Laptop opens. Fingers flying over the keyboard.
“Okay, alright, here weeee go…” Micro says, computer light throwing blue over his face. “Company name?”
Frank gives it.
“File type?”
“Fuck, I dunno? PowerPoint?”
“Sheesh, ancient, okay. Who uses PowerPoint these days?”
“It’s- it’s a goddamn presentation, David. Deleted in the last half hour. Can you find it or not?”
“Frank. I’m offended you even asked.” A hand over his chest to stop the hurt.
“Christ.”
Clack clack clack.
“Okay… okay… breaking the firewall… okay… system override, easy… Like, concerningly easy, Jesus…”
Frank bounces a leg. Drums a hand on the wheel.
“Aaaaaand… here… I think… Found it!”
Stock-still, back straight, Frank stares at the building, the door you vanished behind. “How was the file deleted?”
“Uhhh… Manually. Frank, what is this? Promise me this isn’t another government database I’m cracking because y’know, I’m home now—”
“Goddamnit, Micro, the username. What the hell is it?”
“Jason underscore Caldwell. You, uh… you know the guy? Another one of your… targets?”
“Worse,” Frank’s nostrils flare. “Guy’s fuckin’ with my wife.”
☠︎
That night…
It’s late. Regrettably late, and that always seems to be when the thoughts trickle in. Slow at first, and you don’t realize you’re drowning until you can’t breathe.
Tucked away in the privacy of the bathroom, you lean into the mirror. You bat the facet on so the sink disguises your dissection, muffles Frank tossing and turning in bed. Hips bent against the counter, your forehead an inch from the glass so you can magnify and inspect every conceivable flaw.
Your fingertips shake as they ghost under your eye. Thread-thin lines on the delicate skin only you can see. And then across your cheek, your head angling with the motion, over the dots of pores everyone’s made of, but you never see theirs. Only yours. Your hair could be better. Your nose could be different. You manipulate your skin with your fingers, experimenting to see how you’d look if your eyes were just… like this. Or if your nose was like that… Or if your eyebrows sat here, instead of there. Just… making yourself into a puppet instead of a person.
You don’t… you don’t understand…
Who could love this? Who would want this? Why does Frank? Let alone, for someone else to be interested enough to prod at your marriage when there’s plenty of other available women out there. There’s always smarter, prettier, better.
Frank’s words recite in your head from earlier.
“Guys ain’t nice t’pretty ladies f’the hell of it.”
“He ain’t a good guy.”
“You need t’stay away from that guy, you hear me? Away.”
You scoff at his certainty, the mere idea flushing your face because it hurts to consider. It fucking hurts to look at yourself and see an imposter instead of this divine concept of you Frank has.
Turning away from the mirror, your eyes squeeze to shut out the thoughts, you smack the lights off. Safety in darkness; comfort in the blindness. Once you have the shower running, you bat off the sink. Constant noise, anything but the grating static of inadequacy. You shrug out of your cardigan. It falls to the ground in a heap; shed skin, but it doesn’t slough off the fraud.
Everything you’ve built… it’s just luck, right? Your job. Your education. Your friendships…Your marriage. And all luck runs out eventually. What happens when they see you?
The real you.
What do you do when… it all comes crashing down? When they see you’re just… you?
A soft knock at the door startles you. Your gasp lodges in your throat against raw flesh.
“Sweetheart?” Frank asks, voice low and husky from sleep he hasn’t had.
“Just—” you clear the snag in your voice. “Just a second.”
You wipe the backs of your hands under your nose, shake the rotting guilt from your face, and pick the mask back up to maintain nonchalance.
A second is what Frank gives.
With a creak, the door opens.
Heavy shuffled steps follow, then pause in the doorway when he clocks the total darkness here, and in the bedroom behind him. Still, you can see his towering silhouette, something carved from mythology and given sentience.
Bare, broad shoulders, the sharp slant of his trapezius.
“You, uh…” Frank huffs a chuckle, no humor in it. “You good? Seein’ alright in the dark?”
In your tank and slacks, in the dark where it’s safe, you lean back against the counter, hands grasping the ledge. “I’m… okay.”
It convinces neither of you.
“Need some sleep, yeah? Got your clothes in the dryer.”
Your arms cinch around yourself, holding together the shaking pieces, wondering if this is the night they all break. He’s… so sweet. Frank. Always. Thoughtful in ways you’ve never been loved before. Considerate to the extent that the only fear you live in is when he’ll realize you aren’t worth all this.
You log every single example of how Frank loves you, nausea souring your stomach because it’s overwhelming and beautiful and unconditional.
he drives you to and from work, every damn day
every damn day, your chai tea Except… except today…
you never go to the grocery store alone
you never lift a finger unless you ask to do it yourself, or ask to learn the task with him
holds you while you cry, even cups a tissue under your nose and tells you to “blow” after
has never made you feel unsafe
loves you unconditionally, indefinitely
warms your clothes in the dryer
there’s always an electrolyte water in your lunchbox, something you forget, but Frank never does
You don’t even realize you haven’t said anything until Frank’s hand is on your waist, guiding you into him, asylum from your mind. Out of touch with your body, you shuffle in automatic steps.
“What’s goin’ on in that head’a yours, huh? C’mere.” Before he can settle you against his chest, you halt.
“Why?” You finally spurt out, disgust spoiling the one question you haven’t been able to answer after all the years.
Against the dark, his head cranes, his fingertips curling your tank-top where you’re just out of reach. “Why, what?”
Steam compresses the air, humidity stifling—nowhere to run, nowhere to breathe. Everything you hold back sears your throat, veins in your head swelling with pending implosion. “Why… me?”
Needing the light to see the repulsion in your voice, Frank flicks on the overhead bulb.
You recoil as though the light scorches.
There, in the light, he sees you. All of you. The prey animal darting of your bloodshot eyes. Deep lines of worry trekking through your face. The goddamn sincerity from which your question came, bowing your shoulders in, shrinking your spine.
Frank narrows his eyes on you, certainty cemented in every bone in his face. “‘Cause there’s only you.” Gritty fact coming out between his teeth, tendons in his neck standing. “Only you. Always you. You and me, sweetheart? We got somethin’ no one else does. We got this, yeah?” Gesturing his finger between you two. “This. Us. You and me.”
Biting back tears, your skin crawling with your desperation to leave it, you squeak out, “I hate when we fight. Earlier,” you swallow around the lump in your throat. “I hated that.”
He softens, eyes opening to mirror your vulnerability, looking a helluva lot like the foot of distance between you hurts him. “Hell,” he rasps, “wouldn’t call that a fight. Just me. Lookin’ out f’you. Same shit. Always gonna look out f’you, even if you don’t like hearin’ it.”
“I don’t like hearing it because it’s not true. Plain and simple. I don’t get why you think Jason’s after me.” You bubble an unconvinced laugh, slapping a hand over your mouth to stop it. “I don’t even understand why you’re with me. You could do so much better, Frank.”
A loaded silence perforates the air, bleeding out something ugly, something broken from Frank. Tension ratchets up his shoulders, and self-control shoves them down. A dry, empty swallow tugs his adam’s apple.
The anticipation is anger.
The reality is worse.
It’s heartbreak.
The water’s gone cold. Steam dries up, leaving an empty chill in its wake. Just the patter of the water, amplifying the chasmic space separating you from him.
“…The hell did you just say?” Frank croaks out, his brows jutting up. “Better? Than you? There ain’t no better. There ain’t anyone else. There’s nothin’—I’m nothin’—without you, goddamn it. You?” One shake goes through the finger he points at you. “You fuckin’ saved me, sweetheart.”
It’s heartbreak.
It’s grief.
It’s thanks.
Your eyes crawl from the tip of his finger, up the corded veins in his forearm, and flick a fleeting glance to his eyes. God, does it ruin you. The anguish in his stare, so pure you wonder if what you said is form a torture for Frank.
Goosebumps cover your arms, and you drag your cold, clammy palms over the skin to intimate comfort, but there’s no sensation. It only feels like you’re rubbing filth onto yourself, grabbed straight out of the oxygen you used for those words.
“That’s not true,” you try to argue, but the words hold no faith. Small. You feel small. And like the rotten parts of you are being seen. And seeing those parts… that means leaving, doesn’t it? It’ll mean Frank’s had enough. He’ll realize what you are, what you’ve always been.
“Yeah?” Frank grates his hand over his mouth like he needs to get rid of the urge to vomit, his eyes jittering with loss. “It’s my damn truth.”
And just like you expect— Frank leaves.
You stuff your fist in your mouth to keep a sob from punching out, and swing for the shower handle to cut the fucking noise out.
And with the shower severed, there is… nothing. Grotesque proof you’ve always been right. You’re nothing special. And someday? Frank will leave. Frank is leaving.
Before the silence makes a home in yours, a new noise takes its place. One that startles you, something wooden clattering together rooms away. Almost sounds like… the kitchen table…?
Answering your question, proving you wrong, Frank reappears. Shirtless, grumbling curses, knocking one of the kitchen chairs through the doorway of the bathroom.
“Frank! What’re you doing!?”
Dropping the chair down in front of the mirror is his response. Knuckles tented white over the back of the chair, Frank stands angled partially towards you. He jerks his head, summoning you. Shallow breath contracts the muscles in his chest, the ridges of his abdomen. Everything about him screams bridled rage, but he says nothing.
“Sit,” he says, voice cracked low.
Your eyes slide from Frank… to the chair… back to Frank… “You want me to—?”
“Sit. Yeah.”
“Wh—?”
With the curt wave of his hand, Frank ends the follow up question.
Okay. No more questions. No more excuses. On the balls of your feet, you move in soundlessly until you perch in the chair, drawing your legs up to cross on the seat with you. You don’t look at the mirror. You can’t. Clearing your throat, your chin on your shoulder to be near Frank without looking, your whisper comes strained, tight. “What am I doing in our kitchen chair in the bathroom at two in the morning, Frank?”
“Somethin’ I shoulda done a long time ago.”
Frank towers from behind, heat pouring off his body and into your back. His hands cover your shoulders, his focus on the mirror, your reluctant reflection in it. Beautiful, he thinks, my perfect girl. If only you could see it. He moves a hand to cup your chin. Moves it ‘til you’re head’s straight, ‘til you’ve got no other choice but the face the person in the mirror.
Your bottom lip wobbles. Your eyes strain sideways with your refusal to see.
“Look,” Frank whispers, bending just enough to keep his voice a private rumble, just for you. “Look at yourself f’me, angel… C’mon.”
It’s harder than you think. Looking yourself in the eye. Accepting the imperfections, who you are, who you are not. Because he asked, because your jaw quivers under his affection… you look. You see. You see yourself. Exhausted, disheveled from the day, half-dressed, fully embarrassed. His thumb skims your cheek, then skates down the curve of your neck to plant back on your shoulder.
“There she is…” Frank’s rough cheer, a twitch at his mouth like he might smile. Frank doesn’t smile much, but the corners of his eyes crinkle.
Eyes, after all, are the window to the soul.
“There’s my girl.”
A quick, unfiltered laugh barks out of you. This is ridiculous. You press the back of your hand to your mouth, shielding the dark flush over your face. Nerves bounce your leg. “I’m here,” you shake your head. “Now what?”
“Now, sweetheart, we’re gonna get those thoughts outta your head and keep ‘em gone.” An unsettling solemnity takes his face, his instruction inarguable. “You’re gonna sit here, with me, ‘til you say fifteen nice things ‘bout yourself, yeah? You and me both. No bullshittin’ me. No half-assed answers, you got me?”
“Frank, I—”
“Uh-uh. Ain’t playin’, sweetheart. We’ll sit here all damn night if we got to.”
Panic catches your breath, but you stay. You flick your eyes to his, looking for any chance to escape, but the lift of his brows says he’s read your mind and it’s not an option.
“Ain’t playin’,” he reiterates, setting his shoulders back to lead. “Alright. ‘M first.” Frank draws in a slow, composing breath through his nose, head cocking. “You gotta lotta faith in people. Trust ‘em ‘cause you’re always seein’ the good.”
Your eyes narrow, face warm. “…You usually say that’s poor survival instinct.”
“Don’t mean it ain’t special,” he shrugs a shoulder. “You won’t let the world break ya. That’s special.”
Lips rolled in, a new perspective warm in your stomach, you look down at the interlace of your fingers as you toy with your thumbs. You nod; a thanks without words.
“Your turn,” Frank squeezes your shoulder.
“I…”
“In the mirror, sweetheart. Eyes on you.”
You try again. Staring back at yourself, you expand with a steeling inhale. “I… like… my neck length…?”
“…Your neck length.”
“Yup. Your turn?”
“Nice try, sweetheart. Try again.”
Your shoulders deflate, but Frank’s right there to give a little shake of encouragement. “Okay. I like……… how I show up for the people I love.”
Frank perks, slightly, approving of the sincerity. “Atta girl…” He lifts a hand from your shoulder, big fingers instead weaving through the ends of your hair. He quiets again, expression smoothing with the gravity of confession. “You’re a saint, yeah, I think you are. Got such a big heart you need’a find room in it f’yourself.”
The honesty—the real truth—puts you in pensive thought. Teeth grazing your bottom lip, you nod. You understand. You see it, too. Arms linking around your knees, you smoosh Frank’s hand against your cheek and shoulder to keep him.
“Only one you,” Frank says as he leans down, planting his lips against the top of your head, breathing you in so his world keeps turning. “That’s what makes you so goddamn special. Makes an ass like me so goddamn lucky.”
Throat constricting, tears full but balanced in your eyes, you push out the words, “I love you, Frank,” and the man you love smiles.
“Love you more, sweet girl. Ain’t off the hook yet, though. Fourteen more, c’mon.”
And as you conjure up fourteen more things you can say you like about yourself, your posture straightens. Laughter returns, shared between the two of you. Tears well in your eyes but don’t fall. The first one was the hardest. The rest you find with Frank’s help while he threads his fingers through your hair, or drags the back of his knuckles over your cheek, or brushes his thumb over your bottom lip.
You’re talkin’. Laughin’. Finally cuttin’ yourself some slack. Seein’ you like this—soft, unguarded—reminds Frank what he first fell in love with when he met you.
Your heart.
Your goddamn heart. Got so much you’re full of it.
Frank understands what needs to be done. He’ll do it. Without a doubt.
He’ll put the fear of god into the motherfucker that preys on your doubts, your heart, under the guise of kindness. Usin’ his wife’s goddamn sweetness to manipulate her. Slowly. Carefully. Like he’s got all the time in the world.
Time’s fuckin’ up.
☠︎
3 days later…
Shark to blood, Frank stalks the maze of halls to your office. Black on black, ballcap cinched down, he cuts through the normality of business casual and overhead lights like plague.
In reality?
He’s the fuckin’ omen.
Fist vising a fresh bouquet of flowers, the cellophane crinkles. A stalk snaps. Boots thunder down the corridors he memorized first structurally, by blueprint, then physically, during his first visit years ago. Your colleagues flatten against walls, find convenient exits, avert their eyes—anything to be small in the presence of The Punisher. They don’t know it’s him… but they feel it, the conquest for blood, the irrefutability of his violent nature.
Frank did his homework weeks ago. Soon as the bastard got hired, Frank had a full background check, credit scores, past addresses, and medical history. Poor bastard’s got scoliosis—no wonder he employs sick tactics on a sweet girl like you. Guy’s got no damn spine. Frank’ll reshape it, alright.
The hall empties out by the time Frank approaches your office. He slows, head craning to see you through the open door as you work. Sunlight from the new picture windows soaks you ‘til you glow gold. You mutter to yourself, movin’ here, movin’ there, unpacking trinkets from a box to arrange just how you like it in your new office.
Promotion paid off. You earned every bit of it. ‘Specially when your breath of fresh air wiped your fuckin’ work. Frank’s not told you that. Won’t let you carry that hurt when he can handle it.
Without a sound, Frank leans a shoulder against the doorway. Flowers hang at his side. Temporarily? He forgets the real reason he came. It’s you. ‘Course it’s you. But it ain’t this. Flowers.
He came for Jason.
Frank’s the kinda guy who mistakes warm and fuzzy for heartburn. He gets alotta heartburn around you.
Turns into a full blown coronary as he watches you dip both hands into the box, takin’ somethin’ in those gentle fingers like it’s priceless. You lift it out, and Christ, he’s done for.
Front and center on your desk, you nestle a framed photo between your monitors. The picture?
You and him. Years ago. Halloween. Hours after Frank got back, beaten only a quarter of the way dead this time. You sat between his legs on the front steps of your apartment, handin’ out candy to kids. Frank gave you relentless hell for your costume, a damn scarecrow.
When a kid asked Frank, “What’re you dressed as, mister?”
And Frank said, “An asshole,” without blinking, he’ll never forget the way you laughed.
You, stupidly adorable makeshift scarecrow costume. Paint on your nose, cheeks. Cheeks puffed in the biggest smile known to man.
Him, busted mouth crooking what it could of a smile he forgot how to make. Reminds himself of the goal he’s not yet shared: get away from the life. Retire. No more busted lips in pictures. No more bruises to come home and concern you with. No more holidays spent dressin’ his wounds.
Masking the aspirating blast of love tightening his voice, recalibrating to the mission instead of reminiscing, Frank speaks. “Workin’ hard, sweetheart? Or hardly workin’?”
Hearing Frank’s voice—familiar rumbly gravel—sparks through every nerve in your system to liven you. You spin on a heel, face breaking into a wide smile, big smile. You’re dashing to him before you realize, drawn naturally.
“Frank? Oh my god, hi,” your arms already winding around him waist, pressing your face against his chest to feel the steady thud, thud, thud of his heart. Your safe place. Your home. “What— I wasn’t expecting you,” with a breathy laugh. “What’re you doing here?”
“Congratulatin’ my girl, yeah?” He binds his arms around you. Gives a loving nudge of his stubbled chin on your forehead to ease you back, get access, and find your mouth with his.
Lifted on your tiptoes, your weight braced by Frank’s forearm banded across your lower back, you tip your head to get a better taste. Lips slotted deeper—easy to blame your excitement on the surprise—you hum a sound Frank laps off your mouth.
You want seconds. You consider seconds, delight teetering to greedy, so you compromise with two pecks and pull back to look him in the eye. Hands on his biceps for support, head tilted back so your lashes fan your eyebrow, you beam up at him.
“Damn,” Frank blinks, halfway disoriented. “I get that every time I bring flowers?”
“Stop by more often and you’ll find out.”
“Yeah? Gonna let me in, give me a tour?”
“Maybe more than a tour, if you’re lucky.”
“Luck’s drawn to me like flies on shit.”
You snort. “…Right.”
Separating a fraction, Frank offers the flowers to you in the space between his chest. Your eyes fall to them, face softening. Gentle with appreciation, over the bundle of white lilies, you press another kiss to his lips. “Thank you,” you murmur against him. “These are beautiful. For being a hard ass, you’re kinda romantic, Frank.“
“Romantic, huh?” Frank watches the shape of your body as you go to tend to the flowers. “Can’t let you get used t’that.”
“Too late.” You flash a small smile in his direction, acknowledging what you both know: Frank’s not romantic in the big ways, but he loves you so much weaker men would’ve gone stupid.
While you cut the stems over the wastebasket, Frank performs a simple recon of the room. Finds evidence of his target. A blazer thrown over the back of a chair. A half-drank coffee. Sloppy handwriting over an abandoned notepad.
“Your friend here?” Frank asks, anything but innocent.
Snip. Snip. You glance at him with a raised brow. “Stephanie?”
“Nah.” Frank points at the notebook. “Him.”
Sn…ip… Skepticism setting in, your nose scrunches. “…Jason?”
“Yeah. Him. He around?”
“Does it matter?”
“Figured I should meet the guy spendin’ forty hours a week up my wife’s ass.”
You shoot a glare, lacking any real depth. “…He’s gone for the day.”
“And left his shit in here like this?” Frank wants to say he’s an inconsiderate slob. Frank refrains from pointin’ out the guy’s makin’ himself at home in your space.
“It’s three things,” you quirk a brow. “Not a big deal.”
“He gonna be back tomorrow?”
“We have a meeting at nine a.m. sharp, so I’m gonna hope so.”
“Good,” Frank concludes, satisfied. That works, too.
Stalks trimmed, you arrange the lilies in a vase, fingers hanging on the glass rim when you’re finished. “Forget about him,” you shake your head. “You’re here, visiting me, it’s just the two of us, and you definitely made my day. I couldn’t be happier right now, Frank.”
“Yeah?” Something rare and short-lived flashes in his eyes; the look where he’s still trying to believe this—you—are his. “Guess I did my job.” With the heel of his boot, he knocks the door shut. Prowls the rest of the way to you, his hands at home on your hips to draw you right up against him.
Your arms snake around his neck, melting into the solidity of Frank. By the bill, you ease his hat off, seeing him in the full, natural light of the windows behind you. Hat in your hands, his head bent, you reach up and kiss the crook of his nose. And again, on the bridge. And again, on the tip. And falling lower, to his mouth.
There’s no tentative introduction. Not when your arms buckle around him and jerk him closer. Not when his mouth opens, inseparable from you, to taste the seam of your lips. You hiccup something dangerously close to a moan, stifled by the palm that cups your jaw, the big fingers that press into either side of your cheeks to lightly mush your lips.
“‘Bout to start somethin’ we won’t be able to walk away from,” Frank goads on your mouth, voice reduced to hot husk and need.
Upper lip twitching, your teeth clink against his. “Can’t get my outfit dirty. I’ve got a presentation in twenty.”
“All’s I need’s ten.”
“…To finish?”
“You.” Boot hooked around the chair leg, Frank yanks it over. Drops down into it, knees spread wide. Looking up at you, his stare inevitable and dark, Frank pats his thigh. “Sit. Wanna show you how good the city can look from up here.”
You forget everything—especially the presentation in twenty—while you overlook the city in your new office, on your husband’s lap, his hand between your legs and the other over your mouth, his boots hooking your ankles open.
You forget about the flowers on display in your desk. Frank communicates through the flowers he buys. You should’ve known. Should’ve read into it more. But you didn’t.
A harbinger in the form of velvet petals and the color of purity, specifically picked by Frank: the lilies.
The funeral flower.
☠︎
That night…
Wasn’t anything unusual when you texted Frank that afternoon with a change of plans:
Going out for drinks after work! Stephanie’s driving me there. Pick me up after? Come a little early to help stage my escape and we can go somewhere else to have a few together. Xoxoxo
Frank replied:
I’ll be there, sweetheart. Count on it.
So he was.
Bar stinks. Smells like fuckin’ shit. Not actual shit. Bullshit—worst kind. Full moon’s got people squirrelly. Has Frank on edge.
Tucked on the other side of the room, corner high top, Frank monitors you from afar. Won’t interrupt your time out. Doesn’t like people much, anyway. Sipping his beer, bottle small in his grasp, Frank clocks the faces he knows from your work, watches every interaction. Even if he hasn’t met ‘em, he’s done his homework. Has faces to names, street addresses, registered vehicles. Five coworkers with you, and a sixth, unattended drink beside you.
Who could that be?
The rock in Frank’s gut says he knows. Says it’s divine intervention, givin’ him an opportunity. A gift. Wonders if Red’d see it that way, too.
Fuck, sweetheart, you glow under the shitty neon lights and grimy haze of smoke. Too damn pretty for a place like this. Kinda place where if you go out back? You’ll get gutted while a handful of bikers smoke and it’s your own fault for havin’ the balls.
Feeling Frank’s stare, you look through the crowd, finding him at his usual post. You lift your glass. Frank lifts his. A salutation from a distance, a promise for more time together later in a cheers, a sip, and a smile.
You go back to your friends.
Frank resumes guard, ensuring your safety, so you can focus on enjoying yourself.
Turning back to the bar, the animated chatter of tipsy talking, inebriated laughter, you feel… good. Happy. Elbows on the sticky counter, the vodka soda in both hands, you smile. Content now, knowing later promises the best kind of fun, but it’s just you, Frank, and the entire night.
You don’t have long to indulge in the thoughts. Jason sidles back up beside you, his shoulder pressing against yours in the congested room. He smells like aftershave, smells good, honestly, not in a hungry way, just respectable. He smells like he tried.
“Everything go okay at your doctor’s appointment?” you ask, nudging at the reason he left the office early today.
“Doctor’s appointment?” Jason fires back before he realizes. “Oh, right. Yeah, definitely. Doctor’s appointment went good, went well… Just… routine.”
You hum, nod along, but as you look at his profile—conversational attention—you notice the clean clipper passes through his hair. And then at his jaw, the skin faintly red, leftover friction of a razor blade. So he… went to the doctor… got a haircut… shaved… and then you notice his clothes… Dark dress jeans, a fitted quarter-zip. Jason’s not a bad looking guy, but he’s definitely not your type either. Too clean, too concerned with gaining, obtaining instead of sharing or supporting. Talks a little too much about crap he can convince you knows a lot about, even if he knows nothing. Helps him at work, and he knows it.
“I hope I’m not prying here, surely you won’t mind me asking…” Jason says, not asking permission, taking it anyway. He faces you completely, elbow on the bar. He looks down, thumbing the rim of his old fashioned, pensive as an act. “Is your husband… good to you?”
Almost swallowing your straw, you spit it out in a stuttered cough, brows over your head. “What?”
“You seem really… tense all the time. You said yourself, he’s intense.”
You bubble a genuine, incredulous laugh. “My husband’s not the problem. He’s intense, sure, but that’s not a downfall.”
“It is if you’re distracted and uneasy.”
“I’m— what?” you belt out, face screwed. It’s the first you’re hearing about being distracted, uneasy, or tense. “I’m at work. We have deadlines, high stakes, high pressure. Home isn’t the problem.”
Jason draws a clicking breath between his teeth, as if he knew you’d say that, and you’re still wrong. Kind, compassionate, even, he looks at you with enough sympathy to drown you.
“I think for you, work’s a break. I’m just looking out for you, definitely not trying to be the bad guy here, you know I’d never do that,” Jason raises his hands to claim innocence. “What I’m trying to say is… you deserve someone… nice.”
“Like you?” you prompt, heart thrumming with Frank’s accusation from days ago.
Jason shrugs, biting back a smirk since you said it. “Something for you to think about. I mean, look at all the time we spend together. Calls, staying later than we have to in the office… I know you, I see you in those quiet moments.”
Bewildered by the audacity, brain turning the words over multiple times as you put together a rebuttal. “You call me, Jason. You- you have questions, need help on a sheet… I answer and stay because I’m supposed to. It’s called being a good coworker, not attraction.”
“But you answer. Every time. And you never tell me you have to go. You stay on the line, stay in the office… with me. What’s that say about you? Your marriage?” Jason gauges your reaction. Pushes harder. “What’s the say about us?”
Jaw hanging, your mind races to the last long call you had with Jason. That night Frank cornered you at the counter, kissing and biting your neck, your jaw, trying to coax your attention to home, to him. You told Jason you were home. You vocalized polite deflections that hinted the conversation needed to end. But… this is where being polite got you, stuck with the ideas of yourself you continuously reject, watching them come to fruition. You resist the urge to yell for Frank. You know, desperately, Frank can make the problems go away, remove you from this equation, but Frank can’t fight all of your battles for you.
“You,” you say, cocking a hip out, your jaw jutted. “You need to learn your place. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go to the bathroom, and when I come back? This never happened, and it will never happen again. Are we clear?”
Giving him no time to respond—the only answer is yes—you storm off. Shoulder through the crowd, and close yourself in the bathroom to cool down.
Frank watched the whole thing. Waited for you to give the signal. The: Frank, I need you over here signal. You never did. You wanted to handle it on your own. Alright. Frank respects that. Admires it. But seein’ you walk off like that? Shit. No stayin’ out of it now.
No stayin’ out of it when…
At the bar, Jason rummages in his pocket, hands trembling with urgency. Pulls out a baggie, small, coke-sized. No coke in it. Just five peach, oblong tablets.
Violent inspiration for Frank.
Jason digs a finger in the baggie. Scoops out two pills. Drops a third on the floor with a hissed curse, fumbling for it.
Sockets yank loose in Frank’s head, vision going red. Tendons cable through his neck, breath ragged and shallow; an animal without a leash. Frank chains himself with a fist around his beer bottle, squeezing tighter.
If that pill goes into your fuckin’ drink…
Tighter.
Frank shoulda taken this sick fuck out in his own home, do it on his turf, repaint the sonnuva bitch’s apartment with his brains.
Tighter. The glass creaks. Whines. The bottle quakes.
Ghosts in his palms, clear as day, Frank jolts as he feels old bones and old corpses break in his fingers. Hundreds—thousands—dismantled by the hands he uses to love you.
The noises start. You know the ones. The guttural reeving of a man-made machine; an element of pure fucking consequence.
Tighter. To demolish.
The bottle explodes. Glass bursts. Beer flies.
Jason drops two tablets into your drink. Through the swarm of people, Frank sees the drugs contaminate, spreading poison without your fuckin’ consent.
Instinct and action converge—then explode.
Before Jason can lower his hand, Frank tears through the masses. Not a man. A weapon. Retribution. Vengeance. Divine wrath.
The fuckin’ judge, jury, and executioner.
Punishment.
Pain reaching him before realization does, Jason screams. Bloodcurdling agony scratches out the music, the clamor, all fuckin’ sound. Brain catching up to the excruciating pain, the cause of it, Jason stares at the snare of his wrist. What’s left of it. Snapped back, hand hanging off the wrist, bone spearing under the skin in fractured protrusions.
If not for the pain, it’s the sound that puts the fear of god in Jason.
It’s Frank.
In the span of two seconds, Frank bounces Jason’s head on the counter with a wet crack of skull, heel of his hand pinning him in place. The glass—your glass—absorbing the drug magnifies Jason’s skittering eyes, his stammering breath painting the countertop.
“Puttin’ shit in a girl’s drink, huh?” Frank spits, smashing Jason’s head until it purples.
Everyone gives Frank a wide berth. Whispers of The Punisher start to circulate, always do on this side of town.
“I didn’t-! I-I-I—” Jason sputters, spittle and fear flying.
“You DID!” Frank roars, slam, slam, slamming Jason’s head for a three count, blood sprinkling the wood. “You think I’m stupid, hm? Talkin’ to me like I’m fuckin’ stupid? You think I look stupid?”
“No- no! No! God, no!” Anything to get off the hook.
“Then don’t fuck with me like I’m fuckin’ stupid. Now,” Frank cages Jason in from behind, a massive hand squeezing between his cheeks to pry open his mouth. “Drink it. You were gonna feed this shit to my wife. You drink it.”
Frank lifts the glass as Jason pounds the counter with his good hand, smearing his face in a desperate bid for escape.
As the narcotized drink teeters the rim of the glass, ready to spill over into Jason’s pleading, incessant mouth, a voice—concerned, still sweet—cuts through the thick of it.
Your voice.
“F-Frank?” Legs jellied from shock, you shuffle forward, the herd parting for you. “What’s going on…?”
Frank looks over his shoulder. Right to you. Jesus, his heart almost gives out. You. His wife. Precious, delicate, so fuckin’ good the scum of the earth tries to eat ya. Frank won’t let that happen. “Hey, sweetheart, no problem. Havin’ a civil conversation with hotshot here about human decency. Caught your breath’a fresh air spikin’ your drink, s’all.”
A green-tinge floods your face. “Oh—? Oh… my god…” The ground beneath you swirls. A hand on your stomach to keep the vomit in, other hand curling into a fist, you grit your question through your teeth. “Why?”
Jason huffs, all panted breath and nowhere to run. “Because,” he hisses, grunting when Frank pinches the back of his neck like scruff. “Because you’re special.”
☠︎
Jason’s thrown into the brick wall of the back alley with a heavy slap of limp meat.
“Tell me what the fuck that was!” Frank yells, words clawed from his throat.
Intimidation tactic, galvanic rage with nothing to do but bleed, Frank slugs his fist into the wall by Jason’s face, letting him cower and piss and beg while he feels the fury sailing an intentional centimeter off mark.
“Fuckin’ tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”
Bam. Bam. Bam.
In harmony with the strike of his fist.
The drizzle of piss on the ground’s the fucker’s first answer.
“It- it wasn’t—” choked on his own terror, Jason tries to crawl up the wall. “It wasn’t bad! I swear! It- it wasn’t roofies or anything, just- just something to help her relax. It was just Xan—”
And with a shark to blood… there comes the frenzy.
“You don’t decide what my wife fuckin’ needs! She’s a strong woman—“ wham, an uppercut straight into Jason’s solar plexus. “She’s fuckin’ strong. Goddamn right she’s special.”
Blood gurgling from his mouth, Jason groans, tries to double-over.
Tries.
“Stand the fuck up. Ain’t finished with you,” Frank clocks him back, velocity of his punch leaving Jason damn-near crucified on the wall. “Take it like a fuckin’ man since that’s what you wanna be. Controllin’ women like that. Fuck.”
Weak men are what’s wrong with the world.
“She’s the only good thing I fuckin’ got. You fuckin’ hear me? Huh?”
No reply. Just the sputtering cries of a grown man in crisis. Music to Frank’s ears.
“I said—” Frank latches onto both of Jason’s ears. Rips. Blood gushes out as the seams start to separate. “YOU FUCKIN’ HEAR ME?”
The shrieking says he’s heard. And felt.
Leaves ‘em connected even if he shouldn’t.
Frank thinks about you. His girl. Your grin over that chai latte. Your laugh in his ear late at night while you narrate a documentary on fuckin’ whales. Halloween night those years ago, same picture on your desk now. Slow dancin’ in the kitchen to your terrible music, half asleep, tucked into him like he’s safety instead of a biblical reckoning.
And this motherfucker was gonna do only god knows what to you.
Frank snaps back when Jason hacks up blood.
“You stay away from her,” Frank’s fists ball in Jason’s collar, nose to nose, teeth bared as verbalized venom poisons the air. “Look me in the eye and tell me you fuckin’ hear me. Say it. Fuckin’ say it. Say: I hear you, Frank. I get you, Frank. Say: sorry I’m a stupid cunt, Frank. Say: I deserve everythin’ comin’ my way.”
Jason recites every word, verbatim, through chattering teeth. Calls himself a stupid cunt. Says he hears Frank, gets Frank, deserves this.
“Are- are you gonna kill me?” Sprawled pliant on the wall, shirt catching the rough brick, reduced to a stuck hog instead of a man.
“Yeah,” Frank says simply. “Yeah. ‘M gonna need to do that.”
And Frank unloads.
☠︎
1 Week Later…
Sun’s hot on Frank’s back, even at seven in the morning. Sweat funnels down his back, soaking his tee. Been up before the sun digging the shit for a proper burial. Size twelve shoebox duct taped shut and off to the side.
Grunting, Frank stakes the shovel back in the ground, adding to the mounds of fresh dirt on either side of his boots. Hole in the ground sized for a dismembered man in a garbage bag.
Shovel leaned against his side, Frank wipes the back of his hand over his forehead. Sweat smears dirt. Looks up at the sky. Blue as can be. Bright as hell. Looks a lot like forgiveness. Or deception. Frank can’t tell these days.
Readjusting the handle in his blistered palms, spade ready to pierce the dirt, the back door creaks open. Gets his attention.
Frank straightens in sections of his vertebrae, squinting against the halo of sunlight around… you.
You walk out, barefoot in the grass, sleep-soft in your pajamas yet. And you bring coffee. An angel. His angel.
Frank lets go of a breath he didn’t know he held. “I’ll be up soon, yeah?” he calls. Doesn’t stop you. “Dirty work out here you don’t need t’see, sweetheart.”
You ignore the advice, shuffling your way right to him on an invisible track. When you reach him, you pass a mug of coffee.
Dirt-lined fingers clasp it by the rim, taking a generous sip through the billow of steam. “Mm,” he hums, angling from the pit in the ground and towards you instead, eyes sliding down the satin set blessing your curves. “What’re you doin’ out here, huh?”
“Bringing you coffee. Enjoying the sun,” you sip from your own cup, eyes locked on him.
“Ain’t complainin’.”
“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” you murmur, curling into Frank’s side.
The hole in front of you two. But it doesn’t bother you. Maybe it should, but… it doesn’t. Not how you thought it might.
Frank leans down. Presses a kiss to the top of your head. Drapes an arm over your shoulders lightly, afraid of dirtying you, too. “Yeah,” Frank agrees. “Didn’t have to.” He shrugs. “Wanted to.”
“Kinda looks big enough for a body in a garbage bag,” you tilt your head, lips pursed in thought. “You know, if you chopped him up.”
Frank raises a brow. “Screwy thoughts for a pretty little thing like you so early,” but he stamps two kisses your temple like he approves.
You hum, chin inclining for more affection. “To be fair… Twinkles was a really fat cat. It’s nice of you to do this for Ms. Jenkins.”
“The lady’s, what? A hundred? Ain’t gonna make her dig the damn hole for her own cat.”
You laugh, quiet and soft for the morning. Warms Frank right up.
Pretending your top needs adjusting, Frank smooths the fabric at your shoulder, fingertips dragging down your arm, landing at the small of your back. Light touch. Featherlight. Keeps you clean. “You alright, sweetheart?” Quieter, with the weight of last week.
Your chest inflates with a slow, steady breath. Coffee in one hand, other splaying over Frank’s stomach, you think. Then nod. “Yeah, I’m… okay. A little fucked up over it all, but I’m okay. I’m good.”
“Alright. Good. We good?”
“We’re good. More than good.”
“S’long as we’re good.”
“I got an update, by the way…”
Frank tucks his chin, looking down at you in the closeness. “Yeah?”
“Yeah… got the email this morning. Jason’s been relocated to another building. So he must be out of the hospital.”
“Hm,” Frank hides the satisfaction with indifference. “Good.”
“…to another state.”
“Even better.”
“Hey,” you shift. “I’ve been meaning to say a few things… Like I’m sorry. And thank you.”
“Ah,” Frank shakes his head. “Don’t owe me nothin’.”
“I owe you an apology for not believing you.” You slide in front of him, reaching up to span your hand over his stubbled cheek. “You warned me. You were right. I didn’t listen. I… couldn’t see what you saw. About the situation, about… me.”
Frank leans into your touch, brows knitting before they relax. “Always lookin’ out f’you. Don’t need to apologize for believin’ someone’s good.”
“I need to be more aware.”
“Nah,” Frank turns his head in. Kisses your palm. “You stay sweet. You leave the cynicism t’me. What you need t’do, though, sweetheart?” Frank drops the shovel. Wipes his mouth on his shoulder. “Believe in yourself. Ain’t nothin’ in here that’ll change how people see you,” Frank says, tapping his finger against your sternum. “This’s good. Special. You. Can’t go all your life with doubt. It’ll rein you in. Keep you there. Won’t let you go far.”
You drop your forehead to his chest, his sweat placating the old wounds. “I know…”
“We’ll work on it.”
It’s a promise. A plan.
“Thank you,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes. “I never said thank you. Thank you for… looking out for me. Being patient. Doing everything in your power to keep the world from hurting me. Even when I’m the one hurting myself with my doubts. Especially then.”
Frank tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Dips in, his nose nudging yours. “Nothin’s gonna take you from me, yeah? Bubble wrap you if I got to. I got you, baby.”
Hand sliding to his neck, you draw him down. Kiss him. Slow and easy, intimate in the understanding of what this man, your husband, will do for you. The extent he’ll go to.
Drawing back, he nips your bottom lip. Replaces your mouth with a drink. Not the same warmth, but it’ll do. For now.
Arm around his waist, nestled back into his side, you stand with the question that’s burned you most. Until you can’t. “…Why’d you stop?”
Frank turns his head to you. You look up at him. You see each other in the light of a new day. A quiet day. “You wouldn’t want that, yeah? Pretty girl. Everything I do’s f’you.”
“Frank?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
“Frank?”
“Yeah?”
“We should probably finish burying Twinkles. I think Ms. Jenkins is watching from her window.”
content is mine, always without the use of AI. do not share or repost on any other site without consent of the author (hi, me). characters are not mine.
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Tags (tag list open, only for 18+ users): @emma-frxst @jakegyllenhaalscharacters @tigerf-cker @harbouredsoulss
IMAGINE SIRIUS BECOMING ANGRY/PROTECTIVE WHEN DEATHEATERS TRY TO TORTURE/KIDNAP YOU
REQUESTED BY @amy-rosetaylor
WARNING: BAD LANGUAGE AND MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE …………………………………………………….
You saw the Deatheater form the spell before you could comprehend who their wand was pointing at, and James’ shout filled the air before there was time enough to push him out of harms way.
You had to get him to cover.
Curses flew like violent winds through the air around you, one particularly nasty one just narrowly missed your foot as you dragged Prongs with you behind the pile of smouldering boulders to you left.
“Im fine! It’s okay (Y/N) really” he tried to reassure you as you checked him over, seeing if anything needed immediate treatment, to your relief the jagged wound to his shoulder was neither deep nor serious enough to put him out of action.
“Easy for you to say” You scoffed “If you go home with even a single hair out of place Lily will have me six foot under in ten seconds flat!” At the mention of his heavily pregnant wife James’ face took on a worried look, the way this battle was looking he was beginning to fear that he might not make it home at all…Sensing his troubled thoughts you placed a reassuring hand on his uninjured shoulder.
“Don’t worry mate, we’ll beat these sodding Deatheaters yet!” With these parting words you leapt back into the fray. Throwing hex after hex, dodging almost as many as you were dealing out, and some time later you found yourself fighting back to back with your husband.
“Alright?” Sirius panted, unable to take his eye off of the masked bastard on the receiving end of his wand long enough to check on your wellbeing for himself.
“Fine. Pissed. But fine” you shot back, blocking an unforgivable curse just in the nick of time. Over your shoulder you heard Sirius bark a laugh.
“No change there then” came his cheeky reply. Rolling your eyes you told him to duck and whipped round, sending a stunning spell over his head and straight between the eyes of a Deatheater that was getting about as close to Padfoot as you were prepared to let them.
“You alright?” You asked, looking him over worriedly as he stood. He had a couple bad cuts and appeared to be limping slightly, but nothing life threatening it seemed. Stepping forward he tugged you to him by your waist and kissed you in a way that spoke of worry and adrenaline, and that overwhelming desire to have one’s loved ones safe .
“I’ll feel better once we’re all outta here” he murmured against your lips.
“Same here sweetheart” you replied softly. You leaned in to steal another kiss but you were dragged back by your hair and pulled up against someone who was -rather rudely- jabbing their wand into the skin of your throat. You heard Sirius’ shouts of panic as you struggled against the tight grip the man had around you.
“Everybody stop where you are!” The Deatheater holding you hostage commanded, his voice magically booming all across the raging battlefield. One by one your friends turned to look upon you and your captor, varying expressions of horror, anger and fear spread across their faces. None however seemed more horrified, more angry, or more terrified than Sirius. He stepped forward slowly but halted immediately when the Deatheater pushed his wand harder against you, drawing a tiny whimper from your lips.
“One more step blood-traitor and she’s dead” he growled menacingly. Your husband’s eyes were murderous as he stared down the arsehole that dared to threaten you, the love of his life, his features contorted in his rage. The Deatheater only smirked and turned his head to sniff your hair, causing a shudder of revolution to quake through you. Creep.
“I think we’ll take this one with us…dont you think boys?” His crude implications were met with dark leers from the other Deatheaters.
“LIKE HELL YOU WILL!” Yelled Sirius, managing to restrain himself from moving forward, after sll the git’s wand was still far to up close and personal with your jugular.
“Oh no?” The man crooned, stirring up more dark laughter from his friends “and how exactly do you plan to stop me?” Sirius opened his mouth to shoot back some threat or other but stopped when Remus placed a hand on his shoulder, keeping him from making any mistakes that could cost you your life.
Oh for Godric’s sake!
Taking matters into your own hands you slammed your head back into the Deatheaters face, breaking his nose and causing him to drop his wand. Sirius rushed to you as you stumbled forward, encircling you in his arms and tilting your head back gently to inspect the cut left in you skin from the sheer pressure with which the wand was pushed into you. A sheen of darkness settled over his eyes as he slowly looked up to glare into the eyes of the man stupid enough to make someone that Sirius Black cares about bleed. He placed a kiss on your forehead and passed you over to Remus, who hugged you tight in relief.
Sirius stooped to pick up the man’s wand and weighed it in his hand for a moment, keeping the Deatheater pinned with that famous Black glare.
“Pads mate” James called out as he made his way through the battle that had sprung back to life when you made your escape. “What are you doing with that?”
Sirius only smirked as he finally closed in on his prey. Seconds later the wanker’s cries filled the air, drawing the attention of the other Deatheaters, who all fled almost on the spot at the horrific image of a man experiencing what happens when you try to hurt Mrs Black.
This one had been in my head for weeks, and I finally got around to writing it. The whole church scene just got me feeling some type of way. Enjoy!
Watching Gally interrogate Teresa had been a mesmerizing sight. You hadn’t been truly prepared for how attracted you’d be to him as you sat by Thomas and Newt, observing the scene before you. You knew you should’ve been paying closer attention to Teresa, she was supposed the center of it, she was the reason you were all in that abandaoned church to begin with.
And yet, all you had been able focus on was him. Gally. Your beloved boyfriend, who you had just gotten back after six horrid, excruciating months of thinking you’d never see him again. A part of you was still processing his return, but the bigger part was too drunk with happiness to care about the How’s.
He was back. Stronger, smarter, more assertive and determined than ever, and still wholeheartedly yours. That was all that mattered.
Requests: the maze runner yes!! can i get an angsty newt imagine where the reader has been in the glade like as long as alby has, maybe longer and she’s kinda at her breaking point bc its been so long and newt is just trying to comfort her but its like a whole mess? thanks hun
Newt request please! You were the 2nd Glader in the maze, after Alby and when Thomas gets a crush on you, Newt gets protective! Thank you xx
Newt x reader imagine where in the Scorch or sometime in the death Cure the reader gets injured and newt is all worried
Warnings: attempt at sexual assault, yelling, all that sort of stuff. this is a darker themed story, but let’s be honest - if you really were the only girl in the glade, not every boy would be chivalrous.
Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. If you want to repost my work. please ask first - but even then I might say no.
Requests are CLOSED!!!
-
Every since the knew Greenie had arrived, he’d given you weird vibes.
You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t mentally hope that just once they’d send up a girl. Being the only female in a group of boys became repeatedly annoying, and while most of the boys you were surrounded by knew there boundaries, there was always the stereotypical cat-call. Or possibly the demeaning that came with the boys always saying you weren’t as physically strong as them, therefore had to be protected.
You held up your own well enough, and by now, given that you were the second Greenie to ever arrive in this God-forsaken place, you’d earned your place. Most of the boys cared for you, but knew better than to underestimate your strength. You were a runner, along side Minho, and you had just as much authority as Newt, next to Alby.
But of course, being the only girl did come with it’s cons. Every time there was a new Greenie and he was a boy, depending on the age, there was always the worry that maybe this boy just wouldn’t understand the rules that had been put in place given your role. Or maybe he wouldn’t care. By the seventh Greenie, you’d learn to grow use to being surrounded by boys. You’d even accepted the fact that, for an indefinite amount of time, it seemed like W.C.K.D. would only ever bring boys up.
But that didn’t make the fear any lesser. Yeah, you could hold up your own. But these were boys, and you had no idea who they were each time they came up or how they’d react to see one girl in a group of guys.
Luckily the boys, specifically Newt, made it clear to every new Greenie that you were not to be touched or harassed in anyway. It usually came along with some threat, and in that moment, you didn’t really mind being protected. You trusted some of these boys with your life, namely Alby, Minho, Fry, Winston and of course, Newt.
You knew they wouldn’t let anything hurt you, or anyone, just like you wouldn’t let anything hurt them.
But something was different this time. This new Greenie, Aaron, just seemed off. It had only been his first day there, given that he’d arrived early in the morning, and ever since he’d been given the tour by Alby, all he would do as stare at you. Even now, late at night, when everyone was taking the chance to relax, you could feel a pair of eyes on your back.
You shrugged it off, knowing that he’d already been given the talk. Aaron could stare all he wanted, but it wouldn’t change anything. Wouldn’t change where your heart lied.
Nestled into Newt’s side, you let his arm fall around his shoulder, taking a sip of your water as your eyes stared at the large doors that led to the maze. After a long day of running, you were promptly exhausted. Glancing back behind you, you knew Minho was as well. But full on festivities were on tonight, given the arrival of new supplies and of course, a Greenie.
The boys cheered and chatted, taking swings of Gally’s concoction which you had politely denied. Though, Newt still allowed himself to indulge in the rather… odd tasting beverage.
You wanted to stay awake, you really did. All day running and finally you were able to be by Newt’s side, but you found it become increasingly difficult to keep your eyes open. And there was something more you had to do in the map room. So sadly, you had to get up,
Turning your head, you pressed a soft kiss against Newt’s cheeks, an immediate smile growing on his lips as you did so. When you pulled back, the hand that had been around your shoulder delved into the ends of your hair, caressing the back of your head. Cheeks slightly flushed, Newt smiled over at you; “going to bed, love?”
“Soon,” you nodded, smiling softly back. “I have to do one finally thing, then i’ll be heading to bed. You coming?”
Newt paused, glancing back at the group of boys partying around the fire, the reflection of it dancing in his eyes. You smiled as you saw his eyes twinkle. “I think i’ll stay with the shanks for a little while,” he explained as you nodded. “Okay?”
You nodded, “of course.” Pressing another quick kiss to his cheek, you stood up, pulling the sleeves of your shirt further down your arms. “I’ll see you later.”
“Don’t be out there for too long,” Newt called, watching you leave.
“I won’t.”
And you really wouldn’t be, or at least, you didn’t hope to be. You hated walking to the map room late at night, but Minho had asked you to do one last thing, something he only trusted you to do, and you’d put it off for much too longer. So, you took quick strides, willing yourself not to glance around at the deep delves of trees around you. You knew it’d only freak you out more.
You didn’t notice the figure that followed you, and somehow, neither did you notice the stare.
At least, not until there was a sudden grip on your shoulder and you were aggressively pulled, your back smacking against the trunk of a tree. You groaned out as you felt your vision blur for a second, given that your head had also been aggressively smashed against the rough bark. You blinked a few times, trying to see who was before you. You prayed it was just one of the boys, maybe Minho or Newt, playing a prank on you. But you knew they’d never hurt you.
Swallowing thickly, you felt your vision finally clear and a pair of blue eyes staring down at you. A sudden bundle of panicked welled within you when you noticed that it was the Greenie, Aaron staring at you. Not to mention, that at this point he’d trapped between his arms on either side of your head and was leaning dangerously close to you.
“Agh,” you hissed, raising your hand to touch the back of your hand. You would’ve, had Aaron not grabbed your wrist and press it against the bark behind you.
“What the hell are you doing, Greenie?” You hissed, eyes narrowing in the darkness of the night. You let your eyes fall back the way you came, your heart plummeting when you saw just how far you were from camp. There was no way anyone would be able to hear you, and you doubted Aaron was going to let you scream.
“You know my name,” the boy hissed back in response. “Remembered it earlier, remember?”
“Yeah,” you sighed, blinking. “And I don’t care. Get off me,” you huffed, struggling within his grasp. You raised your free hand to shove him off you, but Aaron grabbed that one two. It was then that the real panicked settled in - whatever (and you had a pretty good idea of what) Aaron wanted to do, he really wanted to.
“Sorry, princess, but no can do.” Aaron smirked, and even in the middle of the night, you could see the twinkle of mischief behind it.
Snarling your lip, your struggles increased tenfold. “I swear to God, you shank! Let me go!” As your panic rose, so did your anger.
Aaron only tightened his grip and you felt your breath get caught in your throat the moment he leaned in even closer to you, the lightest touch of his lips reaching your neck. “I’m curious,” Aaron whispered and you shivered in disgust when you felt his lips press a kiss against your neck. “You’re the only girl in this entire glade…”
What you’d been trying to deny seemed to slap you in the face as you felt Aaron slide his hand under your shirt. You tried to push him off you were your now free hand but with the way he was positioned, it was practically impossible. That didn’t mean you’d stop making this difficult for him though.
“How come that little blonde shank get’s you all to himself, huh?”
You snarled at the mention of Newt’s name, narrowing your eyes dangerously. “Because, it ain’t a pig like you, you damned shank.” You spat, pressing yourself even further against the tree when Aaron’s hand just reached the cup of your breast.
Biting your lip, you felt your eyes water with water. You were trying to think of a plan, but all thought was lost the moment you felt Aaron dig his teeth into your neck. A scream immediately left your lips, it echoing across the entire forest. You were about to scream out for help, wondering why you hadn’t done that before, but then Aaron’s hand clasped around your lips, digging the back of your head into the bark.
Your eyes fell shut as a sharp pain ran through your through, breathing becomingly increasingly more difficult.
“You little bitch!” He spat, his narrowing with anger. That same familiar terror you felt when you might not make it back into the glade after a day in the maze filled your stomach, and you so desperately wished that Newt had somehow heard your scream.
Letting go of your hand, Aaron pressed his knee in-between your legs, trapping you as his hands went to the hem of your shirt, ripping it up through the middle. A cry left your lips as he did so, lips parting to call out for Newt before Aaron’s hand was on your mouth again, his face dangerously close again.
“Not another peep,” he grounded out.
You didn’t even hear, in your panic, the sounds of footsteps running your way. The only time you realized someone was there when you saw a fist clash with the side of Aaron’s head, sending him to the ground Minho appearing before you. You let out a deep gasp the moment you realized his hands were gone from your lips, the tears finally falling from your ears.
You were about to collapse against the ground before two arms wrapped around, and you were in the familiar embrace of Newt. The moment you realized it was him, you latched on to him tightly, barely noticing the crowd of boys, that consisted of Alby, Fry, Winston and more, as you buried your head into the crook of his neck.
“It’s okay, love,” Newt whispered, his hand falling on the back of your head. You shuddered against his grip, your fingers practically digging into his own skin but Newt didn’t much mind. He was too busy glaring at the slowly steadying Aaron, who groaned out in pain.
Meeting Minho’s eyes, they both shared a look before Newt gently pulled back from your grasp. Smiling at you, he helped you to a stand. “Minho’s gonna get you to a medjack, okay?”
You shook your head rapidly as Newt cupped your cheeks, “don’t leave me…” You whispered.
“I’ll be right behind you, love,” Newt smiled, “there’s something I gotta do.”
Glancing back at Aaron, you clued in pretty fast to what Newt meant. And nodding solemnly, you walked over to Minho, his hand wrapping around your waist to steady you as he begun leading you off.
Newt might not look like much, but when it came to you, that didn’t matter.
“Look,” Aaron begun, raising his hands. “I didn-”
He never got to finish his sentence before Newt delivered a sharp punch across his cheek, sending him to the ground once again. Towering over him, Newt glared down at him; “I told you, no one touch’s Y/N.” Without another word, Newt promptly turned and left, running to catch up with you.
“Bind his wrists,” Alby called after a moment, “tomorrow, he’s banished.”
-
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Let Your Senses Guide You || Whumptober Day 3 - N. Trace
Whumptober Masterlist || Whumptober Taglist Form
Synopsis: Natasha thinks she has everything under control after the bird strike, but you think she's heading towards a break down.
word count: 2.9k
@ailesswhumptober prompt: Overstimulation
warnings: bird strike, panic attack, mentions of character death, anger, grief, mentions of injury
You knew what you were getting into when you started dating the lovely and strong Natasha “Phoenix” Trace. She was a fierce woman, with a passion for flying, something the two of you both shared. You loved that look in her eye that she got when she would walk out onto the flight deck and see her most prized possession. You loved the sound of her voice when she was calling commands or giving shit right back to Hangman. Natasha was born to fly, and you loved that you got a front-row ticket to watch her day after day.
But, you also knew all of the risks that come with being one of the best the Navy has to offer. Hell, you knew it probably better than anyone. You were a mere months old when your father, Nick Bradshaw, had met his untimely end doing the one thing that he loved more than being a father to you and Bradley.
You liked to pretend that the death of Nick Bradshaw didn’t bother you. You didn’t even know the man who your brother looked so much alike. You only had the stories that Bradley, your mother, and Maverick had told you. You told yourself that you couldn’t be sad over his death, or even fear that the same fate could happen to Bradley or anyone else you loved.
But you were scared that the same tragic accident could happen to Bradley or anyone else you loved.
This was why when you heard Natasha’s panicked voice come over the radio, your heart stopped in your chest. Your vision started to blacken as you stared at the clunky radio sitting on the bar top in the rec room. Your hands began to sweat and feel clammy as Bob called out that they were losing altitude. You felt your knees go weak and your stomach started to turn.
“Eject Phoenix! You can’t save it!”
“Fuck! Okay! Eject! Eject! Eject!”
Then, the radio went silent.
Bradley looked over his shoulder at you, the look of fear quickly placed with concern as he saw your internal panic. He swiftly paced over to you, putting a hand on your shoulder, that seemed to pull you from the darkest thoughts swirling in your mind. You hadn’t spared him a glance when you shoved past him and ran out to the flight deck, watching as emergency crews were starting to arrive. Maverick’s jet was quick to land and the older pilot was barking orders to the emergency crews about where to go, how far out they were, and that he had only seen one parachute.
You had waited for agonizing hours in the rec room with Rooster. Since neither of you was related to Bob and Phoenix, you were both told you could wait for news in the rec room. Rooster was a ball of anxiety as his knee bounced relentlessly, while you were silent staring out at the setting sun. The moment Maverick had walked in and said they were going to be alright, you didn’t wait a second longer in the room, getting to Phoenix at the hospital as quickly as you could. You were lucky that Maverick had already pulled some strings and made some calls, so the nurses could let you in.
“Natasha,” You breathed out, the moment your feet came to the threshold of her room. She looked up at you, a small smile gracing her face.
“It’s Bachelor night, and they won’t let me watch TV,” A small sob left your lips as you ran to her, nearly collapsing in her lap, “Hey, shh, it’s alright, I’m alright,” Natasha cooed, running her hand over your back. Your hair was still pulled back in a tight bun and you were still in your flight suit.
You shook your head, sitting back on her bed, “I have never been so scared in my life,” You wiped your tears away with the back of your hand, “Please, don’t leave me. Not like that. Not like how my. . . Just not like that.”
Natasha sat up in her hospital bed, a small wince leaving her lips as she grabbed your hand, “I will never ever leave you. I may not always agree with you, or remember when your cat’s birthday is, but I will never leave you. You got that? You’re stuck with me, Bradshaw.”
You nodded your head. Phoenix smiled, sitting back in her bed and holding her arms out. You didn’t hesitate and collapsed right in her warm embrace, your head resting on her chest, listening to the steady sound of her heartbeat.
“Shouldn’t I be the one holding-”
“Shh,” Natasha giggled, running her hand up and down your back.
That night, as you slept soundly in your lover’s arms, Natasha was plagued with the images of making you a widow. The sound of your sobs, the image of Bradley having to hold you up while Bob presented you with a flag that was draped over a dark mahogany coffin, and a large picture of Natasha standing in the corner. It was the worst feeling in the world, even if it was only a nightmare. Sometimes, dreams come true.
— — —
It only took three days for Natasha to be cleared and get back up in the air. Natasha had some bruises and small burns from the ejection. Bob, on the other hand, couldn’t come back until next week, dealing with a minor concussion and sprained wrist. Natasha didn’t want to get in the air without Bob, but she also knew how important it was that training for the mission still be carried out. She already felt days behind everyone else on training, and they hadn’t learned anything new.
“You ready for today?” You asked, looking over to the other side of the sink. Natasha wasn’t normally a morning person, so her silence didn’t normally offend you, but today, it sent a small shiver down your spine.
“As I’ll ever be,” Natasha said as she slicked back her brown hair.
Natasha’s body might’ve healed in the past three days, but you could tell her mind had not. The dream she had the first night in the hospital had plagued her for the past three nights. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was your tear-stained face as you were handed a folded flag and a copy of her dog tags.
You had opened up to Natasha about how hard it was for your mom after your dad died. How depressed Carole had become to the point where every year on Goose’s anniversary, she would crawl into bed and spend the whole day clutching one of his Hawaiian shirts. Natasha hated that her mind kept showing her images of your dull, lifeless eyes clutching onto one of her shirts and laying motionless in bed.
“Nat,” You sighed, putting your hairbrush down, “You don’t need to”
“If I don’t go then that could take me out of the running to go on this mission. And over my dead body will I let you go fly with Hangman,” Natasha spat, angrily throwing her hair items into her toiletry bag. The other dream Natasha was having was if it had been you who didn’t eject in time from the jet. If it had been your coffin and your funeral and Natasha having to be held up by your brother. It was torture either way.
You nodded your head, knowing the history that was between Phoenix and Hangman, and why she didn’t want to be up in the sky with him. Instead, you followed her lead, packing up your hair items and getting dressed in your flight suit. Natasha was already waiting by the door with her duffle bag, lunch box, and travel mug in her hand. You avoided looking at her as you grabbed your things and walked out behind her.
The first thing you had on the docket was a hop with your brother. You were happy to be in the sky, Maverick had you grounded for the past three days, keeping a close eye on you. Bradley had expressed some concern for you, worried that you might be scared to go back up in the sky after Phoenix’s accident. But you’re a Bradshaw, flying is in your blood. The only way you were going to feel better was by being in the air.
You had stopped briefly in the classroom, setting down your coffee mug and notebook, before going and getting suited up for your flight. You had barely said anything to Natasha, watching as she sat in her usual spot in the front row, the seat next to her vacant. You knew that she would be watching on the screen as you and Rooster attempted to complete the course. So far, the two of you have been the only ones to complete the course and keep your wingman alive. Now, Maverick had put the two of you together to see if you could complete it.
“You ready for this?” Rooster asked as you walked towards your planes.
You nodded your head, “Yep. You know me, I’m no good in a classroom. Got the need for speed.”
Rooster shook his head, “How’s Nat?”
Your smile faltered as you stood in front of your F/A-18, “Getting there. I think the birdstrike shook her up more than she let on. She hasn’t really talked about it.”
You had tried to get Natasha to talk to you about it. You knew that she was having nightmares at night, you could feel her moving and trashing beside you and waking up with a jolt. But anytime you ask her, she denies it. She tells you that she’s fine, and she’s just restless to get back up in the sky. However, her brown eyes, the ones that you loved so much told a different story. They told a story of fear, of anxiety.
But you couldn’t worry about Natasha. Not when you had the weight of this mission on your shoulders as you waited for the signal for you to take off. You hadn’t ever flown a mission with your brother before. Sure, the two of you had been stationed on the same carrier, but never did you two take the air at the same time. When you learned the risks of this mission and knew that either one of you would be chosen to fly it, a certain weight settled in the pits of your stomachs. Neither one of you could fathom losing the other, after losing both of your parents. Rooster had become the one constant in your life. Every time you took to the air, you flew as if it was the real thing. As if one of you might not come home.
— — —
“Why is she dead?” Maverick’s voice cut through the silence. You sat next to your brother, head hung in defeat. The hop had almost gone perfect, almost. . . but Rooster had decreased his speed, making so you had to pull up to avoid hitting him at the last moment, and you had set off the SAMs.
“He made it to the target,” You justified.
“Not good enough,” Maverick shook his head, “Yes, he made it to the target, but he caused you to get hit by a SAM. That’s not the goal of this.”
You licked your lips, “Rooster is one of the only people to make it to the target. Yes, I had to pull up and go above the Hard Deck and set off the SAMs, but he still made it to the-”
“That’s not the point of the mission!” Phoenix cut you off. You couldn’t see her face as she was sitting in front of you, but you furrowed your brows confused by her outburst. She never spoke out like that, not even when Maverick had grilled her about why she had “killed” Bob. Phoenix was always the pilot one, nodding and taking notes on how she could do better.
You looked up at Maverick, concern in your eyes. He sighed, “I agree with Phoenix. That’s not the point of the mission. Rooster made it to the target but it cost your life. . . that’s not how this mission gets completed.”
You clenched your jaw and looked out the window of the classroom. You listened as Maverick called up Phoenix, Fanboy, and Coyote to go for their hop. Phoenix walked by you, not saying a single word or even bothering to look at you. You shook your head, standing up and following after her.
“Nix!” You shouted, making the female pilot stop in her tracks. She slowly turned to you, her face stoic, “What was that in there? Are you okay?”
Phoenix looked you in the eye, blinking a couple of times. She clenched her jaw and looked down at her boots, “I’m fine. The goal of the mission is to get to the target, destroy it and everyone comes home,” She looked back up at you, her eyes hard, “If you have some sort of death wish, maybe you shouldn’t go.”
You scoffed as Phoenix brushed past you, making sure to bump your shoulder with hers. You watched her frame retreat down the hallway and out towards the flight deck. With a sigh, you turned on your heels and headed back to the classroom. Rooster shot you a look of concern as you sat back down, but you just shook your head.
It wasn’t long before the trio’s location beacons were turned on, and two digital fighter jets showed up on the map in the front of the classroom. They were sitting on the flight deck, waiting for the all-clear to go take to the sky. Rueben’s voice filled the classroom as he called to the tower for clearance. You waited with bated breath to hear Natasha’s commanding voice, but you were met with silence.
“Lieutenant Trace?” The tower called, “Lieutenant Trace, the sky is clear.”
Phoenix couldn’t feel anything. The only thing she knew was that she was breathing. She could feel her lungs compressing and inflating with every inhale and exhale. Her vision was blurry as she looked down at the dash of the new multi-million dollar jet that the Navy had given her. It made her head spin on how quickly they had just given her another jet after she crashed the last one. Her helmet and flight gear felt exponentially heavy as she sat frozen.
“Phoenix, the sky is yours. You’re good for take off,” The tower said to her over comms.
“No, I’m not,” Phoenix whispered. She wasn’t sure what set her off, what put her into this panic. Maybe it was watching as an animated SAM hit her girlfriend’s animated cockpit on the map. Maybe it was the way you had justified being hit because Rooster made it to the target on time. Maybe it was the fact she was just not ready yet but felt like she had to be.
“Phoenix! We need to go!” Coyote called over comms, but the girl shook her head.
“Get me out,” Phoenix mumbled, her hands fiddling with the belt holding her in place, “Get me out! Get me out!” She pounded on the top of her canopy. Her breaths became frantic as she pressed the button for the canopy to open. It felt like the oxygen had been ripped from her lungs. Her helmet felt heavy as if it could snap her neck.
Phoenix wasn’t sure what happened next, but she felt the canopy of her jet open, and fresh air come rushing into her lungs. She felt someone’s hands touching her, helping her out of her safety belt, and gently out of the jet. Her vision was still blurry, as her feet hit solid ground and her knees gave way. Phoenix shut her eyes tightly, expecting her knees to hit the hard concrete, but instead, she was gently led to the ground.
“Look at me, Nat,” A calm, familiar voice called out to her. She could feel dainty, yet calloused hands on her face, thumbs brushing away the tears she didn’t know were falling, “Breathe with me, okay?” Natasha nodded her head, “Ready, inhale,” Natasha took a deep breath, feeling her lungs fill with air, “Exhale, slow,” Natasha did as she was told, her heart rate starting to slow.
Slowly, Natasha became aware of where she was. She looked down at the black tar of the tarmac. Her flight suit suddenly felt tighter than normal as she looked around, noticing the other officers and aviators staring at her. Her brown eyes then trailed to the owner of the hands on her face. Your eyes were glassy with tears as Natasha grabbed your wrists, running her thumbs on the inside. Natasha’s bottom lip wobbled, as a sob threatened to escape her lips. You quickly pulled her into a hug, resting her head on your chest.
“It’s alright,” You looked up at the sky, blinking back tears, “It’s okay.”
“I’m not ready to fly,” Natasha sobbed, “I-I just can’t do it. Every time I just think o-of what happened. I-I almost killed some-”
“No,” You pulled back from her, holding her face in your hands again, “It was an accident. You didn’t almost kill Bob. You did what you were trained to do, and that was to try and recover. If anything, you saved Bob’s life with your quick thinking.”
Natasha nodded, “I don’t like feeling like this.”
“No one does, baby,” You smiled sadly, pushing a stray hair behind her ear, “It’s what makes us human.”
Summary: Nothing could have prepared you for the pain of losing your boyfriend on Sol 6. But you were even less prepared to find out that he didn't die. You left him there. Alone.
Character(s): Mark Watney, Beth Johanssen, Chris Beck, Melissa Lewis, Alex Vogel, Rick Martinez.
Warning(s): Descriptions of grief, Mentions of death, Cursing (lots of it), Mildly sexual themes (nothing explicit), Mentions of malnourishment.
A/N: I absolutely adore The Martian, but I've noticed a criminally low amount of fan content for it, so I decided to make some! I've decided to follow more closely to the book plot rather than the movie (Just because I like the dialogue more and it's more scientifically accurate). However, there will be a couple scenes from the movie sprinkled in just because I thought they were fun. I hope you enjoy!
It was the morning of Sol 6 and you were up early to make some coffee before your EVA mission. The past few days on Mars had been busy, but far more rewarding than you could have ever imagined. You were one of the geologists in the Ares 3 crew, along with Commander Lewis of course. Mars, to you, was a playground of science. A giant sphere of discovery you couldn't wait to explore.
Today's EVA was to gather samples from near the hab. You had seen plenty of rocks on the way in that you needed to overturn almost as much as you needed oxygen to breathe.
You sensed a hand on the small of your back and felt goosebumps trail up your spine. "Morning Y/L/N. Anything to report?" A playful voice proclaimed.
"Other than bland coffee and terrible sleep, nothing of interest~" You turned back and smiled at your boyfriend. He brushed his thumb over a patch of exposed skin on your lower back before pulling his hand away.
"Hey, at least you don't have to sleep under Martinez, bastard was tossing and turning all night." He smirked as he made his own cup. "I'm barely getting by, the only thing keeping me grounded is this bland ass coffee."
You snickered and rolled your eyes. "Poor baby," You teased.
You and Mark Watney had been together for almost three years, in secret of course. NASA isn't exactly fond of sending couples into space where they might throw caution to the wind and procreate in transit. You were professionals, this mission was something you both had been looking forward to since it was announced. But that wouldn't stop the Space Administration from removing you both from Ares 3.
Nobody knew you were together. Not NASA, not your families, not even the crew knew of your relationship. As far as anyone was concerned, you were just great friends (inseparable in fact). You went out for dinners, went on morning jogs together, spent late nights gaming and going over the mission handbook. Everyone knew you confided in one another and worked incredibly as a team. But nobody would have guessed that instead of playing Yahtzee together on your evenings off, Mark was slowly and deliciously making you breathless with his lips, melting you with his touch.
Once the mission actually started, it was much harder than anticipated to cut out the physical affection. There were cameras everywhere on the ship and absolutely no way to hide from them. The only place for privacy was the bathrooms, but you had a rather close call that involved Mark dragging you there under the guise of helping him with his laptop (which obviously earned an eyebrow raise from Johanssen,) only for him to kiss you with the desperation of a man dying of thirst. You were nearly caught by Beck and you both decided not to risk it again. Luckily, you and Watney were a couple of problem solvers.
Instead of kisses, you resorted to touching. A hand on the back, an arm on the shoulder, a nudge of the elbow. Casual touch became your replacement for intimacy.
Mark pulled a smug smile and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. "You know what Y/N, I am a poor baby. But I can think of something that would make me feel better..." He whispered close to your ear. You flushed and playfully shoved him back.
"In your dreams Watney." You scoffed but your hand lingered on his stomach, earning a cheeky grin from the botanist.
"How'd you know?" He laughed, glancing down at your lips briefly. You knew what he was thinking: that it had been awhile and maybe he could risk just a little peck. Mark was a reckless one, that's for sure.
"Guys, quit flirting so loudly. I was trying to get a few minutes extra sleep before Lewis pulls out the bugle," Beck strolled in and grabbed a ration packet.
"Flirting? With him?" You asked incredulously, jabbing your thumb toward Mark.
"And vice versa," Beck shrugged.
"You must be seeing things, maybe we should call a doctor?" Watney sassily took a sip of his drink.
"Hilarious," Beck replied. Chris had been fighting for you and Mark to get together for about as long as you've known him (which is a decent number of years, in case you were wondering.) Little did he know you had already jumped that fence. You felt bad for keeping it from him, but you were sure he'd understand given his thing with Johanssen.
"Oh good, you guys are already up." Lewis sighed "hey, can one of you wake up Martinez? He's not listening to a single word I say."
You gave Watney a sidelong glance. He groaned and downed the rest of his terrible space coffee. "Yeah sure, I can go get the bastard. I'll give him a piece of my mind while I'm at it." Mark stomped off to the bunks and Lewis followed him. You casually sat beside Beck, who gave you a knowing smile.
"You know Chris, it would probably happen on its own if you didn't push it so much." You mumbled against the rim of your cup in an attempt to hide a smile.
"It's obvious he likes you too. Practically written all over his face," Beck said. "Honestly though, you two don't even realize when you're flirting. It's kind of incredible."
You huffed, "Now's not the best time for all that, you know."
"I know, I know. Just, keep it on the table okay?"
"Whatever you say Dr. Beck," You snickered. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have an EVA to prep for."
Chris rolled his eyes and poked at the food on his plate, "you're excused."
~~~
"Alright team, stay in sight of each other. Let's make NASA proud today." Lewis announced.
"How's it looking over there Watney?" Martinez asked.
"Well, you'll be happy to hear that in grid section 14/28, the particles are predominantly coarse. But in 29 they're uh... much finer. That should be ideal for chem analysis."
"Oh wow! did everyone hear that? Mark just discovered dirt! Should we alert the media?" Martinez teased. Mark glanced up at you, but you couldn't see his face behind the helmet.
"Hey, you better watch it fly boy. I'm working this grid too!" You laughed.
"Sorry, what are you doing today Martinez? Making sure the MAV is still upright?" You could hear the smirk in Mark's voice.
"Well, I'd like you to know that visual inspection of the equipment is imperative to mission success," Rick preached. "I'd also like to report that the MAV is still upright."
You and Mark giggled as you worked on the grid. "Watney, you're keeping your channel open, which leads to Martinez responding, which leads to all of us listening, which leads to me being annoyed," Lewis scolded halfheartedly.
"Roger that, Martinez the captain would like you to please uh," Mark looked at you for approval and continued. "Shut your smart mouth."
Rick cackled and you playfully nudged Mark on the shoulder.
"We'd prefer you use a different adjective to describe Martinez's mouth." Beck said from inside the Hab, resulting in even more laughter from the rest of the crew.
"Did Beck just insult me?!"
"Dr. Beck and yes!"
"I'm happy to turn the radios off from here commander. Just say the word." Johanssen suggested.
"Johanssen, constant communication is the hallmark-" Watney started.
"Shut him off" Melissa gave the order.
"No-" Johanssen cut him off. Mark tossed his little hammer in the dirt and looked back at the captain like she had just kicked a kitten. You patted the shoulder of his suit and urged him to get back to work.
"I'm sorry for my countrymen, Vogel." Lewis said.
"Accepted," Vogel shrugged and glanced up at the sky. "The storm... It's closer than Houston reported."
"We've got time," Lewis said. "Focus on the task at hand. This EVA's all about chemical analysis. Vogel, you're the chemist so you're in charge of what we dig up."
"Ja, Please dig thirty centimeters and get soil samples. At least one hundred grams each. Very important is thirty centimeters down." Vogel clarified, eyes back on his work.
"Will do, stay within a hundred meters of the Hab," Lewis said.
You worked in peace and quiet for a few minutes. You measured the grid while Mark hammered the grid labels. You could hardly wait to take samples. Mark was right, it was perfect for chem analysis. Unfortunately, your work was short-lived because Johanssen had some bad news.
"Commander, you should come inside. You're gonna want to see this."
"What is it?" Lewis asked.
"Houston has upgraded the storm to 'severe.' It's going to be here in fifteen minutes." Johanssen said.
You perked your head up to get a look at the sky. Already it was getting darker.
"Martinez, how's it looking?" Asked commander Lewis.
"Not good." He said.
After a moment of contemplation, Lewis made her decision. "Back to base."
~~~
The Hab shook and the sound of wind and debris outside only exacerbated the tension within. Lewis commanded everyone to put on their flight suits and you congregated around the screen, wondering if this was the end of your mission.
"Sustained winds over one hundred kilometers per hour now. Gusting to one twenty-five," Johanssen frowned.
"Jesus, we're gonna end up in Oz," Watney said. "What's the abort speed?"
"One fifty kilometers per hour, anymore than that and the MAV's in danger of tipping." Martinez placed his hands on his hips.
"Any predictions on the storm track?" Lewis asked.
"This is the edge of it... It's gonna get worse before it gets better." Johanssen delivered the bad news with confidence. Silence fell over the group and you grabbed Mark's hand. You wished you could feel the warmth, but the gloves on the flight suit acted as a barrier. Watney met your sorrowful eyes. You'd have to end the mission before it even started. He let go of your hand and pressed you into his side. It was over. 25 sols early. You leaned your head against his shoulder and willed the grief to subside.
"Alright, prep for abort. We'll go to the MAV and hope for the best. If the wind gets too high, we launch." Lewis grabbed her helmet.
~~~
Outside the Hab, the wind was disastrous. Mark was nearly swept off his feet by the force of the gusts. He slammed into you, but you managed to keep him on his feet.
"Shit! Thanks." Watney regained his balance.
"Visibility is almost zero. If you get lost, hone in on my suit's telemetry! The wind's gonna be rougher away from the Hab, so be ready!" Lewis warned.
The Ares crew stumbled toward the MAV with ever increasing uncertainty. You had to lean into the wind to avoid being thrown backward. Mark wasn't doing much better. It didn't help that his mind wasn't on getting to the MAV safely, it was on how to keep it upright. Watney was smart, too smart for his own good.
"Hey," Watney panted. "Maybe we could shore up the MAV. Make tipping less likely."
"How?" Lewis Huffed.
"We could use cables from the solar farm as guylines. The rovers could be anchors. The trick would be getting the line around the-"
You choked on your scream as Mark was struck by a massive piece of wreckage, sending him off into the disorienting mist of dust and wind.
"MARK!" You screamed and tried to stumble after him, but you could barely see an inch in front of your helmet.
"What happened?" Lewis said.
"Something hit him!" Johanssen said shakily.
"Watney report..." Lewis said. You listened hard and prayed he'd answer. "Watney, report!" Nothing.
"He's offline, I don't know where he is." Johanssen reported as calmly as she could. You bit back a whimper as you shuffled forward.
"Commander, before we lost telemetry, his decompression alarm went off!" Beck said.
"Shit! Y/L/N, where did you last see him?" Lewis asked.
"H-he was right in front of me and then he was gone," you managed. "He flew off due west" You pointed.
"Okay, Martinez, get to the MAV and prep for launch. Everyone else, home in on Johanssen."
"Dr. Beck, how long can a person survive decompression?" Vogel asked.
"Less than a minute." Beck looked back at you. You could hear the pain in his voice. No. Mark couldn't be... He was just beside you a moment ago.
"Commander, the MAV's got a seven degree tilt. It'll tip at 12.3."
"Copy that."
He's alive, he can't be dead!
"Johanssen, Watney's bio-monitor sent something before going offline. My computer just says 'Bad Packet,'" Beck said.
"Give me a sec," Johanssen said.
"Commander, message from Houston. We're officially scrubbed. The storm's definitely too rough."
"Copy."
"Beck, I have the raw packet!" Johanssen said, "It's plaintext: BP 0, PR 0, TP 36.2. That's as far as I got."
Beck sighed and shook his head. "Blood pressure zero, pulse rate zero, temperature normal..."
Your chest tightened and your eyes burned. "Temperature normal?" You asked hopefully.
"It takes a while for the-" Beck swallowed. "It takes awhile to cool."
"Commander, tilting at 10.5 degrees now, with gusts pushing it to 11." Martinez reported.
"Copy, if it tips, launch."
"What about you commander?"
"I'm going to search a little more."
"You really think I'll leave you behind?" Martinez asked.
"I just ordered you to. You four, get to the ship." Lewis replied.
"Let me help search commander, we'll find him faster if we-" Lewis cut you off.
"That's an order, Y/L/N. Go."
Beck nudged you forward. You reluctantly allowed him to.
"Johanssen, would the rover IR camera do any good?"
"Negative. IR can't get through sand any better than visible light."
"What about the proximity radar? Could it detect Watney's suit?"
"No way. It's made to see Hermes, not the metal in a single space suit."
"Give it a try," Lewis ordered.
"Commander, I know you don't want to hear this... but Wat-... Mark's dead." Beck said.
No.
No.
Please...
Everything around you was a blur. You went through the motions from training. Strapping yourself in, readying your station, waiting for launch. You couldn't look at the empty seat beside you. You couldn't think about anything but your job right now, If you allowed your thoughts to that dark place, you'd have to be dragged along by the rest of the crew.
You couldn't do that to them. Not now.
Lewis returned to the ship and strapped herself in. "Still at pilot-release," Martinez said softly. "Ready for launch."
You swallowed the lump in your throat.
"I'm sorry Commander, you need to verbally-"
"Launch."
You felt the bone-crushing power of ascent. The g's did nothing but forcefully push the tears from your eyes.
You wish it would have been you.
~~~
Mark Watney closed out of the mission log application and stared at the computer screen for a few minutes. He couldn't fathom the hopelessness he was feeling, it was too deep to swim out of. What else was there to do but sit and wait to die? Maybe it would be easier to just go into the airlock and open the doors!
Watney turned his head to a picture of you on the wall behind the computer. It was there among other pictures of the crew and their families. You were standing with your brother in front of one of those rickety wooden roller coasters at Six Flags. He felt a painful twinge in his chest. You thought he was dead and there was no way to tell you otherwise.
He was completely alone, had the whole goddamned planet to himself. Mark rubbed his hands over his face. "Fuck..." he said. "Fuck!" he pulled at the hair on his head before looking up at the picture again. He wished he would have kissed you. He wanted to that morning when you were sharing coffee. He should have said he loved you. Mark hadn't said it in so long.
He knew you like the back of his hand. You were blaming yourself. Everyone in the crew was probably doing the same. He could barely stomach the thought.
Mark grabbed the picture from the wall and shuffled to the bunks. He was so tired and in a lot of pain from the stupid antenna. He was about to settle into his bed, when his eyes landed on yours. After a moment of deliberation, he hobbled into your bunk and pulled the covers up to his chin. It still smelled like you. He buried his face into your pillow and cried.
~~~
You sat in the dining area in the Hermes, watching as the windows slowly spun around. It had been about a week since the incident and you weren't sure you had any more tears left to cry. You did your best to keep on task during your waking hours, only allowing yourself to feel when everyone else was either asleep or taking the piloting shift.
Your fingers drummed lightly against the table, mingling with the beeps, boops, groans, and hums of the ship keeping you safe from the unforgiving vacuum of space. You thought about a lot of things. About Mark, his parents, the house he wanted so badly to buy, his favorite music, his plants growing in the botany lab... The one thing you didn't want to think about was his body, how it would be buried by sand and dust within the year, how Mars would never let it decay. You tried not to think about how if you had just reached for him, maybe he'd still be alive.
"Y/N?" A familiar German accent spoke. You tensed and dared a glance back at Vogel.
"Hey, what's up?" You plastered a grin on your face.
"I have noticed you've not been sleeping. You are... Okay?" He asked, lumbering closer. He was clearly very tired and you felt terrible he was here worrying about you instead of getting some much deserved rest.
"Yeah... Yeah I'm okay Alex, just... Can't sleep." You sighed.
"Have you spoken to doctor Beck? I am sure we have sleep medication on board."
"Oh I know... I just don't really want to bother him, you know? I mean, we're all going through it right now..." You shifted under his gaze.
"You are having bad dreams," Vogel stated. "You're afraid if you sleep, they will come back."
"How could you tell?" You peeked tiredly up at him.
"My little monkeys... before I left, some of them had bad dreams. A father can always tell." He sat down beside you at the table.
You felt your eyes burning again. You hadn't dared ask for comfort from your crew mates, not even Chris. Now that you were receiving it, you wished you had asked for it long ago. There was a hellish cocktail of emotions running through you: relief, sadness, safety, longing, despair. You were so relieved that Alex was here. You were sad to think about how deeply his loved ones must be missing him. You thought about what Alex said about his "little monkeys." Mark would have made a great father if he'd only had the chance.
"You love him. Very much," Vogel said.
"I did..." You whispered.
"You do." Alex grabbed your hand and the tears poured from your eyes. "You do..."
"I do," You let out a choked sob. Vogel pulled you into a gentle hug.
"This pain of loss we feel... It will never go away. But it will get easier to live with as time goes by. This, I promise is true."
"Thank you Alex." You whispered.
"You're welcome..." He patted your back and pulled away. "Now, shall we try some rest?"
"I'll try," you put on a brave face.
"And- what is it?-" He thought aloud. "When first you don't succeed-"
"Try try again," You said with a sad smile. "Words to live by."
~~~
LOG ENTRY: SOL 23
So, I'm still brain storming the whole, "Mark Watney can only really make his potato farm last 90 days," problem. Can't say It's going too well. I'm surrounded by the stench of my own shit. Kinda distracting.
I've made the executive decision to take a long overdue break out in the rover. Sure, logically I know I should probably utilize every spare second on planning my survival right down to the last drop of water, but riddle me this: just who is gonna stop me? Not NASA, that's for sure.
It's funny. I came into the rover to escape the rancid poop smell, but it seems to have followed me. Turns out, I was the poop smell all along! If Y/N were here, they would have forcibly shoved me into the shower. They'd say something like... "Don't even think about touching me until you smell like ocean breeze!" (What does ocean breeze even smell like? How do you smell a breeze?...)There are few things in life Y/N hates more than stink. Me being on Mars is probably one of them.
What I would give to see you right now. Even just a dream would be nice, but I guess that's asking too much.
I miss my parents a lot. Maybe that's an understatement. I haven't really let myself think about it, but sitting here in this cramped rover really has my mind wandering. I really should have told them about Y/N. Maybe if things don't work out for me, they could confide in each other.
I don't have much else to say. The calculations aren't done and quite frankly, I'm depressed.
I'll probably scrub this log from the system, It's kind of a downer.
~~~
You had been doing better. Getting at least 6 hours of sleep a day was an accomplishment and you were eating your meals, but a certain date on the calendar was growing closer. You made yourself busier and busier, but no amount of work would keep this day from coming.
LOG ENTRY: SOL 62
On Earth it's January 8th, which is a very special day. Our anniversary! It's official, we've been together for three years! Yeah, yeah I hear you. These logs are for work purposes only, but I promise no one's gonna see this one. Not even you.
I think about that day a lot. It was freezing outside and snowing everywhere. I don't even remember why we walked to the cafe that day, but I'm thankful for it. You were holding your hot cup so tightly and your coat wasn't nearly thick enough for the weather. You were complaining that the snow came early and I laughed at you.
I think we both knew for a long time that this would happen. A year at least. We kept ourselves just at arms length, on the brink of lovers without ever crossing that line. We never discussed it before, but we knew once the mission was over, we'd do it. We'd take that step.
I had wanted to kiss you all day. Want isn't really the word for it. How about craved. Desired? Yearned~
I wrapped my coat around you and you complained again, said that I'd catch a cold and it would all be your fault. The way you looked at me... Still gives me chills when I think about it. It's like I'm still standing on that sidewalk, snowflakes landing on my nose.
I told you, "I can think of something that'll warm us both up..."
You said, "Then what are you waiting for?"
I was right of course. I always am. I just didn't expect you to be so... magnetizing! Like damn babe, you had me weak in the knees! (What am I, a Disney princess?)
I'll be back with you someday. It'll be your anniversary present from me. You're welcome in advance. XOXO - World's Handsomest Boyfriend.
-P.S. You left your deodorant in the Hab. I've been using it. Totally not creepy.
-P.P.S. Who's the stinky one now?
-P.P.P.S. You better be prepared, when I get off this wasteland of a planet, I'm making up for lost time. You aren't gonna be able to walk for AT LEAST a week.
-P.P.P.P.S. I was talking about CUDDLING you perv~
(or was I? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))
~~~
This had to be one of the greatest days in Mark Watney's life.
Contact.
Sweet, sweet contact!
[11:18]JPL: Mark, This is Venkat Kapoor. We've been watching you since Sol 49. The whole world's been rooting for you. Amazing job, getting Pathfinder. We're working on rescue plans. JPL is adjusting Ares 4's MDV to do a short overland flight. They'll pick you up, then take you with them to Schiaparelli. We're putting together a supply mission to keep you fed until Ares 4 arrives.
Watney could hardly believe it! Everything was working! They had known he was alive since Sol 49! His eyes were brimming and his breathing came out in short gasps as he fought to control himself. He used to take messages for granted, now they're the only tether he has to humanity.
He's not alone anymore.
His hands shook as he wrote out his message.
[11:29]Watney: Glad to hear it. Really looking forward to not dying. I want to make it clear it wasn't the crew's fault. What did they say when they found out I was alive?
Mark shifted in his seat. The reply was taking a bit longer than expected. He hadn't talked to anyone in so long. The thought of being so close, only to fail right in the beginning was terrifying. He wasn't sure he could survive that kind of disappointment.
[11:48]JPL: We haven't told the crew you're alive yet. We wanted them to focus on their own mission.
What. The. Fuck.
Mark covered his face with his hands and released a frustrated groan. "You've got to be shitting me!"
You didn't know. You didn't know he was alive.
"What the fuck? Wha... What the fuck?!" He took a shaky breath and wrestled with his frustration.
[12:05]Watney: They don't know I'm alive? What the fuck? WTF? Seriously! What the fuck is wrong with you?
[12:23]JPL: Please watch your language. Everything you type is being broadcast live all over the entire world.
They did not just say that.
After everything he has been through, there is no way JPL just told him to watch his language.
So, that's how they want to play it, huh?
[12:42]Watney: Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck shit fuck shit fuck! Fuck fuckity fuckfuckfuck! Oh look! A pair of boobs!-> (.Y.) How's that for watching my language, you goddamned bureaucratic felchers!
NASA got the message loud and clear.
~~~
Four months passed and you fell into a routine. Wake up, eat, work, sleep, repeat. It was predictable, which was something you were thankful for.
You took on Watney's role as the ship's botanist. You weren't as good as him, but really, who was? You couldn't match his skill even if you tried. Still, you followed all of his experiments. Took diligent notes and snapped as many pictures as you could.
Martinez joked that you took better care of the plants than yourself. It was one of those jokes meant to expose an underlying issue: You weren't looking after yourself. There was a shadow hanging over everything you did. The crew was experiencing it too. Mark Watney was one of a kind. Everyone he touched felt his loss so viscerally, so deeply.
You needed time, just like Vogel said. But that didn't mean everyone had to be okay with you beating yourself up like this.
Lewis knew better than anyone how you were feeling. As the Commander, she should have tried a little harder. And you... You were right there in arm's reach. Yes, Lewis knew how you felt only too well.
You heard a faint Knock in the doorway. You looked up from the camera and met Beck's eyes.
"Data dump will be completed soon. Care to join?" He smiled.
You managed a smile back, "Yeah, sure. I'm hoping I got something from my siblings. Maybe my niece and nephew too." You strapped the camera to the wall so it wouldn't float away, then you pushed yourself toward your crewmate.
"How about your parents?" He asked.
"Oh, that's a given. I can't get them to leave me alone," you chuckled.
You floated down to Semicone-A, where everyone else was already waiting for the data dump.
"Is it here yet?" Beck asked.
"Almost, it's at ninety-eight percent." Johanssen shot him a grin.
"My son turned three yesterday." He beamed. Should be some pics of the party. How about you?"
"Oh, nothing special. Just some peer reviews of a paper I wrote a few years back."
"Complete," Johanssen said. "All the personal e-mails are dispatched to your laptops. Also there's a telemetry update for Vogel and a system update for me....Huh.... There's a voice message addressed to the whole crew."
"Play it." Lewis shrugged. Everyone gathered around the screen as Beth pressed play.
"Hermes, this is Mitch Henderson," the message started.
"Henderson? Talking directly to us without CAPCOM?"
Lewis raised her hand to signal silence.
"I have some news. There's no subtle way to put this:.....Mark Watney's still alive."
Your stomach dropped.
"Wha-" Beck choked.
"I know that's a surprise. And I know you'll have a lot of questions. We're going to answer those questions. But for now I'll just give you the basics. He's alive and healthy. We found out two months ago and decided not to tell you. I was strongly against all that. We're telling you now because we finally have communication with him and a viable rescue plan. It boils down to Ares 4 picking him up with a modified MDV. We'll get you a full write-up of what happened, but it's definitely not your fault. Mark stresses that every time it comes up."
You clenched your eyes shut as they burned painfully with tears.
"Take some time to absorb this. Your science schedules are cleared for tomorrow. Send all the questions you want and we'll answer them. Henderson out."
Silence fell over the bridge.
"He...He's alive?" Martinez beamed.
"He lives." Vogel nodded excitedly and squeezed your shoulder.
You covered your eyes with your hands, fighting to stay quiet.
"No, hey... we all left togeth-"
"You followed orders...I left him behind. In a barren, unreachable, godforsaken wasteland." Lewis scowled and trudged off the bridge.
Everyone stood around the console. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
"Y/N?" Chris asked softly.
"Are you okay?" Beth added.
You shook your head. You couldn't look at any of them right now.
"I need a minute..." you said softly before hurrying back out of the Semicone. You retreated back to the comfort of the botany lab. It was all so much to process.
First Mark is dead, you left him behind to die. Then Mark is alive, you left him behind to die. He doesn't want you to blame yourselves, it was terrible luck. He's healthy. He can contact Earth. Mars is a desolate planet. He's all alone. On an entire planet. You left him there. He will never be safe until he's back on Earth soil. It will be four years until Ares 4 arrives.
He will be alone on Mars for four years.
You left him there.
~~~
Y/N,
I'm typing this letter to you because talking to you relaxes me. I won't actually be sending this to you. It's not going to be professional in nature like the other notes I've sent you. (JPL says that you have received all of them, but have neglected to send me any of your responses. The only one I have gotten from any of the crew was one from Lewis. She invited me for beer to make up for leaving me on Mars.)
Anyway, some bad stuff happened. I wish you were here. Not because I want you to have been launched by an airlock. Never that. I just really fucking miss you. I really need you right now. I almost died last night. I had to do some serious surgery on my suit to keep me alive and I had to sift through the dilapidated remnants of the Hab to find a new one.
I'm so tired. I just want you to hold me. I'm so sick of all of this. Fuck Mars, Fuck the Hab. I'm so sick and tired of getting my hopes up and being disappointed. I miss you so much. You make every one of my bad days good. I know if you were here, everything would be okay again.
Why did this have to happen?
Mars keeps throwing curve balls at me, but I'm not giving up. I've got a lot to look forward to and I'm trying to focus on that.
-Mark
P.S. Your bed stopped smelling like you a month ago.
~~~
The crew of Ares 3 met in the Rec. A secret message had arrived not even an hour ago. One that would alter their mission by 533 extra days.
"Are we going to do it?" Johanssen asked.
"I won't lie, I'd sure as hell like to. But this isn't a normal decision. This is something NASA expressly rejected. We're talking about mutiny. And that's not a word I throw around lightly," Lewis explained. "We'll only do it if we all agree. And before you answer, consider the consequences. If we mess up the supply rendezvous, we die. If we mess up the Earth gravity assist, we die. If we do everything correctly, we add 533 days to our mission. 533 days of unplanned space travel where anything could go wrong. Maintenance will be a hassle. Something might break that we can't fix. If it's life-critical, we die."
"Sign me up!" Martinez announced, causing you to smile. At least someone else was as enthusiastic to bring Mark home as you were.
"Easy, cowboy. You and I are military. There's a good chance we'd be court-martialed when we get home. As for the rest of you, I guarantee they'll never send you up again," Lewis said.
"If we do this," Vogel looked to you and back at Lewis. "It would mean over one thousand days of space. This is enough space for a life. I do not need to return."
You couldn't have possibly said it better yourself. It was like Alex was reading your mind.
"Sounds like Vogel's in. Me too obviously," Martinez laughed.
"Let's do it," Beck agreed.
"If you think it'll work, I trust you," Johanssen said.
Lewis nodded and turned to you. "Y/L/N?"
"You don't even need to ask me. Let's go get our boy," You smiled.
Wow. This is the first time you've smiled... a real smile, since leaving Mars.
'Hang in there babe,' You thought. 'I'm on my way.'
~~~
LOG ENTRY: SOL 192-2
Yep, another secret letter do my dear, long lost love~ How predictable. I don't really care, today's been a great day. I can't believe you're coming back for me! Here I was, thinking I'd have to survive without you for four years. Then there you go, riding in from the sunset to bring me home.
Logically I know the rest of the crew had something to do with it, but I kind of like the idea that maybe I am a Disney princess and you're my knight in shining armor coming to rescue me.
It's like the story of Rapunzel, except my tower is a whole planet and instead of catching my hair, you're catching my MAV. Now that I think about it, the stories are more different than they are similar.
That hardly matters though, what does matter is that for the first time I actually feel like I'll survive. I trust our team with every fiber of my being, but most of all I trust you. I'm gonna rest easy tonight. And in the morning I'll start my work on the rovers!
See you in about a year babe! I'll be counting down the hours. Literally.
LOG ENTRY: SOL 426
Happy anniversary Y/N! You thought I'd forget? Never! You know why that is? Because I fucking love you, that's why!
Four years we've been together as of today, that's assuming we are counting the year we've been apart as "being together", (which I do.) Today I'm really beating myself up over frying Pathfinder with my drill all those months ago. It was my only form of communication with you and I royally fucked it up.
You'd think that cutting myself off from Earth, NASA and humanity at large would be what upset me the most. Nope, it's the fact that I can't send you a super sneaky secret anniversary e-mail. I also missed my parents' birthdays, your birthday, Christmas AND Thanksgiving. Twice. Also, fucking Valentine's day! I used to hate that holiday before I met you.
Anyway, as you can see, I totally have all my priorities in order! Also! I got you a present~ Since you have no way to read this, I don't feel bad spoiling it for you. I found a little rock. It's in the shape of a heart.
Awwww wow! That's cute, I just realized that I'm giving you my heart for our anniversary! To be honest, you had it a long time ago.
I miss you. I miss your smell, your eyes, the feel of your skin. Most of all, I really, really miss your voice. I just want to hear you. I've forgotten what you sound like. I'm scared If I didn't have this picture of you and your brother, I'd forget what your face looks like too.
I'm starting my long commute to Schiaparelli in 23 days. It'll be a two month drive. I really hate driving in the rover. But if it gets me to you, who cares? I'm stalling. I've got a lot of work tomorrow and I just want to enjoy today. I wish I was there with you to enjoy it obviously, but we can't all get what we want (least of all, me.) I've learned how to settle.
Speaking of settling, what do you think about getting married in the woods, or a big grassy field? I'd like there to be as much green as possible. No red or orange, we're talking the opposite side of the color wheel here. I can picture you walking down the aisle. I'll be an absolute mess, but who cares. You're the love of my life. Thanks for, y'know, coming back to pick me up instead of leaving me to die on Mars.
I hope you like the rock.
-Mark
P.S. I grew a beard and my hair looks like the 80's had a baby with a grease monster. You'd hate it.
P.P.S. I hope you're into pirates~
P.P.P.S. Y/N Watney... Mark Y/L/N... hmmmmm, so hard to choose!
P.P.P.P.S. We are never eating potatoes again.
P.P.P.P.P.S And ABSOLUTELY NO DISCO MUSIC!
~~~
You stared at Mars creeping back into view. The last time you were here, Mark was sitting beside you, arm around your waist, your head on his shoulder. Maybe it wasn't your most subtle of moments, but how could anyone not be enthralled by the beauty of the red planet? Even now it was hard not to feel stricken with wonder.
Sometimes your mind played tricks on you. You'd see a speck of dust on the window and think you could see Watney on the surface. That was ridiculous of course, There is no possible way to see an individual person this far out. That didn't stop you from imagining it.
NASA had briefed everyone on the Martian's health, explained that he wouldn't look the same as the last time you saw him. You expected as much, but the thought still worried you. It wasn't that you were worried if you'd still find him attractive, there was no force on Earth or beyond that could change how much you loved Mark Watney. It was his health that worried you.
During all your back and forth questions with NASA that Henderson had arranged, you inquired about his health. They said he was doing well, but that he was stretching his little amount of food to its limits. That's what scared you the most. How would his immune system fare? How would he acclimate back to normal food on Earth? All of these questions went unanswered. NASA was honest, "we won't know for sure until he gets here."
"Mind if I join you?" Lewis asked softly, floating a short distance away.
"Of course Commander. I'd like the company," You said. It was surprising to realize you actually meant it. It'd been awhile since you wanted to spend time with anyone.
Melissa floated further into the cupola and settled beside you.
"Crazy to think that in a few days he'll be up here with us again..." Lewis said softly.
"Yeah..." you said softly, keeping your eyes ahead.
"I know how much you miss him... You two were always great friends."
You swallowed hard and tried to ignore the pit in your stomach as you nodded. "Yeah..."
You could see Lewis looking at you out of the corner of your eye. Her expression was conflicted. "I'm really sorry this happened. I know it's been hard on you. I should have searched a little longer-"
"Commander." You stopped her from continuing. "You did all you could. You made the right decision. I wish none of this had happened, but none of this was your fault. It couldn't have been easy to make the choice, and I'm willing to bet that if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't have been strong enough to do it. I'm sure everyone else feels the same exact way, Mark included." You placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Thanks, that's... Thank you," Melissa smiled.
"We're a team, that's what we do. We keep each other grounded."
"That's actually sort of what I wanted to talk to you about..."
"What do you mean?"
"NASA just sent the message a few minutes ago. They're letting us talk to Watney... Directly," Lewis said. You blinked in surprise. No matter how many times you asked, NASA wouldn't allow any kind of direct communication. You wondered why the sudden change of heart.
"Henderson thinks we need to remind him of what he has to look forward to, keep his eyes on the prize so to speak. At least, that's how he's been pitching it to the director. Anyway, the rest of the crew and I agree you should be the one to do it," she finished.
"R-really? I can talk to him?" You asked hopefully, hoping this wasn't a dream.
"Y/N, I can't think of anyone else he would need to hear from more."
~~~
Mark was waiting by the coms in the MAV for any final updates from NASA regarding the meticulous destruction of his ship, piece by piece. He had just finished taking out the main window and it was heavy as hell, even in Mars gravity. He was happy he at least had some time to rest after all that hard work. If he was lucky, maybe they'd wait too long and it would be too dark to get any work done. He could use a good sleep, it seemed like he was needing it more and more lately. Watney suddenly heard the telltale beeps that signaled an incoming message. He was expecting a barrage of questions about his progress, instead he got something so much better.
[19:22] Y/L/N: Hey, Mark.
Mark's voice got caught in his throat.
Y/N.
It had been so fucking long since he talked to you. His eyes burned and his hands shook. Watney leaned his head back in relief, thanking god for this incredible gift. "I just about gave up on you man..." Mark smiled to the sky before nervously typing back.
[19:23] MAV: Y/N!? Holy crap! They're finally letting you talk to me directly?
You released a sigh and covered your face with your hands. He was responding! Really responding! Everyone was looking at you. Beck beamed at you while Martinez watched on with interest. Lewis was waiting to see if you could handle it. No way you were gonna let this one chance slip through your fingers. You sniffed and wiped your eyes before responding.
[19:24] Y/L/N: Yes, NASA just gave the OK for direct communication an hour ago. We're only 35 light-seconds apart, so we can talk in near-real time. Johanssen just set up the system and I'm testing it out.
Mark sighed and smiled. Level headed and professional as always. How you had such self control, he had no idea.
[19:24] MAV: What took them so long to let us talk?
You looked up at Lewis, silently asking if you could relay the truth. She nodded.
[19:25] Y/L/N: The psych team was worried about personality conflicts.
[19:25] MAV: Why? Just 'cause you guys abandoned me on a godforsaken planet with no chance of survival?
Mark typed without thinking and as soon as he hit send, he regretted it. He didn't want you to feel bad, It was a joke. You'd understand that right?
[19:26] Y/L/N: Not funny. Don't make me come down there and kick you.
Watney let out a choked laugh. Half a chuckle and half a sob.
[19:26] MAV: God I missed you.
You smiled at the screen and pushed down the urge to hug Martinez behind you. You were really talking to him! He was only 35 light-seconds away! Suddenly you realized you were blessed with an opportunity even more amazing than just talking with him. You could ask him what you had been asking in all of your disregarded emails!
[19:27] Y/L/N: We missed you too. I've had to take over the botany lab. You'll be happy to know I haven't killed any of your plants...Yet. How are you feeling? We've gotten a few updates from NASA regarding your health, but nothing in incredible detail.
Watney chuckled at the text appearing in front of him. 'Cute,' he thought.
[19:27] MAV: Awwww, are you worried about me?
The crew laughed and you shook your head, swiftly adding your response.
[19:28] Y/L/N: Do I really need to answer that?
Mark snickered and decided not to tease you. He wanted to tell you all of his woes and adequately prepare you for how much he had changed. But he didn't want to put a damper on the mood. Luckily, Watney was a master at sugarcoating.
[19:29] MAV: I'm doing okay. My clothing feels a little loose and I'm craving spaghetti. I'm also in desperate need of a shower. Other than that, I'm just fine. Looking forward to seeing you and the rest of the crew.
Your smile fell. You were happy he was being at least somewhat honest, but you knew it was probably worse than he was making out to be. Unfortunately, Watney was a master at sugarcoating.
[19:29] Y/L/N: We're looking forward to seeing you too. I think it's safe to say a big group hug is in order, if I can get Vogel in on it that is.
Watney hummed at the thought of holding you in his arms. The image was so clear, yet so far away.
[19:30] MAV: At this point, I'd even settle for holding hands. Group hug sounds nice. How are you doing Y/N? I wrote you a lot of emails.
You grimaced and thought your next words through very carefully. With the crew watching, it was hard to collect your thoughts.
[19:31] Y/L/N: I wrote you plenty of my own. There was only so much air time to be used outside of helping you survive. My guess is they put priority on Commander Lewis' emails. Rightfully so of course. I'm doing fine. I've missed you a lot. To be honest, a lot is probably a huge understatement. It's hard to express exactly what I want to say over message.
Mark nodded. You watched him presumably die, leave his 'body' behind, mourn his loss over a period of months, find out you left him there alive, be unable to talk to him for about a year, and suddenly he was here reading and responding to your messages, but you have to limit the details so as to keep those private thoughts private. He couldn't imagine what he would do if the roles were reversed. What you wanted to say needed to be kept between you and him. He understood. There was a lot he wanted to say too.
[19:32] MAV: I know what you mean. I'll be there soon, then you can tell me all about it in person. And I'll tell you all about my space crops and my long voyage to the MAV. Have I mentioned I'm a space pirate?
The crew laughed and for a moment, it felt like he was there. Really there.
[19:33] Y/L/N: Good to know you're still the funniest person on Mars.
[19:33] MAV: Thanks!
[19:33] MAV: Wait a minute! Rude! Don't make me come up there!
[19:34] Y/L/N: Don't threaten me with a good time, Watney.
[19:34] MAV: ;)
You were about to make some really elaborate emoji out of parentheses and dots, when you saw a notification from NASA. Playtime was over. You scowled as you broke the news to your boyfriend.
[19:34] Y/L/N: I hate to cut this short, but NASA wants us to keep the line open. We'll be in touch asking for updates on your progress, but don't expect too much witty banter.
Mark's heart sank a little, but there was no use in leaving such a perfect night on a sour note.
[19:35] MAV: Figures. NASA never lets me do anything fun! Tell the others I said hi.
[19:36] Y/L/N: I'll be sure to pass it along!
Mark's leg tapped nervously. He knew NASA was right about keeping the line open, but he really didn't want it to end yet.
[19:36] MAV: Hey, thanks for coming to get my sorry ass.
[19:36] Y/L/N: No thanks necessary. We'd do it a million times over.
Watney knew you meant it. He could feel the warmth through the bland MAV text on the screen. He couldn't wait to be up there with you...But what if something went wrong? Fuck, don't think about this now! Everything's going to be fine! Right? But what if... There was always a chance, especially on Mars, that things would not go your way. And the likelihood of him surviving this mission was slim at best. He needed to tell you. He should have said it a lot more. A whisper here and there in the hallways, maybe some stupid middle school secret code. Like hell he was going to pass up this one chance, consequences be damned.
[19:37] MAV: I love you, Y/N.
Your heart lurched in your chest. The room fell silent. Martinez lightly squeezed your shoulder. Your eyes flitted around the room to your colleagues. All of them stared with bewildered looks on their faces. What were you supposed to say? What if you got him in trouble? If he was worried about that, why would he send this in the first place?
'You know what, Fuck it,' you thought.
Watney watched the screen with baited breath. "Please..." He whispered. "Please."
[19:38] Y/L/N: I love you too Mark. Sleep well, we'll be there before you know it.
Mark released a cry of joy and typed through the tears.
[19:39] MAV: You too. Goodnight.
[19:39] Y/L/N: Goodnight, Mark.
The line received no new messages after that. Mark rested there a moment before retreating back to the rover. Once the airlock had engaged, he removed his helmet and admired the picture of you and your brother he had taped to the rover computer.
He used to take those words for granted. Why say it when you could show it? He showed it to you as often as he could... At least he used to. You never made him question it for a second. You gave him compliments, brought him water on late nights, listened to his nerdy ramblings about plants and D&D. He'd help you to bed when you were too tired to stand, work out the knots in your shoulders while you typed. Over a year has passed and your grip on his heart is still firm. And when you said those three little words, all of it made sense again. Mark Watney would never again question the power of I love you. He was going to remind you every chance he got. He was going to ask you for it as often as possible. His mom and dad would hear it in every phone call, and no more excluding his friends. He loved them too. He would say it until the term loses all meaning, then he'd remember this night where I love you saved his life.
Mark took off his gloves and danced his thin fingers over the photograph.
"See you soon, baby..." He whispered, "I love you."
~~~
You pulled on your headset and took a deep, self soothing breath. In an hour, the love of your life was going to be launched into Mars's orbit in what could barely be considered a MAV. The thing was a Frankenstein version of the shuttle you had taken off the planet nearly two years ago.
You shook your head. What Mark needed right now was confidence. You could do that.
"How you feeling Y/L/N?" Martinez smiled over at you.
"Like I'm gonna throw up," You laughed.
"Anxious huh?" He smirked, "For the launch, or for your man?"
"Both," You smacked his arm and rolled your eyes. Martinez and Beck hadn't stopped giving you crap for the I love you texts. You didn't mind too much, it was nice being able to acknowledge that side of your relationship with Mark. Unfortunately it made for some rather awkward conversations with the NASA administrators.
"You got nothing to worry about, he's in good hands," Rick said reassuringly.
"I know, we're all badass trained professionals with years of experience," you chuckled. "I can't help it. I'm built to worry."
"You've checked and double checked the telemetry. Johanssen confirmed all of your calculations. It's going to be a smooth ride for sure."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
//////////
Mark scowled at his reflection in the mirror and stroked his beard. He looked like shit, no way around it. He hadn't taken a moment to really look at himself for a long time and he couldn't say he liked what he saw.
"It's the end of an era," Watney said to nobody as he grabbed the razor. "No more captain blonde-beard."
Mark took his time shaving his chin and trimming the hair on his head. By the end of it, he still looked like shit but slightly less so. He felt a little more like himself at least.
He patted his chest to make sure the picture was still there, tucked under his uniform. It was there, along with his anniversary present to you. He slipped the headset over his ears and turned it on. It was nearly time to go. Watney pulled the suit on over his head and double checked if it was all on securely.
"I'm leaving Mars today, one way or another..." He whispered. "About fucking time."
//////////
"Fuel engine green," Your voice seemed to cause time itself to slow down. Not just for Mark, but for the entire world. "Engine alignment, perfect." Mark closed his eyes took a series of deep breaths, trying in vain to keep his emotions in check. "Communications five by five. We are ready for preflight checklist, Commander."
"Copy." Lewis said. "Mission Control, this is Hermes actual. We will proceed on schedule. we have T minus two minutes, ten seconds to launch... Mark." The commander turned her attention to the man of the hour. "About two minutes Watney. How you doing down there?"
"I'm good." He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. "I'm anxious to get up to you. Thanks for coming back for me."
You sniffed and shot a smile to Johanssen, who sent you a grin of her own.
"We're going to make it happen. Remember, You'll be pulling some pretty heavy g's. It's okay if you pass out. You're in Martinez's hands."
"Well, tell that asshole no barrel rolls."
"Copy that, MAV."
"CAPCOM."
"Go," you said.
Mark's bottom lip quivered
"Guidance."
"Go," Johanssen said.
"Remote Command."
"Go," Martinez said.
"Telemetry."
"Go," you said again.
He couldn't fight it anymore, he let the tears fall.
"Recovery."
"Go," Beck said.
"Secondary Recovery."
"Go," Vogel said.
"Pilot."
Mark steadied his voice before speaking, "go."
"Mission control, we are go for launch. T minus ten," You said.
"Nine."
"Eight."
"Seven."
"Six."
"Five."
Mark closed his eyes and focused on your voice. "See you in a few, baby..." He whispered.
"Four."
"Three."
"Two."
"One."
The force of the blast was incredible, and growing more painful by the second. His breathing came out short and panicked as the Hab canvas rattled nightmarishly against the MAV. His panic only increased as the canvas ripped from the shuttle, exposing him to the full force of the MAV's thrust. He couldn't even scream. All he could do was watch the sky grow darker and darker.
"Watney." He heard your voice from far away.
"Watney, do you read me?" Your voice called again. His eyes drooped and his vision faded.
//////////
"Watney. Do you read?" You asked in the calmest voice you could muster.
"He's probably passed out. He pulled 12 g's on the ascent. Give him a few minutes," Beck said.
"Copy that." You said and turned your attention on the numbers before you. "I have interval pings. Intercept velocity will be eleven meters per second."
"I can make that work," Beck confirmed.
"Distance at intercept will be....we'll be sixty-eight kilometers apart..." You whimpered and buried your face in your hands.
"Did they say sixty-eight Kilometers? Kilometers?!" Beck cried.
"Keep it together, work the problem. Martinez, any juice left in the MAV?" Lewis asked.
"Negative, Commander."
"Then we'll have to go to him. Y/L/N, time to intercept?"
"Thirty-nine minutes, twelve seconds," You steeled yourself and focused on your coordinates.
"Martinez, what if we point the attitude thrusters all the same direction?" Lewis asked.
"Depends on how much we want to save for the attitude adjustments on the trip home."
"How much do you need?"
"I could get by with maybe twenty percent of what's left. If I use the other eighty percent... We'd get a delta-v of thirty-one meters per second."
"Y/L/N, Math."
"In thirty-nine minutes, we'd deflect....seventy-two kilometers! Use seventy-five point five percent of remaining attitude adjust fuel. That'll bring the intercept range to zero," You did the math quickly.
"Do it." Lewis said.
"Hold your horses, that'll get the range to zero, but the velocity will be forty-two meters per second."
"Then we have thirty-nine minutes to figure out how to slow down. Burn the jets."
//////////
Mark awoke to find himself spinning. Flashes of stars and the red glow of the Martian surface had him feeling a little dizzy. "MAV to Hermes?"
"Watney?" You gasped.
"Affirmative," he grunted.
"What's your status?" You asked calmly.
"Uhhh..." He winced and leaned back in his seat. "My chest hurts. I think I broke a rib. How are you, sweetheart?" He groaned.
"We're working on getting to you," you relayed. "There was a complication in the launch."
"Yeah," Watney dejectedly looked at the massive hole in the roof of his ship. "The canvas didn't hold. I think it ripped early in the ascent."
"That's consistent with what we saw during the launch," Lewis agreed.
"How bad is it, Commander?" he asked.
"We were able to correct the intercept range with Hermes's attitude thrusters, but there's a problem with the intercept velocity."
"How big a problem."
"Forty-two meters per second."
"Well..." Mark paused and tried to wrap his head around that number. "Shit."
//////////
You typed furiously, staring at your screen unblinkingly as you worked through all the possible ways to bring down the velocity.
"Hey, I've got an idea," Watney said.
"Of course you do, what have you got?" Lewis asked.
"I could find something sharp in here and poke a hole in my EVA suit. I could use the escaping air as a thruster and fly my way to you. The source of thrust would be on my arm, so I'd be able to control it pretty easily."
"How does he come up with this shit?" Martinez laughed.
"I can't see you having any control if you did. You'd be eyeballing the intercept using a thrust vector you can barely control."
"I admit it's fatally dangerous, but consider this: I'd get to fly around like Iron Man."
"We'll keep working on ideas," Lewis said.
"Iron Man, Commander. Iron Man."
"Stand by," Lewis temporarily cut contact with Watney.
You furrowed your brows at the screen, waiting for the correct course of action to jump out at you. Suddenly, there it was. "Wait! that's it!" you looked back at the Commander. "Mark's a genius! We could use the ship's atmosphere as thrust. We could blow the vehicular airlock. Seal the bridge and the reactor room. Iron Man... But bigger!"
"....." Melissa stared at you for a moment before addressing Alex. "Vogel?"
"Yes commander?"
"I need you to come inside and make a bomb," she ordered.
~~~
"I have visual, I can see the MAV," Beck said. "Jesus Mark, what did you do to that thing?"
"You should see the rover," Mark radioed. He was ready to get out of his goddamned chair, ready to get away from this hunk of junk that could barely be considered a MAV.
"Call out my velocity to Mark every two seconds or so," Chris said.
"Copy." You responded.
"Hey Beck, the front's wide open. I'll get up there and be ready to grab at you." Watney said.
"Negative, no untethered movement. Stay strapped to your chair until you're attached to Beck."
"Copy." Mark huffed. Lewis was right, impatience would be the death of him out here and he had come too far to die now. Instead, he focused on your voice calling out the relative velocity.
"Three point one meters per second."
"Eleven meters to target."
"Six meters."
"Contact." Beck grabbed the canvas of the destroyed MAV. "Firm contact."
"You have fourteen seconds Dr. Beck."
"Copy."
Nothing could have prepared Watney for how he'd feel seeing Beck's helmet poking through the opening.
Pure. Unadulterated. Serotonin.
"Visual on Watney!"
"Visual on Beck!"
"How ya doin' man?" Beck pushed himself toward Mark, meanwhile Mark was trying not to have another emotional breakdown.
"I....I just...Give me a minute, you're the first person I've seen in eighteen months," Watney croaked.
"We don't have a minute," Beck clumsily collided with Mark. "Contact with Watney... Connected!"
"Restraints off," Watney called.
"We're outta here!"
//////////
"Houston, this is Hermes actual. Seven crew safely aboard," Lewis's voice echoed in your mind as you, Martinez, Johanssen, and Lewis pushed yourselves toward the airlock where Vogel and Beck were bringing him in.
Mark.
You could see his dusty helmet from the small window on the airlock. Already you were feeling an overwhelming ache deep in your chest. There he was, only a few feet away, behind this door. Your crewmates flew in and clambered for Watney.
"Hey guys!" He laughed.
You were frozen in the doorway.
His helmet came off.
Everything slowed down.
Everyone was smiling and laughing. High fiving. Quick hugs. They all wanted to get as far away from the smell as they could.
Your eyes met.
There were beads of what looked like water floating in the air. When did you start crying?
Mark held out his arms to you and you wasted no more time. He hugged you as tightly as he could with the bulky arms of his EVA suit. His face buried into your neck as he cried softly. "Y/N...." He whispered in a broken voice. "Y-Y/N?"
"I'm right here Mark... Right here." You cradled the back of his head, scratching that spot at the base of his neck. He always liked it when you did that
"I stink, don't I?" Watney laughed in between sobs.
"You do. You really do," You tried to keep up the joke. "But if im being completely honest, I couldn't possibly care less," you laughed.
Slowly, you pulled back so you could get a good look at his face. He was thin. Gaunt, and covered in bed sores. That should have been expected of course, It's not like he had anywhere to shower in the rover. He looked at you like you were an angel. He looked embarrassed, like he wanted to hide.
Your fingers danced over his cheek and his eyes fluttered closed at the tenderness. The crew watched on with pride and varying degrees of bashfulness.
Mark opened his eyes and stared at you pleadingly as orbs of tears flowed from their corners. "Y/N... Please..." He whispered.
You didn't hesitate for a second.
You grabbed the sides of Mark's face and smashed your lips against his. So soft... your hands are so soft and your lips are trembling. The heat of your skin, the scent of your hair. It was even better than he remembered. He couldn't breathe, he could barely even think. He wanted so desperately to kiss you back, to fall into your embrace until there's no space left between, but his ribs hurt like hell and his suit was in the way. Mark whimpered as your fingers tangled into his hair. Fuck. Fuck. 'Everything hurts baby, please don't stop kissing me,' he pleaded in his head. 'Don't stop.'
When you started pulling away, he reached out to pull you closer again, but winced when he moved his arm.
"Slow down, baby." You breathed and pressed a little smooch to his forehead.
"Alright love birds, I need to get Iron Man over here to sick bay."
"But-" Watney protested.
"No buts, you need an X-ray and a shower. Maybe three." Beck laughed.
Mark looked at you pleadingly and you caressed his face. "I'll be by once Beck fixes you up. I gotta help check the ship for damage. Okay?"
He nodded and smiled. "Don't miss me too much~"
"You seek the impossible, Watney." You kissed his forehead again and let Chris lead your Martian down the hall to his quarters.
"Wow," Martinez said "I can't decide if that was incredibly romantic or incredibly awkward."
"Shut up Martinez," You playfully shoved his shoulder.
"Honestly though, he smells terrible! You've got some nerves of steel, Y/L/N," Johanssen joked.
"My boyfriend just spent eighteen months alone on a remote planet, If he wants a kiss he's gonna get that goddamned kiss. Definitely not a quick one and definitely not a half-assed one. But I will say one thing," you grinned.
"What's that?" Lewis smirked.
"He's not getting another one until he brushes his teeth."
~~~
Mark settled into his bunk after what felt like hours. He finally had a bath. Five, in fact. The showers were on a timer to conserve water. He had to run that timer five times before he finally felt clean. The water hurt the sores on his skin, but he felt so much better afterward that he almost wanted to go in for a sixth one. Mark brushed his teeth about three times and got rid of all the tangles in his hair. He'd need someone to touch up the cutting job he did. Now that it was all brushed out, it looked astoundingly bad.
After his long grooming session, Beck took an X-ray and determined that he'd broken two ribs. Chris bandaged him up, gave him some pain medicine, made him eat, and sent him to bed for some well deserved rest. At first, Mark protested. He hated the idea of everyone else fixing the ship while their lead engineer was taking a nap. But he was painfully tired and painfully...well... in pain.
Hey! His bunk didn't smell like shit! That's a huge upgrade from his bunk in the Hab- no more thinking about that place.
With a deep groan, Watney eased himself into bed. Weird...his sheets smelled like you. He didn't mind of course, you always smelled nice. He had never been more thankful for the centripetal force spinning the ship. He would have hated having broken ribs in zero g's. He imagined trying to sleep with his body constantly moving ever so slightly. Sounded like hell to him.
Mark wondered what the others were doing. He hoped there wasn't something too terribly wrong with the ship. The subtle groans of metal didn't ease his nerves. He was never scared of the Hermes before, but he was just now coming to terms with that fact that the ship had taken some serious abuse over the past few months, not to mention the past few hours. Normally Hermes would undergo maintenance after each mission, but because they turned around to get him that maintenance was scrapped.
New fear unlocked: Dooming his team to die in space because they had to turn around and get him.
He almost thought the knocking on his door was the hull breaking apart into a billion little bite-sized pieces.
"Come in," he said.
He expected it to be Beck checking in on him, but he was relieved when you poked your head in with a shy smile.
"Heyyyy, look over there! It's the world's handsomest boyfriend!" You said with gusto.
"You are such a kiss ass," Mark laughed, which hurt his ribs, which made him laugh again from how pitiful he must look.
You scoffed as you stepped into his quarters, shutting the door behind you. "You calling me a liar?" you grabbed a loose storage box and used it as a chair so you could sit beside his bed.
"That's exactly what I'm calling you," he smirked. "Seriously. Have you seen me lately? I look like a... a popsicle stick with a bad haircut."
You looked him up and down. His sores looked a lot better after cleaning them. You had no doubt they would heal nicely. The malnourishment on the other hand... That might take some work. You and Beck already had a few dietary plans for him. You discussed it while you reorganized the chow hall. Still, Mark was the most beautiful person you had ever seen. Even now, those alluring blue eyes were mesmerizing you. And let's not forget that goddamned tantalizing smile.
"I'm looking at you right now, babe," You giggled.
"And?"
"You're still as gorgeous as ever. Just a gorgeous man who's been through some shit," you carded your fingers through his hair. Mark hummed and closed his eyes. "How are you feeling?" you whispered.
"Physically or emotionally?"
"Both."
"Emotionally, happy. Very happy. Best day of my life kind of happy," he smiled. "Physically, pretty shitty. The medicine hasn't kicked in."
"Anything I can do to help you feel better?" you asked warmly.
Watney sent you a smug look, "Oh, I can think of a few things that might help~"
"Not until your ribs are healed."
"Damn."
You leaned down and pushed his hair back so you could kiss his forehead. He gave you a dazed grin, "oh, what do you know? I feel better already," he whispered in a gravelly voice. "... I really missed you..."
"I missed you too Mark..."
"I can't believe I can... I can feel you again. I can hear you and see you and feel you... s'insane..." He reached up and cupped your cheek despite the pain. "You were always on my mind. I-I just really wanted... I wanted to make it back to you." He brought his thumb just under your eye to catch a stray tear.
You covered his hand with yours and pressed a kiss to his palm.
"I-I don't even know what to say... I've been feeling so much, I don't know how to... how to-" He swallowed hard.
"Everything's changed so fast," you reassured him. "But we aren't on the messaging system anymore. It's a long journey home, we have plenty of time to find the right words," you continued to run your fingers into his hair.
"I fucking love you... " he closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling of your nails against his scalp. "I'm gonna marry you one day, decided just now."
"Just now?" You snickered.
"No...Realistically, it was the first night we uh... slept together. Do you remember that?" Watney chuckled.
"Of course I do," you smiled, thinking of his messy blonde hair, searing gaze, and strong arms. He took his time with you that night, unhurried, attentive, and unabashedly vocal. "How could I forget?"
Mark shook his head and looked away to hide his blush, but not even his smile could distract you from it. "Sorry, sorry. Go on, continue!"
"Well, I uh..." He let out a sheepish chuckle. "Obviously every part of that night was perfect, but it's what happened after that really changed things."
"Oh?" you leaned closer, curiosity getting the better of you.
"You let me be the little spoon. I'm fine with being the big spoon most of the time, but you gotta be the little spoon sometimes, you know? No one ever let me be the little spoon before you... And when I woke up, you were still holding me." His fingertips danced down your arm, leaving a trail of chills in their wake. Once he reached your hand, Mark intertwined your fingers. It wasn't a conscious movement for him, simply muscle memory. But you couldn't keep your mind off of it. "I know I goof around a lot, but I can't stress how serious I'm being when I say... I have never felt that loved before. It was just... such a perfect night. I knew that you were the one for me well before, but that was the first time I really saw my future flash before my eyes like that."
Your eyes stung a little as you tenderly kissed his lips. "Want to know when I decided?" you whispered against him.
"Please..." He whispered back.
"Remember when I had that terrible flu during the first year of our training program?"
"Oh damn, yeah I do! You looked terrible, baby." Mark teased.
"I felt terrible. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and I definitely couldn't go to lectures... I was so worried about missing, even though the professors agreed there was no way I could come to class. You brought me a copy of your notes. The copy machine in the library was down, so you had to write them by hand... you even filled them with these horrible stick figure drawings," you laughed and Mark brought your knuckles to his lips and watched you, immersed in the sound of your voice. It was like he was trying to commit you to memory. You were doing much the same.
"Anyway, you stayed with me and you made some Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. You stopped by everyday until I got better."
"We were just friends back then," he whispered against your hand.
"I know, but every time I think about how much I love you... that memory comes back, playing on repeat."
"Say that again."
"That again," you smirked. Mark gave you a sassy eyebrow. "Which part babe?" you laughed.
"The uh..." he trailed off.
You lightly kissed his cheek, "I love you, Mark... I love you so much." You peppered his face with little smooches. When you finally pulled back, he was all red again and teary eyed.
"I love you too, Y/N," He whispered. You sat together in silence for awhile before Mark suddenly remembered something extremely important! "Oh shit! I almost forgot!" He winced as he reached into his pocket. "Happy late four year anniversary!" He finally presented you with his gift.
Your fingers trembled as you took the little rock into your hands. Mark's Martian heart stared back up at you, dusting your palm orange.
"Y-you remembered our anniversary?"
"Of course I remembered! Have I ever forgotten before?" Mark smirked.
"N-no, but..." You couldn't help it, you were crying again god dammit. "Thank you Mark, I love it." You beamed and kissed him so hard he lost his entire train of thought. He sighed and pulled you closer like he had wanted to do hours ago. Fuck. There you go again, playing with his hair like it wasn't going to rile him up. He moaned and reached for your waist, only to be pulled swiftly back to reality by the jarring pain in his abdomen. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Mark." You pulled away quickly.
"It wasn't you, I was getting too carried away." He winced and took a deep breath. "My bad," Watney laughed.
You sat down on the crate beside his bed and settled for playing with his hand. While you took inventory of every new callus, Mark once again saw his future flash right before his eyes. You and him and that little house with the green shutters. He's gonna have the best garden in the neighborhood, you'll have all the time in the world for reading. No potatoes. No disco.
"Y/N... Can you hold me?"
"Oh baby, I would love to but the beds are so small-"
"Ouch, oof, oh! ow!" He scooted closer to the wall to make room for you.
You sighed and shook your head. "Mark, your ribs-"
"Please..." he whispered. Dammit! What are you supposed to do when he gives you the puppy eyes!? Beck is going to kill you...
"I can't ever say no to you, can I?" You laughed and scooted into the bed. "Seriously, you've got me wrapped around your finger."
Mark smiled as you tucked yourself into his side. He wanted to be the little spoon, but he couldn't turn over so his back was against your chest. He'd just have to heal quickly, then he could freely snuggle, (and do other things) without any constraints!
He turned his head so he could admire your lovely, beautiful face. You were already looking back at him, one hand holding your rock close to your chest, the other was draped carefully over his waist. Mark swears he's never seen anything more breathtaking in his life.
He slowly leaned closer- Fuck! His ribs hurt so bad, where the hell is the Vicodin when you need it?
You gently smoothed out the crease between his brows with your thumb and pushed his hair back again. Mark closed his eyes, succumbing to the bliss that came with knowing he would never be alone again. You kissed him again and pulled his blanket over the both of you.
"I love you, Mark."
"I love you too."
He felt your hand slip under his shirt and onto his stomach. You drew soft shapes onto his skin, but stopped when you felt the scar just above the hem of his pants. It was jagged and angry.
He swallowed.
Much to his surprise and relief, you didn't pull your hand away. You just kept tracing the new territory.
He sighed and kissed your temple. His body shuddered in relief. "Th-this isn't a dream, right? You'll still be here when I wake up?" he whispered.
You peeked your head up and smiled "I'm not going anywhere, I'm afraid you're stuck with me." You leaned in and gave him one more kiss. He smiled into it and finally allowed himself to rest his eyes.
Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Mitchell!Reader
Word Count: 5522
You are the daughter of Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell and the lifelong best friend of Bradley Bradshaw. Nothing has ever been able to get in between the two of you, not even the feelings you’ve been harbouring for him for as long as you can remember. But when you both get called to Top Gun for what seems to be a suicide mission, you realise that life is too short to keep your love for him a secret.
Y/n walked into Harry’s dorm after being let in by Fred and George. She opened the door and walked over to his dresser, opening them and gathering up his quidditch jersey. She quickly put it on top of her clothes, letting it fall down past her butt. She smiled as she smelt Harry’s scent on her. She walked out of the dorm and down the steps and into the Gryffindor common room. She left the Gryffindor house quickly and went on her way to the great hall.
Y/n sat by herself as she read a book about dragons. They fascinated the Ravenclaw. She was unaware that Harry Potter himself was coming up behind her.
“Hello love,” He called out, as he sat down next to her, his back against the table.
“Hi,” Y/n cheered as she put her bookmark in her book.
“What’s this you’re wearing?” Harry asked, grabbing her arm gently. Y/n smiled as she looked up at him.
“I found it.”
“Oh yeah? In my dormitory?” Harry laughed as he kissed her temple. “It looks cute on you love.”
“And everything looks cute on you,” She responded, kissing him on the lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her and broke the kiss to lay his head on her shoulders. “Maybe I should wear your clothes more often if it makes you handsy.”
“Oh yeah?” He asked, lifting his head and sliding his hands down her waist and grasping her bum. She giggled.
“Yeah.” She kissed him again. The kiss deepened.
“Hey, get a room,” George called out, Fred laughing along. They stopped kissing and turned red. He turned around and sat next to her as dinner began. Let's just say they had some fin for dessert ;)
“Y/n?” Harry called out as he walked around the tent, about to start his first first challenge. The crowd cheered from the stands. “Y/n?”
“Harry!” Y/n called as she ran through the tent’s opening and towards him. Harry turned around and walked towards her, his arms open, ready for her embrace. She put her arms around his neck and he placed his hands on her waist. She pulled him towards her and his hands slid to the small of her back.
“How’d your brother do?”
“Cedric? That’s what’s on your mind? He did well. But I know you will too.”
“I still don’t think he’s too keen on me dating his little sister.”
“Well, he’ll have to deal with it. But about the challenge Harry. There’s a golden egg being guarded by the dragon. You have to retrieve it without, ya know, dying.”
“Wonderful.”
“Be safe Harry.”
“You know I will,” He said, sliding his hands up her body until they reached her face. He pulled her in for a kiss. The flash went off and they both looked to see what that was. Rite Skeeter was standing there with a camera at hand.
“Young love,” She said before walking off. Harry’s name was called from the stadium.
“Knock them dead, Love,” Y/n said.
“I will.” Harry kissed her cheek before walking towards the sounds of the stadium.
The next day Cedric walked over to Y/n spot at the Ravenclaw table.
“Y/n,” He asked, sitting down next to her.
“Hi Ced,” Y/n greeted.
“Do you happen to know anything about this picture?” He asked, holding up the Dailey Prophet, with the photo on the front being Harry and Y/n kissing. Luna looked up from her book and stifled a giggle.
“Ced, I can explain.”
“No, that’s quite alright. It’s very funny how Rita caught you two.” He said, ruffling Y/n’s hair.
You know Oliver Wood like the back of your hand. You knew his quidditch strategies not only for his team, but also for himself. Whether you were sitting in the stands or playing, you studied him. You needed to beat him.
You and Oliver are in the same year, both started playing quidditch during your second year, and both became the team captains by fifth year (which also happened to be your year now). You two should have been friends, the best of friends, since you both had an extreme love for the sport. The only problem was: You were a Ravenclaw, which just so happens to be the house Gryffindor is playing against today.
You walked into the great hall, passing the Gryffindor table. The whole team was there, the red head Weasley twins, Angelina and Katie, a guy I didn’t recognize, the famous Harry Potter, and right in the middle was Wood. We made eye contact before I narrowed my eyes at him and he scuffed. I turned my head as I walked up to the Ravenclaw table, sitting next to my beaters: Lindsey and Mark. The rest of the Ravenclaw team gathered around as you discussed the upcoming game. After eating and drinking lots of water, you and your team made their way to the quidditch stands. You changed and went over the plan.
“Alright guys, and remember: Keep the quaffle away from them and keep your eyes peeled on the bludgers. We don’t want anything happening to anyone,” You told everyone. A couple of the guys snickered and looked back at you.
“Gonna distract your boyfriend?” One of the chasers said.
“Maybe you should distract him now, he’ll be messed up by the time he gets to the field,” The keeper said. The guys started snickering even more. A blush crept onto your cheeks. Yes, you and Oliver disliked each other because of your houses(only because of quidditch) and you’ve known him for 5 years, but you did start having feelings towards the guy last year.
“He’s not my boyfriend and you know that.” You heard Madam Hooch blow the whistle, signalling it was time to get to the field. The announcer started giving introductions for the Gryffindor team, and you saw Wood fly out first, with a glowing smile of confidence.
“AND FOR THE RAVENCLAW TEAM, WE HAVE CAPITAN Y/N Y/L/N!” The Ravenclaw house cheered on as you flew out, with the rest of your team following. You flew around waving before landing next to Madam Hooch and Oliver.
“You two know the drill,” Madam Hooch said. Oliver stuck out his hand and you took it, shaking hands.
“May the best house win,” Oliver said in his scottish accent. You grinned.
“May the best house win,” You repeated. You let go of his hand, but before he could hop back in his broom you looked him dead in the eye and said, “Don’t worry Olly, we won't kick your butt too much,” and winked. Oliver’s face got red as he turned around and got on his broom. You chuckled to yourself before getting on the broom. Madam Hooch blew the whistle and tossed the quaffle into the air. Let the game begin.
Angelina caught it first, so you flew after her. As the game went on, every time you went to score a goal, you winked, blew a kiss or both at Oliver, making him dive for the quaffle too late, causing you to get more and more points. When your seeker caught the snitch, Ravenclaw cheered joyfully and very loudly, jumping up and down. You and the rest of your team flew down and gathered around each other. You all hugged each other and cheered. You all were very happy.
While walking back to the castle, a certain someone called after you. “Hey y/n, wait up.” You turned around and saw Oliver jogging up to you. “What was that?”
“What was what?” You knew exactly what he was talking about.
“The flirting. On the field. It worked for you, by the way.” You tried to suppress a smile as you looked up at him. He was several inches taller than you.
“Well, I am a Ravenclaw. I have better strategies than you,” You said as a smile escaped from your lips.
“A quidditch strategy?”
“And a flirting strategy,” You replied, watching his face turn slightly red.
“Why would you be flirting with me?” Oliver asked, looking into your eyes.
“Because,” You paused for a moment. You took a deep breath. “I like you. I’ve liked you for some time now,” You responded, waiting for an answer. Oliver didn’t answer you, but he did lean in and kiss you. He quickly pulled away, but you pulled him back in the front of his shirt. He cupped your face as he kissed you, and you kissed back. You pulled away when you heard the guys on your team laughing.
“Oh hell no,” You said, starting to run at them. They saw you and sprinted back into the castle. Before you could go any further, Oliver grabbed your shoulders, laughing at you trying to get them.
“Use some fancy spell of yours on them when they least expect it.” He said, looking down at you. You looked back up at him,
“Oh I will,” You grabbed your stuff and walked into the building with Oliver, Oliver had an arm around your shoulder. Both of you had smiles pasted onto your faces.
